Chapter 3

All the next week, around 8:30 pm, Ron would make an excuse to go to his room if he was not already there playing a computer game or reading. He apparently, got lucky twice that week because he didn’t come back to the living room for over an hour. I just smiled to myself and thought, ‘what the hell?’ It’s harmless, and I won’t have to stare at his hard-on before he kisses me goodnight.

I had a friend at work who enjoyed the theater, especially musical theater, as much as I did. If something playing at the local playhouse sounded good, we would make plans to go together. I was sitting on the couch with Ron when I remembered it was my turn to get the tickets. I turned to Ron, “Pauline and I want to go and see ’Showboat’ at the Back Bay Theater. Can you go online and see what is available for next Saturday or Sunday night?”

“Sure thing Mom, no problem.”

I waited a few minutes and remembered Pauline wanted seats in the center but not too close to the stage, and Ron would need my credit card. I got up, got my credit card from my purse, and went to his bedroom.

I opened his door. “See if you can get something around the sixth...,” my voice trailed off as I tried to finish the sentence, “or seventh ... row ... center.”

“Oops, sorry, Mom. I got distracted.”

I stood there holding the doorknob, looking into the darkened room, “That’s okay, I should have knocked.” I could not move as I watched my son casually put his cock back in his pants, zip-up, walk over to his computer, and start typing. I saw the theater website come up and figured it was safe to join Ron at his computer. I got as far as Ron’s window, glanced out, and saw Abram Goldberg on his back with his head between his wife’s legs. He had his hands clamped on her ass as she sat on his face.

“Got two in the eighth row for Saturday at 8:00, five seats left of center. Should I book them? $108.00 for the two.”

I was staring out the window and only half-listening to what Ron was saying, “Yeah, sure, whatever you think.”

Ron raised his voice a few decibels, “MOM.”

I looked over at Ron, “What?”

“Eighth row, five seats left of center, two tickets, 108 bucks.”

I tore my eyes away from the erotic scene as Ron’s words penetrated my brain. I looked at the seating chart and gave my approval. I handed Ron my charge card. I could not help myself, and I went back to the window. The scene had changed. Brenda had turned around, and they were in the 69 position.

“All set, Mom. You can pick them up at the reserved ticket window.”

I turned to thank Ron. He was turned around in his chair, looking at me and smiling. I realized Ron was watching me about to touch myself improperly. I had one hand about to touch my breast and fondle myself. I quickly dropped my hand to my side. Ron got up, approached me, and handed me my credit card, which I slipped into my pocket. I did not know what to say and was even a little apprehensive of what Ron might do after he kissed me on the cheek.

I heard Ron echo my words back to me, “Have fun and don’t get caught.” He walked out of his bedroom and shut the door.

I was surprised by Ron’s reaction to my spying. I hesitated for almost 30 seconds before turning back to the window, undid the snap and zipper on my slacks, and pushing them down past my knees. I put my hand in my panties and squeezed my mound. I put my other hand under my blouse to push up my bra and pulled on my nipple. I was partially bent over at the waist, frantically trying to satisfy the longing between my legs induced by the erotic display I was observing through my son’s window.

The oral sex abruptly stopped, and Brenda mounted Abram’s glistening saliva-coated cock reverse cowgirl and lay almost flat with her knees tucked under her breasts as she held his ankles and fucked him. I swear Abram had a finger up her ass. I shoved two fingers up my vagina and tried to match the rhythm Brenda was setting as she did her best impression of a naked jockey heading for the home stretch in the Kentucky Derby.

I started to realize how young they were. The neighborhood gossip was that Brenda was only twenty, and Abram could not be more than twenty-two. Here I am pushing forty and wishing instead of Brenda; I was the one fucking his young cock. My God, they are not that much older than my son. As I fucked myself with my fingers, I quietly encouraged them. “That’s it, Brenda, ride that young, hard cock. That’s a good girl; you’re almost there. Make him cum. You’re going to make me cum. You over-sexed bimbo.”