The shock of it jolted through Jerry like a flash of electricity, and other reflexes took over, rolling him from between his mom's spread legs and onto the bed itself, where he threw a startled glance at the open bedroom door. Then he pawed for the sheet, trying ineffectually to cover his naked body. Another woman was standing frozen in the doorway, her dark eyes wide and stunned, her red mouth working convulsively, but not making any sounds he could hear.
Angela came off the bed, making it to the closet with a single long stride and flinging a pale robe around her body. Swiftly then, she crossed the room and caught the other woman by the wrists, holding her firmly.
«Debbie!» she said sharply. «Debbie Carter, if you're trying to work up to a scream, I'll slap the hell out of you.»
«A — Angela — I swear I had no idea — I swear I didn't know, couldn't think that you and — and him — «
Over her shoulder, his mother said to Jerry, «Take it easy, darling. Grab a shower or something, and give me time to talk with her.»
Wordlessly, he nodded, and watched his mom steer the neighbor woman down the hall. Mrs. Carter's voice floated back: «You haven't answered your phone and the car's in the driveway, so I knew you were home, and
— Angela; your own son?»
Oh damn, Jerry thought, flinging aside the sheet. Mrs. Carter from next door; they should have remembered that mom was so thick with the woman, having coffee a couple of times a day, gossiping and going shopping together. If she and Angela weren't so close, she wouldn't have come nosing around the house; she wouldn't have caught them. wiggling naked together. He hadn't actually been fucking his mother, but he'd been just about to, after eating that succulent pussy and then jacking off onto her belly. Now what the hell was going to happen?
Maybe the woman would be so shocked, she'd run and fink to the cops or somebody; there was some kind of law, Jerry thought. Even if Debbie Carter just accidentally spread the word around the neighborhood, it might mean that they'd have to find another place, he and dad and mom. Robotlike, his pole drooping, Jerry climbed into the shower and got clean, got shining and scrubbed, although he didn't know why. It was something to do, while his mother tried to handle Mrs. Carter somehow, while she tried to talk the woman out of doing anything goofy.
He felt too guilty to just hang around the room, though; it was his fault, too. If there was going to be any flak over what she'd seen, he ought to go out there and take his share, so Jerry slipped into his robe and found some slippers and moved toward the voices he heard in the kitchen.
There was the clink of glass on glass, and the rattle of ice cubes. Good, he thought; his mother had Mrs. Carter drinking, settling her down some. Jerry came quietly to the kitchen entrance and stood there uncertainly. They had their backs to him, both of them seated upon the high stools at the counter.
Angela was saying, «Look, Debbie — what the hell is so bad about it? I don't think it's weird, and my son sure as hell doesn't. And I'll tell you something else — neither does Mack.»
Debbie flinched. «You — you mean that your husband knows that you're laying your own boy — his boy? Oh wow! this is just too much to absorb at one time.»
His mom poured more whiskey into the other woman's glass. As Mrs. Carter lifted the glass, he saw the firm movement of her tits, and thought maybe for the hundredth time that she was a foxy-looking chick. He had often sweated out the gleam of her legs when she took sunbaths next door, and always sneaked a look at the way her big breasts wobbled when she walked. She was built a lot different from his mother; where Angela was long and slim, Debbie Carter was round and shorter. His mother was a shining blonde, and the other woman had deep black hair that went well with her olive complexion. She was about his mom's age, Jerry thought, give or take a year one way or the other, and plenty sexy looking. If he hadn't been so wrapped up in dreams of his mother, maybe he would have thought a lot more about screwing the neighbor wife. But back then, both ideas had seemed impossible. Now, he didn't know. It was an idea.
Debbie said then, «You told me about a couple of guys, and that was okay. I mean, I've even been thinking about looking around for some extra love-life myself, but your own — «
«Oh shit, Debbie,» his mother said in exasperation. «Because he's my own, that makes it all the better. You know why I couldn't answer the phone, why I didn't come to the door? Because that wonderful, horny kid has been giving me the fucking of my life, day and night, for all that time. It's never been so good for me. And when you came to the bedroom, did you see him?»
The other woman drank, and Angela poured booze over the ice cubes. Then Debbie said slowly, a little thickly, «Then you mean it wasn't my over- worked imagination? He — he really has a thing that big? I thought it might have been the angle I saw it from, or maybe the shock, or something. It's really that big?»
Angela laughed low in her throat and crossed her legs. Jerry eyed the golden expanse of thigh that showed when the robe slipped back. His mom said, «I didn't know they grew to that size, either. But that beautiful, gigantic prick isn't the only thing that makes my Jerry so special. He — that boy loves me like a wife, a mistress, a whore, and I'm damned happy that I was the woman who was privileged to take his cherry. I don't think anybody else could have done him justice and taught him about sex so well. He's unbelievable, Debbie; he's always hard, and he can screw you tenderly or overpower you with his strength, hammering that long, thick meat into your pussy until you're ready to faint, you've come so many times. He can eat out your cunt until you wish he could put all his head inside it and just swallow you down.»
Wobbling her glass down to the counter top, Debbie said, «But Angela, it's incest and all that. I mean, I'll be the first to admit that I don't get enough screwing at home, and it's not that Lester isn't willing. I could be too much woman for him, or something. But even if I was very hard up, I couldn't lay my own son.»
«That's because you don't have a son,» Angela pointed out. «You have a daughter. But you can bet your mortgage that if the situation was reversed, if your husband was the hot pants one of the family, and if you had to travel a lot, and if little Mary was as hot as my kid — «
«Uh-uh,» Debbie disagreed. «Never, never. Besides, I never even imagined myself laying some kid half my age. A big, eager man — okay; but a fifteen-year-old boy? He — doesn't that monstrous thing bother you? Does it hurt?»
«Drink up,» Angela said. «I'll join you. Here's to finding out. That's the most appropriate toast I can think of, right now.»
Debbie had on a short dress, and it was hiked over her rounded, satin knees. Jerry found himself staring at the shadowy place between her parted thighs, up along those ripely formed thighs snugged so slickly by panty hose. He wondered if Mrs. Carter's pussy was thick with black and shining hair, and he felt a lift of anticipation, because he knew what his mother had in mind. If she could convince her friend to get screwed by him, Debbie Carter wouldn't be likely to run blabbing over the neighborhood, and everything would be cool once more. His mom had said he would fuck plenty of other women, but he hadn't thought the chance would arrive so soon.
Debbie said, «What? Are you telling me — offering me — «
«Why not?» Angela said soothingly. «After all, you're a beautiful, attractive woman, a highly sensual woman who is restless because you're not getting enough good, hard cock at home. You're also my best friend, so why shouldn't I share my greatest happiness with you? Since we're getting down to the nitty, darling — I know you've been eyeing Mack and trying to get up the nerve to make a pass at him. That would be okay, you know.»
«Mack? I don't know what — your husband, too? You wouldn't mind if I balled your husband, and you're offering me your son — that handsome young kid with the — with that war club between his legs? Gimme another drink, Angela.»
«I'll get some more ice,» Angela offered, and when she got off the stool, she saw Jerry standing in the doorway. Lifting an eyebrow at him, she smiled roguishly and winked. More loudly, she said, «Don't you think Mrs. Carter is a lovely, sensuous woman, Jerry? I'll bet she can be a terrific fuck, if she ever gets rid of her uptight ideas.»
He picked up the cue and moved toward Debbie as the woman swung around on her stool. Mrs. Carter was pretty well smashed, he saw, but she still hadn't completely gotten over her shock, and the impact of the new, forbidden ideas. «Hi again, Mrs. Carter. I agree with mom; you're really lovely and sexy. I always thought that Mr. Carter was a lucky guy.»
«So — so calm,» she muttered. «Both of you, like it wasn't anything to be caught doing it like that.»
«Oh it was something,» he said. «It was something wonderful, but I was just getting ready to fuck my mother again. I wasn't actually screwing her. We'd been doing some other far out things. Does your husband go down on you, Mrs. Carter?»
