She walked back to our table and plopped down hard next to me.
“Having fun?” I asked, annoyed. “I’m not.”
“Oh it’ss fine,” she said. A little slur to her speech. “I just needed another drink to… well… I have to admit something to you and it isn’t easy.” Mom reached into her tiny purse and pulled out a wad of black material.
“These are my panties! Or… well not panties… G-sh…. G – Shtring. My G-Shtring. And they’re too wet to wear anymore. See?” She held them up to my nose. They were wet, and the strong womanly odors coming off them was unmistakable.
“I needed to admit to you that you won! I had to go to the ladies room so I could cum and not make a mess out here! I’m so fucking wet…”
“You what?” I asked, wanting to be sure. “You just came? Here?”
Mom smiled a wicked smile and nodded her head.
“Yep! You grab my tits in plublic…plub… where people can see, I’m going to cum. Every time.”
We laughed and hugged. While I was paying the bill with her credit card, she told me to hurry. I thought it was because we were in a hurry to get home. But, no.
She was in a hurry to find a wastebasket, or a plant, or something to get sick in.
( . Y . )
We took a cab home so I could monitor her on the way. She only got sick the one time, outside the club, thankfully, and then she passed out.
I carried her upstairs to her room and sat her on the bed. Even passed out, she looked beautiful. I removed her shoes, gently, caressing her feet a little. I eased her out of her dress, which isn’t fucking easy at all with a dead-drunk person. Concerned about how she would feel tomorrow, I hauled her into the water closet and woke her up, eventually, so she could drink some water and go pee. After several minutes, she got down about 12 ounces of water. The whole time she was spouting off “I’m sorry I’m sorry”. Yep. I know. I’m sorry too.
She kind of helped me get her into some silk pajamas, then she passed out completely on her bed. I put her on her side in what’s called ‘the recovery position’, so if she gets sick again she’ll be alright.
Okay, yes it did occur to me to feel her up or finish what she started, but I’m not actually a rapist. Just a sex-fiend. There’s a difference.
I crawled on top of the covers next to her and went to sleep.
In the kitchen the next day, I was reading some stuff on the iPad when I heard the house creaking a bit. Somebody upstairs is moving.
I put the Keurig on again. A head peaked in.
“Travis?”
“Yeah Mom, how you doing?”
“I’m not sure… oh good you have coffee,” she said as she slid into a chair.
“I’m… kind of fuzzy on some things… but I’m pretty sure I wrecked our night, right?”
“Well, it didn’t end with a bang, no.”
“So… I remember Lady In Red, and then we were… sitting… and… oh shit! I orgasmed in a restroom? Did I do that?”
I just smiled enigmatically at her.
“Oh shit, I did! Didn’t I! Jeez I’m such a slut. I’m so sorry Travis, thanks for getting me home.”
“Well, fortunately, we have one car left. the Jag is at the restaurant and my car is at the shop. I’m hoping you can help me get those later today.”