Free Sample
Preview from chapter one
Entering the house with a sigh of relief after a long day at work, I notice that my son's bedroom door is slightly ajar. His computer, a sleek black tower with an illuminated interior, sits on the desk, beckoning me with its glow. I can't help but feel a twinge of curiosity, knowing the kind of content young adults tend to consume on those devices. I tiptoe closer to the door, my heart racing as the sound of a hushed video seeps through the crack. I lean in, pressing my ear against the wood. The video is playing at low volume, but the unmistakable sounds of passion echo through the room. The scene unfolds before my eyes, even though I'm not watching it directly. My cheeks flush as I recognize the genre—it's a taboo mother-son erotica. My hand lingers on the doorknob, unsure if I should confront him or sneak away. I decide to push the door open slowly, hoping he doesn't notice.
Pushing the door open slightly, my eyes widen as I take in the scene before me. My son, shirtless, with sweatpants tented around his crotch, is intently watching a video of a busty blonde woman, who looks eerily similar to myself, passionately embracing a young man on the screen. The woman's eyes are closed, lost in ecstasy, as the man kisses her neck. My son's hand moves rhythmically under the fabric, and I can't help but feel a strange mix of embarrassment, anger, and something else—arousal? I swallow hard, trying to ignore the sudden wetness between my own legs. I should be disgusted, but instead, a warmth spreads through my body.
"Jason?" I say his name softly, not wanting to startle him, but loud enough for him to hear. He jumps in his chair, slapping his hand over the mouse to pause the video, his face burning redder than the setting sun.
He turns to me, his eyes wide with panic. "Mom, I... I can explain," he stammers, his voice cracking. He looks at me with a pleading expression that tugs at my heartstrings.
"Jason, I think it's pretty clear what's going on here." I say calmly, taking a step into the room. The scent of his musk fills my nose, a heady mix of sweat and arousal. "Why don't you tell me what you're watching?" I ask, my voice steady despite the turmoil in my gut. The room is dimly lit, the curtains drawn to keep the outside world at bay, creating a private sanctuary of desire and secrets. The walls are adorned with posters of rock bands and half-clothed models, a typical teenage boy's retreat. His eyes dart to the screen, then back to me, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something in them that sends a shiver down my spine. It's not just fear of being caught; there's a hunger there, an unspoken yearning that I can't quite place.