I’ve thought about this a lot over the last few weeks.
Do you know how, in stories of this ilk, there’s typically some bolt-of-lightning effect, a ‘lightbulb moment,’ where everything ‘makes sense’ and some ‘inner beast is awoken?’ The truth is that things don’t work like that. It’s not that –
All right, that’s not fair. I can’t say that. I was about to say that these things never work like that but I can’t speak for anyone else. All I can say is that’s not how it worked for me – and I don’t know anyone who’s been through the same things I have, though looking around on the Internet makes it clear plenty of people have.
Just nobody I know.
Okay, getting away from the point. It’s just that this is hard to write out.
Here’s the thing: I fucked my son.
Here’s the other thing: I can’t work out why.
Oh, he’s cute as hell, don’t get me wrong. And that cock? It’s just delicious. Turns out he’s just as sick as me, too, but that’s all icing on the cake. Or cum on the face. Both those things.
But why him? That’s the bit I can’t work out. There are tons of reasons why I shouldn’t want to but they just… don’t seem to apply.
I’ll start from… I don’t really know where the ‘start’ is. So I’ll just pick a point and go from there.
I have a really satisfying marriage.
My husband Albert, perhaps in spite of his name (which he’s always found boring and mundane; as much as I’d like to, I can’t really disagree, so I call him Al), is a very, um, broad-minded fellow. We met at an orgy in university when we were both barely eighteen and painfully naive. I’d like to say that as soon as I saw him sparks flew, but that would be bullshit. Maybe because I had three other cocks in me at the time and he was just someone waiting his turn. The point is, we met, we fucked, it was good but not actually any better than anyone else I had that night.
Then we didn’t meet for another, oh… four years, I guess.
That was at a strip club in Melbourne where I was working. He was in for a buck’s party – his own buck’s party – and the Best Man picked me to strip for the groom-to-be. We broke a lot of rules in the private room and getting DP’d by those two wasn’t the least of it. Sadly, it got me fired – I really liked that job.
Luckily, it got the Best Man in a really happy mood, which meant that when they found me crying on the footpath outside the club, he was the one who suggested I come with them.
We all went back to some dodgy hotel room and fucked like mad – me, seven guys and another girl I used to work with (different job, a call centre, but we’d stayed close). I got pregnant, the Best Man got wildly drunk, Al got informed (by the Best Man) that his fiancee was cheating on him (with his Best Man).
I always thought it was a bit hypocritical of Al to drunk dial his fiancee and tell her that he was balls-deep in another woman and that she was a cheating whore who could go fuck herself, when he’d been balls deep in me for several hours before that. But that’s what he did.
They broke up. I had a miscarriage. We got together. It took us another year to work out that we’d actually met – and fucked – before.
The world’s a weird place, isn’t it?
Anyway, we’ve always been swingers. He’s the balding accountant (no, really) and I’m the hotwife who sleeps with all of his friends – whether he’s watching or not. The secrets to a happy marriage are to find someone who’s not afraid of rolling up their sleeves and getting shit done when they need to, and who’s exactly as filthy-minded as you are.
The point is, my sex life is not boring. My sex life is probably light years ahead of yours – or maybe it’s not. I don’t know your life. But I do know mine.
I got pregnant for a second time with my first child, Teagan, who was named by his Dad because there was no way the family tradition of handing down the name ‘Albert’ was going to stick. I don’t think Al’s Dad ever forgave him for that.
Anyway, apart from all of the sex, giving birth to my second child (a girl I named Tara, just because I liked how it looked next to Teagan) and several failed attempts at picking up part-time work (stripper, prostitute, child care worker, chemical analyst and so on), the next couple of decades aren’t…
Well, no, they were interesting. But they weren’t all that relevant to this story.
I suppose the really interesting stuff started a few days after Teagan’s twenty-second birthday.
Usually, on Wednesdays, Al and I have a date night. It gives the term ‘Hump Day’ a different dimension and it makes the mid-week something for all of us to look forward to – Al and I because we go out for the night, Teagan and Tara because… Well, because we go out for the night. We’re not the kind of parents who only have sex once in a blue moon, and even though I’ve learned to hold it in (for the most part) I’m naturally a screamer. Nobody’s kidding ourselves that the kids can’t hear us fucking some nights.
Al’s supposed to put soundproofing on the bedroom walls but he never seems to get around to it. I think I’m just going to ask Teagan to do it, especially since I’ve started fucking him anyway.
Anyway, this is all prior to that. It was Wednesday and I got a text.
:: Georgia – won’t make it tonight, sorry ::
My name is Georgia, by the way. It suddenly occurred to me I hadn’t mentioned that. Al never abbreviates it or uses a pet name for me, either – something about the phonetics gets him hot and I’m fine with that. It feels good to be relished.
Anyway, I was… Let’s say ‘disappointed.’ So I put down my vibrator, dried off my hands and grabbed my phone.
:: Whats up Al? ::
He hates that I don’t use proper punctuation in texts. He’s angry-fucked me over it more than once before – which is why I don’t do it. Shh. Don’t tell him. I don’t think he’s worked it out yet.
:: Got to work late, honey. Mind if I fuck Cora? ::
:: Cora gets cock and I dont? Okay have fun. C U tonight. ::
I didn’t get a response back for a few minutes. I guess Cora – his secretary – was sucking his cock. Which is a fucking hot sight, by the way. Almost as hot as when I’m licking her pussy. So yes, you know, Cora was a known factor. Al already had permission to fuck her, anyway. He didn’t have to ask. But it was a courtesy and my husband is a sweety, even if he was fucking his secretary on our date night.
So yes, I was annoyed. But it was at the circumstance, not at them. Frankly, I was more irritated I didn’t get a fun date than that I was unlikely to get hard cock.
:: Okay, I love you. See you tonight. Cora says hi and that she’ll pretend to be you so you kind of get spiritual cock by proxy. I don’t think that’s how it works. ::
:: U had better fuckin well take photos or ur in the dog house buddy! ::
:: Shall do. <3 ::
It was Wednesday, I wasn’t in the mood to masturbate any more, I wasn’t going to get cock and I wasn’t going on a date. Things weren’t looking good. Given the circumstances, I turned to the reliable comforter of all jilted wives and lonesome lovers.