Table of Contents

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

Before we continue Nora’s story in this bundle, I think it’s important that I set some new expectations.

This series is not Nora in the Sun all over again. It takes place immediately afterward, and will not have the same stakes.

How can it? Nora in the Sun was pretty crazy. Brett and his mother, Nora, crossed a lot of lines with each other, broke boundaries that nobody should cross, all against their better judgement, which they struggled against like crazy. But with all those taboos broken for the first time, where do you possibly go from there?

Really; where?

What made Nora in the Sun so fucking exciting was that it was a novel of increasingly spicy boundaries, crossed one after the other with all the guilt a confused, horny college kid could have. Brett wasn’t supposed to get aroused at the thought of his mother using her toys. He wasn’t supposed to accidentally walk in on her in the shower. He wasn’t supposed to be turned on by her body, and he especially had no business applying sunscreen to her afterward. He wasn’t supposed to kiss her. She wasn’t supposed to kiss back.

And all the pleasure and taste and moaning and ecstasy between them, that wasn’t supposed to happen either. But it did. They did a lot. They went fucking crazy. Nora blew him while they raced down highways. He came inside of her, twice—no protection, no nothing, just a mother accepting her son’s seed, deep inside of her, desperate for it like she’s been desperate for nothing else. I’m pretty sure there’s a risk of pregnancy there. How the fuck can you top that?

Seriously. What do you do afterward? Obviously, you can’t ‘break the taboos for the first time,’ a second time. Nora in the Sun was a magical thing to write because of all those things were so temptingly new and extreme.

But now, mom and son have flown home. They love each other, and play with each other more than they should. They don’t really need to hide their feelings anymore, at least between them. How do you create a whole new series of struggles, a whole new story people want to read after the biggest hurdles are jumped? I was at a loss for this even before I finished Nora in the Sun.

But the answer is simple.

From here, they’re going to try to spend time with the people they love, and to live fun lives, but at the same time, they’re going to deal with life’s unexpected and unmerciful challenges, one after the other. Throughout it all, they’ll continue to do what’s forbidden in society, though not necessarily what’s forbidden to each other.

At the same time, Nora and Brett, in the course of their new life and their new relationship dynamic, will find themselves struggling. Freedom, money, sex, love, with each other, for each other; it doesn’t matter. Nora, as independent as she’d like to be, is back in the United States, reliant on her husband financially. Her son, Brett, hasn’t even graduated college. At bare minimum they need to navigate the husband’s house, which they still live in, and are dependent on. And there’s the matter of the husband’s own motivations. If you believe Ross doesn’t remember the night that he and Nora spoke on the phone while Brett fucked her in a Cancun hotel; if you think he didn’t notice the high, overly controlled, trembling and gasping tone of her voice, the wet sound of slapping and sex in the background, you’re wrong. It doesn’t matter that Ross doesn’t know his own son supplanted his place and claimed his wife. What matters is that a suspicion lives somewhere in Ross’s head, just waiting to unleash itself.

And when he lets it get to him, that’s going to make things very, very difficult for Brett and Nora. At least, in this novel.

No, there’s no hints as to what storylines will come after, how long it will take for this specifically to shake out. No answers, no secrets. You’ll just have to read the current plot. And then the next one. And the next. More Nora, more incest, more of what my audience has overwhelmingly requested since I finished Nora in the Sun. And then when those are done, there will be some short stories, some anecdotes, hell—if you’re interested, I can have an AI bot whip up some Nora themed photos and I can put together some spicy captions. And yes, you’re going to get a Very Merry Nora Christmas. That one might be the end of the whole thing. Who knows? I’ll try to remember to put a bow on her.

FF

Ready?

It’s time.

Enjoy.

This story is part 1 in a sequel series to Nora in the Sun. It isn’t really readable if this is where you’re starting in the Nora saga, so please purchase Nora in the Sun and give it a read if you haven’t.

The last week had to have been a dream. At least, that’s what it felt like. A blur, intermittently sharp with memories that were bright and vivid, drowning out everything else that had happened in my life. What had we done? What were we doing?

Really, what the hell were we doing?

Outside, the Gulf of Mexico in all its blues and greens made way for the summer gold of the soil and farms that spread out across home. We were officially over the United States again; land of the free, home of the thirty year mortgage, if you were lucky. Mom was asleep in my lap, her hand on the inside of my thigh, her face nuzzled into my hip. I stroked her dark hair, seeing the streaks of sun-kissed color that turned some strands a rich brown, some a gorgeous, coppery red, when before, her hair was a pure raven black. Belize and Mexico had changed her.

Her breathing was slow. I watched her and let each of her breaths decide when my heart would beat.

Maybe all the feelings were too far. Maybe I loved her too much. Maybe all of my idolization of her, all my poetic comparisons were just obsessions. Just the delusion of a crazy kid who thought his mom was the most beautiful woman in the world. What were they compared to what she felt?

What did she feel?

I felt sick thinking that she was about to live in the same house as dad again.

A bump of turbulence woke mom up. She blinked and yawned and her hand smoothed up the inside of my leg and stroked me through my shorts. She looked up and smiled at me. Sleepy. Angelic.

The night before we left, before all the bustle of packing and preparing the vacation home for our departure, I told her I loved her. It occurred to me that she didn’t express herself in the same way, but judging by how she gave her body to me that night, it might as well have been the same thing. Maybe. I didn’t want to be jealous. How could I not be jealous? I didn’t want to think that maybe mom didn’t love me in the same way, that she was just coddling me with sex and affection until she went back to living with dad. That wouldn’t make sense.

Or would it? I felt weird, nervous, and I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be angry, being both her son, the son of my father, and at the same time, the accessory to my mother’s affair.

I hoped to god she wouldn’t sleep with me one night and my dad the other.

“Hey Nora. Mom,” I asked, trying to keep it nonchalant. “Do you love me?”

I watched Nora raise her head. She blinked as if I asked her something ridiculous. “Of course, honey. I’ve loved you ever since we found out I was pregnant with you.” She yawned and settled back down, closing her eyes.

“Alright. Cool,” I said, looking up and trying to keep stoic. It wasn’t quite the answer I was looking for, but I figured I’d take it. For now.

“What’s wrong?” She asked. Mom sat up and rubbed my leg. Like a mother would. With her off of my lap, my erection was free to poke up and tent my shorts. She looked down at it and stifled a giggle. “Ooh. What’s this?” She asked, gently making fun. “Haven’t I given you enough attention?”

I picked up a magazine from the seat pocket, positioning it to cover it while it settled down. “Yeah... I was just...” I couldn’t finish what I wanted to say. I didn’t know what I’d say.

Mom looked at me funny and her smile fell. She looked away too.

An unsettling realization came to me that maybe we had just lost our minds out there and that maybe now that we were back, we’d need to face reality. All the noble speeches and sentiment—what did that mean now that we were going to be living back with Dad? She was a married woman, after all. Maybe all the shit about transferring colleges was just another moment of madness. Just something we’d avoid doing until I was graduated, and then we’d avoid the topic every holiday, and then we’d avoid each other.

Then I felt a softness on my shoulder. It was mom’s face, leaning on me. Her dark hair went down and over my leg. Her hands went up and around my arm. Her soft body was pressed against mine and I could feel her warmth. “You’re worried too,” she said. “Aren’t you?”

I nodded in response and tried not to look at her. I didn’t want her to see me thinking so negatively.

“You’re not...” Nora’s words were carefully spoken. “You’re not... ashamed of what we did... are you?”

My response was immediate. “Hell no.” I looked at her and into her aqua colored eyes. They glittered like a memory of the ocean.

“Well then,” she said, relaxing and smiling again, clearly relieved, “I guess we don’t have to worry about it.”

She was right. I guess I was just scared. Insecure. I mean, I had every right to be. Mom leaned her head on my shoulder again.

“Listen,” she said, rubbing my bicep with her soft, pale hand. “There’s nothing to worry about. Is there? You’ll be with us for a couple days until you go back to college to finish out the term. Then you’ll get your transfer to the campus in our town, and then we’ll see each other. A lot. Nothing to worry about, see?”

“I guess so,” I said. “Sorry.” I wasn’t sure how to bring up dad. I wanted to tell her that I didn’t want her to be with him anymore. I didn’t want her to sleep in the same room, the same house, the same bed.

“Don’t be,” sighed mom, snuggling in closer. “It’s flattering to see you so, I don’t know... insecure isn’t the right word. Needy? No, that’s not it either. What is it?”

“I just love you mom,” I said, the words spilling out. I don’t know if she understood how much I meant it.

“Oh, honey. I love you too, Brett.” She leaned on my shoulder again and squeezed my arm.

I guessed that this was probably going to be all I could get. I took a deep breath and leaned back.

Then I felt a soft hand sliding up my leg. Pale fingers went under my shorts and slipped up, under my boxers. “What—do you want me to prove it to you?” Mom’s hand kept going and I could feel her fingertips stroking the head of my cock, before moving upward, farther, while my cock suddenly surged again with an erection. She whispered in my ear, kissing my cheek first, saying, “I can prove it right now.”

Her hand wrapped around me and I looked around, frantic and hoping nobody would notice. In the aisle across from us, there was an old couple, asleep with eye masks over their faces, but people went up and down the aisle every few minutes. My heart pounded as I considered the fear that somebody would notice, call us out, something.

But I couldn’t help but thrust a little upward. Mom’s hand gave my cock a gentle squeeze. Her voice was in my ear, sensual and low. “I could suck on it right now and nobody would know, Brett. What do you think? Just a taste...”

I could feel her hand moving faster, jerking me off under my shorts while I gripped the upholstery of my chair. I looked up and around, and after making sure that there was absolutely nobody in the aisle, I took her up on her offer. My heart pounded like crazy as I pulled my shorts down, letting my cock spring up and free, and then I moved my arm around and placed it on mom’s neck, pushing her face down. Suddenly, I felt a hot bloom of wetness around my shaft. Mom’s head went up and down, slowly, a gentle and silent suck sending tremors through me. I tried to keep from moaning and sat up a little straighter, trying to keep a lookout. Nobody moved out of their seats. I bit my tongue in an effort to keep completely still and silent.

Mom sucked on me, slowly, luxuriously for a little while. Her tongue moved slowly, around and around, moving at a luxurious clip that made sure I could feel every iota of her tongue’s movement. Her mouth occasionally came up and off of my cock, before she would kiss the head, and then bring herself back down, slipping me into her mouth all over again with that same gorgeous hot bloom of feeling that her mouth gave me.

I could see one of the flight attendants coming up the aisle. “Mom!” I hissed, “get up!”

She turned her head to look at me, still on my cock, and then narrowed her eyes mischievously. I felt a sudden suction on my shaft; mom sucked on me, hard, before pulling her head back and up, sending a loud, loud ‘pop’ through the cabin as she sat up.

I made a quick hop in my chair to pull my shorts all the way back up, and scanned the plane to make sure nobody was looking. A couple heads made lazy turns in our direction but nobody stared afterward, and the flight attendant walked right past without even checking our way. Mom looked satisfied, wiping her mouth, stifling her laughter. Once she calmed down, she patted my leg. “There. Feel better?” She asked, looking a little smug.

My cock was throbbing. I felt like laughing too. My heart had this soft, cozy feeling after that. And not only that, but my cock was rigid in my shorts, aching to be inside her mouth again. I wanted more.

“Yeah. Well, not all the way,” I said, looking toward the bathroom. The occupied sign wasn’t on. I looked at mom and asked, “have you ever joined the mile high club?”

Mom blinked at me and scoffed. “Brett. It’s a little crude, and a little gross to do it on a plane. Public bathrooms are... Besides,” she said, leaning into my ear and whispering, “you’re loud when you cum.”

“I am?”

Mom cooly scolded me. “Yes, Brett. The reason you don’t know is because we’ve been alone. Mostly.”

“I can be quiet. I swear. Please?” If she was willing to do this, I would promise myself that I wouldn’t worry anymore.

Mom looked at me for a few seconds, weighing whether I could actually keep quiet. She bit her lip. Her face was coloring a little more and I could see that her breathing was going a little faster.

“Okay,” she finally said, “but you need to do exactly what I say. And I get the window seat when we’re done.”

“Deal.”

“You go first, and into the bathroom. The one right there,” she said, pointing at the one behind us. “Lock the door. I’ll give a knock like this,” she explained, tapping her finger on my knee in a pattern I could recognize. “Then you open the door and let me in. But here’s what I need you to do; before I even get in there,” she said, whispering, “I need you to, you know,” she said, making a jerk off motion with her hand. “I want to spend as little time in that space as possible. You get ready, and I’ll finish you off.”

That was something I could get behind. “How?” I asked. “Please, please let it be in your mouth.”

Mom considered my request for a few seconds. “My. You’re really excited for this, aren’t you?” As I nodded, she gave her answer. “It’s going to depend on how much space is in there, which, I can already tell you, there isn’t any. I can tell you’ve never done it in an airplane bathroom before.”

“So you have?” I asked, incredulous.

Mom looked a little embarrassed. “Let’s not talk about it. Now go. It’s open now.”

I got up and walked through the aisle as normally as I could. My cock was rock hard—I had it tucked up so that hopefully, people wouldn’t notice, but as I made it to the bathroom, one of the flight attendants passed me, gave me a quick up and down look, and covered her mouth, laughing quietly. Once I was inside the bathroom and locked the door, I pulled my shorts down again and jerked myself while waiting for mom.

The space was small, sure. But there was space to stand on the toilet, and there were support bars lining the walls that could be used as well. I waited, jerking as hard and as fast as I could so that when mom showed up, I would be ready.

There was a soft tap, with a fingernail, at the door. It was the pattern mom gave me—I opened the door and Nora came inside, fast, and then we were almost chest to chest, pressed together. “We have to hurry,” mom said, pulling down her pants, and turning away from me. Her ass pressed toward me, her hands went up to the doorframe.

From my angle, right against her, I couldn’t really see too much of her. But I could feel. My hands went down her sides and I squeezed her plush, curvy ass as I bent my knees and carefully pushed myself forward. My cock rubbed at her entrance. It was hot and wet too–mom gave a little gasp as my cock slid in an inch, and as I let her lower herself onto me. I listened for her halted breath, a repressed, ‘mmm’ coming from her. I moved a hand up and around her throat—the other circled around her body, and I squeezed her breasts as I felt myself sinking into her, farther, tighter; with her legs together, the pressure around my cock was intense—I could feel myself throbbing even before we got started. But mom was in a hurry. She moved herself back in a rhythm and I found myself moving inside of her, fast, trying to keep from slapping my hips against hers but moving the length of my cock in and out. Mom’s mouth alternately opened in a silent moan, and snapped closed, lips pressed tight together as she tried to keep quiet.

It was already close, and I was getting closer. “Do you like it, baby?” Nora whispered, while I gritted my teeth and tried to keep from making any noise. Her pussy was tight, tight, and with her legs pressing together the sensation was like being squeezed—I was approaching the brink faster than I expected.

“Come on, honey... come on... do you want to cum on me?” Mom’s words were barely audible.

“Let me cum in your mouth,” I begged, my own whisper harsh and groaning.

“How?” Mom asked, agitated. Her whisper was a little louder, her voice a little higher. “Theres—ah—no room—”

I knew if I could just step back and put even one foot on the toilet lid that I could accomplish it. The orgasm was screaming up in me. I could feel it coming.  “I’m about... I’m about to—fuck, turn around!” I hissed as I pulled out and leaned back, putting one hand on one of the supports and putting a foot up onto the toilet. Mom spun around as fast as she could in the tiny space and made eye contact, clearly enjoying the gymnastics, and when she saw that she had just enough space—she leaned forward, gripping my dick and plunging it into her mouth. Her hand jerked on the length and her lips kissed at the tip as the orgasm suddenly shot up; I couldn’t help it—I moaned as the cum squirted up and between mom’s lips. Her mouth sank over the rest of my cock as she closed her eyes, giving her own moan as she tasted it. My cock throbbed and pulsed and as it shot my semen into her mouth, I was able to let go of the wall with a single hand to move it through her long, dark hair, pulling her mouth farther onto me so that my entire length was inside of her mouth. I clenched, feeling the last of it squirting, and watched as mom’s eyes stared lovingly up at me as she swallowed, and as her hand circled around my cock and squeezed the last of it onto her tongue. A single remaining bead of my semen remained in her pink, wet mouth as she stuck out her tongue to show me, the sight alone causing my cock to throb and pulse with semen one last time. It squirted up and onto her tongue, leaving a little line next to the remaining dot of semen in her mouth.

I was breathing hard, mom was breathing fast, and as she swallowed for a final time she smiled, open mouthed, and caught her breath.

“Now you’re in the club,” mom said to me, her eyes sparkling. “Welcome.”

But even that wasn’t enough to kill the unsettled feelings I had.

“What are we going to do about dad?” I asked.

Mom didn’t respond. She stared out the window of the taxi through her sunglasses, her eyes not tracking the houses that went by, the familiar turns and streets as we cruised back into our suburb.

What indeed? I still didn’t know how she was going to approach living with him.

Mom closed her eyes and rubbed at her temples. “I’m not sure yet. God, he was a fucking pain. Sometimes I can’t believe I actually married him. No offense,” she said, touching my hand. “Some great things came out of it.”

“Once I’m graduated, I’ll be able to get a decent enough gig to where you could live with me, if you want.”

Mom looked at me and gave a weak smile. I don’t know why that smile affected me so badly, but it did. It almost felt like she was giving me a sad look, one that said that she didn’t actually think that I could do it, that she decided that she was stuck with Ross. “Oh, honey,” her hand squeezed mine. “I don’t think that’s what you actually want.”

Like hell it wasn’t.

My jealousy welled up. It punched out like venom before I could control it. “It is. I wish you’d just leave him. And I wish you’d just leave him now.”

Mom turned to look at me and took off her sunglasses. Her eyes were serious, her face blank and neutral. She was clearly thinking. The air went out of her nose and she chewed the inside of her lip. “And what do you propose I do once I leave him?”

I wasn’t sure. “I don’t know. You could... get an apartment with me by the campus? That would save on dorm fees.”

Mom turned away and looked back out the window. “Your father would stop paying your tuition out of spite if he felt like you were supporting me. He’s pulled moves like that before.”

“I’ll work hard. It’s fine, mom, seriously. You and I could live together—”

“Dropping out of college is out of the question, Brett.”

“I’ve got a friend that sells solar. He makes six figures, easy.”

“I said, college is mandatory. The job market is, well, it’s not good. Degrees always count when you’re getting a job. And sales? Sales money comes and goes, and that’s if you’re skilled. One recession, or if your confidence goes the wrong direction, and you’re done. But that’s beside the point, Brett. You can’t just ask me to leave my home—”

I interrupted her, angry as hell. Her home? What kind of a home was it if she lived with a guy like that, and worse, if he wanted to touch her? “Fuck home, mom! If you stay, he’s going to want to sleep with you—"

“Brett! Stop it!” Her head snapped in my direction, her eyes pierced me, flashing with an intense anger I hadn’t seen directed in me in years.

If ever.

Those words smashed me in the face like a brick. Her gaze at me was hard and severe; not a look of disappointment, nor even of offense, but it was so steely and cold and serious that I couldn’t say anything else even if I wanted to. My heart was pounding in my ears. I clamped my mouth shut and looked away, trying to keep from smashing the window out.

The taxi pulled up in front of our house and we got out. “I’ll get the luggage,” I said through my teeth while mom went ahead. The rage was like a torrent going through me. All I could hear was the sound of my breathing and all I could see was red.

Why the fuck wouldn’t she leave him? Why the fuck would she stay, after everything he ever said and did and how little he gave a fuck about her? What the fuck did college mean if Nora was just going to end up in Ross’s bed any time, ever? My heartbeat was like a sledgehammer and my teeth were so tightly clenched that my jaw started to hurt like a bitch, but I didn’t let go.

Mom went ahead of me and unlocked the door and went inside ahead of me. I made it into the entry, right as mom finished taking off her shoes and wandered into the kitchen.

Then I heard a gasp. A sharp one.

It was automatic for me to turn the corner, shoes still on, in case something was happening.

And something did happen.

Mom had her hands in front of her mouth. Her eyes were wide and she was frozen, looking at a massive bouquet of... flowers.

Our dining room table held enough flowers in a ridiculous bundle and inside a bucket-sized vase, exploding in white and pink and red and lavender and jewel toned purples and blues, the flowers spreading in every direction with a variety I hadn’t ever seen before.

And in front of the flowers, there was a folded-up card. Mom picked it up with a quick movement, and she opened it and read it wordlessly. Above her, garlanding just over the flowers was a banner of letters that clearly came from some party supply warehouse. “Welcome Home!” it said, with glitter and ornate flower designs and everything else that screamed frivolous decoration. A cluster of balloons were tied to a chair behind the flowers.

My stomach sank as I realized all of this came from dad. I got a little closer and could almost read a couple of the words of the card, but my dad’s long and sharp signature was obvious at the bottom.

The print on the card said:

I’m So, So Sorry.

My mind spun as I watched mom read the card. Her hand went to her chest. Her lips pressed together, her eyebrows furrowing as she read the card, re-read it, as she put it down and stared at the flowers as if they were all made of gold.

“Oh my god,” mom finally whispered.

We were silent in the dining room for a few moments. I felt sick to my stomach—there was no way mom was buying this bullshit even for a moment.

“This is very, very unlike your father,” mom murmured.

“No kidding.”

“He’s never done anything like this before.”

“Do you think he means it?” I asked sarcastically.

Mom flashed a look at me. Then she took her luggage from me, and left without looking at me, straight to her room. I heard the door close and I collapsed at the table, looking into what seemed to be a veritable cloud of colors. I wondered how many hundreds of dollars it cost dad to get this. He’d definitely had it delivered. There was no way it could have been arranged by him.

I picked up the card and read it. Judging by how mom seemed so amazed by it, I almost expected something well thought out, or at the least, genuine. But what I read inside was confusing, to say the least. I read it some more and I couldn’t help but laugh. He had the gall to apologize ‘if she felt like he was being rude.’ There was no mention of all the nights he was gone. There was no apology for ogling other women, for taunting her with the idea that she was too timid to divorce him, for calling her names. Nothing real. Just an ‘if’ that made all his behavior seem like an innocent fluke, a merely abrasive personality.

I was sure mom saw this as some kind of noble form of humbling himself. But I knew dad well enough. It wasn’t the card, or the apology that he was offering. He just thought money fixed everything. 

To him, the most efficient way to ensure his wife didn’t hate him was as simple as a phone call and a quick drive. One call to a flower delivery service. Then with one trip to Party city and less than $50 of balloons, a card, and a banner, and he was done. Total out of pocket, less than $300, and that’s if the flowers were expensive. Total time spent: less than one hour.

I heard Nora’s voice from the doorway. “Your father has never written me an apology. Ever.” Mom was back, her arms crossed, her gaze low. I put the card down, embarrassed for snooping. I tried to make eye contact with her but she kept her gaze fixed on the flowers, her facial expression difficult to read. I could tell she was still angry, at least with me. But for the flowers? There was something else in the way that she looked at them. Something... “This is the farthest he’s ever, ever gone. A card? A bouquet? You’re not going to believe this, but he’s actually done more than that. It looks like he had the whole house cleaned before we got back.” Her hand went in front of her lips and she thoughtfully pressed her finger to them.

I realized what I was looking at. Mom had a little bit of hope. Hope that maybe her husband was actually sorry.

“Are you really buying this?” I asked, quietly.

“I don’t know. It’s touching,” Nora said, steady. Then she looked at me, her head tilted. She spoke to me like I was a kid. Like I didn’t get it.

I didn’t.

“He’s just spending a little more money this time,” I said, trying to reason with her. “He’s a fucking asshole, mom. You’re not actually taking this seriously, are you?”

Mom’s eyes narrowed, but her tone was careful. I had the sense she was trying to patiently explain something. “I don’t think you understand, Brett.” She took a deep breath, and tried to lay it out for me. “I don’t think you see what it means to me that he actually put things together like this. I haven’t had flowers in so, so long. Having the flowers here, this many, means I can fill our house with them. I’ve always told him that I wanted so many flowers, enough to keep a vase full in every room, and right now, I’ve got them. Cleaning the house? It’s like he wanted to make sure that when I came home that I didn’t have anything to do, nothing to work on. You can’t say that he didn’t put some thought into this. It means he listened to the things I wanted, and made things easy for me. For the first time in forever. For me,” mom said, her voice tight and quiet, “that means something.”

I looked at her in disbelief.

Then I felt the rage again. My mind flashed with images of their reconciliation. I could see him apologizing, a fake look of guilt plastered on his fucking face. I could see her forgiving him, just like she put up with all his bullshit for the last twenty years. I could see him try to kiss her, her kissing back—a dark wave of insanity covered me then. I could see what came after.

I felt a deep pit in my stomach that seemed to swallow me up and flood my mind with panic. I couldn’t fucking believe it. I was losing mom to dad, already, just because of a fucking gesture that didn’t take him any more thought, effort, or money than buffing out his fucking car. The image of them entering their bedroom, together, broke the last bit of self-control I had.

“That’s all it takes, huh? That’s all it takes for you to forgive that fucking asshole?” I asked, my voice rising. It was like I couldn’t see. I wasn’t in control. I was too fucking angry, too fucking scared. “Some flowers and a card and you’re just going to spread your legs for him again?”

Mom pulled her hand back like lightning, and slapped me across the face.

Hard.

Her finger was in front of my face. Her eyes were wide and furious. I could hear her yelling at me. I knew she was yelling, almost screaming, but the sound was dim, like her voice came through a tiny window, but every word was clear and sharp.

“How. Fucking. Dare you! You do not get to speak to me that way, Brett! Not now, not ever! I think you’ve been misunderstanding quite a bit about us, and maybe that’s my fault, but it’s time I make some things very, very clear.”

Her tone was severe, each word shaking with emotion, frustration, a sudden flood of words and feelings. “You don’t own me; you don’t own my body. What we have been doing together does not give you any rights over me, at all. You don’t get to dictate my feelings, you don’t decide what I think when I get something nice from my husband, for once in my life! You don’t get to dictate where I live, and you certainly don’t decide what choices I make for my future.” Her eyes were rimming with tears, her voice choking with rage and hurt and fury. “I’ve made some choices recently, Brett,” her voice dropped to a whisper, a hiss, “choices to sleep with my own son. God, fucking—do you understand how much I should regret doing that? Or that parts of me do regret it, especially right now? Would you like to know why?”

I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t think. It was all just searing into me and I couldn’t make it stop.

“Brett, you promised me that you would make the most of what we were doing, and then you would move on. You’re trying to—it’s like you’re so invested in being with your... your mother, that you just, you can’t even handle that I live in my husband’s house, where we’ve been living ever since you were a child. And in the taxi? Where you tried to, I don’t know, pressure me into leaving this place, where you told me you were ready to just throw away everything, your degree, your—your future, just so you can live with me? Just because you’re jealous? That’s the word I was looking for. You are jealous, and you’re trying to tear down your life so that you don’t have to feel that way. That is breaking your promise, Brett. I had you make that promise so that you could enjoy me, enjoy my—my body, for god’s sake, and then so you would let go, and live your own life; so nobody could say that I held you back from your potential, from being able to take advantage of everything that WE worked to give you, and do you know what, Brett? That includes your father.”

Nora was breathing heavily, her face red, tears streaming down her face. She was crying. Uncontrolled. “Why the hell would you make me a promise, if all you were going to do was throw it away in two days?” She covered her mouth and turned away from me. I heard her sniffling, trying to keep her nose from running, trying to keep herself able to talk. She was choking. Then she turned to me. The tears were still coming.

“Even if the choices that I made were all for nothing, and if I had just given myself to... to my son, and done things with him, things I shouldn’t have done, things I hadn’t done with my husband in years, and if you’re going to be so fucking crazy that you’re going to throw away all the hopes and dreams that I have for you, then I am not going to support that. I AM YOUR MOTHER, Brett, before ANYTHING else. I am RESPONSIBLE for you, but I am not OWNED by you, even if I’ve let you... god—even if I’ve let you—I’ve let you cum in—inside of me. It does not give you the right to override my feelings, and most definitely not to yell at me with those words.”

She stared at me, perfectly still, her arms at her sides now, and her shoulders up as if she were a small girl, guilty, ashamed. Her voice dropped as she looked to the floor. “I own my choices. Just like I own all the choices I make for the future, and that includes where I live, whose room I sleep in, and what I feel. Which you have certainly not understood or respected, for this insane, fragile, stupid thing we’ve been doing, despite my hope that you were mature enough.”

The words stopped. Mom’s lips were quivering. I knew that she was well past the emotional limit and couldn’t say another word even if she tried. She blinked tears away and moved her arm up to her face and covered her eyes and hid them from me while she tried to wipe them from her face. Her other arm was wrapped around herself, as if she was trying to hold herself up.

I stood there, stuck.

But I understood.

I definitely, definitely understood.

“You’re right,” I said, sober. “I’m sorry, mom.”

I went upstairs to my room without any more fighting or resistance. As I reached the top of the stairs, I glanced down toward the dining room and saw Nora, head in her hands, sitting at the dining table in front of the flowers. The card was face up in front of her. As I was about to round the corner and out of sight completely, I saw her pick up the card, and then toss it. It fell to the floor and she left it there.

I felt listless and ashamed. She was right. It wasn’t just fear, it wasn’t righteous anger. It was jealousy. It was possessiveness. A hell of a lot of it. And it made me forget that my mom was... my mom.

It made me realize I wasn’t listening to her, not understanding how she felt, not bothering to try. I was only thinking of myself.

And then there was the matter of that promise. I felt small and ridiculous. Of course mom’s motivation was for me to live my own life and to be successful. Of course she’d panic if I was going to throw that away, and for her, no less. No real mother would let her children suffer needlessly for her sake, but that was the position I was forcing her into. She wouldn’t want that guilt. But in a way, I made her have it already.

I felt like I blew it. I didn’t know how I was going to deal with it when mom, of course, inevitably returned to my dad. I could only hope that somehow I could win her back, before anything could happen between them. But how? She was vulnerable to him now. Since I proved that I was an immature, jealous little shit, and since he had proved that he ‘listened’, even if it was once and if it was just a shallow gesture, there was a chance that he actually was going to take her away from me.

I wondered what I was thinking. I wondered if I really thought that I could somehow keep my mom forever. I wondered what I was going to do.

I heard the front door opening from my room. I heard mom’s voice, and then dad’s. I got up and snuck to the top of the stairwell to overlook the entry.

The good news is that mom had her arms folded and she was standing several feet away from dad. No warm greeting. No kiss hello. No acknowledgement of the takeout bag he had in his hand. That alone sent a wave of relief through me. I could see their mouths moving, mom’s gorgeous, feminine frame as her hips shifted from one side to the other as she talked.

I could hear dad’s apology again.

That fucking asshole.

He stepped toward her, a hand lightly touching her arm, and his head went forward to kiss her. I balled my hands in a fist and tried to control myself, and—

Mom’s head turned to the side. Dad’s kiss glanced off of her cheek and she held a hand out, pushing him back slowly, establishing distance between them once again.

I let go of a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

I could start to make out what mom was saying, finally. Her tone, while nowhere near as harsh as what I heard spoken to me earlier, was still firm and cold and definitely not loving. Some phrases were obvious. “...acting like the biggest ass, ruining this vacation I had been waiting for...” “...could you treat me like this, not just during the vacation...” “...son was honestly the only thing about the place that made it bearable...”

That perked me up immediately. The relief at realizing that dad was in the doghouse just as much as I was, at least that set an equal playing field. I knew I could bear with that for now.

Mom’s voice kept floating up through the stairwell. “...just need you to actually prove it to me. That you meant what you said in the card and that you really do love me.”

I watched dad’s body language change throughout all of mom’s words. I could see his own fist balling, like mine was. I could see the muscle in his jaw twitching and I realized in that instant that mine was too when they started talking. Like father, like son. I wondered how much of my jealousy was his.

How much of my possessiveness was his.

Dad finally responded. His voice was like grit between teeth.

“You didn’t like the flowers, did you?”

“Of course I liked them, Ross. I loved them. They’re beautiful and I’m so happy to have them—”

“Then let me kiss you. Just once.”

My heart stopped at that.

But mom shook her head. Her arms were folded. “Ross, you can’t just give me flowers and a card once, and expect it to make up for over a decade of neglect. And then on top of that, I’m still not sure where you were on several of those nights. I don’t want to sugarcoat it—you were unbearable, Ross. I don’t know if you really understand how you made me feel when you were looking at other women, when you disappeared every night—”

“I’m sorry, alright? Okay? I know I’ve been an ass, but damnit, I’m trying to tell you that I’m sorry.” Dad’s voice was a little louder this time.

Mom clamped her mouth shut and stared at him for a second. I could see a fresh wave of disappointment on her face. “Alright,” she said, finally. “I understand that you’re sorry. Can you understand that I don’t think you’re sorry enough to make it up to me?”

I watched dad as he took a few deep breaths. “Got it,” he said. “You want me to prove it. More than flowers or a clean house.”

“Yes, actually,” mom said, standing her ground. “I think if I treated you like you did me for as long as you did, you’d ask for a little more too.”

Dad stared at her, glaring. “Alright. Noted. Fuck.” He went past her, huffing, while mom’s arms went tighter around herself and her head went down.

We ate dinner as a family in total silence. I watched mom and dad, noting that while mom kept her focus on her plate, dad watched her, himself observing. I wondered what was going through his head. There was a vein on the edge of his hairline, pulsing. Occasionally he glanced at me, his facial expression unchanging. I don’t know how, but it made my adrenaline spike.

It made me think of a documentary I had seen on tv once. There was a lion that had been pushed out of its pride by a newer, younger rival. While the rival took its time to mate with the female lionesses, the older one circled them, its gaze fixed on the one that had supplanted it, its mouth open and its teeth bare, but what made it terrifying were its eyes. The eyes were wide open, frenzied, but completely fixed on the rival. It was a look of murder, of madness, simultaneously expectant of something it couldn’t vocalize. That lion knew it was going to fight to the death soon. It didn’t care if it would die. All that mattered was that it would soon pounce, and that it would rip as much flesh from the other as its own body would allow. It was simply waiting for an opening, and that opening would come.

That documentary ended bloodily. By the end, both lions were dying of their wounds and the buzzards were circling overhead, while the last lines of the narrator illustrated that in nature, life is a circle of killing and taking, killing and taking, killing and taking...

That night, I lay in the guest bed, staring up at the ceiling. It used to be my room. It still had most of my furniture in it; and while it was missing all the posters and the mess ubiquitous in young men’s rooms, it still felt like it was mine.

My mind whirled as I tried, desperately, to come up with a way to show mom that I did care, that I was sorry, that I did listen. It was funny. What mom said to dad applied to me as well, that if I wanted to prove that I actually was sorry, that I needed to show it, not just say it. But I could live with that. I had a small, small hope that she’d forgive me.

I heard a knock on my door. The handle turned from the outside and I saw a small, white hand rest on the trim, before mom went around it and closed the door behind her quietly.

She looked at me with concern. She looked tired. And god, she looked beautiful. “Hey,” she whispered.

“Hey,” I said, sitting up. I couldn’t help but admire her as she came close. She was in one of her silk robes, her hair wet and making dark lines over her shoulders. She had to have just gotten out of the shower and hadn’t really dressed yet. The silvery gray sheen of the fabric smoothed over her body, the gray drawing contrast to the lightness of her body, the color in her skin. short enough to show off the curves of her legs. I wondered what she was wearing underneath. Whether it’d be nothing. I noticed that at her chest, there wasn’t the hint of a bra crossing the space where the robe split. There was only pale, smooth chest, and the plush swell of her breasts. The subtle shape of her nipples were visible through the robe.

I felt my jaw ache as I forced myself to look up, at her face, taunted by the fact that under that robe there was next to nothing.

“I’d like to apologize again,” I said, with difficulty.

Mom sat down next to me on the bed, and looked at me expectantly. She said nothing and instead watched my face with a solemn expression, listening to what I had today.

I took in a breath and tried to steady myself. “You were right. I was jealous. I was going a little crazy with the thought of giving you up to somebody, anybody else. Especially dad.” I tightened my fists and doubled down, trying to show her that I did understand. “And I wasn’t thinking about what you wanted. I was only thinking about my own feelings and I wasn’t thinking about the difficult situation I was putting you in. I was being selfish, and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry that I tried to break my promise. I had a lot of feelings and I shouldn’t have let them be an excuse for how I talked to you. I’m really, really sorry for how rude I was. I just felt so angry. And I thought I was losing you. That’s why I was going crazy.” I felt embarrassed. It did seem like a long list of sins.

Nora nodded at me, pressing her lips together. Her blue eyes were clear in the night, vivid even in the half light of my room.

“Are—” I couldn’t finish the question but tried again. “Are we... done? I know I fucked up. I’m really sorry for being so immature—I’ll learn, and I’ll figure my shit out... really.”

Mom’s eyes were fixed on me as she thought. Her head tipped to the side and I could see her eyes narrow.

“You’re still going to get your degree?” Mom’s question was quiet.

“Yes,” I stated seriously.

“You’re not going to go crazy and drop out of school or, I don’t know, try to fight your father?”

“No,” I said, half lying. I knew I wouldn’t go crazy or drop out, but I left violence on the table, at least if Ross tried anything crazy first. I made a little promise to myself that I wouldn’t instigate anything.

Mom looked at me with pensive thought, her eyes searching my soul. It felt like minutes were passing in silence as she tried to figure me out. Then she smiled and relaxed. I heard her give a small laugh, the kind where you came across something interesting and funny at the same time. “You know, I didn’t think I’d make you so jealous so quickly.”

Her hand went to my leg over my blanket. I reached for it and she let me take her hand. Her soft, cool fingers weaved through mine. I could feel my heart pounding with relief and with happiness, however brief, and infinitely precious. Mom continued, “I don’t want you to be jealous right now. I know you’re young and... hormonal. And that’s definitely a recipe for getting jealous. Especially with us getting back. We didn’t really figure any of this out, did we?”

I shook my head no.

“Well,” mom said, smiling. “Maybe we should have. And maybe we should talk about it later, too. But in the meantime, you don’t need to be jealous. Your father has a long list of things to make up for and he’s not showing any signs of improvement yet. In case you were wondering, and I know you were; I’m not going to be sleeping with your father. Not for the foreseeable future. I mean, unless there is a dramatic personality change, or he cures cancer, and I’m not even sure he can swing either.”

I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Mom noticed. She started to laugh at me and leaned in, hugging me and holding me tight. She smelled like shampoo, soap, lotion, the faintest hint of a flowery citrus. I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent as if it were the last beautiful thing I’d ever get to experience. I could feel my body relaxing, just holding her, my heart swelling with an aching bliss and with the kind of love that overpowered everything else.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, pressing her to me. “I just love you so much.”

“Aww. I love you too, honey,” said mom, not getting it. She squeezed me tight, kissed my cheek, just like a mother would.

“I mean it,” I said, pulling back, holding her hands and squeezing them, trying to communicate it in a way that she could understand. “I really, really love you,” I insisted. “I got so jealous because I want you. I wish that—that we could be together. I wish I could take you places. Like boyfriend and girlfriend—more than that. I wish I could just take you away from here, that we’d sleep in the same bed, that we’d live our own life, away from all this, and that we didn’t have to worry about money or dad or anything else. I promise I’m not going to do anything crazy,” I said, as seriously as I could say it. “But I wish it was different.” I tried to sit up straight, to be determined as I laid it out. “When I’ve graduated, and when I get a damn good job, I’m... I’m going to want to ask you again. But I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

Mom patiently listened and her cheeks blushed a little as I confessed again how much I loved her, wanted her. I wondered how she’d take it.

Her face moved toward mine. I turned to her, hoping I could kiss her, hoping that she’d understood and accepted it, anything. But she moved to the side and brought her mouth close to my ear. I felt a soft kiss on the side of my face. As she leaned over to kiss me, I could look down the front of her robe—perfectly down. The lovely pale of her breasts were exposed. Her right nipple was visible, a bright pink, even in the darkness of my room. I felt my cock pushing up, felt the pull toward her. I kissed her on her cheek, trying to move closer, hoping to god she’d move closer to me and kiss me and open her robe and let me fill her.

She pulled back, looking at me with a flattered smile. “You’re so sweet, Brett.”

I gritted my teeth. That was not the answer I hoped for.

My hand went to her leg. I felt my mouth go dry. “We’re done, aren’t we?” I asked. My heart pounded like crazy as mom straightened up and off of me. She stood up, turning away, and walking toward the door.

Then her hand flicked the lock closed.

Mom came back, her eyes bright and her smile suppressed. Then she sat on the bed again, just a little further down. Her head gently tilted as she teased me, “it’s going to take a lot for you not to be jealous, isn’t it?”

Then her hand moved toward the edge of my sheets.

And she pulled them off of me. My cock pressed up through my underwear and I held my breath. I moved my hand toward her leg again, but mom stopped it, giving me a look that told me I shouldn’t be making any moves.

Instead, her hand went toward my cock. It played with the button on the front of my boxers and undid them. Her hand went into the slot and I could suddenly feel her hand, wrapping around my length. I looked up at her as her hand started to move, up and down, gently massaging my cock. Her cheeks were bright and colored, and as she continued to jerk me off, I could see that the flush was spreading, down to her chest, her breathing getting faster as she watched me thrust into her hand.

After a minute, she giggled. “I have to go,” she said. “Your father thinks I’m just talking with you.”

And then she leaned over and opened her mouth, and in an instant, I could feel the ecstasy of her mouth, sucking on my cock.

I gripped the sheets as her mouth worked it, as her eyes closed and as she moved up and down with her whole body to pleasure me. I choked and thrust up with each of her movements down, but she took a hand and pushed me down on my stomach, eyeing me. I let her continue the way she wanted, felt myself shaking from the sensation of her tongue, it seemed to feel better than it did before. Maybe it was the satisfaction of knowing she still wanted this, or maybe it was because this was a victory over dad. My cock throbbed at the thought that his wife liked me better, thought I was better, was willing to suck on my cock when he couldn’t even get a kiss. And only a couple rooms away. Served him right.

Mom pulled her mouth off of my dick and made a shushing noise. I nodded and then stifled a groan as her mouth went right back down, sucking on me while her mouth flooded with hot drool and spit. I bit down on my tongue, trying to keep it suppressed, but mom was moving her tongue in a swirl. Her hand went to the base of my shaft and she was giving it a slow squeeze while her lips and tongue worked faster—I could feel throbbing at the base of my taint. I could feel a tightness, growing, as mom’s blue eyes glanced my way, shining with smug satisfaction. My grip on the sheets tightened further, mom’s warm, wet mouth bringing me all the way to the edge—

Then mom’s mouth opened, all the way, and she moved up, spit clinging between my cock and her chin. She wiped at her mouth and stood up, while I gaped, stunned, my cock throbbing and my orgasm so, so fucking close.

“What—”

“I’m going to let you finish this one after I go. You’ve been very, very bad, Brett. Worrying me like that,” she smiled, petting my leg and watching as my cock twitched. “But...” her eyes glittered and she grinned, almost gleeful at the face I must have been making. “I promise we can finish this tomorrow night.”

“Really?” I choked.

“Really. I hope this answers your question, by the way,” she said, playing with the bottom of her robe. Her fingers pulled up the hem just an inch, revealing just a little more of the shape of her firm, sexy thighs.

“What—” I scrambled to remember what I asked. “What, so, we’re not done?”

Mom dropped the hem of her robe. She leaned over me, kissing me on the forehead. “No. We’re not done.” As she leaned to kiss me, I could see her breasts again, see the warm flush of her arousal on her skin, smell the scent of her. My cock throbbed, hard, and my balls suddenly started to ache. Nora whispered, “I have to go. Sleep well.” She turned around to unlock the door and to step out into the hall.

“Goodnight, mom,” I said, in awe.

As Nora made it to the doorway, she looked out into the hall to make sure that nobody was there. Then she looked back, still facing away from me, and her hands slipped behind her. Her fingers traced along the base of the silk of her robe, and then I saw her fingers draw up, pulling the silk along with them.

It traveled up, sliding along the side of her leg, and then I could see the curve of her bottom, but it kept moving upward, until I could see all of her heart-shaped ass, firm and plump.

Holy shit.

She wasn’t wearing anything under there.

My cock throbbed all over again. I knew my jaw was down. I knew I must have looked like a little kid locked outside of a candy store.

Mom was really smiling wide now. She was having fun. She let the silk drop, covering her gorgeous bottom, and then disappeared. The last thing I heard was a slow, breathy, “Goodnight, honey.”

My door closed and I was left confused, a little stunned and with a case of blue balls.

It took so much self-control not to masturbate after that.

After mom left, I struggled to fall asleep. My heart was beating like crazy; I felt like a king—albeit one whose queen said, ‘let’s fuck tomorrow’. I’m sure you can imagine the frustration and the eagerness. Anyway, I chose not to jerk off that night. Call it a gamble; tomorrow was the last day I was going to be spending in my parent’s house before heading back to college, so there was really only one more chance to enjoy mom’s body before I had to finish out the term. If something went wrong, then I’d have to wait for longer, maybe until the year was done at university. But I felt pretty serious about holding off. In a way I thought it would have been disrespectful to jerk off on my own, considering how she promised to ‘finish me’ tomorrow.

After struggling for a while, and finding a bit of relief by punching my pillow like a madman, I managed to fall asleep.

Then I woke up.

I could feel myself straining and my pelvis thrusting upward.

There was the feeling of a soft hand, wrapped around my cock. I wasn’t fully awake—all I was aware of was the sensation, the slow movement of that hand, warm and gentle as my penis throbbed, perfectly stiff, with the energy of last night and then some. When I opened my eyes, I saw Nora, wearing a set of pajamas, the top button undone, the soft pale bounty of her breasts teasingly just out of sight, her hair a little messy and her smile excited as she toyed with me. The sun was coming through my blinds and the gorgeous gold of the morning was scattered across her in stripes. “Good morning, handsome,” she whispered, smiling, her nose wrinkling in joy as she masturbated me awake. “You look like you’re in an... energetic mood this morning.” Her hand squeezed my dick and she giggled as it throbbed in her grasp.

I gasped as her grip tightened and as her hand moved in a full up and down motion that made the most use of my cock.

“Well,” she said, leaning over, her lips dangerously close to the tip, “I hope you’ll save all that energy for tonight. If you’re good, then I’ll have a surprise for you. The kind your father’s been missing.” I watched in awe as she slowly turned to my dick, closed her eyes, and gave the head a slow, gentle kiss. I could feel her tongue gently push out, rubbing along between her lips, before she pulled back, looking at me with a mischievous grin. She leaned in close to my ear and whispered, “I plan on making the most of your cock while I still have the chance.” She stood up, straightened out her pajamas, buttoned her top button with a wink, and then spun around to go downstairs.

I closed my mouth after realizing that it was open nearly the whole time. My cheeks were burning and I was suddenly crazy excited for the day. Sure, I was leaving for the last couple months of university tomorrow, but I was going to get the best possible sendoff. I felt crazy lucky. And relieved. It seemed like mom knew that I was serious with my apology, and that forgiveness was obvious. This time around, I resolved that I was going to be the kind of man she expected me to be. If tonight was going to be it, then I had to make sure I didn’t fuck it up.

At all.

Talk about pressure.

I showered and made my way downstairs. Mom was finishing up some bacon and eggs in a pan, a stack of pancakes on the counter. She was a whirlwind of movement, and the light blue sundress she was wearing seemed to flow around her thighs with each turn and spin. Her sunglasses were perched at the top of her head, and with how fast she was going, I wondered if they’d fall off. She looked so gorgeous.

Mom even hummed to herself as she worked, while dad, looking a little overly tense, sat at the table with his phone. As I got in, his tension seemed to increase. “Morning, son,” he said icily.

“Morning, dad.” I sat down as mom dropped off the pancakes and scooped the bacon and eggs onto our plates. “Damn this looks good.”

“I hope you boys will behave while I’m gone,” mom said, moving quick and washing the pans while we ate. “I’m going to see Jenny pretty soon. She and the girls want brunch now that we’re back from Belize. She wants to hear all about it.” Her voice was bright. It was definitely a departure from the mother I was more or less used to growing up. She had always been a little more bored, or perhaps subdued was the right word. Or maybe she was chronically disappointed. Thinking back, I wasn’t sure exactly how much joy was in mom’s life except for her sons, and the more I reasoned it out, the more it made sense. I decided that if I had to live with just my dad as company for any significant length of time that I’d feel pretty messed up too.

A little jolt of pride went through me as I realized that mom felt like I was a better person by miles. Maybe that’s why she was so comfortable, pleasuring me instead of him. I felt my chest swell as I looked at dad thinking about what I was going to get out of his wife tonight.

“Alright, I’m headed out! Bye Ross, bye Brett!” She waved at us as she sped out of the house, our goodbye’s following her.

The front door closed.

It was just dad and me.

The house seemed to change. The atmosphere grew more oppressive as the sound of our eating was the only thing that remained. Dad didn’t look up from his food, but I could see that he was just as intense as yesterday.

Dad finished his food and put down his knife. Then he spoke, his voice eerily calm. “Let’s go for a drive. Last chance at father-son bonding.”

I looked up and saw him staring at me. That same look as yesterday. I felt a hot chill go through me and I felt my fists clenching and my heartbeat rising.

And I felt this unmistakable anger, so intense and cruel, meant for him. I knew that anger was a part of him as well. It was where I got it from, that spiteful, vindictive streak that made us what we were. I didn’t know what he had planned but I knew I wanted to face it and to face him. I wanted to know what had made him change from merely passive aggressive to this quiet, dangerous looking man. I wondered if it had to do with Cancun.

I remembered it, very vividly. He thought we were in the town where our villa was. We were at a hotel instead, hours away.

Mom and I must have been fucking crazy. He called, we actually answered, and we had the speakerphone on, talking with him while mom blew me at first, making every sucking sound so obvious in her revenge for how shittily he had treated her the whole time. He could hear it—it sent him into a panic and we just kept going and toying with him, gaslighting him into thinking his wife wasn’t sucking on another man’s cock. Maybe the openness of it was because we were so drunk – it was like we were taunting him with it, dangling it right in front of his face, while his wife tasted a cock that wasn’t his, while his son took his father’s place.

Dad could hear it all, and while we lied and lied to him and told him it was just the noise of the restaurant, and that we were just drunk, which was the reason we sounded strange, and that the cell service was bad, he eventually accepted it and by the end of the call, was just confused. But all that while, while he asked, naïve, trying to figure out what we were saying and doing, I had been fucking my mother into the most insane, back bending, screaming orgasm of her life, the sound of which she had to release into the sheets and pillows, while I pumped my jizz deep, deep, deep inside her womb, when she hadn’t let dad fuck her without a condom in years. Dad had no fucking idea.

But dad definitely heard it all.

And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that on some level, somewhere in his demented head...

He knew now, in some way.

On some level I should have felt bad. But I didn’t.

I had fucked his wife, sure. Call it twice as fucked up in that it was his son, who hadn’t even graduated college, who had cuckolded him. We made him listen to it. He fucking deserved it. I was ready to fuck her again tonight too, to make him listen again—why not? And to take even more for what he had done over the years to her.

And if he wanted to start something with me, I was happy to finish it.

“Sure. Let’s go.” I changed and met him out by the car.

Dad brought a little suitcase with him, setting it behind us in the passenger seats, and then we drove out together, out of the suburbs, down the highway, and toward the low hills. We drove in total silence. I kept my breathing steady to keep calm, watching him, wondering what he was going to try, wondering what exactly he knew, wondering how far we was willing to go now that he was a cuckold.

The trees rose up around us. The wilderness eventually surrounded us, and we left civilization an hour behind us. The roads kept climbing and winding. He turned off at an exit that said Green Lake Overlook. We were far, far from home.

The asphalt turned into the remnants of gravel. The climb was steep for a car, and the trees started to thin out, and soon we were getting near the top of a cliff edge, with only a tiny railing separating us from a drop, hundreds of feet. Dad backed the car up to the railing, put it in park, and got out with his suitcase without a word.

I got out too.

He went over to the trunk and sat back on it, overlooking the cliff and out and over the broad expanse of the land out there. Trees and slopes sunk off and away into a palette of brown and gold. I could see him thinking, his jaw twitching, his eyes thin and the sharp line of his teeth visible.

He set the suitcase next to him. Opened it.

There was a little bottle of whiskey inside. Two cigars. A lighter. Two glasses.

A standard initiation into manhood.

“Come on, son. It’s time to talk.” He poured just a splash of whiskey into each glass, and handed one to me. The sun was high overhead, filtering through the trees. I leaned back against the trunk and neither of us looked at each other. “To you. Almost a man.”

I took the whiskey and downed it, handing it back. I didn’t bother to answer him. He downed his and then poured a little more for each of us.

When I looked toward him, I noticed him staring at me, staring like I was a rat.

“What do you know about marriage, Brett?” He asked. His voice was a thin razor wire. He picked up one cigar, cut the end, and handed it to me with the lighter.

I took a couple moments to light it, and then puffed at it. He took the lighter back and lit his. The tobacco tasted sweet. The smoke, like ash.

“It’s a pretty big commitment, I guess,” I said. “What, you got wisdom for me?”

“Plenty.” He chewed on the cigar and studied me. “More than you know now. But I’ll teach you. You willing to listen?”

“Sure,” I said, holding his stare.

Dad eventually looked away. The cigar smoke drifted around us and he sipped at his whiskey. I could see him calculating, thinking, scheming. Soon he straightened up and took a puff of his cigar, before blowing it in my direction. “Listen, son. I don’t want to shatter any romantic illusions you have. But marriage is... it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I’m sure you noticed.”

I nodded. His marriage, at least, felt like a sham. I think he could sense the derision I had for him. But he smiled, showing off rows of white teeth.

“I want to give you a little wisdom, son. Something nobody wants to tell you, least of all women.

Marriage isn’t about love. It never was. I hope you can see that today, and I hope to god you’re able to keep that in mind until you find somebody you think is sexy enough to keep forever. You see, a lot of men will go out and fall in love. This is a mistake. Because love, well, that changes all the time. Hearts change, with the snap of your fingers. Love is fickle. It’s not necessary, not if you don’t want to find yourself fucked up beyond repair.

No.

Marriage is like... It’s like a savvy investment. But like all investments, there’s a chance it’ll go wrong. You need to maintain the marriage and make sure things run smoothly; you understand? Because let’s face it, Brett, if you go through a divorce, you’ll go through one of the worst possible experiences of your life. You know the stats, right? You know how many people divorce, and here’s the rub, Uncle Sam and all the lawyers each get a slice of the deal. You’re not going to keep shit if you go through a divorce. It puts you in a difficult position. It undoes everything you worked for. You understand?”

I asked him, “do you think that’s what’s going to happen?”

He shrugged, his smile still there. “It could. You probably noticed,” his tone getting venomous, “your mother and I aren’t exactly on the greatest terms right now.”

I couldn’t help but say why. “You were a fucking asshole during the vacation, dad. I could see it, so could everyone else.”

“And that never, ever used to be a problem,” dad said, shrugging. “At least, until recently. But that’s my fault, I’ll admit.”

I blinked. I didn’t expect him to own anything. “What do you mean?”

Dad poured himself another glass. His eyes were like a dead man’s. “It’s a man’s job to manage expectations. If he doesn’t, and he thinks that everything is just going to coast on by because he’s got nice feelings about his wife, you end up a miserable sack of shit, ruled by your woman, and emasculated, and ultimately, divorced. Women are unreasonable, Brett. You don’t see it yet because you haven’t lived with one. But I have. And I’m carrying the same wisdom my father gave me, and it’s made sure that for the last twenty-some years I’ve been married, there have been no hiccups, no issues. It’s saved me from divorce and it's made sure that I get to keep everything I work for.”

He downed his drink in one go and then stood up. He turned to look at me, his eyes red, and then spun, flinging the glass against the railing, where it shattered. His words moved quickly, his tone acidic and mad. His advice was no longer advice. It was a rant, and it was angrily directed at me. “Listen, ‘son’, if you want to stay married, to keep your assets long after your wife stopped looking and weighing the amount she used to, and long after she’s been fun and long after you simply stop giving a shit about her, then you need to... manage expectations. To put it more crudely,” he said, laughing to himself, “you need to make sure your woman stops expecting anything good out of you. Now, why the hell would you do that? Why would you sabotage things intentionally?

It's so that they stop fucking asking for more. Because they always, always will. It’s so you have mental space, son. It’s so you don’t find yourself stuck, not just physically, but mentally, bending over until you break, all so your wife can suck up all the resources you’ve put together, all the time and sweat and blood you put into your life, you don’t see it, but women, it’s just what they do. They take and take and they laugh and they don’t like it when you get old and they think they’re entitled to feeling better and better, and nothing’s good enough. Nothing makes them happy, not for more than five fucking seconds at a time. And sure, if you love a girl you’ll want to change that, you’ll think you’re the fucking fool who can somehow make her happy and fill that vacuous fucking hole they call a soul, but you’ll give and give and they’ll take and take and you’ll find out when you’re fucking old and unable to fight anymore that they’ve just molded you, into a woman, into something you’re not. They’ll have taken your life and they’ll just break it into pieces and they won’t care—why would they? They’re women. They don’t know anything, they don’t love anything, they don’t think anything, they have no sense of what’s noble. They’ll take all of your strength and flush it away, and then flaunt it in your face when they decide they want a younger bull to fuck them. They’ll take your soul. Your money. And not just that—but your freedom. Your time. Your mind. I see you looking at me. You don’t agree. You think I’m crazy to think this way. That’s fine. You think it’s all just dad being mean, don’t you? You think it’s because I’m drunk? Because I’m bitter about my fucking wife, not giving me the time of day anymore? Here’s the truth, boy. You don’t understand that in the best-case scenario, the best possible outcome, where you come out the furthest and you get to keep the most of yourself, you’re STILL the one doing all the giving.

Let’s do an inventory. And in fact, let’s take my marriage as an example. What I do provide your mother, is a lifestyle. A big fucking house. A fucking pool, and a fucking patio, and fucking vacations, and all the fucking clothes a woman can wear. No need for a job so that she’s free to do whatever fucking hobby she likes. Enough in the budget for her to decorate and to show off to her ugly fucking friends and to make her feel like she’s better than her neighbors, but let’s be frank; the only way she’ll keep all that is because she’s with me. Or specifically, because she lives in one whole house, that I own, with one whole bank account, that I fill, and two whole cars, each less than five years old, with my fucking name on both titles and MY fucking name on both auto loans. Here’s a quiz for you. Take away half, and do you think she’ll be able to live in the same way? Do you think she’ll get to stay in the same house, same neighborhood, same friends with the same pool parties and feeling like no matter if a recession comes that she’s going to be just fucking fine, and living the same way, no matter what?

No, son. Because the only thing that matters is that she’s staying with me, in my house, and that it’s my fucking money in her hands. She doesn’t actually care if I don’t talk to her. She doesn’t actually care if I look elsewhere, and the proof of it is, she didn’t fucking care for twenty years. Hell, I’m half certain she wouldn’t have done anything if I started fucking other women out in the open. She certainly hasn’t found out about anything I’ve done, not that I’m admitting—but what counts, is what she thinks I’ve done, and she thinks I’ve done plenty. And until now, she hasn’t done shit, like countless wives don’t do shit when their man is the real provider. Because, like it or not, son, women are cowards. They don’t give a fuck what they have to put up with, as long as they’re not the ones responsible for the bank accounts.

And you think I’m still crazy. Let me ask you a question, son. How long do you think your mother would have put up with me if we lived in a two-bedroom apartment, with one car, raising all you kids, and with all of my time and energy and love poured into her, day in and day out while I busted my fucking ass? How long do you think she’d have stayed with me if despite all my lovey-dovey good intentions, she had to get a fucking job? Because that’s all she cares about, son. Don’t you get it?”

I was seeing red. The way he was misrepresenting mom was throwing me into a rage. All I could do was breathe. And even, against my better judgement, try to tell him the truth. “Mom... loves you, dad. She just wants to spend more time with you, just a little bit of basic respect and not to make her jealous. She knows you provide. She’s grateful, for most of it, but you’ve just been treating her like she’s nothing. You don’t love her, dad. And she knows that.”

Dad laughed at me. It was sharp. It was exaggerated. It was hostile. “Maybe you think that love makes the world go round, you fucking fool, which is why you think I’m wrong for what I think and why your naïve, childish little mindset, your fucking Disney worldview is somehow proof that all you need is to love and to love hard. You think class doesn’t matter, that a pauper can seduce a princess, or that a pretty, perky, upper middle-class girl like Nora could fall for anything that doesn’t work at a fucking firm, making enough money for her to do whatever the hell she wants, any time she wants. Here’s the truth, son. She married me. She chose me. She knew what she wanted back then, and the only reason she feels differently right now, is because she’s confused, and she’s scared that she’s old and past her prime, and now she’s forgotten the contract we made. But always, always, she’ll always stay, she’ll never cross me badly enough to where I can end it with her, because she knows the jerkoff that funds her meaningless little lifestyle, is me. And she’ll never, ever let that go. Listen, Brett. Your mother, by definition, is a whore, who sold herself to me so she could live a pretty little life. She didn’t want love, she didn’t want attention, she didn’t want her husband to take an interest. She just wanted to make a simple deal for her life. Money. For. Pussy. And she’s forgotten that those were the terms.”

I couldn’t speak for a second. The raw wave of his derision and his contempt for mom was overwhelming. I felt cold, angry and hot, like ice was burning its way through my throat. I wanted to knock him over and punch his face bloody. I wanted to grind his face into the dust where the shards of his broken glass were. I was getting ready to. I stood up and tightened my fists and prepared myself to fucking hurt him. My voice was locked up. I could only manage a single question. “Why are you telling me this?”

Ross leaned back and picked up the bottle. He held it up, then brought it to his mouth and took a sip, savoring it. He continued, dangerously calm. “Because I’ve done a bad job, son. I haven’t managed your mother’s expectations very well. And now she thinks she gets to dictate whether or not she’s mad at me. But that’s the contract we signed. The fine print. I provide her with whatever stupid fucking life she wants. She raises the kids, cooks dinner, keeps the place clean, and puts out when dad’s had a hard day. Those are the fucking terms. And I’ll tell you something else, Brett.”

“I think she’s crossed a big fucking line. Do you remember a certain night while you two were south of the border?” Dad’s eyes narrowed into slits, his corneas red, his mouth thin but his teeth bare and his gaze like that of a murderous psychopath. “You know what night I’m talking about. There was a little phone call, a little talk your mother and I had.”

He fucking knew. He fucking knew. And we were on a cliffside, and I knew that if this was what he thought, then there was another goal he had that wasn’t just a nice father son talk. My mind raced. I knew I could probably take him, probably, but at the same time, I knew—he’d do everything in his power to kill me.

“What—what the fuck are you talking about?” I asked, panic rising up and overwhelming me.

He stepped closer. His teeth were bared. He flicked what was left of his cigar at me, and the embers scattered against my shirt, the coal at the end burning a black mark against the cotton as he stepped closer. His eyes were wild as he got closer. “You’re hiding it, Brett. You’re hiding it from me. I remember hearing something on that call, Brett. Something strange. Something really, really fucking weird was happening, and I think you helped cover it up. It’s time to talk, son. Just tell me what she was doing, and then, we’ll go home.”

Helped cover it up?

Tell him what she was doing?

Something in my mind clicked.

He wasn’t accusing me directly. He was accusing me of being an accomplice. Of being somehow accessory to infidelity, and not the instrument itself.

I realized that he didn’t actually know everything. But everything in his demeanor, everything in his speech, everything was designed to rattle and unnerve me.

Classic dad.

He brought me up here so he could rip the truth out of me and so I would give him anything that would give him anything that would put him morally over mom.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“You helped her cross that line. And then you covered for her. What the fuck was your mother doing, boy? Where was she?” His fists shot forward and he grabbed me by the collar, his face going up close to mine, his breath hot with whiskey and his eyes bloody red and his face like the devil.

“You’re fucking crazy, man! Get the fuck off me!”

Dad was hissing into my face, spittle flying out, his voice guttural and harsh. I could feel his fists smashing into my upper chest as he shook me as hard as he could. I could see that he was about to go further. “You’re a fucking liar, Brett! You’re a liar and a pussy—fucking tell me, you piece of shit! FUCKING TELL ME!”

I twisted around, just out of his grasp, and threw a haymaker at his face, as hard as I could. The force was extreme—I could feel my shoulder screaming out to the brink, on the edge of a tear, every muscle moving with all the power and adrenaline I could summon—

And it missed—

Just barely. I could feel the warmth of my father’s face as my fist moved in slow motion, less than an inch from his skin, the twisting wind current and drag from it causing my sleeve and his shirt to ripple. If it were just a couple inches to the right, it would have knocked him out, broken a bone in his face, twisted his head to the side at high speed and force. Maybe killed him.

I staggered back and put my fists up in a boxing stance. We were both breathing hard, ready to keep going.

But dad straightened up, looked me up and down. Something was different in how he looked at me and it seemed like he decided that he wouldn’t manhandle me again. Instead, he went for the lowest blow he could think of.

“You’re a real fucking disappointment, son.”

He brushed himself off and threw the bottle out and over the cliff. It sang out, the whiskey spilling as it flew in midair, the droplets glinting in the sun.

He stepped back toward the car and opened the driver’s seat door. “Get in,” I heard him call. “We’re going home.”

I knew that after that punch, he wasn’t going to try anything. He wasn’t dumb enough to. I got in and he drove us back. The entire hour of the drive as we pulled back into civilization was in total silence. But the tension was gone. It was like there was a new barrier between us. One that he couldn’t break through, and one that I wouldn’t cross.

The quiet was oppressive.

When we finally made it back and pulled into the driveway, dad set the parking brake without turning off the car, and I tried to open the door.

It wouldn’t open.

I turned to dad and I saw that his finger was holding down the lock button. His entire demeanor was different from what it was before in that he didn’t try to intimidate me anymore, but his words were no less hostile. “You know, I still hold the assets in this family. All of them. When you decide to tell me the truth, I’ll put you back in the will. Consider your degree the last fucking thing you’ll get from me. You’re welcome, you ungrateful, dishonest, self-righteous, whining little cunt. Now get the fuck out.” His finger left the lock and I got out. I went toward the front door while he waited in his car, keeping his eyes locked onto me. Once I made it to the front door, he shifted into reverse and peeled out and into the street. In a second he had shifted back into drive and the wheels squealed in the street as he sped out. A neighbor looked up from their front yard bushes and then back down.