Promiscuous

I

The memory remains vivid, even though it was so long ago.

"Slide it in. C'mon, slide it in," the female voice said. "Give it. Give it to me."

My feet froze on the sidewalk at the side of house as the words coming from the nearby window registered on my brain.

Turning toward the window, I tried to see into the room, pressing my face against the screen. The inside window was open a few inches, just enough for me to be able to peer inside. And, it was open enough to let the sound of the woman's voice escape.

The tone was ripe with lust.

"Give it to me, Dave," she said again. "I want that big cock. I want you to skewer me with it. Stuff it in me. Fill my pussy. Fill it. Mmmm. Oh, yeah."

My eyes adjusted from the bright sunshine of the outside to the semi-darkness of the bedroom as I peered inside, fascinated by what she was saying. It was a familiar voice. It was my mother. Her lusty urgings compelled me to look and see what was happening.

I put my hands against the sides of my face, cupping them to keep the sunshine out. My eyes pressed against the screen so tightly my eyelashes brushed the metal as I blinked, and my breasts pressed against the brick as I struggled to keep my chin on the ledge and look into the first-floor bedroom -- of my house.

There was my mother on her knees on the bed, the one she shared with my father, facing away from me and a man was standing behind her. Both were naked with their backs to me. His ass was smooth and round. I recognized the name.

He was our neighbor.

Dave and his wife, Leslie, lived across the street. They had moved in not long ago, maybe a few months. Our families had become friendly. Their kids were a few years younger than me and I had babysat for them a few weeks ago.

I pulled away from the screen for a moment and looked toward their house. Dave's car was there, but his wife's was not.

I turned back to the bedroom, again pressing my face into the screen and letting my eyes adjust.

Dave turned his body to the side a bit so he could look down at his cock as it entered my mother's vagina. With that move, I was transfixed. I stared at the point of their union, mouth open, scarcely believing what I was seeing.

The neighbor's cock was thick and the veins appeared to pulse as he pushed it in and out of my mother. He plunged it in and grunted. She moaned each time his thrust hit bottom, her asscheeks and breasts rippling on each down stroke.

Dave increased the pace and mother's vagina widened to receive him. Soon, he was pulling out completely, giving me a view of the mushroom-like head of his penis each time. Her pussy, stretched from giving birth four times and, of course, years of sex with Dad was loose and slippery, gaping open and receiving the neighbor's cock.

The word made me laugh. Some of us girls used it jokingly. We never said it outside our little group. What if someone heard me use such a word?

After every withdrawal, Dave's penis was coated with the residue of mother's insides. Above her moaning and occasional lusty urges I could hear the sloshing noise created by the penis' invasion of her vagina. I pressed harder against the screen, straining to watch. Revolted, but yet fascinated at the lewd and noisy performance going on about 10 feet away from me.

I had no idea my mother was capable of this -- this act that adults usually talked about only in disgust among themselves. I'd heard them -- my father and even Mom -- spitting out "cheating," "unfaithful" and "adultery" in gossip when they thought their kids weren't listening. Maybe they lied. Maybe acting shocked at others' actions was just for show.

*****************

I had come home after a half-day of school. In my district, they sometimes cut classes short on Fridays for seniors as their last year of high school ended. My mother forgot to pick me up. In those days we didn't have cell phones. I didn't have a dime in my purse, so I couldn't use a pay phone.

It was warm spring day. I decided to walk the mile or so from the high school to home. I laughed and talked with other kids on the way. Some friends stopped me and asked me where I was going to college.

I gave them the name of the private school.

"Pre-law, Jennifer, right?" Jill had asked.

I nodded.

"Yep."

"I'll bet you'll be a good lawyer, someday," Jill said, grinning, her dimples appearing.

The dimples.

It was the reason so many guys chased her. She was gorgeous and the dimples just made her more so. She didn't need make-up. Her freckled face was fresh and clean. She would be shocked if she saw what I was seeing now.

"See ya. Gotta go see Jim," Jill said, walking away. "We're going to the drive-in, tonight. You coming too?"

"No, I'm babysitting," I said, calling louder as she turned and walked away. "The Simpsons are going out."

"You mean the Buffalo Bills running back?" Jill said, laughing at her own joke as she turned the corner, disappearing from my sight.

She was heading for her boyfriend's house. Next month she'd have a different one. Jill once told me she never got serious enough with any boy for them to want to have sex with her.

I thought for a moment about her comment. Sure, it would be nice to go to the drive-in, but the $10 I get for babysitting is nice, too. It pays for a few trips to the drive-in. I turned to walk the next few blocks to home.

A horn sounded and I looked up and into the street. It was Phil Jepson. He waved and I waved, but, then I looked straight ahead, back to the sidewalk and kept walking. He kept driving.

No doubt he would have stopped to talk if I had shown the slightest interest. He was a senior, too. He'd asked me plenty of times if I wanted to go out. Maybe a movie? Maybe just hang around town? To the mall?

No thanks, Phil, um, I got homework to do, I had said a few times.

I just don't have time for a boyfriend, I told myself. There's debate club, student council, German club, and each season's sport. Field hockey in fall, basketball in winter and track in the spring.

Who's got time for a boyfriend? Besides, what could one offer me?

When I reached home the front door was locked. There was no car in the driveway, so I walked off the front porch and headed around the house. I knew my father was at his office, but my mother should be home. Dad made more than enough money for her to stay home. It was the way things should be, he'd said.

Mom must be out running errands, was my thought right before I heard her lusty urging come through the partially opened window near the back of the house.

******************

Dave pulled his engorged penis out and Mother rolled onto her back and spread her legs. I could tell by the way Dave's chin dropped that he was looking down lewdly at her, gawking at her open crotch. I was amazed at how long his cock was. He dropped to his knees on the edge of the bed and again slid the fleshy beast quickly into Mother's unresistant opening.

His hands held his weight and he put them down on either side of Mother.

As before, she urged him on with her salacious talk. Words I had never imagined could come out of her mouth. Sometimes she got mad and cursed, but never like this. She never used fuck and its derivatives over and over.

Dave was happy to oblige her requests.

His big cock pummeled her vagina again and again as I watched, fascinated. She wrapped her legs around his waist – I think they were in something called the missionary position -- and used her heels to pull him into her on his down strokes.

I was mesmerized as I watched them fuck. Sometimes she stopped to grind her pelvis against him. Years later, when I developed the skill, I realized she was making herself orgasm by doing that.

Over and over, he jammed his penis into Mother. Once in a while I could see her face. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling.

I was no dummy. I knew what was going on. Some of the girls and boys in school did it, but not too many. I had had several of the "birds and bees" talks with mom. She told me it was best to wait until I met the boy I wanted to marry. Dad never bothered talking about it at all. Anytime the subject came up, he changed it to another topic. We weren't very comfortable talking about sex.

I had heard men joke about how little their wives wanted sex.

I was the youngest of four children: one brother and two sisters. My siblings never talked about sex, either. All had moved out of the house by the time I had turned 18 a few months ago.

Finally, the neighbor yelled and I could see the muscles in his ass twitching and I knew something was happening.

Mother's hand grabbed the back of his head and pulled his face to hers and their mouths locked as their tongues stabbed each other's mouths. Both were orgasming. As the sights and the sounds unfolded before me, a car horn from the next block barely registered on my consciousness as I stared at the lasciviousness going on in front of me.

I watched as they writhed and moaned together on the bed, groaning and grunting.

Soon, I could see a white, creamy liquid ooze out of Mother's vagina as Dave groaned. It mixed with her clear juice and the mess ran out of Mother as he finished plunging her with that pole of his. Dave's pace slowed until he no longer moved at all, then he threw himself off her and collapsed on the bed. They were side-by-side, laying closely.

They held each other briefly after they were satisfied, breathing heavily. After a minute, they seemed to be startled – maybe the fear of discovery set in, or maybe the regret of adultery -- and each jumped out of the bed, on different sides.

Mom looked down at the comforter and felt it with her hand for a moment, then she closed her legs and walked awkwardly into the small bathroom just out of my view to the left of the bed's headboard.

"When can we get together again?" Dave called to her, grabbing for his pants, which were hanging on a bedpost. The toilet flushed.

I realized their enchanted moment was broken and one of them might look toward the window at any time. I didn't want to be caught, so I ducked.

I kneeled beneath the window for a minute, a shoulder rubbing against the brick, wondering what I should do. I could hear them talking inside, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. I bolted from the window and turned and quickly walked toward the front of the house.

I walked out of the block and around the area for another half-hour before returning to the house. On the walk, I stopped briefly at the small park in the next block and sat in front of the statue there. It was a marble and granite replica of that photograph of the soldiers raising the American flag at Iwo Jima.

Their faces were strong, courageous. Grandfather was wounded in the Pacific.

On the return walk, I thought about how I should react to what I saw.

By the time I returned home, the car across the street was gone. Mom was sitting on the front porch. She was peeling potatoes for the evening meal, throwing the shells in a bag and the potatoes in a kettle.

"Oh, hi, Jennifer," she said as I walked through the front gate and toward the porch. "Home early? Everything OK? You didn't get in trouble?"

I reminded Mom that we had gotten out early and that she forgotten to pick me up.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I must have gotten carried away with cleaning," she lied.

I marveled at her ability to act like nothing had happened. To lie.

At that moment I decided to say nothing. I never told her what I saw and she never told me if she somehow knew I was at the window that day. I did think there was a look of relief on her face, but maybe it was just my imagination.

The affair with the neighbor boiled over a few months later and Dad left.

I went off to college, but I couldn't stay there for long. The divorce and the financial situation of living apart meant my parents couldn't afford to send me through pre-law at the private school.

I attended a community college instead. Mom got a job.

******************

I remember watching Mother cheat as if it had happened yesterday. In fact the memory has become even more pronounced and intense as I approach the age Mom was at the time.

A couple years after that day – just before my parents split for the last time -- Mother explained to me that she was bored. Bored with being married. Bored with a humdrum, middle-class life. Bored with Dad. Bored with friends. Bored with neighbors. Bored with the same old, same old.

Bored. Bored. Bored.

Her only avenue to free herself was sex and relationships. By then, she'd had several. Dad tried to reconcile with her a couple times, but after a while he was sick of all the men and the rumors around town, and he never tried again.

Mom was never promiscuous until after she had been married for a long time.

At the time I was mad at her for telling me that. How could she be like that? What could be so bad? What?

*********************

As I look around from the check-out line in the supermarket I see blank expressions on the faces of other shoppers. Male and female. They mirror mine. We're all together in one place, but we're alone in our minds and thoughts. Bound by whatever relationships we've bought into.

Forced to live under control. Forced to be examples to our children. Forced to contain our passions. Forced into blandness. Forced into getting up, going to work and eventually being too worn out to live out our dreams and fantasies.

I realize that I've arrived where Mother was.

I understand now what she told me.

The memory of that day I saw her making love to a near stranger is stronger that ever. The sex brought her to life. It gave her a moment to live. To breathe in some excitement, some fresh air amid the staleness of life.

I realize, too, that a young man is watching me from the express check-out aisle next to mine.

He's about half my age. He's thin with a muscular build and short, curly hair. He seems to be checking out my ass in my tight jeans.

As I unload my cart, I bend over and allow my blouse to fall away from my tits. If he's looking, he'll get a nice cheap thrill. I didn't wear a bra today. I can't remember why I didn't. I guess I just didn't want to. I always wear a bra, though.

As I put the last of my food on the conveyor, he turns away to pay his cashier.

I imagine myself kneeling on the floor in front of him, pulling his cock out of his pants and sucking the thick shaft into my mouth, my tongue running the underside of his prong, feeling the bumps and veins there.

I suck and slurp it for all I'm worth as the workers and the other customers clap and cheer the effort. They gather in a circle to watch the show. Some begin to masturbate.

Men and women alike.

The young man's hands are in my hair pulling my face into his crotch, pushing his cock into the back of my throat. He fucks my face, thrusting in and out several times, then yells as his balls begin to discharge. The first shot of semen washes past my tonsils and goes directly into my esophagus and down to my stomach.

The people gathered in a circle begin to cheer. Some have their pants down or their hands beneath the waistbands of the skirts. Some are orgasming as they furiously pump their cocks or frig their sticky cunts.

The boy grabs my hair and holds my head against his stomach as his balls spend their fury, delivering his sticky seed into my throat, coating my mouth and filling my stomach.

A jet spray of semen flies across my face, slashing it like knife from left to right with a line of goo.

The jizz was fired from a man standing nearby who had been enjoying my performance. His cock twitches and the next blast of cream is ready to cross the short distance to my face.

"Mrs. Sanders? Mrs. Sanders?"

I turn my head. Someone's talking.

"That's $184.16 on your debit card, Mrs. Sanders," says the cashier, a sweet-looking young girl with dimples and freckles, whose name tag reads Bobbi. I think she's Jill's daughter.

"Yes, OK, thank you," I stammer.

The cart is full and the bagger and other customers are looking at me because I haven't moved through the line.

I toss the debit card in my purse and quickly push the cart through the aisle, throwing the handbag over my shoulder, wanting to get out of there.

The double doors open to the outside, but I stop and look back. The young man in the express aisle is gone.

I turn quickly, looking anxiously into the parking lot and I see him driving away, his car slowing for a speed bump, then accelerating out of the lot.

Just as well.

I wouldn't have had the nerve. Would I?

I turn and push my cart to my waiting SUV in the fourth row.