Chapter 8

Pete woke Mom up early the usual way. After she’d flooded his mouth with her juices, she insisted he screw her hard and fast. Once he’d emptied himself into her pussy, they took a quick joint shower and packed for their trip.

On the short flight, his mind once again drifted. Why exactly had Mom pushed him at the blonde? She’d been holding something back, but he couldn’t figure out exactly what.

And would it have been so bad to dance with the woman? The trip didn’t need to be all about them. Honestly, he would’ve been on his feet asking her to dance if he hadn’t been sitting with his mom.

Well ... he would’ve even sitting next to mom, before Europe. Mom would’ve laughed and urged him on. But it didn’t feel right to pursue another woman sitting next to the woman you were sleeping with, mother nor not.

Maybe Mom was right and he’d do less dating if they kept sleeping together.

He didn’t know.

In Amsterdam, they checked into a boutique hotel not far from the main tourist spots. Once again, Mom had them cancel the second room, This one was larger than London. Even better, it had a balcony overlooking with a scenic view of a canal and accompanying bike path.

Once they’d unpacked and settled in, Pete slipped out, saying he’d be back in a few minutes. When he returned with champagne and two glasses, courtesy of the front desk, Mom had changed into a skirt and blouse with buttons. She sat on the deck, leaning back in her chair and raised an eyebrow when she saw him.

“Are we celebrating something?” she asked.

“Sort of.” He set the glasses down on the little table between the chairs and began opening the bottle. “I wanted to talk, but didn’t want it to be too serious.”

“Oh. So this is one of those conversations?”

“Sort of.”

She waited while he popped the cork and poured the champagne. After he’d settled into the seat next to her, she raised her glass.

“So what are we toasting to?”

“Motherfuckers.”

She snorted and clinked her glass against his, before taking a sip.

“It’s pretty clear,” he said, “that what we both, well, like, is the ... taboo ... Regular sex is just, well, regular.”

“Yeah. I’d noticed.”

“So I’ve been thinking about that, and I keep coming back to two questions.”

“Okay...”

“The first is, are we going to stop when we leave Europe?”

“Of course!” she said quickly. “We both need to date other people.”

“Yeah, but until we do...?”

She shook her head. “No, it doesn’t work like that.”

“You seem pretty sure.”

She looked hard at him. When he didn’t look away, she sighed.

“Mmm?” he prompted.

She sighed again, then grimaced. She took a gulp of champagne before speaking.

“You know the line, ‘what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?’”

“Yeah.”

“Well, the reason your father and I got divorced is because it didn’t.”

Pete blinked. “I thought it was because of Brenda. You know, Dad falling for her.”

“It was. But that’s not the whole story. Where do you think he met Brenda?”

He shrugged. “Vegas?”

“Mmm hmm. We met Brenda in Vegas.”

“We?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Now I’m confused.”

“Your Dad and I were, well, not doing badly, but not doing well, if that makes sense.”

He nodded. He’d been pretty young at the time.

“We decided to go to Vegas to put some spice in our relationship, and that’s where we met Brenda and Jason. We hit it off and, well, one thing led to another.”

He laughed in surprise. “Really?”

She smirked. “Really.” But then her smile faded. “Except your dad and Brenda hit it off a little too well.”

Pete nodded. Then he reached over and put a comforting hand on her upper arm.

She gave him a sad smile, then sucked in her breath.

“So,” she said, “what happens in Europe stays in Europe. Understand?”

He nodded agreement. Though, if they weren’t dating other people back home...

“So what was your other question?”

“If the taboo makes it hotter ... how can we play that up? The names didn’t work.”

She smirked. “I’ve been thinking about that. I have an idea.”

“Which is?”

“You’ll see.”

By evening, he still hadn’t guessed what she had in mind. After dinner in a cozy nearby cafe, she asked him to dress up a little—slacks and a collared shirt—before they headed out into the city. She checked her phone a couple of times for directions and they strolled through the streets before the shops signs became more explicit and garish.

He chuckled. “The Red Light District?”

“Mmm hmm. You’ll see.”

They wandered for a while, looking at the various shops and making witty comments. Mom didn’t seem to be interested in going into any of them. A handful of people walked the streets with them, many of them obviously tourists, but she ignored them. Eventually, they came to a region with scantily-clad women sitting in small apartment windows.

“Pick one,” Mom said.

“What?” Pete laughed.

“Pick one,” she repeated. “I want to watch you have sex with another woman.”

“What? Why?”

She shrugged. “Because it turns me on. Do you need a better reason?”

He glanced at a nearby window. The woman was thin, with small breasts and long black hair. She also looked bored beyond belief.

“You want me to have sex with a prostitute,” he said.

“Yes. They’re clean. Well, at least they’re tested. We’ll tell her that I want to watch her screw my son.”

His eyebrows shot up.

“Incest is legal here. She probably won’t even bat an eye.”

“I don’t know...”

“Please. For me. It’ll be hot, I promise.”

He stared at her.

“I brought my toy.” She patted her purse. “I really want to watch.”

“I still don’t get it.”

She sighed. “I ... I used to fantasize about it, when I heard you with your girlfriends. And ... now?”

He nodded.

“Besides...” She waggled her eyebrows. “We tell her I’m your mother...?”

He chuckled. “You really are kinky.”

“Don’t you forget it, Buster.” She grinned, took his hand, and gave him a squeeze. “So pick one you like.”

He rolled his eyes, but began looking around. None of the women he could see interested him much, so they began to wander through the district.

After a bit, they came to a small intersection with two prostitute windows facing each other across a narrow street. A small group of onlookers had gathered between the two and swiveled to watch first one and then the other.

In one window, a tall, very long-haired busty redhead was seductively dancing in her lingerie. She wore a red corset and white stockings and swayed like she was in a jazz club. Then after a minute, she stopped and pointed across the way.

There, a blonde with shoulder-length wavy hair in a semi-transparent blue peignoir began to sway and run her hands up and down her body. She took few steps and writhed to music Pete couldn’t hear.

He grinned. They were doing a dance-off!

Each woman danced for about a minute before the other took her turn. The small cluster in the street followed them like a tennis match, looking left and then right, and then left again.

Pete and his mom drifted into the little crowd, which had obviously picked the best spot to see into both windows.

Except Pete didn’t watch the blonde as much. The redhead intrigued him—her moves were more refined, more exact. Like she’d had formal dance training. Plus, the way her hair waved behind her back as she swayed entranced him.