We almost never drove the van. We had incredibly little money for gas. Lately we'd started putting it in neutral when going downhill, crossing one more threshold of desperation. But this very second, gas was burning while the engine was idling. We even had the air-conditioner running, and with the driver's side door wide open. These were crimes which would have earned me multiple slaps around the face, had I been driving.
But I wasn't driving, and Mom wasn't bruising my face - she was being noisily sick into a filthy metal bin on the side of the road. Watching someone vomit is a legitimately disturbing sight, the way their back muscles move in such a weird spasmodic sequence. I was sincerely scared for her. I couldn't look away. I got out of the passenger seat and went to her, putting my comforting hand on her heaving back.
"Don't touch me!" she hissed at me, holding up a finger, "Don't you fucking touch me."
The snap of rage was as repelling as the bin's thick smell of stewing garbage and vomit. I blinked back tears and rushed back to the passenger seat. Every second that passed felt like a newly lived crisis. The only option was to let them tick past.
When she finally got back in the van, when the door finally closed and the air conditioner once again had a fighting chance, I could see she had been crying. The van edged forward with a shriek of protest from some long-neglected engine belt. I stared out of the window, concentrating on stopping my anxious knee from jumping up and down like popping corn.
It was just us. We didn't used to be homeless. We used to have a big house on the beach. Us and Dad. He did a bad thing. A lot of bad things. We kept the van, and that's about as much as I feel like saying about it. Every night, we slept on a mattress in the back, surrounded by untidy piles of meager possessions.
We could get most of the bare necessities from a food bank. We managed to accumulate a few dollars here and there through the kindness of strangers and friends, for gas, hygiene products, etc. We tended to park by the beach to make use of the free showers and toilets. Well... unpopular beaches, where parking limits went unmonitored. There was no plan other than survive every day as it came.
But sometimes we needed something. Something none of the support services out there could give us. Or rather, something we couldn't ask them for without inviting questions and judgment. Sometimes, we needed something specific and there was no money.
Sometimes we had to shoplift. And sometimes we were caught.
Today, we were planning to shoplift at a pharmacy.
When we were first learning how to be homeless, Mom had the good sense to try a more distant mall. That way, if we failed whilst we were learning, we'd hopefully not be recognized and become "known" to our local shops (and police). We'd learned a few tricks.
The first rule, be bold. Believe you didn't have a can of deodorant in your jacket sleeve, and when someone looked at you suspiciously, you'd look back with a confused expression because you didn't know why. It worked better if you bought something cheap at the same time. If you went to the counter to pay, you must be honest, right? Mom was way better at it than me. She was smart, bold and charming. I'll be honest here - her impressive cleavage didn't hurt either. Yep I went there, but it's true and she wasn't shy about it either. Given the stakes, it should be her doing the lifting this time, but when she was this angry, there was no predicting her.
I wanted to hug her desperately, so much so that I could almost feel the warmth of her embrace in advance. I wanted to tell her I was sorry, but I simply couldn't handle another blistering tirade. When she wanted to, she could flay my soul with nothing more than words.
Eventually, we pulled over near a mall we'd rarely visited. We didn't park in the car park because it wasn't free. We sat in silence for a minute, a silence I wasn't game to fill.
"Come on then," she finally said, grabbing an old duffel bag from the foot-well on my side. I dutifully opened my creaking door and slid down to the roadside.
She closed her door first and I found the courage to ask: "Do you have the keys?" before closing my own. I had learned that crisis situations could beget more crises all too easily. She ignored me but I heard them clink in her hand as she stomped away. I locked and closed my door, and followed. In this bright sunlight, her stretched nylon leggings were slightly transparent, and the ratty underwear she wore underneath was clearly visible. Any other day, I would have told her so she could change. Today I really didn't need to invite a vitriolic lecture on the depths of perversion my teenage mind had sunk to.
But given these freakish, completely insane circumstances... how could she?
I also didn't say anything to Mom about her smell. By the time we entered the mall, I could smell her pretty keenly. I probably smelled pretty bad myself. It was hot. The kind of hot that made you wish for a shower and a change of clothes. Staying on top of laundry was challenging for us in hot weather, but this wasn't a high priority today.
The blessed mall air conditioning was rejuvenating. And the smell of the food hall mouth-watering. Mom tersely told me to meet her there in an hour, answering my unasked question about who was doing the lifting. When she said to meet back at the food hall, she meant I ought to secure some food for us. We'd done this before. We'd loiter and wait for someone to half-finish their meal and leave without binning it, then we'd swoop in and finish it for them.
I watched her leave the food hall, eyes on her instead of the tables. To say my feelings were complicated right now would be a poleaxing understatement. Her underwear was much less noticeable in the artificial light of the mall. The deep, dark part of me was well aware I wasn't simply staring out of concern for her dignity. I was appreciating the ample roundness of her backside. It was large, but in a way which the nylon pants seemed very willing to advertise as incredibly gropable. After thirty seconds, she and her angry, hot ass were out of view. No, I didn't feel ashamed. Not anymore. I was getting used to the idea that rules were for the comfortable, to protect their comfort and let them indulge in judgment. To let them feel good about themselves. A sneering, bitter side of me took actual pleasure in rebelling against the culture of the "homeful" - in whatever way I could. A hardness in my pants was proof enough of that. It was helped along by some intrusive thoughts that were really just a natural progression. But now was not the time.
Taking a deep breath and shaking my mind free, I stood by a broad column near some large indoor plants, trying to look as bored and casual as possible. I stared at the blank screen of my phone that hadn't turned on in six months, glancing up now and then. I was somewhat grateful that mine was the low-risk heist. A genuine victimless crime.
Seeing groups of teens and families having meals they took for granted always put a lump in my throat. They all had their bags full of newly purchased cheap crap they'd throw out soon enough due to "clutter". Somehow my mind leaped from envy and bitterness to the idea that I should get a present for Mom. I should get her something to add a bright moment to the awful day she was having. And maybe she'd be a bit warmer toward me afterwards. I had some time to spare. Not much, but some.
I began to meander around the mall, glancing casually into shop-fronts for things I might be able to lift at low risk. Getting caught would be the worst kind of backfiring. If she got dragged into the security office to deal with me... shit, she might get caught too. Then there would be questions about why she'd stolen what she had...
Wouldn't that be perfect for today?
Finding the perfect gift proved to be a trickier puzzle than I'd anticipated. A bottle of vodka and something nice to mix it with would be sure to get me hugs and kisses, but the security measures around those products were more than I was willing to risk.
I took a break to go to the toilet and give my genitals a scratching. That's not a euphemism. I'd been living with some sort of sexually transmitted ailment for a few months, and sometimes the itching just got too maddening to leave unaddressed. I was still in a mildly amorous state and did consider jerking off, but I was wasting time. Not now.
As I came out of the toilets I was staring straight at a store that sold greeting cards. That seemed like a good start.
At first I found it overwhelming. There were so many categories and most of them were just garbage. I walked past birthday cards of every specified age you could name and pondered over the remaining categories.
There was a get well card with a hand-drawn can of chicken soup on the front. That was just a bit odd. Besides a "get well" card seemed to focus on a barely relevant facet of what was going on for her. It smacked of inattentiveness and laziness. I needed a genuine act of empathy.
There was a card that said in scrappy letters across the front "When the going gets tough, the tough cry in the car". That hit very close to home, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought it might suit her wicked sense of humor, should it ever shine once more through the clouds. We could laugh in the face of the bleak desperation together. Damn, but how I wanted to make her laugh again.
My eyes ran along the rows upon rows of cards and hit a section heavy with storks and cutsy animal couples with a little one between them. I'd hit the "congratulations on your new baby" section. And that was when I suddenly began to sweat and the world started to spin without warning. There was nowhere to sit, so I stood with my eyes closed for a moment and breathed until my heart rate slowed and my stomach stopped churning.
I opened my eyes, and when they were finally able to focus and connect to my brain again, they were fixed on a card that boldly declared the recipient to be "World's Greatest Grandma". I clenched my teeth to avoid laughing (or crying) out loud and slipped the car-crying one under my shirt. Now I had to find a bank for the free use of a pen.
I had become lost in looking at cards, and now I was out of time for another gift and in danger of being late to meet Mom. Instead of a bank I found an office supply store - one which let you scribble with multi-colour pens before buying. I scrawled down a message inside the card, fast and with far too little thought. Panic's a bitch. Then I hustled to the food hall, very out of breath. I was quite overweight - my ass was even fatter than Mom's - and it took a minute for me to recover and safely settle back into the feeling that things were back on track.
I picked my targets, a girl about my age eating with her mom. I confess my eyes lingered on her ass in that rickety chair. She was a little slim for my taste, but a killer body nonetheless. My brain wasn't done with intrusive thoughts, and handed me an image of the three of us naked on that table with the girl sitting on my face and her mom bouncing up and down on my cock as the two of them ate tacos messily. I figured younger pussy would taste better but what would I know? I can't deny I was curious.
Bringing myself back to reality, they certainly had more tacos than I would expect they could handle. So long as they weren't going to be joined by anyone else, it seemed perfect. They started to get up, and I started to casually wander into the center of the tables.
Despite all my guile, as I approached, the girl looked me straight in the eyes. And her eyes widened in recognition.
"Jake? Jakey, is that you?"
For a terrible second I remembered her, but not her name. Then it hit me out of nowhere. Astonishingly, I managed to sound a lot more normal than I had felt at any point today.
"Hey Jenny. You going alright?"
Her eyes said her mind was suddenly racing, but she played for time by flailing a hand to get her mom's attention: "Mom, this Jake. He's a friend from back in high school." She gave a nervous chuckle.
I'd met her mom before. I'd even been to their house, but I had no chance of remembering her mom's name. She was much fitter than mine. Jenny's mom had a critical gaze and I could tell her mind was racing too. These two had both heard things, and were both trying to figure out how to talk to the high school nerd turned homeless vagrant.
"Hey Jake, stay here for a sec, OK?" Without waiting for a reply, she pulled her mom aside for a whispered conversation. It went on for a bit but I couldn't hear any of it in the noisy food hall. Then she came back: "Mom has shopping to do but she says it's cool if we want to hang for a bit and she'll find me later. Oh... that is assuming you'd like to... I mean, if you're like, busy with stuff?"
Now was a time when some very clever lies and fast talking could probably resolve the situation perfectly - but that wasn't my style. My style was to freeze up and get tongue tied or say something really stupid. Like the truth.
"My mom's meeting me here soon, and I was going to get us some... umm..." I couldn't help glancing at their uneaten tacos. I'd missed my shot. A janitor was emptying them into the bin on his trolley. I could have kicked myself. I was going to get hell for this.
Jenny figured it out in less than a second. She was smart. So smart. She must be at college getting top grades these days. It was why I'd liked her at school. It was why I'd sort-of dated her. For a bit. It was just a couple of years ago but it felt like a decade.
"Wanna get an ice cream? My treat? Please, it's the only time I'm allowed ice cream. With friends and stuff I mean. Mom can be a bit of a health nut." She went on and on in a nervous ramble of horseshit. But she was trying to help. People try to help. And the easiest thing is to let them. Declining it would always lead to complicated feelings of rejection and suddenly someone was avoiding you and was unlikely to try to help again.
"Awww, shit yeah, that sounds awesome. Thanks Jenny!"
So I tagged along and soon it was the two of us sitting at a table eating ice cream out of cups. She had some kind of berry gelato. I had choc-mint. It was awkward until we started talking about people from school and what they'd gotten up to after I left. Danny got expelled for bringing alcohol on a field trip and needing his stomach pumped. That was not entirely shocking. I felt bad for the teachers who had to deal with it. No surprise he never graduated high school. Megan had been in some of Jenny's classes at college, but was taking time off again, and Megan's faithless best friend had revealed it was another interstate trip for another abortion. All the more scandalous given she and her professor could barely conceal the love hearts flying through the air between them.
"I heard about your dad. I'm sorry Jakey."
It came when I didn't expect it, "Oh yeah, y'know. Life's a bitch, right?"
"I'm sure he's innocent. We have prayed for him, that he'll get justice and get out before you know it."
I smiled, but I never wanted to see that man again. As far as I was concerned, all I needed him for was to shoot a sperm into my mom's vagina to make me, and that was it. Lying naked before him, her legs spread for him, moaning as he squirted... and the sperm swam into her floating egg... I was suddenly sweating again, and my face must have been pale because a sudden look of concern flashed across her face.
She was suddenly next to me, and hugging me, holding me close. "I'm going to get you some food and a soda. I'll be right back!"
I sat still, soaked in sweat and feeling oddly chilly, but she came back with not one but two sodas and more beefy 5-layer burritos than I could eat by myself. She remembered I was into these when we were dating. There was that lump in my throat. The one you get when someone legitimately shows care for you in the perfect, but unexpected way.
Then I ruined it by picturing her bent over the table whilst I pounded her and she screamed like she was in amateur porn. I wondered if she was still a virgin. I can derail any rare, good feeling with the most appalling of intrusive thoughts.
It would have been weird to wait so I thanked her and started eating, but slowly. The soda seemed to do wonders to soften the thundering of my own pulse in my ears. I was mostly listening to her now, as she prattled on about everything and anything. And it was wonderful. For half an hour, my deeply messed up life was someone else's and I felt normal again. I wondered, was she single? She hadn't mentioned a boyfriend. Was there a way events could transpire such that we might date again? Maybe we could finally have sex. But I'd need to be able to afford condoms. I'd only ever had one sexual partner, and she had left me in this very itchy and slightly drippy state. That hadn't cleared up. I would hate to pass that on to a kind soul like Jenny.
It all went away when I saw mom. She was watching us from the edge of the food hall, like a scowling lion watching the gazelle drink. She didn't approach. My responses to Jenny lost their warmth, and became more guarded. I couldn't help it. Then suddenly Jenny's own mom was back. She put two full shopping bags on the floor next to my seat.
"These are for you Jake. I know it's rough. We are praying for you."
I blinked back tears whilst thanking her quietly and wondering how her vagina would taste, and if her pubic hair was thick enough to get up my nose. Then I was brought back to reality by Jenny hugging me and telling me how wonderful it was to catch up.
They left.
I would have watched them leave, but instead I watched Mom approach. She was very casually dangling the duffel bag and let it drop to the floor next to the groceries.
"What was that then? Looking for another piece of tail already? Bit early for a midlife crisis, yeah?" It wasn't a friendly tone, but it wasn't as angry as earlier. She started stuffing a burrito into her mouth.
"That was Jenny." Mom did not seem satisfied with that. "She was my girlfriend from back in high school. Well, for a bit."
"You didn't knock her up I bet," she mumbled through a full mouth, "I bet you didn't knock up little Jenny."
"We never... there was just some kissing. That was all."
"So she wasn't your first." She shrugged. It wasn't a question. It was Mom in interrogator mode. "Who was your first?"
I couldn't find words. Mom swallowed.
"No," she said a bit sadly. "No, really?"
My continued silence was her answer. Her renewed distress was palpable, but I was glad of it because this time it carried traces of actual concern for me. I felt it in the air.
It felt like she was about to tell me she was sorry, even though it wasn't necessary as far as I was concerned.
She said: "Shit. I had no idea."
And with that we stepped out into the sun again, and in the strangest way I felt a little lighter on the walk back to the van. It could have been the good time I had with Jenny, but I think it was Mom and my weird little conversation that felt almost like we were connecting again. I found her bad smell comforting. I risked a question.
"Did you... go to the toilet?" She shook her head. We were in for a nerve-wracking drive.
The van started on the third try. Mom drove back the way we came, whilst I distracted myself by going through the shopping bags with which we had been gifted. There was a fair amount of biscuits and other long-life dry foods. People try to help. Easiest to let them. Mom parked at one of our usual beaches. This one was typically deserted due to massive hills of seaweed, right up to the water.
We got out of the van. I handed Mom the duffel bag of stolen goods, and she walked to the toilet block. I watched her go. I had no idea how long she would need in there, I just knew things might be very different when she came back.
Sunset at the beach was seaweed and sand flies. There wasn't much wind so the stink of decaying mountains of dry kelp hung heavy. But the sound of the waves was welcome and soothing. I could close my mind to everything else and let that sound take me far from the here and now.
Mom had been a long while. I hadn't checked the time when she went into the toilet and shower block, but if she didn't come out soon, she'd be coming out in the dark. I tried to stop myself from staring at the sad, squat building. Staring wouldn't make her come out sooner. Or later. I wasn't sure which I was hoping for.
Then there she was. She looked only at the ground as she ambled slowly up the path, and that told me everything. The blood rushed to my ears for at least the third time that day. I had to sit. The bench wobbled as I came down too hard on it. I breathed. I just focused on breathing. For a moment I thought she was going to ignore me entirely and get in the van and lock the doors with me outside. Maybe she had contemplated exactly that, then changed her mind. Her feet seemed to lead her toward me and she followed them. She sat on the bench next to me. She said nothing. And that too, said everything.
Eventually she pulled the white paper bag out of her duffel and upended it on my lap.
The pink First Response box tumbled off my knees onto the dirt, along with not one but three white plastic sticks -- along with another box still in plastic wrap, and a bottle of apple-flavored shampoo. She'd peed on all the sticks, and fate had decided to show all three face-up. Three plus-signs.
She stood up and walked to the van like a zombie. I picked up the pregnancy tests and put them back in their box. I picked up the other box. It wasn't full of pregnancy tests. It said "Trojan". It was a six-pack of condoms.
She opened the back of the van and got in. Instead of following, I watched the sea and thought of nothing, as hard as I could. It got dark sooner than I wanted. The sound of the waves and screaming gulls was undercut by the gut-wrenching sound of Mom trying and failing to silence her sobs. Eventually, all I could do was go to her.
I crawled onto the incriminating mattress and closed the doors. I sat with my back to wall, hugging my knees, waiting for her to say something. Her back was to me, her hands clutching the top of her head. I was suddenly overcome by the need to hold her and lie to her about how everything was going to be OK.
I lay down next to her but did not touch her. Immediately, she rolled over to face me, or rather, bury her face into my shoulder, and sobbed for a harrowing twenty minutes.
Eventually, she took a deep breath and sat up, staring at the closed doors to the van cargo compartment, for no apparent reason.
"I'm sorry," she said.
I didn't know what to say.
"I was pretty mean to you today. I was scared and angry... not at you..." she turned to face me. "Well, maybe a little bit at you. I mean, it's not all entirely one hundo percent my fault, right?"
"No. I'm sorry," I could hardly form words and didn't know what I was saying until I was saying them, "I shouldn't have... I mean, I think maybe I pressured and..."
Her face collapsed in another gruesome sob. "It can't be your fault. Not at all, really. It was your birthday. I was drunk... It felt... I thought you'd like it... and, uh..."
"I did. I really loved it. I really, really loved it."
"...and maybe the best thing I can do for you now as your mom is get you as far away from me as possible. I'm just... awful."
"Please don't. I really, really loved it. And I love you."
I still had the card under my shirt. I pulled it out and put it in her hands. I felt a wave of relief when she laughed at the image on the front. "When the going gets tough, the tough cry in the car... fuck. That's... fuck! That's funny, Jakey, thank you." She opened the card and read aloud the message I wrote: "Dear Mom, I'm sorry I knocked you up. I love you."
She didn't laugh or cry at that, but appeared to be experiencing a new, quiet level of realization of our reality.
"What are we going to tell the... Jesus. The truth puts us both in jail. Jesus. No. I can't talk about any of that now. Fuck, I've never been so exhausted in my life."
I felt it too. And putting voice to it made me suddenly newly aware of the emotional burden I'd been lugging around all day.
"We better try to sleep," she said, "if there's any hope that I can. I should have lifted some Unisom or something too." I wished for a moment I'd been able to get her that vodka.
She pulled off her shirt and threw it to the back of the van. Then she pulled down her sweat-damp nylon pants to reveal the big ratty panties with holes so big it practically made them lingerie. The bra came off, freeing her swaying middle-aged boobs, but the panties stayed precariously in place. I took off my shirt and pants too, and lay down facing the back of her head as she pressed her soft, flabby back into my soft, flabby front. She had showered. She smelled like fake-apple-scent instead of sweaty crotch and her hair was still wet as it brushed my face. She let out a big sigh, like that could rule a line under a really hard day.
I put my arm around her, desperately hoping she wouldn't throw it off. My need for connection had me dangling by a thread and that rejection would have destroyed me. I cupped her boob (by accident?), and to my surprise, her soft nipple hardened between my knuckles, like so many nights before. Then her hand closed around mine. Then it pulled mine from her nipple, and my heart sank.
I briefly wished I'd jerked off at the mall. It was looking like tonight would be the first night in three months we weren't going to have sex. On reflection, the lack of menstruation-breaks should have tipped us both off a long time ago that something was amiss.
But then... she was placing my hand quite deliberately on her soft lower belly. My thumb-tip slipped into the belly fold of her naval. My little finger instinctively curled the coarse pubic hair spilling out of her panties. I flattened my hand and tenderly massaged the soft skin. I poured as much love as I could into it, as if I could transmit my love into the tiny little life taken root in Mom's womb, inches from my fingers. Our baby.
After a few minutes her breathing became deeper and she clenched her abdominal muscles with each breath. My hand slipped, unopposed, under the ragged fabric, and my fingers ran through her untamed bush of pubic hair. This hair was wet too, but not from the shower. I gently scratched my mom's pussy-lips, accumulating pubes and skin and sweat under my fingernails. She moaned a satisfying moan. An amusing silver lining of your mom having an STD was the gratifying noises she'd make when you give her itchy cunt a nice scratch. I slid my middle finger into the warm slick furrow, and then ran my fingertips against her slippery folds. Now two fingers went in. With a slight shiver she turned her torso to me. In the darkness it was hard to tell but I know she was smiling. Then Mom's tongue went in my mouth.
"How dumb are we?" she said with an actual chuckle when our lips parted, "Talk about never learning, yeah? We're absolutely the absolute worst fucking idiots."
"I found the other box," I reached around, trying to find the Trojans, "I'll put on a..."
Then she laughed loudly. "That's gold. What's the point? I think I lifted them to let the whole thing scare me straight. I mean if I'd tested negative and couldn't stop myself fucking you. You're not going to get me any more pregnant than you already did. Yeah?"
It's not that we'd never used condoms. We used them when we had them. But they were expensive and we couldn't always replace them. And sure, when we didn't have them, we didn't have to have sex. But we slept skin-on-skin on a mattress in the back of a van. And it was easy for hands to go places half-accidentally (and not just mine). And sometimes when that happened Mom couldn't sleep until she'd had a fuck. And y'know what? I really liked fucking her, so we'd fuck, and it was fun and beautiful. We only had each other so nobody else mattered anyway. The rules are written by the comfortable. The rules are for people who'd never get it.
She rolled her hips over and raised her legs in the air, inviting me to relieve the bedraggled pink(ish) panties from their duty. I dragged them carefully up her thick legs as I had done every night since my birthday. The smell of her arousal overtook the smell of rotting seaweed.
"Wanna come home?" Mom said with her inimitable smirk, my fingers already back in her exposed, flushed vagina, hot and oh so ready. It was the same thing she'd said that first night, once the vodka bottle was three-quarters emptied, in lieu of a birthday cake. That had been the most incredible night of my life. We'd had "the giggles" in a big way. We did silly dares in our underwear, and as the moon rose, these turned into naughty dares. I dared her to fart, and she did, loudly and pretty damned stinkily. We collapsed in laughter. She dared me to put my nose against her butt and inhale. I did. Her panties were a lot more intact back then, but her perfectly-timed surprise-fart went right through and into my lungs. I dared her to get naked, and she didn't blink. Off came the bra and panties. She made a show of wobbling her boobies. Although I really wanted to see her pussy, I couldn't really whilst her obese form was sitting on it. She dared me to get naked. Well, I pretty much had to, didn't I? I dared her to kiss my penis. She got on her hands and knees in front of me and paused for a moment in hesitation. Then she kissed it, making exaggerated kissy sound effects. Then Mom said "Happy Birthday Jakey" and put her mouth around it, and my brain exploded.
Her mouth was hot and wet and felt like nothing I'd ever felt before. I think she would have sucked me to completion if I hadn't panicked and gently lifted her head off.
There was a momentary look in her face I'll never forget. Doubt, panic, teetering on the edge of terminal remorse. So I kissed her vigorously on the lips. And then her tongue was in my mouth, and then she was on her back and my fingers were inside her. And her legs were in the air, parted, and she said "Wanna come home?"
She'd found it so hilarious on that night, and had said it again every time since. It was the sign she was inviting me in. After I "came home" that first time, I couldn't sleep a wink. I was wired and intermittently fingered her until dawn, examining her juice and wondering how much of the sticky wetness was my semen. When the sun rose, I ambled down to the shower block. The shower water made my cock slick with her revived juices and somehow that was what it took to smack me over the head with reality. It hadn't been a dream. I had just fucked my mom.
She had been awake when I'd got back to the van, and had cried most of the day. It had been a bad day and I don't like to think about it. But when the sun set and she'd composed herself, I managed to get a few smiles out of her. The rest of the vodka was consumed, and after some hugging, some kissing and some giggles, her naked legs went up again. "Wanna come home?"
And now, on the cusp of what must be nearly our one hundredth fuck, a smirking "Wanna come home?"
As with every other time, I held her knees apart and imagined. I imagined her screaming and crying and cursing my father as she pushed a tiny version of me out of this hole. I imagined my father seeing her naked with legs spread like this every time he fucked her, including the night she conceived me (when she was so many years younger and so many pounds lighter). If he knew we were doing this tonight, would they find him hanging in his cell tomorrow morning?
"Yes please," I croaked, as I always did, and she pulled my very hard penis from my boxers.
She fitted the head of my cock to her slick entrance and I pushed, sliding it up inside her almost frictionlessly. Our obese, naked bodies heaved against each other with a wet-sounding rhythm. When she was wet, she was very wet, and within seconds, copious secretions had drenched my balls, as they gently slapped against Mom's hefty buttocks with each thrust.
As always we both got out of breath way too quickly. I don't know if she came - I never knew, but she made sounds like she was really enjoying it. If she was faking, she was good at faking. We kissed. We kissed long and stole the breath from each others' lungs. My hands were full of her huge breasts, smearing the wetness from her cunt across them. My thumbs fondled her hardened nipples in unison as I felt it coming, and before I knew it, there was the familiar rush of semen jetting along my cock, and it spurted into her, mingling with her love juices and, for all I knew, clouding the fluids around my brother, or sister, or
daughter, or son.
I collapsed next to her and we kissed some more.
There was so much to talk about, but we didn't. We couldn't think. I placed my lips on her nipple and my hand back on her belly. Every now and then she'd scratch her itchy crotch. Or I would. Now and then, one of us would lift a leg and fart in Mexican, and we'd both laugh.
"I love you," I said.
"I love you too."
And against all expectations, we were both able to sleep.
I woke hours later to the sensation of the van rocking in response to vigorous movement. Cracks in the paint over the window swept beams of sunlight back and forth over the seat backs above my head.
"Fuckfuckfuck... mggguurrr," Mom was panicking, naked and fumbling for the handle at the back of the van. The door swung open, flooding the van with early morning light and the smell of seaweed as mom heaved with her whole body and let a stream of vomit out onto the dusty gravel car park. From my angle, her fat ass dominated my view, head down, thighs spread, anus and cum-crusted-cunt at maximum exposure. Some might say it's a disturbing sight to watch someone vomiting. But this here was the most beautiful sight in the world.
I reached into a shopping bag and pulled out a bottle of mouthwash. I handed it to Mom when she paused. She took a swig, spat it out, and closed the doors.
Thankfully nobody had been around to see.
"Thanks," she said, breathless.
I don't know what look I gave her, but I know the look I got back. Seconds later, her ankles were on my shoulders again, and my balls were soaked. It was the first time we'd ever fucked in daylight. That was a shift in routine.
Oh well, I guess I was going to have to get used to our routines being disrupted soon enough anyway...