Despite the marvelous time I'd had at the S.E.X. banquet, my memory of it was tinged by sadness. Because, in celebrating the work we'd done, the book had also been closed on my job. Alter having tasted the independence of self-support, I abruptly found myself without a job and two children to support.
Without Jason and the rest of the S.E.X. staff to buck me up, I quickly became depressed. Before I knew it I was feeling sorry for myself… reverting back to my old ways as a meek, scared suburban housewife.
Determined not to bring myself down in shame by applying for welfare, and ineligible for unemployment because S.E.X. was a nonprofit employer, I began reviewing my bleak alternatives.
Like it or not, I kept coming back to the same thing. Fred.
Even though at times I was sure I hated his guts, I realized that he was my only legal access to immediate support. And, if I didn't get some money soon, what was left of my family might fall apart.
Swallowing my pride, I decided to go see him. Maybe, I told myself, we could work something out.
He was still at his mother's, which didn't make things easier. Mrs. Robinson had never gotten over the fact I'd taken her son away from her, and was undoubtedly pleased Fred and I had broken up. Any compromise I tried to effect she would probably fight. I wouldn't get anything without a good deal of humiliation if she was involved.
Oh, well, I decided, my pride wasn't as important as my kids eating. So one evening I psyched myself up and went to see my husband and his mommy.
I hadn't called ahead because I was afraid Mrs.
Robinson would answer the phone and tell me to get lost. My resolve not being strong enough to withstand that kind of discouragement, I decided the best strategy was just to drop in unannounced and play it by ear.
The lights were on at her place, so I assumed mother and son were at home, apparently spending a quiet evening together. However, when I knocked on the door, there was no answer.
I started to walk away, but then I noticed that the television set was blaring inside. It seemed unlikely that nobody was home.
Maybe they saw me through the window, I thought, and aren't answering the door on purpose.
It would be just like Fred's mother to pull a stunt like that. And, suddenly, the thought of it made me angry.
"I won't be treated like trash," I hissed vehemently to myself. "After all, I'm still legally married to Fred – he's my husband – and I should be able to see him if I want to."
Emboldened by my rage, I decided I'd just go in anyway. To my way of thinking, I had a perfect right to be there.
The door was unlocked when I tried it, and I walked inside. The first thing that caught my eye was a rerun of "Police State" on the tube, but nobody was watching it. The living room was empty.
I tiptoed into the kitchen. Nobody was in there either.
It was a big house, the same home where Mrs. Robinson and her late husband had raised their family. There were plenty of rooms to inspect if I planned to smoke Fred and his mother out into the open.
With the adrenaline of anger still energizing me, I decided to conduct a search. Going from one room to the other on the ground floor, I found nothing but empty space. Finally, I decided to go upstairs.
The master bedroom was just as empty as the others. The king-size bed Fred's mother slept in seemed to mock me with its throne-like quality. It seemed to say, "This is my place, and you're nothing here."
The bathroom was empty, also. So was the guest room.
There was only one place left to look. Fred's old bedroom – the one he'd occupied as a boy.
I'd seen that bedroom before. His mother had kept it maintained like a shrine, carefully preserving its adolescent ambience as though she fully expected Fred to someday return to his senses and decide to be fifteen again.
The room's reminder of my husband's neurotic tic to his mother was something I didn't relish encountering, but after coming up empty-handed in the rest of the house I felt I had no choice.
The door was closed. I thought of tapping, but then decided that was a courtesy I owed neither Fred nor his mother. After all, by now they pretty much had to be aware that I was in the house looking for them, and they'd apparently done their best to ignore me.
Or at least that was the way I figured it as I turned the knob. Three inches of open door, however, showed me that I'd figured it out all wrong.
I quickly pulled the door closed as what I'd just seen fully registered with me. The reason Fred and his mother hadn't responded to my rattling around their house had become shockingly clear.
No wonder they hadn't heard me. They were so absorbed in what they were doing a nuclear attack wouldn't have rousted them from the bed on which they lay.
I'd known they were close – even for a mother and son – but not this close.
Why beat around the bush about it any longer? Even though it still pains me to admit it, yes, they were fucking.
And, as I hated myself for forcing the door back open an inch or so to get another look, I had a perfect view of the spread legs of Mrs. Robinson while her son's stiff prick plowed into her hairy cunt. The light glistened from her quivering thighs because they were coated with her dripping pussy juice.
Disgusting was what it was.
But, so… God, how I hate to admit this… fascinating. I couldn't have looked away under threat of death. It was positively hypnotic.
The sight of Fred's prick pumping between his mother's spread legs was like a drug. I knew I should be repulsed, but instead I was giddy.
"Oh, fuck me, Sonny," she was moaning. "Fuck me harder… harder!"
"I'm fucking you as hard as I can, Mom," he whined in a screechy bleat that must have gone back to his puberty days when his voice was changing. Obviously his mother's cunt was a kind of time machine that made Fred into a boy again.
"I'll buy you some ice cream," she crooned seductively, "if you'll fuck me harder."
When he protested that he was doing the best he could, her mood abruptly changed.
"I'll ground you," she threatened. "I'll put you on restriction for a month, Sonny, if you don't start showing your mother a better time."
It hadn't just been my fanciful impression. The two of them actually had gone back in time. Fred was not a grown man any more with a wife and children, but a callow youth being strangled by his mother's apron strings.
And in this case the apron strings took the form of a pair of naked thighs and clutching pussy lips that held his rigid cock like a hangman's noose. In this family a dutiful son didn't take out the trash, or keep his room clean to please his mother – instead he was expected to fuck her to the hilt.
"Come on, Sonny," Mrs. Robinson snapped, "I've got ironing to do if you can't do any better than this."
"Will you really get me some ice cream?" he asked as he writhed on top of her.
"If I get some boy-cream!" she fired back.
The lure of some butter-brickle, which I knew to be his favorite, was apparently like an aphrodisiac to Fred. His hard-on became a piston between his mother's thighs.
Then, after several moments of frenzied pumping, his prick disappeared into the maw of her snatch. Only the balls could be seen as they squashed against the bottom of her labia.
"Mmmmmm, that's better," Mrs. Robinson moaned. "Now you're really getting someplace, Sonny."
To accentuate her pleasure, she lifted her legs and wrapped them like, a vise around his waist. Then, yanking him even closer toward her, she worked his prick within her twat until she was gasping.
With bugged eyes I watched her hand snake under his thighs until the fingers worked their way up the crack of his ass. Helplessly I watched my mother-in-law find my husband's pulsingly red anus and digitally penetrate it past the last knuckle. From the way he whimpered I knew she was working the fingertip against his swollen prostate.
They ground together like a couple of Siamese twins joined at the crotch. It was only a matter of seconds until Fred would be forced to come in his mother's thirsty cunt.
I watched the hairy globes of Fred's ass squirm more and more as he got closer to the moment of truth. Even though he was not stroking as before, the friction was apparently more intense than it had ever been due to his mother's squeezing pussy.
I couldn't help but wonder how long these two had shared such shocking intimacy. If it went back as long as I was certain it did, it was no wonder Fred had had two marriages fail. There was no way any woman could satisfy him when his mother had gotten there first.
"Come in me, Sonny!" Mrs. Robinson cried as though she were out on the back porch hollering for her little boy to come home for dinner. "Make Mommy proud of you."
"Promise I'll get my butter-brickle as soon as we're through?" he panted as his hips swung from side to side from the intense fucking action.
"Come in my cunt and we'll talk about it," she answered, and then inserted a second and third finger into his distended asshole.
"Okay, remember you promised," he gasped, and then poured everything he had into a final thrust.
From my vantage point I could see his balls turning blue and then compacting into a knot that looked like a fist. At the same time his mother inserted the rest of her fingers into his shit-pit and made a real fist inside his butt. The pressure against his prostate must have been killing.
"Oh, Momma!" he suddenly wailed. "Here it comes! I can't hold it any longer!"
Looking over his shoulder I could see a big grin split her face. She was licking her lips in anticipation of the explosion her darling boy had just promised.
Her wrist rotated outside his asshole, and then her fist came out with a loud pop. Her clenched fingers were stained brown with shit.
He bucked forward like he'd just been shot and the room reverberated with a long, muffled hiss.
He was coming. Coming at last in his mother's cunt.
Filling her snatch with a mighty spurt of impassioned goo.
She went nuts. An impartial observer might have thought she was enduring an epileptic seizure, save for one tell-tale bit of evidence.
I'm speaking, of course, of the excess cum that welled to the limits of her cunt, and then began spraying out from between her legs. All of a sudden Fred's seed was splashing all over the place.
Beneath him, his mother was shuddering from orgasm. I don't believe I've ever seen a woman come so hard. There was undoubtedly something about being fucked to the hilt by one's own offspring that made normal sex pale in comparison. It was a disgusting conclusion, but I couldn't deny the evidence.
And the irrigating of Mrs. Robinson's twat wasn't the end of it. With Fred's prick still pumping fluid, she yanked the member from between her legs and held it so it spurted all over her jiggling tits.
Then, when there was only a dribble coming out but Fred's dick was still hard, she leaned forward, wrapped her lips around it, and began noisily sucking. Not a drop of cum was going to be wasted as far as she was concerned.
Finally, when his prick pulled free, it was lapped clean. But since it was still as solid as a rock, his mother naturally began thinking about a new hole for it to conquer.
"Quick, Sonny, my ass," she encouraged him. "Fuck me in the ass before you lose your hard-on. Cornhole your mother the way I taught you when you were eighteen."
"Can I have a candy bar along with the ice cream?" Fred blackmailed her.
"You can have the whole counter," she gushed, "if you'll just stop whining and get your stiff prick inside my asshole."
She lifted up her legs and parted her cheeks, giving me a perfect view of the pulpy orifice of her ass.
Fred lost no time in guiding his prong straight for his mommy's chocolate circle.
Before my eyes, his crimson phallic crown sunk into the circular flange of Mom's shit-pit and was swallowed by her voracious rectum. Then, inch after inch jack-hammered from view. Finally he was in her ass as completely as he'd previously been in her cunt, butt-fucking the old lady to the hilt.
The last time the churning sperm had made his balls blue. This time his nuts were purple. After he came in her ass she'd be shitting jizz for days if she didn't give herself an enema.
She wrapped her legs around him again, this time around his neck. Her position made my view of her lower body shockingly explicit. Every stroke of Fred's hard-on inside her tight asshole was as painfully clear as the light of day. Even though I was several feet away, I had the sensation that I could reach out and touch it.
It didn't take him nearly as long to come this time as it had the time before. Without any prompting, he turned on the spigot in his loins and shot his wad like he was launching a missile.
I could hear the fresh jizz gurgling inside his mother's rectum, and then saw the overflow cascade down the crack of her butt and all over her son's pumping cock. As Fred's cum splashed all over the bed, they reveled in it.
Pretty soon Mrs. Robinson had cupped her hands, caught about a pint of escaping jism, and began spreading it all over her naked body. Within moments she was so gloppy it looked like she was melting.
Her son's cum was all over her face. Smeared in her hair. Dripping from her teeth and armpits. Clogging her nostrils.
She was a mess… and she loved it.
This was the point at which I turned away. The fascination had ended, and I just couldn't stand it any more.
Silently leaving the house, I hit the street, having accepted the painful reality which the incredible scene I'd just witnessed signified. My marriage was over.
No wife could ever replace a mother like Fred's. It would be stupid to even try.
I'd taken him away from his first wife. But I could never get him away from his mother.
From now on Fred didn't exist in my life. My family was just me and the kids. I'd just have to do the best I knew how to keep us together.