We have all heard the disclaimer at the end of commercials for sleeping aids "...sleep-related behaviors like sleep-walking, sleep-driving (driving while not fully awake, with no memory of the event) and other abnormal behavior may occur. " Maybe Josh should have paid more attention to the warnings. Then again, maybe not!
The burr of his phone finally pulled Josh out of a drugged sleep. He fumbled for his cell phone and succeeded in knocking to the floor. He leaned down, cursing and finally grabbed it.
It had been less than an hour since he had come home after drinking with friends. He found he was wired and unable to get to sleep. He had violated his doctor's and the warning of the FDA. He had taken a sleeping pill. The combination of the alcohol and the drug in the sleeping pill had him in a trance like state.
He sat up, turned, and placed both feet firmly on the floor. Glassy eyed, he answered the phone.
"Who the fuck is this?"
"Josh, Josh baby it's me!"
Though heavily garbled, the voice was vaguely familiar. Through the fog of the drug-induced stupor, he thought he recognized his mom's voice.
"Mom, is this you?"
"Come get me, Sweetie!" She pleaded drunkenly.
"Mom, aren't you out with your girlfriends at your bachelor party?"
"They left me, Josh!"
"Where are you mom?"
Josh was in a fog himself. The sleeping pill had him in a semidetached state. He felt like an observer. He was not there. He was dreaming. Tomorrow he would have only fragmented memory of what transpired tonight.
Stolidly he listened as Carol gave him directions. He rose, slipped into his flip-flops, and strode to the front door clad only in his boxers. He picked up his keys from the small table by the door, opened it, and walked out into the humid summer night. He walked across the lot to his GMC Acadia. Josh entered his SUV, started it, and steered into traffic.
Carol was pissy drunk. She sat on the steps of her girlfriend, Sue's, house. Her 5" heels lay in a heap next to her. Her shirtwaist dress was open to her navel, displaying her ample bosom restrained only by a shelf bra. She sat with her legs spread, her matching pink boy shorts on display.
To say that she had been over served at her bachelorette party would understate the prodigious amounts of alcohol she had consumed. Moreover, that would not count the marijuana-laced cookies. She was barely coherent, drifting in and out of consciousness as she awaited her son.
Carol had a substance abuse problem. Her girlfriends knew it; they had planned to drive her home. That plan fell apart when Sue's husband came home unexpectedly and found her on her knees sucking the male stripper's cock.
It had been ugly scene. He had summarily kicked everyone out. In the mad scramble to escape his wrath, Carol they left to her own devices.
Carol smiled the lopsided grin of all drunks. It served Sue right, she thought. She had pulled Carol off that young hunk's cock so she could suck it. Carol smacked her lips as she thought of the delicious feel of that rigid man meat in her mouth. He had been so close to coming!
Carol was not exactly a slut. If she were a man, other men would be envious of her many and varied partners. Nevertheless, as a mature single woman who drank heavily, she was an easy mark for a kind word or a free drink. Josh and his mom had fought about her life style enough that for a period they were estranged. They estrangement had ended when Carol asked Josh to attend her wedding.
Carol had recently found the love of her life...again! However, this one wanted to marry her. She had called her son some weeks ago with the news. Josh's response had been polite but restrained. In her sober moments Carol felt that defined the relationship between her and her son...Polite but restrained.
Josh pulled to the curb in front of Carol. He stared glassy eyed at the wanton tableaux his mother presented. If he were awake, he would be outraged at her slutty behavior. He would recall with irritation the many times he had seen her like this. He would flash back to the seemingly endless stream of "uncles" Carol brought home.
He would then color with lust and embarrassment at the number times he had jacked off listening to his mom's drunken passion through the common wall of their bedrooms. The screams, moans, and slurping sounds would haunt his entry into puberty and thereafter.
Shortly after his eighteenth birthday, he recalled standing naked in the door to her bedroom. His cock stood rigidly hard, slapping gently against his belly. His naked mom lay passed out. The latest in her long line of lovers had just left. Her bristly pubic thatch was wet and matted. Her labia were moist, swollen, and open. The white sticky goo of semen shone wetly on her softly heaving tits and face. He would remember thinking: everyone else does it, why not me.
He had walked to the edge of her rumpled bed. He was at once repulsed and aroused by his mother's wanton appearance. Pre-cum dribbled the length of his sizeable tool. It oozed over his fist clenched tightly around his pulsating member.
He slowly stroked as he thought of the slut his mom had become. He hated her, he loved her, and more than life itself, he wanted to insert his cock into the well-used hole that was his birth canal. He walked slowly to her bed. The odor of sweat, sex, and gin assaulted him. There was the faint pungent odor of cannabis in the mix.
He placed one knee on the bed. He reached down and pinched her come coated grape sized nipple. Carol swatted at his hand and mumbled something. He straddled her. He felt the scratchy wetness of her bush against his balls.
Why not, he thought. The heaving of her ample bosom entranced him. Everybody else does. It was obvious that she did not care who fucked her. Why not him?
Her bedroom reeked of sweat and the intense scent of sex. His head throbbed as the aromas invaded his nostrils; his cock ached and pulsed with the need to slide into her inner recesses.
He noted with lewd intensity the come drying on her face and tits. He leaned forward and slid the head of his tool over her mouth, smearing pre cum on them. Despite her stupor, Carol licked the head of her son's cock.
A shiver shot through Josh as he watched his mom lick the head of his tool. He stroked harder, striving to add his contribution to this slattern spectacle. Like a dog marking a bitch as his, Josh wanted to add his marker of come.
Everyone else does it, he thought, why not me?
He watched with lurid fascination as the first stream hit her forehead and trailed down over her nose and mouth. The second hit her in the chin and dribbled down her neck and cleavage. The last hard spurt hit her belly and filled her navel.
Even then, still hard, he might have fucked her. He slid down, positioning his man meat for its assault on social mores and his mom's pussy. He rubbed the head of his leaking member against her swollen labia, just a thrust, one hard thrust, he thought.
However, still in her drunken stupor, Carol had raised one hand to her face, wiped her son's come from her forehead and nose, and then said:
"Whoever the fuck you are, stick it in or get the fuck out!"
The wantonness of her exhortation snapped Josh out of his reverie. He looked at the fortyish woman under him. He knew then she was sick. He knew that her sickness was as contagious as any plague. Her perversity infected him. He looked at the head of his cock resting between the lips of her sluttish hole. One thrust and he would be no better than his mom would.
Josh had run from the room, hot tears scalding his cheeks.
That morning he had packed up and left. His sudden departure devastated Carol. He never told her or anyone else about his near journey in to depravity. He never returned. Reluctantly, Carol accepted his decision. She had let him use his trust fund to maintain an apartment and finance his training as an architect. He never shared his voyeuring of her. Nor did he tell her how close he came to taking advantage of her drunken condition.
He tapped the horn. He watched with detachment as Carol stood, tried to bend over to pick up her shoes, over balanced, and fell to her hands and knees. Her dress rose around her waist. Unaware of the spectacle she presented, she fumbled for her shoes. He felt his cock harden as he observed her hot pink boy shorts.
Josh stepped from his SUV and walked the few steps to his inebriated mother. Glassy eyed he watched her crawl around on all fours. He watched as she rose awkwardly to one hand and a knee. Again unable to keep her balance, she rolled to a sitting position with her legs spread. Her arms trapped by her dress falling around her arms exposing her matching shelf bra.
Carol felt strong arms envelop her waist. He pulled her to her feet. As her head drunkenly lolled about, she saw tried to focus on the face of this guy. What he is wearing, she thought. She felt herself dropped unceremoniously into the front seat of a car. She sat with her feet dangling out the door. Josh stood in front of her, his semi hard cock straining against his boxers.
Josh casually freed his cock from his boxers. He placed one hand behind Carol's head and forced his dick into her mouth. He thrust in hard, gagging her
With experience borne of much practice, Carol opened her mouth and inhaled her son's meat. She struggled to get it deep in her eager mouth. Dim memories of the young hung stripper struggled into her consciousness.
Then a spark of comprehension glowed briefly in her impaired brain. This was not the stripper. She looked up and tried to focus. She was sucking some strange man's cock on a public street! The blare of a car horn caused her to snap her head back. Josh's sex fell from her mouth, gleaming wetly with her saliva.
Josh walked around and got in the driver's seat. He pulled the Acadia into traffic and headed for his mom's house. Next to him, Carol struggled to figure out what had happened. Who was this guy? She passed out trying to reconcile that thought.
Carol woke to fingers in her pussy. She could feel them deep in her vigorously frigging her sloppy wet snatch. As she struggled to consciousness, her body was on automatic pilot, thrusting up against those invading fingers. As her orgasm overtook her, sending her to those familiar heights, as she felt her juices spew from her vagina and across the anonymous fingers, she glanced over and looked in to the vacant, glassy stare of her son.
The cold air of the Acadia's air conditioner blowing across her bare nipples wakened her. Her hands made an uncoordinated effort to pull her dress together. She touched her bare breasts.
