Chapter 1

One early afternoon I was folding clothes in the laundry room and overheard my son and his friend Jerome talking. I know I shouldn’t have been listening, but their topic of discussion intrigued me.

They had just gotten out of the pool and were sitting at the patio table drinking ice-tea when I heard Jerome tell my son, Brian, that his Dad —Brian’s Dad— was a lucky guy. I stopped folding and leaned closer to the window.

“Oh yeah, and why is that?”

“Your mom’s hot man.”

“Yeah, I guess he is pretty lucky ... You know she was a model for a long time.”

“No shit. Still could be if ya ask me.”

I was a little surprised at what my son said next.

“I got a bunch of her pictures on my computer ... Some pretty good ones too.”

“Ya do?”

“Sure.”

“Why?”

“Cuz she’s hot. Some of them are underwear and bathing suit ads.” He told Jerome.

“Damn! Hook me up. How come I ain’t seen-em already boy?”

I heard them both laughing.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about my son showing his friends my pictures, I mean after all, they were taken a long time ago. I didn’t think I looked that good anymore. I still fit into the same clothes and all, and my husband, and his friends for that matter, still flirted with me and said I was still sexy. But at 43 and after two children, well, I was feeling my age I guess.

I was also a little surprised that Brian had pictures of me on his computer. I expected him to have pictures of hot girls, even porn. He’s seventeen, but I just never thought he thought of me as ‘Hot’. I suppose it was somewhat flattering to know that Brian and Jerome thought so.

The boys came in the laundry room door smiling at me as they walked by. I noticed that Jerome’s gaze lingered a few long seconds as his eyes roamed over me.

“Jerome...” I greeted him.

“Miss Jennings ... Mam.” He flashed his overly white teeth. I actually felt myself blush as I turned back to folding laundry.

He always called me “Miss” even though he knew I was married. I wasn’t sure if that was a ‘Southern’ thing or a ‘black’ thing; maybe both.

Jerome was the same age as Brian. He’d moved up here with his Mom from Mississippi about three years ago. He still has that Mississippi drawl. He’s very tall, 6’1” maybe 6’2”; taller than me by more than a head. He’s thin, almost gangly but a handsome boy none-the-less.

Seeing Jerome always reminded me of my father. My father was a self-righteous Minister that served his own needs before anyone else’s. He would have never allowed a black boy in our home. He was a nasty bigot that thought all black boys wanted just one thing: to fuck a white girl. Although I never had the chance, my father’s intolerance and prejudice only fuelled my desire to try it — do something with a black boy I mean.

One of my fantasies as a young woman, a girl really, was blowing the black boy that worked at a nearby gas station, and having my arrogant father walk in and catch me.

I’d pretend that we’d stopped for gas and while my Dad was filling the tank, I’d go into the back room with the coloured boy. The fantasy varied some but mostly consisted of the black boy pulling his dick out and asking me if I wanted to give him a blow job.

I would always have to be talked into it and then I’d finally do it; telling him, ‘Just this once’ and ‘We had to hurry before we get caught’. I fantasized about blowing him because I knew that that particular act would be the ‘Dirtiest’ thing I could possibly do, according to my holier-than-thou father. Although the punishment would have been harsh and no doubt humiliating, it would have been worth it to see the look on his face if he’d caught me doing something like that.

Anyway...

When I went upstairs to put away the clean clothes, Brian had left his bedroom door cracked a little and I hear them giggling like a couple of little girls.

“Sh-shhh. Look at this one.” I heard Brian whisper.

“Holy shit!”

“I know.”

“She looks like this could-a-been taken yesterday.” Jerome told my son. “How old is she there?”

I was a little surprised to hear Brian tell him that the back of the picture had said it was taken in August of 99.

“She was 31 or 32 I guess.”

“Goddamn- If she was my Mom...” Jerome trailed off.

“Yeah, I know, right...”

“Look at that ass...”

“I do every day.” They laughed.

“And look at them tits. Those are some suckable nipples right there.”

I couldn’t recall having any shoots in 99 or any of my modelling pictures showing my nipples.

“Sometimes in the morning you can see them right through her T-Shirt.”

“Ya kidding?”

“Nope.”

“Dude, I need to sleep over here tonight.”

“Yeah, right! That’s why I never ask anyone to sleep over. I’m sure it’d go over nice with my Dad to see my friends walking around in the morning with boners from looking at my Mom.”

They busted up laughing again.

“Yeah, I think I’m gettin’ one now.”

“Well how ya think I feel having to see her every morning ... And she’s my MOM dude.”

‘Wow’ I thought. I was giving my son and his friends boners. I wasn’t exactly sure how to react to that. I mean I was more than a little shocked to hear my son and his friend talking about me this way. My first thought was to go in there and put a stop to all of it, delete the pictures, and tell Jerome to go home. Maybe even drag my son to get some counselling. But I didn’t. I didn’t do anything. I guess part of me was flattered. It made me feel ... not so old.

I went on about my business, sure of only one thing ... I was determined to take a look at my son’s picture collection first chance I got.

That opportunity came the next day. I sat at Brian’s computer opening files and documents until I found what I was looking for.

He did have porn saved; quite a lot really. I searched through his collection, some of which was extremely graphic and a bit taboo ... Some bondage, anal and even a few pictures of a “Donkey Show”. I even came across some pictures of a few ‘Locals’.

I scrolled down until I found pictures of me. Most were from my portfolio. He had evidently helped himself to it, scanned, and saved the pictures. Some were rather provocative but all were in good taste and there was no nudity.

But as I went on, I found more photos of myself. These were pictures of me that my husband had taken in the privacy of our bedroom. At first there were just a few facial shots.

Then as I scrolled down, there were pictures of me in negligees, lace under garments and in some pictures, I was totally nude. In a few I even had my ass propped up for the camera. And there was one that showed me with my legs spread and my fingers dipped into my panties touching myself.

I sat there with my mouth wide open. Not only had my son seen these but he’d shown them to Jerome. I didn’t know how I’d be able to face the boy. I became furious with Brian. I deleted all the pictures and left his room.

I thought about it long and hard. After some time had passed I began to calm down. My anger turned into something a little less ... destructive. I had gone from anger to extremely annoyed. After all, they were boys. Bad boys but boys none-the-less.

I was a model; I should be used to people —men— looking at me. When I was younger I liked the thought of men lusting over me. I still like the idea of being desired. That’s part of why I became a model. That, and the fact that I knew it would piss my father off.

It was kinda nice to be desired, even if it was only by your son’s friends. I was still a little irritated that Brian had invaded my privacy and that he had shown Jerome of all people. I like Jerome, he’s a good kid, and now I was going to feel awkward in front of him.

I confronted Brian and told him that I’d erased my pictures and that this little incident would stay between him and me — and Jerome, I supposed. But if he were to touch my personal things again, it would be his father he would be dealing with and we both knew he wouldn’t want any part of that.

Brian’s father has been a truck driver for the past 22 years. He’s a big man, a stern man and a jealous man with a truck driver’s temper. And Brian knew what the man was capable of. The thought that his son was stealing naked pictures of his wife and showing them to his friends was not something that would sit well with the man.

Fact is ... I doubt I could ever really tell his father something like that. I’m afraid of what he might do.

I suppose that’s enough background. The story really begins a some time after all this.

One late Friday night, Brian’s father was making a three day run to Philly. Brian came home with Jerome in tow. He practically had to hold Jerome up. He was drunk. Actually, they were both drunk but Jerome seemed to be really drunk. I helped Brian lead Jerome to the couch. He flopped down dragging me and Brian down with him; one of us on each side.

I started bombarding Brian with questions. It seemed that they had gone to a party, a drinking party, and one thing led to another and now here we were.

“Why did you bring him here?”

“He can’t go home like ths.” Brian slurred his words. “Hiss mother wa kill him.” He said.

Jerome sat on the couch, his head moving back and forth as though he were watching a pink-pong game as Brian and I spoke.

“For Christ’s sake Brian.”

I thought about it for a few minutes, gathered my thoughts.

I shook my head.

“OK.” I agreed. “I guess I can call his Mom and tell her that you guys fell asleep on the couch watching a movie. I’ll tell her he’s more than welcome to spend the night unless she wants me to wake him up and send him home. If she wants him home ... Well...”

“Cool, cool ... You’re the best Mom ever.” He told me.

And I guess I was ... If you wanted a Mom that condoned under-age drinking and would lie to your friend’s parents to hide it.

“Thanks!” he said then leaned over his drunk friend and kissed me on the cheek. When he kissed my cheek, I kinda felt a little funny; knowing that I was prone to giving him ‘Boners’.

Jerome leaned over as best he could and kissed my other cheek.

“Yeah Mith Jemmins ... Mam” Jerome agreed. “You’re so prettyyyyy too.” He added as his head swayed from side to side.

I couldn’t help but smile at the poor kid. He was going to be so sorry in the morning.

“Thank you Jerome.”

I looked at Brian. He was sitting back with his eyes closed.

I gently shook him.

“You have to get up to bed...” I told him as I got to my feet. “We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

“OK.”

“Don’t plan on going anywhere tomorrow.”

“OK.”

“You need help?”

“No, no. I’m good, I’m good ... I got it ... I’m good.”

I watched Brian get up and stagger up the steps towards his room.

“Stay right there.” I told Jerome. “I’ll get a pillow and a blanket for you.”

I stood up and stared down at Jerome for a few long seconds.

“A drunk black boy in the house.” I thought with a smile. “My father would be turning over in his grave.” The thought pleased me. “And I’m pretty sure this one probably does want to ‘fuck a white girl’.” I giggled.

I checked in on Brian. He was laying on his bed fully clothed, asleep. I gathered the extra blanket and pillow and headed back down stairs. When I stepped into the living room, Jerome was gone! I threw the things on the couch and started looking for him. When I found him he was leaning against the wall in the bathroom fumbling with his pants. When he started to slide down the wall I stepped in and grabbed him.

“Easy Sweetie.”

He threw his arms around me. “Hey mish Jemmins. I have ta pee.” He says to me. I held him up and leaned him back against the wall.

“Really bad...” He added with a noticeable urgency.

I could see a little wet spot on the front of his jeans.

“Boy, you’re not kidding are you?”

There wasn’t a whole lot I could do. I could let him slide down to the floor and pee himself or...

“Jesus...” I muttered as I held Jerome up with one arm around his waist and began to unbutton his jeans. I faced him towards the toilet and pulled his zipper down. He fumbled with his boxers as I steadied him.

‘I can’t believe this.’ The bathroom door was wide open. I wished I’d shut it but wasn’t willing to let Jerome fall to do it now. I shot a quick nervous look into the kitchen before I reached into the fly of Jerome’s boxers.

My stomach flip/flopped when I actually touched his penis. I pulled it out through his fly and let go of it like a hot potato. I no sooner did; when Jerome started to pee all over the place. I had a split second to make a decision. I reached down with my thumb and forefinger, took hold of the boy’s penis just behind the head, and aimed it at the toilet. I grabbed it, like a little kid might grab something with cooties.

Oddly enough, I felt like giggling. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t immediately notice its size. I snuck a quick look into the kitchen and then found myself leaning over to get a better look as I pointed his pee stream where it needed to go.

“Wow!” Jerome moaned. I looked up at him for a second. I was a bit embarrassed but found myself looking down at his penis again anyway. I was kinda stunned. Not just at the size but the fact that I was touching my son’s friend’s penis — my son’s black friend.

For just a moment my childhood fantasy came to mind. I had often heard reference made to the size of black men’s dicks, but I didn’t have any experience in that area. I always naïvely assumed that was just a joke, a myth.

“You’re really hot.” Jerome moaned; one arm around my shoulders and the other hand against the wall.

I looked up again and thanked him as I aimed his dick towards the toilet. I shot another glance into the kitchen and shook my head not believing the predicament I had gotten myself into.

No one would believe it. And who would I tell? How could I work that into the conversation. The thought somewhat amused me, not quite dinner conversation. I told myself as I held Jerome’s penis with two fingers.

“Hi honey, how was your run? Traffic good? Guess who I helped pee while you were gone ... Nope ... Nope ... Jerome. That’s right, Brian’s friend. And guess what ... It’s not a myth...”

I’m sure that would go over real good. I shook my head with disbelief as I shot another look into the kitchen, pee splashing into the toilet the whole time.

And when I though I couldn’t feel any more uncomfortable, Jerome started to sway his hips a little; push into my hand with tiny thrusts of his hips. I just thought he was having trouble standing until he told me that it felt good.

“How much longer can this boy possibly pee?” I asked myself. The stream started to lessen and then finally stopped. I gave Jerome’s penis the traditional shake. I smiled remembering the phrase ‘Shake it more than two times and you’re playing with it’.

I’m not sure what I was thinking. I guess I was more than a little surprised to find myself in such a situation and somewhat taken aback, but all and all, my husband was gone for three days, Brian was passed out upstairs, and Jerome was so drunk that I figured he wasn’t going to remember a thing about tonight. I guess I just found the whole predicament rather amusing and somewhat stimulating at the same time, so willing to take the chance he wouldn’t remember ... I gave it an extra shake or two for my own amusement.

“Feels good Mish Jemmin...” Jerome moaned as he rested his head on my shoulder. I quickly looked towards the kitchen again extremely aware that my fingers were lingering on Jerome’s penis. I giggled and shook my head.

“I can’t believe this!” I whispered. Then Jerome began to sway back and forth more as I held his dick between my fingers.

“Oh my god!” I thought. “If Daddy could see this...”

I wasn’t really sure if he was moving like that because he couldn’t stand up right or if it was simply for the pleasure of it. I decided a little of both, and probably more of the latter.

Regardless, I did nothing to stop him. As a matter-of-fact, after a few seconds I noticed that his dick was actually getting bigger. A little shiver ran through me and I decided to close all my fingers around the middle of it and let him sway his hips. I could feel it was getting harder and I was just overwhelmed by the whole experience.

I would have thought that he was far too drunk to get an erection but that wasn’t the case at all. I could see an inch or so above my hand and a little more below my pinky. It was every bit of seven inches and growing. I glanced into the kitchen every few seconds as I held him in my hand and let him sway back and forth.

I’d done some crazy shit in my past but I have never done anything even close to this crazy.

I thought about trying to push the door closed with my foot but I had my hands full as it were and didn’t want to risk Jerome falling over. He was unsteady to say the least, but for all practical purposes, as I held him there, and he was now fucking my hand. I suppose I just wanted to see what was gonna happen and figured that Brian was passed-out ... so what the hell.

‘If Daddy could see me now... ‘ I thought with a smile.

“Mmmm Mish Jemming...” Jerome cooed as he looked down at what was happening to him.

His dick was all of 9’’ now and still swelling nicely. It was becoming quite plump in girth. It felt amazing in my hand. I closed my fingers around it a little tighter and started to move my hand a tiny bit. For all intents and purposes, I was giving him the hand-job he wanted. Then Jerome reached around me with an unsteady hand and felt my tit. I was so mesmerized by what I was doing to him that I never saw it coming. I gasped and pulled back a tiny bit but never stopped what I was doing to him. He reached again and managed to pinch one of my nipples between his fingers. Although it was kinda hard —the pinch— I found that I liked it quite a bit, and didn’t try to pull away.

“I wanna suck ‘at.” He said to me with a huge smile. He was no longer swaying his hips. He didn’t have to. I was standing next to him holding him up and working my hand slowly back and forth.

“If you let me...” he whispered, like it’s a secret. He leaned in close to my ear, close enough I could feel his breath, “ ... You can suck my dick if you wanna.” He told me. “I mean ... If ya really wanna.”

His offer shocked me. It sent a shiver rushing up my spine and a wave of heat that rolled over me and settled deep between my legs. This was going someplace I’d never thought I’d go.

I remember thinking, ‘Oh my God!’ as my old fantasy flashed before my eyes. For a fraction of a second, I pictured myself dropping to my knees in the bathroom and blowing the gas station attendant. The mere thought made me wobbly. “Jesus!”

In all my fantasies, I had to be talked into doing such a thing. That’s what made it so exciting for me I think; the seduction and the final surrender. I squeezed my fingers around his fat dick and stroked it slowly a few more times ... Then forced myself to let it go.

I wasn’t sure what to do. I was that young girl again, lying in my bed, rubbing my pussy while I dreamed of the black boy that worked at the gas station. I was incredibly aroused but I was scared; scared to act on it. This was getting way out of hand —so-to-speak— and if I didn’t stop now, well ... there was no telling.

I reached down past Jerome for the lid to the toilet. As I did, I found I had a particularly good view of Jerome’s dick. It was pretty hard now, pointing down, very straight and fat. I remember thinking it must be too heavy to stick out straight. I didn’t have a tape measure but it looked every bit of 10 inches long and very plump. It bounced a little with each beat of his heart and swayed along with him as it hung there.