Chapter 2: I Discover Sandy

I was glum at breakfast the next morning. I should have tried to camouflage my mood lest it reveal my clandestine aural observation of my parent’s coupling, but I couldn’t help it. My father was oblivious anyway, concerned only with his particularly cheery mood. But Mom noticed. Of that I was sure, and I wanted her to know I was displeased.

After breakfast, Mom and dad retired to their recliners, side by side, in the backyard. Both sipped coffees, Dad reading the paper while Mom read her book. The picture of quiet suburban bliss.

I sauntered out in my suit, ready for a swim. I noticed that Mom had dragged her mat along the side of her lounge. She patted it as I approached. I looked at the pool and decided I wasn’t quite ready for swim so I sat down and then stretched out on my back beside Mom.

I felt awkward for several minutes, still feeling restrained anger toward both my parents, but eventually I relaxed and became part of the family bliss. The happy parents and their offspring. I curled my arms behind my head and closed my eyes, enjoying the late morning sun.

Ahhh that felt good. I was lying on the teacher’s desk at school while Mrs. Anderson, my home room teacher at school, stroked my scrotum, explaining the simple workings of the male sex organs to the class. Ahhhh Mrs. Anderson, I would love to have fucked her.

My mind jerked back to consciousness. I didn’t open my eyes but I knew I was lying on a mat beside my mother. There it was again. Mom’s fingers bouncing lightly on my thighs, just below my swimsuit. I lay still, trying to control my breathing, pretending to be asleep.

A minute or two later Mom’s hand left but quickly returned, granting another feathery visit. How long have has she been doing this?

I swallowed a groan. Mom’s fingertips were resting near my trunks. A minute passed. Mom’s fingers left. I heard a page turn and then her fingers returned, nestling gently in the ‘V’ formed by my legs. Another minute, and Mom’s soft fingers disappeared again. Another page turn. I opened my legs, just in time for Mom’s return. Her fingers dangled in the same spot but without a firm place to rest, they extended, lightly gripping the inside of my thigh just below my trunks.

Mom’s hand rose again a minute later. Quickly, I wiggled down a couple of inches on the mat. Mom’s fingers were back, falling between my legs, the back edge of her hand scraping along the bottom of my suit. Oh god, her fingers curled around the inside of my thigh and her nails lightly scratched my leg.

Another lift. Another page turn. Another scrunch lower on the mat. Mom’s hand returned, colliding with my trunks, right were my bulge betrayed my lust. They were confused, at first trying to extend, then swirling around, as if trying to find their way. Ahhhh the feeling of Mom’s delicate fingertips feeling their way over the front of my suit, feathering over my burgeoning cock. Awesome.

Oh jeez. Her fingers weren’t staying still, instead continuing their swirling search for a place to rest, scratching, fingers twirling around, not leaving, staying, grazing and caressing my lump of love. I wanted to see it for myself but I was afraid to look, afraid that she would stop. I couldn’t help it, I opened my eyes.

I could see Mom’s hair but not her face. I could see from the cant of her head that she was reading. Her left arm dangled off the lounge and her hand slowly swirled across my trunks, dragging her trailing fingers over my swollen cock. I pressed up, begging for a firmer grip. Please hold it, I pleaded silently. I bunched the muscles in my buttocks and urged my groin up, pushing into Mom’s fingers. They stop swirling ... then opened, allowing my hardness to slip between her graceful digits. I gritted my teeth and clamped my lips shut as Mom’s fingers allowed my intrusion. Were they welcoming me? Were her fingers closing over me, or was that just my imagination?

Just then, my father rattled his paper, folding it and tossing it to the ground. He sat up, Mom’s hand jerked up to grip her book, and I twisted frantically around to lie on my stomach. My father was already at the patio door. He turned to Mom, right behind him.

“No, don’t get up. Stay and relax.”

Dad put his arms around Mom and kissed her. The brief goodbye peck turned into a longer, more involved affair. I could see their mouths working together as my semen surged out of my cock, filling my swimsuit. My parents disappeared into the kitchen. I got up and followed, sneaking by and running up the stairs as they kissed again by the front door.

When I came down, showered and dressed, Mom was nearing the door, sunglasses on and purse in hand.

“I’m going downtown. Want to come?”

“Sure. Give me a minute.”

“A minute, no more.”

I ran out to the car. Mom was waiting in the passenger seat.

“Where to?” I asked.

“Downtown.”

As I approached the main turn off for downtown, Mom stopped me.

“Go straight,” she said. “Past Dad’s work.”

“Did he forget something?” I asked. Mom didn’t answer.

I cruised past the entrance to Dad’s work. Mom stopped me from turning in.

“Pull up over there,” she instructed, waving at the road ahead that ran up the side of the parking lot.

I turned right, drove up a little ways and stopped. We both looked down at the empty parking lot. Empty, except for two cars, parked right next to each other. Dad’s car and another.

As we watched, two people exited the building, the man locking it behind him as the younger woman waited. She turned as he approached, allowing him to slip his arm around his waist. They walked, arms around each other, to the car beside Dad’s. Both got in the driver’s door, the woman first. Then Dad drove the car away.

I sat in stunned silence. So this was it. This was what was bugging Mom. Last night, she must have wanted to confirm Dad’s newfound passion for her, only to have that hope smashed all over the empty parking lot below. I looked in the mirror as the woman’s car entered the intersection behind us and turned left, heading away.

“Take me away from here, Jason. Let’s go for a drive.”

Mom’s face was grim, but she wasn’t crying like I expected.

We drove in silence. I didn’t know where to go so I headed somewhere quiet, ending up on the circle drive around Connaught Hill that overlooked our small town. There were very few cars, only two or three besides our own. The hill had once been the local lover’s lane, long ago. Now people ventured further afield. Young families searched out the newer playground areas and others the local hiking venues. The only people here, it seemed, were older couples venturing down memory lane. I stopped to take in the view half way between the two cars already parked at each end.

Mom stared ahead, deep in thought, oblivious of the view spread below us. After some time, she said, “I used to come here a lot.”

“It’s a great view,” I offered.

Mom laughed out loud. “I didn’t come for the view.” She was quite amused.

“Oh,” I replied, confused.

“We only came at night. I don’t know if I was ever here in the day. It’s beautiful.”

“You and Dad used to come here?” I cursed myself as soon as I said it. Good job keeping her mind off it.

“No.” Mom’s tone darkened. “Before him.”

“Oh, with other guys?” I tried to fix my mistake.

“That’s right. One or two ... or three for four,” her voice trailed off. “Mostly with Duke.”

I don’t think Mom was trying to imply she was loose as a teenager. I think she just meant that she wasn’t desperate, that she was desired. I nodded. A police cruiser appeared, cruising slowly through the parking lot. Mom looked at it and then slid across the seat to sit next to me, lifting my arm and putting it around her shoulder.

“We should look like we belong or they’ll think we’re casing cars to steal from.”

Mom turned her face toward me and kissed my cheek. “Give me a hug,” she commanded.

I pulled her closer. She turned her face up and planted another kiss, this time on my lips, as the cop car passed behind us. Mom kept kissing me after they were gone, so I continued enjoying her lips. Her faulty logic incorporated a huge, unsubstantiated inferential leap but I wasn’t about to argue given where it had taken us.

I was at a loss for words when Mom pulled back. Feeling awkward, I said, “Thanks, Mom.”

“Duke used to call me Sandy,” Mom whispered.

“But, your name is Sandra.”

“I know. I was always Sandy up here.”

Mom turned and looked wistfully through the windshield. I felt a deep sympathy for her right then and I hugged her to me. Mom must have thought I meant something else because she turned back toward me and lifted her face to mine. I kissed her, this time much longer. Though I didn’t try to push my tongue into her mouth, and she didn’t open her lips to offer, my mouth felt on fire when we stopped. Mom looked down, resting her cheek against my chest and stretching her arm around me.

“Whew, that reminded me a little of the old days.”

“Really?” I asked.

I held Mom’s head to my chest, wanting to get her as close as I could. She twisted toward me to ease the strain on her neck, lifting her right leg and resting it on top of my knee.

“Why were you ‘Sandy’ up here instead of Sandra?”

Mom turned her face up to look at me. She seemed about to say something, then suddenly stretched up and kissed me again. Her lips were demanding this time, working on mine. Her whole mouth seemed to be in play, but was still closed. When she pulled away, she was breathing harder. She was facing me almost square on and her knee had stretched across mine, nearly to my other leg, her skirt had pulled up to accommodate the wider spread of her legs.

“You don’t want to know that about your bad mother,” Mom husked.

“Yes, I do,” I retorted. “Anyway, I was asking Sandy.”

I pressed Mom’s head against my chest again, this time massaging her scalp around her ears. Mom didn’t answer. I turned her face toward me.

“What did you do, Sandy?”

I kissed Mom lightly on the lips.

“Tell me,” I urged, planting several teasing, nipping kisses on her mouth, pulling her shoulders tighter, urging her to face me more directly.

Mom’s knee slid right over on top of my other knee, her skirt riding to the top of her legs as it stretched to accommodate the spread of her legs. Her white panties were showing.

“I can’t,” Mom whispered. “Not in the daylight.”

“Sure you can. A bad girl doesn’t care if it’s day or night.”

Mom’s hand suddenly snaked behind my neck and her mouth latched onto mine. Her lips were furious, munching, jawing, piercing mine open with her hot tongue. I braced myself against the seat and rode out her onslaught. She was aggressive, demanding, hotter than a firecracker. Could she ever kiss. My cock was hard and grew harder as I thought of her wide open legs and stretched panties hovering just inches from my groin.

Honk. Honk.

Mom pulled herself off and quickly twisted around to slump into the seat beside me. I looked behind the car. The police were there. The woman on the passenger side was smiling and waving, waving for us to move along. The cruiser backed up and waited. I started the car and backed out, then sheepishly drove ahead as the cruiser ushered us around the ring and down the hill. Mom tittered quietly beside me, actually tittered like a teenaged girl. She played with her skirt, keeping it high on her legs, tugging it to the sides rather than down.

By the time we got home, Mom had pulled her skirt down and moved completely to her own side of the car. She went directly into the house. She didn’t wait for me.

What had just happened? I was blown away by Mom kissing me so openly. Yes, she had let me touch her before but with a pillow over her head. Did acting like her teenaged self, before she met Dad, make it ok? Could she really drop her inhibitions just because we both pretended she was Sandy?

Was Mom all right? I could see how she could be depressed, but mentally unstable? If so, could I really take advantage of her weakened mental state, just to get into her pants? Was I that desperate? Did I want her that much, even if it were possible? Was it any better to argue I was simply trying to support Mom’s self esteem in face of Dad’s affair? Really? By trying to fuck her?

I’m ashamed to say it, but the final question to myself was, how could I get Mom on Connaught Hill at night?

Dad was home for dinner on time. Mom was indifferent to him, neither pleased nor displeased. At the table, she discussed things with her normal enthusiasm or lack thereof, depending on the topic. She did, however, pointedly ask Dad if he had got lots done at work. She didn’t dwell on his affirmative response and changed the subject quickly.

“What did you do this afternoon, Jason?” Mom smiled at me, the corner of her mouth turning up, lending her pleasant smile a smirkish aura.

“I ... uh, I ... ummm, not much. I went for a drive.”

“Yeah? Where did you go?”

“Um. Just around. Up to Connaught Hill.”

“Connaught Hill? Are the kids still going up there?” Dad asked.

“Not really. I was just driving around and went up to see the view.”

Mom looked unconvinced. Mischievously, she persisted.

“With who?”

“Well, uh ... by myself.”

“Sure.” Mom grinned at me and Dad did too. They were enjoying this, especially Mom.

“Really. I was by myself,” I blustered, my face reddening.

“Then why are you blushing?” Mom pestered. She reached out and pushed my shoulder. “Come on, Jason. We won’t bite. Tell us who she is?”

“Sandra. Leave the boy alone. He wants to keep it a secret,” Dad laughed. “She must be pretty hot,” he widened his eyes.

“I bet she is,” Mom added, her eyes twinkling. “She doesn’t sound like a Sandra.”

“Nope, that’s for sure. Not the marrying kind. Not a Connaught Hill girl.” Dad laughed out loud.

“Hey,” Mom objected, looking slighted.

“What would you know,” Dad said. “You were never on Connaught Hill. Actually,” he laughed, “the guys at the city used to call it Panty Hill because they always found a bunch there after every weekend.”

That let me off the hook. Mom quit pushing and it died.

Mom helped me clean up the dishes while Dad watched the news, as usual. After that, Mom went upstairs but she came back down dressed in a stark white tennis outfit, a body-clinging dress with a very short skirt, considered discreet because the pants underneath were thick enough to be worn separately as shorts. Mom looked really hot.

Though it was odd that Mom changed after dinner, nobody mentioned it. I don’t know that Dad even noticed. I did, that’s for sure, but I wasn’t about to say anything. Anyway, I think Mom knew that there was at least one man in the house who appreciated that she put a little effort into the way she looked. Nevertheless, it wasn’t until Mom passed near me and I smelled her perfume that I noticed that she had put on some makeup, so judicially applied that it required close scrutiny to detect.

Dad noticed too, though only subconsciously.

“Were we supposed to be going out tonight?” he asked when Mom sat down at the end of the couch near his chair.

“Nope,” Mom responded casually, getting into a comfortable position. “Feel free to get some work done if you need to catch up on anything.”

I saw Dad glance at Mom, trying to see if she was goading him. His expression indicated satisfaction that Mom wasn’t needling him and was honestly telling him it was all right to go to work if he wanted to.

“Well, I do have some stuff to get done, but I think it’s a little late to get someone to help me now,” Dad mused. “Unless you’d like to give me a hand.” Dad looked at me.

“Tonight?” I asked, indicating with my voice that wasn’t a viable option. “Anyway, Dad. I don’t know my way around there anymore.”

Mom was ignoring us. She had pulled her feet up to rest her book on her knees. I was looking past her to Dad but my eyes strayed to the lovely display of bare legs Mom was offering.

“True, but I could show enough if you wanted to help me out tomorrow,” Dad pressed me.

“Yeah, but I was planning on going for a drive tomorrow.”

“Is that more important than giving me a hand?”

Dad’s old habits were surfacing. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about getting my help. In fact, probably the last thing he wanted was to have me hanging around cramping his style but he couldn’t resist a moral lecture about his protestant work ethic.

“Richard,” Mom broke in. “Leave him alone. Get one of your people to come in.”

“Well, I could do that, but it would cost more,” Dad pushed.