《I Wish I Wore a Condom Because the Hooker Ended Up Being My Mom》


 Chapter 1: It’s Lights Out And Away We Go

    Chapter 1 - 1: It''s Lights Out And Away We GoThe morning light filters through my blinds, catching dust motes in its beam, innocent, unlike what I''m doing beneath my sheets.


    I''m hunched over in my bedroom, hand working frantically while Mom''s silky black panties stretch over my cock.


    I got up at 5:30 AM just to raid her hamper, a ritual I''ve perfected many times over the past year. The fabric is still warm, still smells like her. God, I hate myself for this.


    "This is the last time," I whisper, like I''ve whispered a hundred times before. But today, it might actually be true. First day of college. Fresh start. No more being the weird, quiet kid from Orono High who''s too awkward to make friends.


    No more being the kid who''s in love with his own Mother.


    I stifle a groan as I picture her face, those piercing blue eyes that seem to see right through me at the breakfast table. The way her white hair falls across her shoulders when she bends to kiss my forehead. How her body curves in all the places that make my mouth go dry when she walks around in her robe on Sunday mornings.


    "Fuck," I breathe, bucking my hips upward. The shame burns hot, but not hot enough to stop me. Never hot enough to stop me.


    Mom raised me alone after Dad split. Eighteen years of just us. Just Angela and Gabriel against the world. She worked so hard, all those overtime hours she put in. The way she''d come home exhausted. How she always had enough money for my science camp tuitions despite our modest means.


    I''m close now, thinking about how she held me last night. "My college boy," she''d said, hugging me tight enough that I could feel every inch of her pressed against me. The way she looked at me.


    God, I wish I could fuck her, even just once.


    I bite my lip hard as the pressure builds, a volcano about to erupt. When it hits, it''s overwhelming.


    "M-Mom," I gasp, louder than intended, as waves of pleasure crash through me.


    My body jerks involuntarily as I empty myself into the stolen underwear, pulse after pulse until the delicate fabric can''t contain it all. The warm wetness seeps through, coating my fingers. The euphoria lasts seconds before the familiar tsunami of self-loathing crashes down.


    I''m still catching my breath, face half-buried in my pillow with the rest of me under the covers, when I hear my bedroom door creak open. My heart stops.


    "Gabe? Did you call for me, honey?" Mom''s voice floats into the room.


    I freeze, keeping the evidence hidden beneath the sheets. Only my head is visible, my face flushed and hair sticking to my forehead with sweat.


    "N-no," I manage to croak out, trying to sound normal and failing spectacularly. "Just, uh, talking to myself."


    She lingers in the doorway, those blue eyes studying me. There''s something in her expression I can''t quite read. For a terrifying second, I wonder if she knows.


    Then her face softens into that smile that makes my chest ache. "Well, hurry up and get in the shower, college boy. I''m making your favorite breakfast, chocolate chip waffles." She winks. "It''s not every day my son starts university."


    "Thanks, Mom. I''ll be down in fifteen."


    She nods but doesn''t leave immediately.


    "My handsome boy," she mutters, almost to herself, before closing the door.


    I wait until her footsteps fade down the hallway before exhaling. Jesus Christ, that was close. I crawl out of bed, carefully bundling the soiled panties. I''ll have to rinse them out in the bathroom sink before hiding them back in her hamper later tonight. I hide them under my mattress for now.


    I stumble to the bathroom on shaky legs, locking the door behind me and turning the shower on full blast. The steam fills the small space as I step under the scalding water, desperate to wash away what I''ve done.


    "Get it together, Gabriel," I mutter, scrubbing my skin raw. "This is pathetic. You''re pathetic."


    The water pounds against my back as I close my eyes, trying to clear my head. College starts today. A fresh beginning. A chance to be someone new, someone normal.


    "No more," I promise myself, my voice echoing against the tile. "No more stealing her underwear. No more fantasizing about Mom at night. No more imagining what it would be like if she looked at me as more than just her son."


    I press my forehead against the cool shower wall, letting the water cascade over me. I''ve been living in this twisted fantasy for too long, letting it consume me. Every time Mom touches my shoulder or smiles at me across the dinner table, I''ve been twisting it into something it''s not.


    "It ends today," I say with newfound determination, standing straighter. "I''m going to look at her like a son should look at his Mother. Nothing more."


    I shut off the water and grab a towel, drying myself vigorously as if I could scrub away years of inappropriate thoughts. I won''t let myself imagine her voice whispering praise in my ear anymore. Won''t fantasize about her hands on me, controlling me, owning me in ways that make my cock twitch. S§×ar?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    After brushing my teeth and combing my hair, I stare at my reflection. "You''re going to be normal today," I tell myself firmly while pointing at the mirror. "You''re going to eat breakfast, thank her for the waffles, and go to your first day of classes without a single inappropriate thought about the woman who raised you, you sick fuck."


    I dress quickly in jeans and a plain blue t-shirt, nothing special, but clean and presentable for my first day. The smell of waffles and coffee wafts up from downstairs, making my stomach growl despite my anxiety.


    When I enter the kitchen, Mom is at the stove, her back to me. She''s wearing a simple sundress that hugs her figure, white hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. I force my eyes away, focusing instead on setting the table.


    "There''s my smart man," she says, turning with a plate of waffles. "Sleep okay?"


    "Fine," I mumble, not meeting her eyes as I pour myself some orange juice.


    She sets the plate down and reaches out, her fingers brushing my chin, tilting my face up to look at her. "You seem tense. Nervous about your first day?"


    Her fingertips on my skin send electricity straight through me. After what I just did upstairs, it''s like my body is hypersensitive to her touch. I can feel blood rushing south again, and I shift awkwardly in my chair, angling away from her.


    "I, uh..." I stammer, staring intently at the waffles instead of her face. "Yeah, just first-day jitters, you know? Kind of freaks me out doing something completely different after all these years."


    I grab my fork and immediately stab at the waffle, desperate for any distraction. The chocolate chips are still melting, just how I like them.


    Mom doesn''t move away immediately. Her hand lingers near my face, then slides to my shoulder, where she gives a gentle squeeze.


    "You''re going to do wonderfully, Gabriel," she says, her voice soft. "You''ve always been so bright. I''m incredibly proud of you."


    When she finally steps back to grab her coffee, I exhale slowly, not realizing I''d been holding my breath. I shovel a forkful of waffle into my mouth, chewing mechanically.


    "Thanks," I manage after swallowing. "I hope so."


    Mom sits across from me, her own plate modest compared to the stack she''s given me. She crosses her legs under the table, and I feel her foot accidentally brush against my calf. I nearly choke on my orange juice.


    Mom takes a bite of her waffle, chewing thoughtfully before setting down her fork. "I''m going to be late tonight. Work''s demanding a lot right now."


    I nod, trying to focus on my breakfast instead of the way her lips move when she speaks. It''s one of those mysterious work nights again. She''s always been vague about her job, just that it pays the bills and requires long hours sometimes.


    "Let me guess," I say, attempting normal mother-son banter, "you''re actually a secret government agent studying extraterrestrials in an underground bunker beneath Orono?"


    She laughs that musical sound that makes my stomach flip. "You and your wild imagination, Gabriel. If I told you what I really did, I''d have to kill you." She winks, and I can''t tell if she''s joking.


    "Do you want me to make something for dinner when I get home? I could try that pasta recipe you like." I''m desperate to be useful to her, to be more than just her burden.


    "No need, sweetheart." She reaches across the table and brushes her fingers against mine. The casual touch sends electricity up my arm. "I''ll probably be too late. I''ll just head straight to bed when I get in."


    "Alright." I pull my hand away, pretending I need to reach for more syrup.


    As I think more about all of her sacrifices for me, my words tumble out before I can stop them. "Mom, I just... thank you. For everything. For working so hard all these years." My voice cracks embarrassingly. "Someday, I promise I''ll pay you back for everything. Ten times over."


    "Oh, Gabriel." She stands and comes around the table. Before I can react, she''s behind me, arms wrapping around my shoulders in a hug that presses her chest against my back. Her lips brush my ear as she whispers, "You have no idea how much you already give me just by being mine."


    My entire body goes rigid. I''m painfully aware of her breath on my neck, her hands resting dangerously close to my chest. The warmth of her against me is unbearable after what I did upstairs.


    "I should go," I blurt out, standing so abruptly my chair nearly topples. "Don''t want to be late on my first day."


    I grab my backpack from the counter, needing to escape before she notices the effect she''s having on me. But as I reach the doorway, she calls out.


    "Gabriel?"


    I turn, keeping my backpack strategically positioned in front of me. "Yeah?"


    Mom glides toward me. She reaches up, smoothing my hair with one hand while the other rests on my chest. I can feel her palm against my racing heart.


    "Good luck today, honey," she says, her blue eyes locked on mine. "I love you so much. More than you could possibly understand."


    The way she says it sounds... different. Not like the casual "love you" most parents toss at their kids. There''s a weight to it that makes my stomach flip.


    Stop over thinking, Gabe! You''re Mom does not want to fuck you!


    "I love you too, Mom," I manage to stammer out, backing toward the door before I do something stupid. Like, confess to her.


    Today is the first day of letting go of my Mother for good... Sexually, I mean. I still love her as my Mother, of course.

 Chapter 2: Breaking Good

    Chapter 2 - 2: Breaking GoodMy stomach growls loud enough to make the girl next to me in the cafeteria line shoot me a weird look. I haven''t eaten since those chocolate chip waffles this morning, and my body''s staging a full-on rebellion.


    "Sorry," I mutter, grabbing a tray and shuffling forward like the rest of the freshmen cattle.


    My first day at the University of Maine has been a blur of orientation bullshit. Assemblies where old dudes in suits drone on about "academic integrity" while secretly eyeing the freshman girls. Department heads listing rules I''ll forget by tomorrow. Campus tours led by peppy upperclassmen who definitely drew the short straw for this gig.


    The whole time, I''ve been trying to focus on college. New beginnings. Not on Mom''s fingers brushing against mine at breakfast or the way she whispered in my ear. Definitely not on what I did with her panties this morning.


    Fuck. I''m doing it again.


    I grab a burger and pile fries onto my plate with more force than necessary, making the lunch lady raise an eyebrow.


    "Hungry, hon?" she asks, and for a second, her motherly tone makes my chest tighten.


    "Starving," I reply, avoiding eye contact as I snag an apple and chocolate milk like I''m still in fucking elementary school.


    I scan the cafeteria, a sea of strange faces engaged in the awkward dance of first-day socializing. Groups already forming, laughter already shared. Meanwhile, I''m standing here like an idiot, tray in hand, wondering where to sit.


    I take a deep breath, trying to dial back the anxiety. Just find a damn table, King. This isn''t rocket science.


    I spot an empty table near the window and make my way over, carefully balancing my overloaded tray. So what if I''m sitting alone? Rome wasn''t built in a day, right? And this whole "reinventing myself" thing was always going to be a gradual process.


    I set my tray down and drop into the chair, focusing on my breathing. In, out. In, out. The burger looks surprisingly decent for cafeteria food, and I''m just about to demolish it when a voice interrupts my hunger trance.


    "Is it okay if I sit here?"


    I glance up to find possibly the prettiest girl I''ve seen all day standing across from me. She''s black, with short, neat hair framing a face that''s caught somewhere between confident and terrified, a feeling I know all too well.


    "Yeah, sure," I manage, suddenly aware of how messy my tray looks.


    "Thanks." She slides into the seat opposite me, setting down a much more reasonable portion of salad and what looks like vegetable soup. "I''m Sabrina, by the way."


    My mouth feels dry, and not just from hunger. "I''m Gabe," I reply, fighting the urge to wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans.


    Her face softens into a smile that makes something flutter in my chest. "Gabe... that''s a nice name. Kind-sounding."


    "Thanks," I say, feeling my cheeks warm. "Yours too. Sabrina. It''s pretty."


    We sit in awkward silence for a moment, both of us picking at our food without really eating. I rack my brain for something, anything, to say, but she beats me to it.


    "So, um... do you like Breaking Bad?" she asks, her fingers nervously tapping against her water bottle.


    The randomness of the question makes me laugh, which seems to ease the tension. "Yeah, actually. I watched it a few years ago. Walt''s an asshole, but damn if it isn''t compelling."


    Sabrina''s eyes suddenly light up like I just offered her a million bucks instead of a lukewarm take on a TV show. She leans forward, almost knocking over her water bottle.


    "Oh my God, right? And Skylar? I fucking HATE Skylar with every fiber of my being," she says, voice rising enough that a couple people at the next table glance over. She doesn''t seem to notice or care.


    "The way she treats Walt is just..." She makes a strangling motion with her hands. "Like, I get it, your husband is lying to you, but he''s literally making money to pay for his cancer treatment and secure your family''s future!"


    I blink, surprised by her intensity. The way her hands gesture wildly while she talks is kind of adorable.


    "And that stupid birthday thing?" Sabrina continues, rolling her eyes dramatically. "With the bacon? I wanted to crawl out of my skin every time. If I ever act that cringe around a man, I hope someone puts me out of my misery."


    I can''t help but grin. "I mean, she had some valid points about Walt being a drug dealer."


    "Oh please," Sabrina waves dismissively, stabbing at her salad with renewed vigor. "Walt was just doing what he had to do. Skylar was such a buzzkill. Team Walt all the way."


    Something about her enthusiasm makes my chest feel lighter than it has all day. For a minute, I''m not thinking about Mom or my awkward morning or how out of place I feel. I''m just a guy talking to a pretty girl about a TV show.


    "So you''re pro-drug kingpin?" I ask, finally taking a bite of my burger.


    "Yeah!" Sabrina grins and leans back in her chair, crossing her arms. "See, that''s exactly it. You watch Breaking Bad with this mindset of ''okay, I accept Walter is objectively the villain here, but damn if I''m not rooting for him anyway.''" She taps her finger on the table for emphasis. "It''s just so satisfying watching him succeed, you know?"


    I nod, feeling a weird connection forming between us. "Yeah, totally. There''s something weirdly cathartic about watching a regular guy just... snap and take control of his life. Even if he''s doing terrible shit."


    "Exactly!" She points her fork at me. "But, like, if that was happening in real life? If your neighbor was cooking meth and blowing people up? That would be absolutely horrifying." She shudders dramatically. "TV lets us escape into these morally questionable fantasies without the actual consequences."


    "That''s so true," I say, surprised by how easily conversation flows with her. "It''s the same reason people love shows about serial killers. In real life, we''d be terrified, but from our couches? Totally different story."


    Sabrina''s eyes light up like she''s found a kindred spirit. She pushes her salad around thoughtfully before asking, "So, what other shows are you into?"


    My mind goes blank for a second. What shows do I watch? Mom and I usually just have the news on during dinner, and after that... well, my evenings haven''t exactly been spent binging Netflix.


    "Doctor Who," I say nervously. It''s the first show that pops into my head besides Breaking Bad, and I immediately regret saying it. She''s way too hot for something as nerdy as...


    Her eyes widen, and her whole face transforms into a cocky little smirk that makes my heart skip. "Oh yeah?" she challenges, one eyebrow arched perfectly. "Which Doctor is your favorite then?"


    The question hits me like a pop quiz I didn''t study for. She actually watches it? Holy shit.


    "I''ve only watched since the reboot," I admit, fidgeting with my chocolate milk carton. "I''m kind of a sucker for Tennant, but over the years, I think I''ve been gravitating more toward Matt Smith."


    Sabrina''s mouth drops open in exaggerated offense. She places a hand over her heart like I''ve physically wounded her.


    "David Tennant gang or die, dude," she declares with absolute conviction, pounding her fist lightly on the table. "He''s fucking peak. No competition."


    I can''t help but laugh at her intensity, the tension in my shoulders finally releasing. "You''re really passionate about this, huh?"


    "Listen," she says, leaning forward conspiratorially, "I''ve written actual essays defending why Ten is objectively the best Doctor. The way he balanced being goofy and fun with those moments of ancient, terrifying rage? Chef''s kiss." She mimes the gesture dramatically.


    Suddenly, she stops mid-sentence and just... looks at me. Really looks at me, her dark eyes warming as she tilts her head slightly.


    "You know what''s weird?" she says, her voice softer now. "I don''t usually ramble like this with people I just met. But there''s something about you that makes it easy to talk to. Like, stupidly easy."


    My heart does a weird little stutter-step in my chest. "Me?" I manage to say, then clear my throat. "I mean, thanks. That''s... that''s nice to hear."


    Sabrina laughs a genuine sound that makes me want to hear it again. "The funny part is I''ve been doing like ninety percent of the talking." She twirls her fork between her fingers. "Usually, I''m a complete disaster around new people. All stuttery and awkward and overthinking every word."


    "Could''ve fooled me," I admit.


    "It''s just..." She leans forward, dropping her voice. "When I saw you sitting here looking all deer-in-headlights, I thought, ''Hey, that guy looks as nervous as I feel.'' And I figured maybe if we were both nervous together, it might cancel out, you know? Like some weird social anxiety algebra."


    There''s something so disarmingly honest about her that makes me brave enough to ask, "So... does this mean we''re friends?"


    The question hangs in the air for a second, and I immediately regret it. Too eager. Too desperate. S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Sabrina''s eyes light up like I just offered her the world''s most precious gift. Her entire face transforms in a way that makes me think she''s even more desperate than I am.


    "God, yes, please," she blurts out, leaning forward so eagerly she almost knocks over her water. "I barely had any friends in high school. Like, embarrassingly few."


    The words tumble out of her in a rush, and then she freezes, panic flashing across her face. She bites her lip and looks down at her half-eaten salad.


    "I should probably warn you, though," she says, her voice smaller now. "I do have a shit-load of anxiety. Like, clinical-grade stuff." Her fingers drum nervously against the table. "Some of my online friends say I can be... a lot. Too intense, you know? But I''ll try not to burden you with all my weird brain stuff."


    Something warm unfurls in my chest. I can''t help but smile, a genuine one, not the awkward grimace I''ve been giving people all day.


    "Don''t worry," I tell her, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounds. "I have anxiety, too. Social stuff, especially. It''s like my brain''s default setting is ''everyone hates you, and you''re doing everything wrong.''"


    Her shoulders visibly relax. "Same. Do you treat it? Like, medication-wise?"


    I shake my head. "Not currently. I did in the past, but my Doctor took me off last year. Said I was doing better." I shrug, not mentioning how that "better" was mostly me getting better at hiding it from everyone, including my therapist.


    Sabrina nods thoughtfully. "I''m still on the fence about trying meds. My therapist keeps bringing it up, but..." She trails off, twisting her napkin between her fingers. "I don''t know. Part of me feels like I should be able to handle it on my own, you know?"


    "Small steps," I offer. "That''s what my old therapist always said. You don''t have to figure everything out at once."


    "You really do seem nice, Gabe."


    "Thanks."

 Chapter 3: Bros Are People Too

    Chapter 3 - 3: Bros Are People TooStaring at Sabrina''s number in my phone feels like holding a live grenade with the pin half-pulled. After lunch, we went our separate ways with that awkward "see you around" dance that could either mean "Let''s hang out tomorrow" or "Goodbye forever, random cafeteria person." I''m not great at deciphering these social cues.


    We did exchange numbers, which is objectively a win, but now what? I''ve literally never texted a girl unless it was about some group project where I was desperately trying to sound professional while secretly hoping they didn''t think I was a complete loser. What am I supposed to say? "Hey, it''s that awkward guy from lunch who rambled about Doctor Who and has mommy issues you definitely don''t know about"?


    Despite how refreshingly weird Sabrina was, or maybe because of it, this feels like scaling Everest without oxygen. I keep typing and deleting the same "Hey, it''s Gabe" message over and over like a fucking lunatic.


    "Yo, Earth to new guy! You with us?"


    I snap my head up to find twenty pairs of eyes on me in this stuffy classroom where they''ve herded us freshmen for some mandatory "community building exercise." Kill me now.


    "Sorry, yeah," I mutter, shoving my phone into my pocket before the orientation leader, some aggressively cheerful junior with too many teeth in her smile, can confiscate it.


    "As I was saying," Teeth continues, "partner up with someone you haven''t met yet and share three interesting facts about yourself!"


    The room erupts into that special kind of chaos where everyone''s desperately scanning for someone who doesn''t look like a complete psychopath to pair with. I''m still frozen in place when a guy built like a linebacker slides into the desk next to mine.


    "Sup, bro? Wanna team up?" He extends a meaty hand. "I''m Brad."


    Brad is exactly what you''d get if you typed "college bro" into an AI image generator. Backwards baseball cap over dirty blonde hair, a muscle shirt that''s doing overtime containing his biceps, and a smile that says he''s probably chugged beer from a shoe at least once in his life.


    "Gabe," I reply, shaking his hand and immediately regretting it when he nearly crushes my fingers.


    "So, three things about me," Brad says, leaning back in his chair with the easy confidence of someone who''s never had an anxious thought in his life. "First off, I just broke up with my girlfriend last month. She was super into being vegan and basically forced me to try it too." He chuckles, flexing his bicep unconsciously. "I was terrible at it, man. Kept sneaking cheeseburgers when she wasn''t looking. When we split, first thing I did was hit up Five Guys."


    I nod, not sure what to say. The concept of having a girlfriend, let alone one who dictates my diet, feels like science fiction.


    "Second," Brad continues, counting on his fingers, "my all-time favorite movie is Top Gun: Maverick. Cinematic perfection, bro."


    "It was pretty good," I agree, thinking of how Mom and I watched it on streaming a few months back. She''d commented on how handsome Tom Cruise still was, and I''d spent the rest of the movie trying not to think about it.


    "And third," Brad says, lowering his voice like he''s sharing classified information, "I recently got back into Magic: The Gathering. My roommate had some cards, and it kind of rekindled my middle school obsession."


    My eyes widen. "Wait, you play Magic?" I say, suddenly feeling less like I''m talking to a different species.


    Brad''s face lights up. "Hell yeah, bro! Got a green stompy deck that''s been crushing it lately."


    "No way! I play, too!" I can''t hide my excitement. "I''ve got this blue-black control deck I''ve been tweaking since high school."


    Brad''s expression suddenly shifts to panic. "Shit, dude, we''re supposed to be telling facts about each other, not ourselves. Your turn, what are three things about me?"


    "Oh, right." I scramble to think. "Uh, first thing about me is... I also play Magic the Gathering."


    Brad laughs, a booming sound that draws glances from nearby groups. "That''s one way to do it. What''s your second fact?"


    I feel something in my chest loosen as Brad waits for my next fact. Maybe this won''t be so painful after all.


    "Second thing," I say, running a hand through my hair, "I''m pretty much addicted to pizza. Like, I could probably eat it every day and never get tired of it. Pepperoni, mushroom, whatever."


    Brad nods enthusiastically like I''ve just dropped some profound philosophical wisdom instead of admitting I like the most basic food on the planet. "Dude, same! Pizza is life! You try that place down on Mill Street yet? Orono House of Pizza? Their buffalo chicken pizza will change your life."


    His genuine excitement over something so simple makes me smile. I wrack my brain for a third fact that doesn''t involve my mother or my social anxiety.


    "And third, uh..." I glance at the window air conditioning unit rattling away in the corner of the classroom. "I absolutely love air conditioning. Like, unreasonably so. I''d probably marry my AC unit if that was legal."


    Brad bursts out laughing far harder than he should, slapping his knee with enough force to make the desk shake. "You''re funny as hell, dude! I wasn''t expecting that. Low key a legend in the making man."


    "Thanks," I say, feeling my face heat up despite the blessed cool air. I''m not used to people finding me funny on purpose.


    Brad leans in, his massive shoulder almost touching mine as the classroom starts to empty around us. "Yo, Gabe, what''re you doing after this?"


    I blink, caught off guard by the question. "Uh, nothing really. Just heading back to my house, I guess."


    "Dude, no way." He shakes his head like I''ve just suggested jumping off a bridge. "Listen, we''re having this kickback at my place tonight. Nothing crazy, just some of the brothers and cool people." His eyes light up with genuine enthusiasm. "You should totally come. You''ve got this weird vibe that I dig, man. Like, you''re different from most of the freshmen I''ve met today."


    My brain short-circuits. Is this actually happening? The human equivalent of a Golden Retriever wants me at his party? Me, the guy who spent most of high school eating lunch alone in the library?


    "I..." I start, my mouth suddenly dry.


    This is it, isn''t it? The exact moment I''ve been waiting for. New school, new people, new Gabe. I could stay in my room tonight, overthinking that text to Sabrina while binging something on Netflix, or I could actually step into this new life I keep saying I want. Sear?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Yeah," I hear myself say before I can chicken out. "Yeah, that sounds cool. I can go."


    Brad''s face splits into a grin so wide it''s almost alarming. His hand clamps down on my shoulder with enough force to make my knees buckle slightly.


    "Hell yeah, dude!" he booms, giving me a shake that rattles my entire nervous system. "That''s what I''m talking about! Here," He pulls out his phone, opening up his contacts. "Put your number in. I''ll text you the address. We usually get things going around nine."


    I fumble with his phone, nearly dropping it twice before managing to input my information. My fingers feel numb like they belong to someone else.


    "Sweet," Brad says, taking his phone back and immediately sending me a text that''s just a beer emoji. "It''s nothing fancy, just bring whatever you want to drink. We''ve got some communal stuff too."


    "Cool, cool," I nod, trying to look like this is totally normal for me and not a seismic event in my social development.


    Brad''s eyes light up suddenly, like he just remembered something crucial. He leans in closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial level that makes me feel like we''re scheming something.


    "Oh, and just so you know," he says with a nudge that nearly knocks me sideways, "there''s definitely gonna be some cute girls there. My buddy Jake''s bringing his study group, all nursing majors. If you want me to introduce you to anyone, just give me the signal. I''m a fucking legendary wingman, bro. Seriously, it''s like my superpower."


    "For sure, man," I manage to say, trying to sound casual while my brain short-circuits at the thought. "That''d be cool."


    "That''s what I''m talking about!" Brad claps me on the back again with enough force to make my teeth rattle. "First night of college, and we''re already on the prowl! This is gonna be epic!"


    It seems tonight will be a trial by fire.

 Chapter 4: No Glove All Love

    Chapter 4 - 4: No Glove All LoveI''m staring at myself in the bathroom mirror for the second time today, like I''m about to have a fucking intervention with my reflection. "You are not going to fuck this up, Gabriel King," I tell myself, pointing an accusatory finger at my mirror self. "This is your one shot at being a normal college dude who doesn''t jerk off thinking about his Mom''s massive milkers."


    Jesus Christ, I can''t believe I just said that out loud, even to myself. The bathroom fan hums overhead, drowning out my self-loathing, thank God. Mom''s still not home, one of her mysterious late work nights, which means I''ve got the house to myself while I get ready for Brad''s party.


    A party. With actual people.


    I splash cold water on my face, trying to shock some sense into my system. The guy staring back at me from the mirror looks exactly like what I am. A nervous wreck pretending to be a functional human being. My brown hair is doing that weird flippy thing it does when I''m stressed. I try smoothing it down, but it''s like trying to tame a fucking rebellion. S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "It''s just a party," I mutter, gripping the edge of the sink. "People go to parties all the time. Normal people. Which is what you''re trying to be, remember?"


    My phone buzzes in my pocket. It''s Brad.


    Yo dude! Party''s starting to heat up. You coming?


    Attached is a photo of him with two girls I don''t recognize, all holding red cups and grinning like they''re having the time of their lives. My stomach does a weird flip-flop of anxiety and excitement.


    I text back: On my way. Need me to bring anything?


    Brad replies almost instantly: Just your A game, bro!!!! ????????????


    I grab my keys, a six-pack of beer I stole from the fridge, and head out the door before I can talk myself out of it. The whole drive over, my knuckles are white on the steering wheel as I follow Google Maps to Brad''s address. It''s in one of those off-campus houses that looks like it''s held together by beer stains and broken dreams.


    Holy. Fucking. Shit.


    The "kickback party" Brad described is actually a full-blown rager. Cars line both sides of the street for what looks like half a mile. The bass from whatever EDM track they''re blasting is so heavy I can feel it in my chest before I even get out of the car.


    "Some brothers and cool people, my ass," I mutter, counting at least thirty people just hanging out on the front lawn. There''s a guy doing a keg stand while a circle chants around him. Two girls are making out against a tree. Someone''s throwing up in the bushes.


    My fight-or-flight response is screaming at me to floor it, go home, and pretend I never agreed to this. But then I think about spending another night alone in my room. I take a deep breath and grab my pathetic six-pack.


    The moment I step through the front door, I''m hit by a wall of heat, noise, and the unmistakable smell of weed mixed with spilled beer. The place is absolutely packed, bodies pressed together, dancing, shouting over the music, playing drinking games. This isn''t a party, it''s a fucking fire hazard.


    "THE AIR CONDITIONING GUY IS HERE!"


    Brad''s voice booms across the room as he spots me from where he''s perched on what looks like a kitchen counter. He''s shirtless now, with something that looks like a crude drawing of a dick on his chest in what I hope is marker.


    "THE LEGEND!" Two guys I''ve never seen before raise their cups in my direction, spilling beer on the floor, and a nearby girl doesn''t even seem to notice.


    Before I can process what''s happening, Brad is bulldozing through the crowd, wrapping me in a bear hug that lifts me clean off the ground, my six-pack crushed between us.


    "Dude! You actually came!" He sets me down, his eyes glassy and unfocused. "I was telling everyone about you. You''re gonna love these guys!"


    "Yeah, um, you said this was gonna be small..." I start, but Brad''s already dragging me by the arm through the sea of people.


    "Fuck that noise! College is about going big, baby!" He yells over the music. "Come on, you gotta try the jungle juice. It''s fucking legendary!"


    Brad hauls me through the crowd like I''m a rag doll, my shoes sticking to the beer-soaked floor with every step. We weave through a maze of sweaty bodies until we reach the kitchen, where a plastic kiddie pool sits on the counter. It''s filled with what looks like liquid radioactive waste, a murky purple-red concoction with floating fruit chunks and gummy worms.


    "Behold!" Brad announces, spreading his arms like he''s unveiling the Holy Grail. "The nectar of the fucking gods!"


    He grabs a red Solo cup and dips it into the ominous mixture, liquid sloshing over the sides as he thrusts it into my hand. Some of it splashes onto my shirt, and I swear I can almost feel it burning through the fabric.


    "What the hell is in this?" I ask, staring down at the cup like it might grow teeth and bite me.


    Brad throws his head back and laughs, the sound booming over the music. "No Idea, bro! That''s the beauty of jungle juice, it''s a goddamn mystery!" He claps me on the shoulder again. "All I know is it tastes like fruit punch and hits like a fucking freight train!"


    My stomach clenches as Brad dips another cup for himself, raising it in a toast. "To new friends and bad decisions!"


    Every survival instinct I have is screaming at me to run, but Brad''s eyes are locked on mine, waiting.


    "Fuck it," I mutter, clinking my cup against his.


    We tip our heads back simultaneously. The juice hits my tongue with a sickly sweet punch that barely masks the burn of what must be at least three different kinds of alcohol. It''s like someone dissolved a bag of Skittles in gasoline. I force myself to keep swallowing until the cup is empty, my eyes watering and throat on fire.


    "WOOOO!" Brad howls when we finish, grabbing my empty cup and immediately refilling both. "Another round for my man Gabe! This dude''s a natural!"


    My head is already starting to swim, a warm buzz spreading through my limbs. "I don''t think that''s a good idea," I try to say, but the second cup is already at my lips.


    The rest of the night becomes a blur of moments, each hazier than the last. Brad''s arm around my shoulder as he introduces me to people whose names immediately evaporate from my brain. "This is my boy Gabe! Magic player! Funny as fuck!"


    Somehow, I''m in the living room, red cup number four? Five? in my hand, watching Brad demonstrate what he calls his "signature move." He climbs onto the coffee table, flexes his arms like he''s Hercules and screams out offensive things about 9/11.


    Later, we''re in the backyard. Brad''s teaching me how to throw axes at a homemade target strapped to a tree. "It''s all in the wrist, bro!" he yells, launching one that flips beautifully before embedding itself in the wood with a satisfying thunk.


    My throw goes wildly off-course, nearly decapitating a plastic flamingo lawn ornament.


    "Holy shit!" Brad doubles over laughing. "That flamingo had a family, man!"


    I''m laughing too, harder than I''ve laughed in years, maybe ever.


    We eventually end up on the roof sharing a bottle of something that tastes like cinnamon fire. The stars move above us as Brad points out constellations that definitely don''t exist.


    "That one''s the Great Beer Bong," he says, tracing patterns in the sky with his finger. "And over there, that''s Ursa Casey Anthony."


    "What about that one?" I ask, pointing randomly.


    "Ursa Caylee..."


    A rhythmic thumping sound cuts him off, followed by what sounds like multiple people moaning.


    "Wait... do you hear that?" I ask, sitting up too quickly, making the whole roof tilt under me.


    Brad''s head snaps toward the open window below us, his eyes widening before a devious grin spreads across his face.


    "Oh shit, dude!" He scrambles to his feet, swaying dangerously on the slanted roof. "You''re in for a treat! Come on!"


    He grabs my arm, pulling me toward the window with surprising strength for someone who can barely stand.


    "What is it?" I ask as he helps me climb back through the window, both of us stumbling into what looks like someone''s bedroom.


    "One more surprise, bro." Brad''s eyes are lit with mischievous excitement. "This is gonna be fucking epic, man! A true bonding experience."


    The sounds are louder now, multiple voices, grunting, laughing, the unmistakable slapping of skin on skin. My alcohol-soaked brain is struggling to process what I''m hearing.


    "Seriously, what are we..."


    "You''ll see," Brad cuts me off. "Just be cool."


    We creep toward a partially open door at the end of the hall, the sounds growing more intense with each step. Brad''s practically vibrating with anticipation, his hand still gripping my arm like he''s afraid I''ll bolt.


    "Dude, I don''t think we should." I start to protest, but Brad''s already pushing the door open wider.


    The door swings open wider, and my drunken brain struggles to make sense of what I''m seeing in the dim light. There''s a bed in the center of the room with a woman sprawled across it, her face obscured in the shadows. My eyes haven''t fully adjusted yet, but there''s no mistaking what''s happening.


    "Holy shit," I whisper, the jungle juice churning in my stomach.


    "Pretty sweet, right?" Brad''s voice is thick with excitement. "We all pitched in. Thousand bucks split between fifteen guys. Fucking steal."


    I blink rapidly, trying to process his words. "You... hired someone?"


    "Hell yeah, we did! Professional entertainment, baby!" Brad''s grinning like he just showed me the eighth wonder of the world.


    The scene before me is something straight out of a porn video. A guy I vaguely recognize from earlier is behind her, thrusting wildly while she''s servicing two other dudes at once. The sounds she''s making, those moans, they echo around the small room, mixing with the grunts and murmured encouragements from the guys.


    Something about her seems oddly familiar, but my brain is too alcohol-soaked to connect the dots. There''s just this unsettling feeling in my gut that I can''t shake.


    "Fuck, I''m gonna cum," groans the guy behind her, his movements becoming erratic. He shudders, pulls out, and peels off a condom, tossing it into a nearby trash bin that''s already disturbingly full.


    As he moves away, he notices Brad in the doorway and grins sloppily. "Oh shit, Thompson! You want next, bro?"


    Brad chuckles and slaps my shoulder hard enough to make me stumble forward. "Nah, man. My boy Gabe here''s up next."


    The room spins around me as all eyes turn my way. My throat constricts, panic rising like a tidal wave. This can''t be happening. I mean, I''m still a virgin, for God''s sake.


    "I... I don''t think..." I stammer, backing up until I hit the door frame.


    Brad''s arm wraps around my shoulder, his voice dropping to what he probably thinks is a reassuring whisper but is actually loud enough for everyone to hear. "Dude, you gotta. I already told you. This is, like, a bonding thing. Everyone''s doing it."


    "I can''t," I protest, my voice sounding weak even to my own ears.


    "Look at her, man," Brad insists, turning me toward the bed. "She''s a fucking pro. Literally. Don''t pussy out now."


    I can barely stand up straight. Brad''s voice fades to background noise as my eyes focus on her legs. Something about them seems so familiar, the curve of her calves, the way they taper to delicate ankles.


    "Fuck, they look just like..." I swallow hard, heat rushing to my dick despite my brain screaming this is wrong. Those legs. They''re so much like Mom''s.


    "Alright," I hear myself say, the word slurring. "I''ll do it."


    The guys cheer. My feet move forward without my permission. The lighting is shit, just some dim lamp in the corner casting everything in shadows and silhouettes.


    She flips onto her back as I approach, a new dick in her mouth before I can even get a good look at her.


    Her body is incredible. Full breasts glistening with evidence of what''s been happening here. But even despite all the cum, they''re perfect. Better than anything I''ve seen in the videos I watch late at night with my headphones on. The curve of her waist, the flare of her hips. It''s like looking at a goddess.


    Like looking at Mom.


    The thought should disgust me, should make me turn and run. Instead, my hands are fumbling with my belt buckle. The other guys have moved away, distracted by something else in the room. It''s just her pussy and me in this bubble of drunken haze.


    My jeans and boxers slide down just enough. I''m already embarrassingly hard. She reaches for me, but I push her hand away. I need to do this myself. Need to feel in control of something tonight.


    I position myself between her legs, heart hammering in my chest. I''ve never done this before. Never been with anyone. But I''ve watched enough porn to know the mechanics.


    I rub my head against her entrance, feeling the wetness there, the heat. My brain is shorting out, thoughts fragmenting into static as I push forward.


    "Oh, fuck," I gasp as I slide in. She''s impossibly tight, gripping me like a vice despite everything she''s done tonight. My hips jerk forward involuntarily, burying me deeper.


    The world spins in a kaleidoscope of booze and lust as I grip her thighs, her skin so soft under my trembling fingers. My mind''s swimming through jungle juice and cheap beer, painting her face with Mom''s features in the shadows.


    "Fuck," I whimper under my breath, thrusting forward with clumsy, virgin eagerness.


    It''s pathetic how quickly it happens. One, two, three pumps, and I''m already teetering on the edge. Four, five, and I''m done for. My entire body convulses as the most intense orgasm of my life rips through me, making my knees buckle and my vision blur at the edges.


    "I''m cumming," I gasp, the words barely audible as wave after wave crashes through me, emptying everything I have into her.


    Brad''s meaty hand slaps my back hard enough to knock the wind out of me. "HELL YEAH, DUDE! FIRST ROUND KNOCKOUT!" he bellows, his voice echoing in my ears like I''m underwater.


    Reality crashes back as I pull out, watching a thin trail of cum connect us for one horrifying moment before breaking. The fog in my brain parts just enough for one terrible realization to form. I didn''t use a condom. I just lost my virginity raw-dogging a prostitute at a frat party.


    The woman pushes the guy away from her face, sitting up with an angry scowl. "Hey, asshole," she snaps, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I specifically said condoms are mandatory. What the fuck do you think..."


    Our eyes meet in the dim light, and the world stops spinning.


    Those piercing blue eyes. That white hair now matted with sweat and... other things.


    "M-Mom?" The word falls from my lips like a stone into still water.


    The room freezes for a half-second before one of the frat guys, Jake, I think, doubles over laughing.


    "Dude, did this fucking savage just call her ''Mom''?" he wheezes, pointing at me like I''m the punchline to the world''s funniest joke. "Holy shit, that''s classic! It''s okay, bro, I get it. I used to call escorts Mommy, too, when I first started!"


    Everyone''s howling now, but I barely hear them. All I can see is Mom''s face, those blue eyes I''ve known my entire life now, looking at me with an expression I''ve never witnessed before. Her initial shock melts away, replaced by something else entirely.


    "Gabriel," she whispers, and the sound of my name on her lips makes my stomach drop through the floor. Her eyes never leave mine as she reaches out, her fingers, the same fingers that used to check my forehead for fever, that wiped away my tears when I was little, now caressing my cheek with terrifying tenderness.


    "Don''t panic, honey," she says softly, her voice cutting through the laughter around us. "It''s okay."


    But it''s not okay. Nothing about this is okay. Her smile is warm, motherly even, but there''s something else flickering behind her eyes, something hungry, possessive, almost predatory. It''s like watching a mask slip just enough to glimpse what''s underneath, and what I see makes my blood run cold and hot at the same time.


    Brad''s voice breaks through my horror. "Oh shit, dude!" he yelps, staring at where I''m still connected to her. "You can''t cum in them raw! They get so fucking mad about that!"


    I look down and see my cum leaking out of her, out of my mother, and something inside me snaps. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely pull up my boxers and jeans, fumbling with the zipper like I''ve never operated one before.


    "I gotta go," I mumble, the words tumbling out in a panicked rush. "I gotta... I need to..."


    I don''t finish the sentence. Can''t. My feet are already moving, carrying me backward out of the room, away from those blue eyes that follow me with that terrifying new hunger. I trip over someone''s leg, catch myself on the doorframe, and then I''m running.


    "Wait!"


    I don''t listen to her voice. I keep going. Down the hallway. Past confused partygoers. Through the living room where someone calls my name. Out the front door. Into the cool night air that does nothing to clear my head.


    I''m sprinting now, my lungs burning and vision blurring as I put distance between myself and that house. Between myself and what just happened. Between myself and her.


    I gotta go home. Go to bed. That wasn''t real. My Mom can''t be prostitute. Theres no

 Chapter 5: I Want to Be Normal

    Chapter 5 - 5: I Want to Be NormalMy tires kiss the curb as I swerve into our driveway, the world spinning like I''m trapped in some fucked-up carnival ride. I kill the engine and just sit there, knuckles white on the steering wheel, trying to make the universe stop tilting.


    "That wasn''t Mom," I whisper to my reflection in the rearview mirror. The guy staring back looks like me but worse, eyes bloodshot, hair plastered to his forehead with cold sweat. "It couldn''t have been. The jungle juice was fucking with your head."


    I stumble out of the car, nearly eating pavement before catching myself on the hood. The house looks normal, peaceful even. Porch light on like always, Mom''s gardening gloves still draped over the railing where she left them yesterday. Everything in its place, like the world hasn''t just been turned inside out.


    My key misses the lock three times before I manage to get it in. I make it upstairs through sheer muscle memory, my brain a hurricane of fragmented images. White hair, blue eyes, legs I''d recognize anywhere.


    "Stop," I hiss at myself, stumbling into my room and collapsing face-first onto my bed without bothering to turn on the lights. The ceiling spins above me even with my eyes closed. My stomach constricts, threatening to empty itself, but I breathe through it. In through the nose, out through the mouth, like Mom taught me whenever I''d get carsick as a kid.


    Mom.


    Fuck.


    "It wasn''t her," I repeat into my pillow, the words muffled and desperate. "You were wasted. Brad probably slipped something into that hellbrew. People don''t look like themselves when you''re that fucked up."


    But her voice. The way she said my name. "Gabriel."


    No. No. No. I shake my head violently, trying to dislodge the memory. My mother is not an escort. She doesn''t fuck college guys at parties. She works late at... at...


    I DON''T FUCKING KNOW. BUT THERE''S NO FUCKING WAY SHE''S A PROSTITUTE.


    "Jesus Christ," I groan, rolling over and pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes until I see stars. "Get it together, Gabe. You''re just drunk and projecting your own sick fantasies."


    I''m still wrestling with my thoughts when I hear it, the front door opening downstairs. My heart stops mid-beat, blood turning to ice water in my veins.


    Footsteps on the stairs. Slow, deliberate. My heartbeat hammers so loud I''m sure she can hear it through the door. I roll over to face the wall, pulling my comforter up to my chin like I''m fucking five years old again, hiding from monsters. Except this time, the monster is the realization that my mother might be...


    The door creaks open, a thin slice of hallway light cutting across my bedroom floor. I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing deep and steady like they teach in those acting classes I never took. Just another drunk college kid passed out in his bed. Nothing to see here.


    "Gabriel?" Her voice is barely a whisper, familiar and foreign all at once. "Are you awake, honey?"


    I focus on keeping my breathing even, fighting the urge to flinch when I hear her step into my room. The floorboard by the door squeaks, just like it always has.


    "Gabriel, we need to talk about what happened tonight."


    My heart''s trying to punch its way out of my chest, but I don''t move. Don''t breathe differently. Don''t acknowledge that I heard her, that I saw her, that I was inside her less than an hour ago.


    This isn''t real. She''s not standing there in my doorway. My mother isn''t a fucking escort who services frat parties. I''m still at Brad''s, passed out in some corner, having the most fucked-up nightmare of my life.


    A soft sigh escapes her lips. "I understand," she whispers, more to herself than to me. "It''s a lot to process. We''ll talk tomorrow."


    The door closes with a gentle click that somehow sounds like a gunshot in the silence of my room. Her footsteps retreat down the hall, and moments later, I hear the bathroom door open and close. The pipes groan as the shower starts running.


    The sound of water running mixes with my scattered thoughts. What would she have said if I''d responded? What could possibly explain what I saw tonight? What I did?


    My eyelids grow heavy despite the chaos in my mind. The alcohol is winning, dragging me down into unconsciousness even as questions swirl like vultures. The last thing I remember before darkness claims me is the realization that tomorrow, I''ll have to face her across the breakfast table.


    .....


    It was nice, though, to finally achieve my dream. To connect with Mom.


    ¡ª


    Blinding rays stab through my eyelids like hot pokers, dragging me, kicking and screaming into consciousness. My head feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it, each pulse of blood a fresh assault on my fragile skull. I groan, rolling away from the window.


    "Fuck," I croak, my tongue a desert stuck to the roof of my mouth. The taste is indescribable like something crawled in there and died. Twice.


    My stomach lurches as fragments of last night crash through the hangover fog. Brad. The jungle juice. The bedroom. Mom.


    "No, no, no," I mutter.


    I bolt upright, immediately regretting it as the room spins and my stomach threatens revolution. Stumbling to my feet, I barely make it to the trash can before emptying whatever unholy concoction was still in my system.


    When there''s nothing left but dry heaves, I collapse back onto my bed, staring at the ceiling.


    "It wasn''t real," I tell myself for the hundredth time. "You were hallucinating. That jungle juice probably had fucking bath salts in it or something."


    But even as I say it, I know it''s a lie. The weight of reality sits on my chest like a concrete block. I fucked my mother last night. I came inside her. And worst of all? Some sick, twisted part of me, the part I''ve been trying to bury for years, loved it.


    The smell of coffee and bacon drifts up from downstairs, so normal it''s surreal. Is she really down there making breakfast like nothing happened? Like her son didn''t lose his virginity to her in front of a room full of frat boys?


    I drag myself to my feet, fighting a wave of nausea that threatens to send me right back to the trash can.


    "Fuck it," I mutter. No point hiding in my room like a coward. Whatever twisted nightmare awaits me downstairs, I might as well face it head-on.


    Each step down the stairs feels like I''m marching to my execution. The bacon smell gets stronger, making my stomach growl despite everything. My body''s a traitor.


    I freeze in the kitchen doorway, breath catching in my throat.


    Mom stands at the stove with her back to me, but what she''s wearing makes my brain short-circuit. A silky blue nightgown that barely reaches mid-thigh, thin enough that I can see the outline of her body beneath it. No bra that much is painfully obvious from the way her breasts move as she flips a pancake. She''s never, and I mean never, dressed like this around me before.


    "Jesus," I whisper before I can stop myself.


    She turns, those blue eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that pins me in place. Her face is a storm cloud, beautiful but threatening rain.


    "Gabriel," she says, her voice deceptively calm. "Sit down."


    My legs move automatically, carrying me to my usual chair at the table. There''s already a steaming mug of coffee waiting for me, black with two sugars, exactly how I like it.


    Mom slides a plate in front of me that looks like something off a cooking show. Fluffy pancakes drizzled with maple syrup, crispy bacon arranged in a perfect fan, scrambled eggs that actually look moist instead of the rubber I usually make, and fresh strawberries glistening with moisture.


    Before I can process the Michelin-star breakfast, she moves behind me. I feel her lean over, her breasts pressing against my back and shoulders, soft and warm through the thin fabric. Her white hair falls forward, tickling my cheek as she brings her lips close to my ear.


    "Do you know why I''m angry with you, Gabriel?" she whispers, her breath hot against my skin.


    My heart hammers against my ribs like it''s trying to escape. I can''t think straight with her this close, with the memory of last night still raw in my mind.


    "I...I didn''t know it was you," I stammer, staring down at the perfect breakfast, unable to look at her. "I swear to God, Mom, I was so drunk I could barely stand. If I''d known..."


    Mom''s lips suddenly press against my neck, cutting off my rambling explanation. The soft, wet heat of her mouth makes me freeze mid-sentence, my brain short-circuiting as she trails kisses up to my ear.


    "I''m angry because you drove home drunk, Gabriel," she whispers, her voice vibrating against my skin. "Do you have any idea what could have happened?"


    Her teeth graze my earlobe, a gentle nibble that sends electricity straight down my spine. I grip the edge of the table so hard I think it might snap. S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You could have hurt someone," she continues, her hands sliding down my shoulders. "Or worse." her voice breaks slightly, "You could have hurt yourself. I could have lost you."


    My body''s betraying me, responding to her touch even as my mind screams this is wrong. The conflicting emotions slam into me like a freight train, disgust, confusion, and underneath it all, relief.


    "Mom," I choke out, my voice barely a whisper, "what are you doing?"


    She pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes, her expression a mixture of concern and something darker, something possessive that makes my stomach flip.


    "Taking care of my son," she says simply like this is the most natural thing in the world. "Like I''ve always done."


    "Mom, we can''t do this!" I jerk away from her touch. "This is fucked up!"


    She places a finger against my lips, the gentle pressure silencing me more effectively than a shout could have.


    "Shhh," she whispers, sliding into the chair beside me, her nightgown riding dangerously high on her thighs. "I saw your eyes last night, Gabriel. When you realized who I was... who you were inside of." Her hand cups my cheek, thumb stroking my skin. "Before the panic set in, there was something else there. Something that matched what I''ve been hiding for years."


    My mouth goes dry. "What are you talking about?"


    "It was like looking in a mirror," she continues, her voice soft but steady. "I recognized that look because I''ve felt it too. I''ve wanted to be with you too, Gabriel. For longer than I care to admit."


    The confession hangs between us, heavy and impossible to ignore. My brain is screaming that this is wrong, but my body remembers how she felt last night.


    "Mom, no. We can''t." I shake my head violently, trying to clear it. Suddenly, another realization crashes through the fog of confusion and arousal. "Wait, you''re a fucking hooker? An escort? Whatever the hell you call it? That''s what you''ve been doing all these years?"


    My voice cracks as the pieces fall into place. All those late nights. The mysterious "overtime." The way we always had enough money despite her never talking about her job.


    "I want to talk about THAT!" I slam my palm on the table, making the perfect breakfast jump. "How long have you been doing this? Why would you..."


    Mom''s eyes flash with a mix of hurt and determination. She sighs deeply, the sound cutting through my anger, and slides her chair closer until our knees touch. The fight drains from me as quickly as it came, replaced by a hollow ache in my chest.


    "When your father walked out," she says quietly, her fingers reaching up to brush my hair from my forehead, "I had nothing, Gabriel. No degree, no savings, no family to turn to. Just a six-month-old boy who needed everything I couldn''t provide."


    Her touch is feather-light as she traces the line of my jaw, her eyes never leaving mine. I should pull away, but I can''t.


    "So yes, I became an escort," she continues, her voice steady despite the weight of her confession. "It wasn''t my first choice, but it let me set my own hours. I could be home when you needed me, be at every science fair, every parent-teacher conference. And it paid enough that I could give you everything, your camps, your books, that computer you needed for school."


    Something hot and painful swells in my throat. My vision blurs as tears well up, the anger morphing into something else entirely. All these years, I''d imagined her in some office somewhere, typing away at spreadsheets or answering phones, not...


    "But Mom, you must have gone through so much. All those men... you must have felt so alone."


    A single tear escapes, sliding down my cheek. Mom catches it with her thumb, her own eyes glistening.


    Mom wraps her arms around me so suddenly, I almost fall out of my chair. She pulls me against her chest, holding me like I''m still that little boy who scraped his knee on the playground.


    "Oh, Gabriel," she whispers into my hair, her voice breaking. "The only time I ever felt truly alone was when I wasn''t with and my baby. When I couldn''t be with you."


    Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. All these years, she''s been sacrificing everything for me. The realization crashes through me, and suddenly I know what I have to do.


    "Mom, listen to me," I pull back, gripping her shoulders, determination flooding through me. "I''ll get a job, several jobs if I have to. I can quit school, and you can quit... what you do. I''ll take care of you for a change."


    The fierce look in her eyes softens to something almost pitying. She shakes her head slowly.


    "Gabriel, don''t be childish," she says, her voice gentle but firm. "You''re not throwing away your education. That''s precisely what I''ve been working for all these years."


    Something snaps inside me.


    "Mom, do you actually enjoy being a prostitute?" I demand, my voice rising. "Do you enjoy being passed around like you''re nothing?"


    Her eyes flash with annoyance, jaw tightening. "Of course, I don''t enjoy it, but..."


    "Then I don''t care what we have to do," I cut her off, leaning forward, my whole body trembling. "I don''t care how many jobs I have to find or how long it takes. I don''t want you to be a prostitute anymore. Not for one more fucking day."


    Something changes in her expression, then a shift so subtle I almost miss it. The annoyance melts away, replaced by something calculating, almost predatory. She leans toward me, the neckline of her nightgown dipping low enough that I can see the soft curve of her breasts.


    "Gabriel," she says, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "are you trying to keep me all to yourself? Is that why you want me to stop?"


    My throat constricts, heart hammering so hard I''m sure she can hear it. The question hangs between us, loaded with implications I''m not ready to face.


    She''s wrong... Even if she''s right, I stand by it.


    "Mom, we can never be together!" I blurt out, pushing back from the table so violently my chair tips over. "Not like that. It''s wrong."


    She doesn''t flinch at my outburst, just watches me with those piercing blue eyes that seem to see right through me.


    Mom rises slowly from her chair, movements fluid like a cat stalking prey. She approaches me, closing the distance I''d created, and cups my face between her hands again. Her touch is gentle but possessive, thumbs caressing my cheeks in slow circles.


    "But Gabriel," she purrs, eyes locked on mine, "I do enjoy sex. I enjoy it very much. If I were to quit being an escort..." Her voice drops to a whisper, "Would you take responsibility for satisfying those needs?"


    Her thumbs continue their gentle assault on my skin, and I can feel my resolve almost crumbling.


    "I-I can''t," I stammer, pulling away from her touch. "Mom, I wish I could... No, that''s not what I mean!" I run my hands through my hair, tugging at the roots. "I want to be normal! Don''t you understand that? I want a normal life, a normal relationship with my mother!"


    She flinches slightly at my words but recovers quickly, her expression hardening.


    "If you''re not hooking anymore," I continue, desperation filling my voice, "maybe you can find a boyfriend. Someone your age who can... satisfy you."


    The words taste bitter in my mouth, the thought of Mom with another man making my head churn with jealousy I have no right to feel. But it''s the right thing to say, the normal thing to say.


    For a moment, she looks genuinely stumped, like this possibility never occurred to her. "Wait, no..." she begins, her confident facade cracking.


    I seize the moment to escape her orbit before I get pulled back in. She''s faster, though, her hand shooting out to grab my wrist with surprising strength. Her expression shifts from confusion to anger in an instant.


    "Under no circumstances are you quitting college, Gabriel," she hisses, fingers tightening around my wrist. "I didn''t spend eighteen years working so you could throw away your future."


    "Fine," I snap back, wrenching my arm free. "Then I''ll get student loans. I''ll work nights. I''ll figure something out, but I''m not letting you whore yourself out if it''s something you don''t love doing. Not anymore. Not for me."


    The words hang between us, heavy with the weight of years of sacrifice and unspoken feelings. Mom stares at me, her mouth slightly open, eyes wide with an emotion I can''t quite place. She seems stunned again, like I''ve managed to knock her off-balance twice in as many minutes.


    "You don''t understand what you''re saying," she finally manages, her voice softer now. "The debt you''d accumulate..."


    "Student debt is NORMAL, Mom!" I explode. "Everyone has it! That''s what college is now, a lifetime of payments! I''ll deal with it when I get my degree and land a real job. A job I''ll use to take care of YOU!"


    Her face goes pale, those blue eyes widening with shock at my outburst. She reaches for me, but I''m already backing away, my hands trembling with a cocktail of rage, shame, and something else I refuse to name.


    "Gabriel, please..." she starts, but I''m done listening.


    "I can''t do this right now," I mutter, grabbing my keys from the counter. "I need... I need space."


    I''m out the door before she can respond, slamming it hard enough to rattle the windows. The morning air hits my face like a slap, cool against my flushed skin. I storm down the driveway, each step fueled by a desperate need to put distance between us.


    I fumble with my car keys as I unlock the door. Sliding behind the wheel feels like the only familiar thing in a world gone completely insane. I slam the door and crank the ignition, the engine roaring to life with a comforting rumble.


    The driveway blurs as I back out too fast, tires squealing against asphalt. I catch a glimpse of movement at the front door, Mom watching me leave, still in that goddamn nightgown, but I force my eyes away, focusing on the road ahead.


    I drive aimlessly, no destination in mind except not home. My knuckles turn white on the steering wheel as residential streets give way to the main road out of town. The hangover pounds behind my eyes in rhythm with my racing thoughts.


    At a red light, I glance up at the rearview mirror, my own reflection staring back at me like a stranger. Is this the face of someone brave enough to resist his own mother''s advances? Or just a coward running away from everything he''s secretly wanted?


    I can''t even tell anymore if I''m trying to be moral or just normal. If I''m fighting these feelings because they''re wrong or because I''m terrified of what they mean. The line between disgust and desire has never been thinner.


    My phone buzzes in my pocket, and my heart beats. Mom. It has to be. Probably telling me to come home, that we need to talk this through. That she loves me. That she wants me.


    I fish it out at the next stoplight, steeling myself for whatever she''s written, but the notification isn''t from her at all.


    Sabrina: Uhhhh heyy... you haha....


    I stare at the message, momentarily stunned out of my existential crisis.


    "Who the fuck starts a conversation like this?"

 Chapter 6: Little Blue Book

    Chapter 6 - 6: Little Blue BookI sit at the kitchen table, utterly stunned. My pulse hasn''t slowed since Gabriel stormed out of the house, tires screeching down our quiet street. Such delicious anger in those eyes, my sweet, timid boy transformed into something magnificent and possessive before me.


    "I don''t want you to be a prostitute anymore. Not for one more fucking day."


    His words replay in my mind, sending electric currents straight between my thighs. I''ve never seen my Gabriel like that, jaw clenched, eyes blazing with determination, voice commanding in a way that made my knees weak. All these years watching him grow, nurturing him, protecting him from the world, and suddenly he''s the one trying to protect me.


    I slide my hand beneath my nightgown, fingers finding the slick heat there. Despite my thorough shower last night, I made certain not to wash him out of me. His essence is still there, mixed with my own arousal. My Gabriel, inside me at last. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    When I first saw him in that dimly lit room, recognition dawning in those beautiful eyes, it was as though a dam had broken. All those carefully contained feelings, years of restraint, of pretending my love was purely maternal, came surging forth with unstoppable force. I''d been playing my role perfectly until that moment, compartmentalizing the escort from the mother. But seeing Gabriel there, watching his innocent face transform with pleasure as he spilled himself inside me... everything changed.


    I threw my coat on and I was out the door moments after he fled, not even bothering to clean up properly. Covered in the evidence of nearly a dozen college boys, their seed cooling on my skin, in my hair, yet all I could think about was Gabriel. My son. My love. How right it had felt when our bodies joined, how perfectly he''d filled me.


    I lean back in my chair, eyes drifting closed as I relive that moment of recognition. The horror in his eyes should have devastated me, but beneath it, I saw something else. Something he''s trying desperately to deny. Desire. Ownership. Love beyond what society deems appropriate.


    "He wants me," I whisper to the empty kitchen, a smile curving my lips. "He just doesn''t know how to accept it yet."


    My fingers move faster beneath my nightgown as I imagine Gabriel returning home, that same determined look in his eyes as he claims what''s rightfully his. What has always been his.


    I''ve spent eighteen years sharing my body with strangers to provide for my son. Now it''s time to share it with the only man who truly deserves it... the only man I''ve ever truly wanted.


    I increase my pace, thrusting two fingers deep inside myself while my thumb circles my clit with practiced precision. My other hand slips between my lips, gathering the traces of Gabriel''s cum that still linger there from last night. I close my eyes, savoring the taste of my son on my tongue like the finest champagne, swirling it around my mouth before swallowing with a moan of pure ecstasy.


    "Oh Gabriel," I whisper, arching my back as I curl my fingers upward, finding that perfect spot that makes my toes curl against the kitchen tile. "My beautiful boy."


    I switch hands fluidly, bringing my other slick-coated fingers to my mouth while righty takes over below, plunging three fingers now into my drooling pussy. The dual sensation, his taste on my tongue and the fullness between my legs, makes me shudder with delight.


    I don''t need saving from this life. I''ve always been in control, even when clients thought otherwise. But I do need him. Only him. I want to be exclusively his, to feel those innocent hands explore every inch of my body, to teach him how to please me in ways no other man has ever managed.


    I groan as my walls clench around my fingers as the first wave of orgasm washes over me.


    My hips buck wildly against my hand as I imagine him walking through that door, claiming what belongs to him. I don''t care if he''s frightened of these feelings. I don''t care if society says it''s wrong. Eighteen years I''ve waited, watched, nurtured this connection between us.


    "Gabriel!" I cry out as my climax peaks, my entire body convulsing with pleasure so intense my vision blurs at the edges. The chair creaks beneath me as I ride out the waves, my fingers never stopping their relentless rhythm.


    As the aftershocks subside, I slowly withdraw my hand, admiring the glistening evidence of my desire coating my fingers. With deliberate slowness, I lick them clean, one by one, maintaining eye contact with the empty chair where Gabriel sat just minutes ago.


    "You can run, my love," I murmur, "but you can''t hide from what we both want."


    I rise from the kitchen chair, my legs still trembling from my release. If my darling boy wants me to stop, then I''ll honor his wish, but on my terms.


    With newfound purpose, I make my way to my home office, the small room at the end of the hall that Gabriel believes is where I "catch up on paperwork." He''s never questioned why the door stays locked. Such a trusting boy.


    I slide the key from its hiding place beneath a loose floorboard and unlock the door, stepping into my sanctuary of secrets. The morning light filters through venetian blinds, casting striped shadows across a polished mahogany desk.


    From the bottom drawer, I retrieve my most valuable possession, a small leather-bound book with a delicate blue cover. My insurance policy. My future.


    "Well, darling," I murmur, trailing my fingers lovingly across its worn surface, "it seems we''re finally putting you to proper use."


    I settle into my chair, crossing my legs as I carefully open the book. Each page contains meticulous details, names, dates, preferences, weaknesses. Eighteen years in this business teaches you to keep excellent records.


    "My goodness," I whisper, flipping through the pages. "I''d almost forgotten how extensive my client list has become."


    The University of Maine section is particularly robust. Professors desperate for release from their mundane academic lives, administrators seeking dominance they can''t express in their professional settings. All of them with their dirty little secrets, all of them vulnerable.


    "Fourteen professors," I count, running my finger down the list. "Significantly more students." I chuckle softly.


    But as I continue turning pages, one name stands out among the rest, highlighted in red ink, my special designation for particularly influential clients.


    "Dean Jack Woods," I purr, tracing the name with my fingernail.


    Images flash through my mind. Jack bent over his own desk after hours, begging for me to peg him. Jack in a hotel room, weeping with gratitude as I step his balls with my heels. Jack on his knees, worshipping me while his wife called, wondering why he was working late again.


    Three beautiful children. A wife who volunteers at the hospital. A reputation as the moral compass of the university. All of it balanced precariously on the trust I''ve maintained, until today.


    I reach for my phone, scrolling to the private cloud server where I keep my most valuable recordings. The thumbnails alone would destroy him, the distinguished Dean of Students reduced to a whimpering mess under my control.


    "You always were an annoying client, Jack," I murmur, selecting a particularly compromising video where his face is clearly visible. "And now you''re going to help me stay close to my son."

 Chapter 7: Ms. Bean

    Chapter 7 - 7: Ms. BeanI stare at Sabrina''s text, the casual "Uhhhh heyy... you haha..." glowing on my screen like some alien hieroglyphic I''m supposed to decipher. My brain, still spinning from the nuclear bomb that just went off in my life, can''t process something so mundane as a girl texting me. It''s like getting a paper cut while your leg''s being amputated, technically it''s still pain, but the scale is so wildly different it''s almost laughable.


    My hands are still shaking on the steering wheel, but somehow, this absurdly awkward text message is like a splash of cold water, pulling me back from the edge of total meltdown.


    I type back a simple "hey" because what else can I possibly say? My life is imploding, I just found out my mother is an escort, I had sex with her last night, and oh yeah, I came inside her. But sure, let''s chat about whatever normal college shit Sabrina wants to discuss.


    My phone buzzes almost immediately. She''s sent a gif of an Eevee sitting up, panting with its tongue out.


    "What the fuck?" I text back, genuinely confused.


    "fuck no, sorry, I misclicked," comes her rapid reply, followed immediately by... the exact same Eevee gif again.


    Despite everything, despite the fact that my world is crumbling around me, I actually laugh. It''s a broken, slightly manic sound that echoes in my car, but it''s still laughter. For a second, I''m not the guy who fucked his mom, I''m just some dude getting weird texts from a cute girl.


    "Oh Jesus Christ," Sabrina texts, and I can practically see her mortified face. "do you have classes today?"


    I glance at the time. Even if I did have class, there''s no way in hell I could sit through a lecture right now. "no."


    "do you want to grab grub," she asks, and something in my chest loosens just a fraction.


    "yes, please," I type back, surprising myself with how desperately I mean it. Food, normalcy, a person who doesn''t know my fucked-up secret, I''ve never wanted anything more in my life.


    Maybe for a few hours, I can pretend to be someone else. Someone whose biggest problem is figuring out what to say to a pretty girl, not wrestling with the knowledge that he''s living in a Greek tragedy of his own making.


    My phone pings with Sabrina''s response, a dropped pin for a Burger King right by campus.


    What kind of girl just suggests Burger King?


    But I don''t say any of that. I just put the car in drive and head over, following my GPS like it''s guiding me to salvation instead of cheap hamburgers.


    When I pull into the parking lot, I spot her right away. She''s standing outside the entrance, drowning in an oversized black zip-up hoodie with the hood pulled up, despite the fact that it''s gotta be at least 75 degrees. Her head is bent down, thumbs flying across her phone screen like she''s trying to break a world record for fastest texting.


    I approach quietly, not wanting to be weird about it. "Hey," I say, my voice coming out softer than intended.


    "JESUS!" She jumps like I just fired a gun next to her ear, nearly dropping her phone. Her wide eyes find mine as she yanks her hood down. "Oh! Hey, Gabe," she stammers, shoving her phone into her pocket with nervous energy. "You, uh, you startled me."


    Up close, I can see dark circles under her eyes, like she hasn''t slept much either. Her short black hair is sticking up at odd angles, giving her this adorable bedhead look that somehow makes me feel slightly more human.


    "Sorry," I mumble, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands. "Didn''t mean to sneak up on you."


    "No, it''s fine, I was just..." She gestures vaguely at nothing, then lets her hand drop. "I get really focused sometimes. Like tunnel vision. I think I''m just easily startled because I spend too much time in my own head, you know?"


    The words tumble out of her in that rambling way I remember from yesterday, and something in my chest loosens a fraction more. There''s something comforting about her nervousness, like we''re both disasters in our own special ways.


    "Yeah, I get that," I say, and I actually mean it. "My head''s not a fun place to be right now either."


    Her expression softens with concern. "Bad morning?"


    I almost laugh at the understatement. "You could say that."


    She studies my face for a moment, then nods decisively. "You look like you need a whopper." She hooks her arm through mine with surprising confidence, pulling me toward the entrance. "Come on. I''m buying."


    "No, that''s okay. I can pay for myself," I say, pulling my arm back and reaching for my wallet. "I''m not completely broke."


    Sabrina''s face scrunches up as she plants herself between me and the counter. "Nah, bro, I got this on John Locke," she says with absolute conviction like that''s supposed to mean something.


    "On... what?" I shake my head, completely lost.


    She ignores my question as I follow her to the counter, where she approaches the teenage cashier with surprising confidence.


    "Hi, can I get four Whoppers with fries and two waters, please?" she says, pulling out her card.


    I blink in surprise. "Four?"


    She doesn''t even glance back at me, just hands over her card like ordering enough food for a small family is completely normal. The cashier doesn''t bat an eye either, just takes her payment and hands her the receipt.


    I stand there awkwardly, watching this tiny girl pay for what seems like an obscene amount of food. Is she expecting more people? Did I miss something? My hangover-addled brain struggles to keep up as we move to the side to wait for our order.


    When the food arrives, Sabrina grabs the tray and marches toward a corner booth like she''s on a mission. I trail behind her, still feeling like I''m in some weird alternate reality where nothing makes sense anymore.


    We slide into the booth, and she immediately unwraps one of the Whoppers, taking a massive bite that somehow fits in her small mouth. I stare, fascinated despite myself.


    "Aren''t you going to eat?" she asks around her mouthful, gesturing to the three remaining burgers.


    "Oh, these are all for us?" I ask, finally cluing in. "I thought maybe you were expecting other people."


    She swallows and laughs, a genuine sound that makes the corners of her eyes crinkle. "No, dude. Two for you, two for me. I''m fucking starving."


    I unwrap one of the burgers, suddenly aware of how hungry I actually am. The smell of grilled meat and onions makes my stomach growl embarrassingly loud. I take a bite, and it''s like heaven exploding in my mouth. I didn''t realize how much I needed this simple, greasy, uncomplicated food.


    "So what''s got you looking like someone ran over your cat?" Sabrina asks through a mouthful of burger, mayo dotting the corner of her mouth. She stares at me with her tired eyes, somehow managing to look both concerned and completely ridiculous, with her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk''s.


    I nearly choke on my bite. How the hell do I answer that? ''Oh, nothing much, just discovered my mom''s a prostitute and I accidentally lost my virginity to her last night''? Yeah, that would go over great.


    "Just... family stuff," I manage after swallowing. "It''s complicated."


    Sabrina nods, her expression softening into something genuinely sympathetic. She swallows her massive bite and wipes her mouth with a napkin.


    "That''s rough. I''m sorry to hear that," she says, her voice gentler than before. "Family stuff can be intense."


    I take another bite of my burger, grateful for the brief reprieve from thinking about Mom. The greasy food is somehow grounding me, pulling me back from the edge of total meltdown.


    "What about you?" I ask, desperate to keep the conversation away from my catastrophe of a life. "Bad morning, too? You look pretty tired."


    "Uhhh..." She suddenly becomes very interested in rearranging her fries, avoiding eye contact. "You know, normal stuff."


    "You can tell me," I say, surprising myself with how much I actually want to hear about her problems instead of dwelling on mine. "I mean, if you want to."


    She looks down at the table, her cheeks flushing dark against her ebony skin. "It''s, um... bean related."


    "What?" I blink, completely lost.


    "Bean flicking related," she mumbles so quietly I almost miss it.


    It takes my brain a second to process what she''s saying, and when it clicks, I feel my own face heating up. "Oh. OH."


    She looks mortified, chewing her fries with the determination of someone who might die if they stop. I should probably be embarrassed too, but I just cant muster the strength.


    "So..." I clear my throat, trying not to smile. "You stayed up all night... with beans?" I joke.


    Sabrina shoots me a look that''s equal parts annoyed and amused. Her eyebrows knit together as she swallows her mouthful of fries.


    "Ugh, don''t be weird about it," she groans, but there''s no real bite to her words. "Some new... content... dropped last night from this artist I follow. And what was I supposed to do? Just go to sleep knowing it was sitting there waiting for me? NO." She throws her hands up dramatically. "GOD FORBID WANTS TO GOON, GABE!"


    I can''t help but laugh at how shamelessly she''s admitting to this.


    "I''m happy you stayed up all night gooning. Makes me feel less weird about my own shit."


    She laughs a bright sound that momentarily drowns out the chaos in my head. Then she fans herself dramatically with her hand.


    "Fuck, it''s hot in here," she says, glancing around the nearly empty Burger King. "These places are always like saunas."


    Before I can respond, she grabs the zipper of her hoodie and pulls it down in one swift motion. My mind goes blank when I realize she''s completely topless underneath. For one breathtaking moment, I see everything, her full, round breasts with nipples, a deep, rich brown against her beautiful ebony skin. They''re perfect, hanging free and unrestrained, catching the fluorescent light in a way that makes my mouth go dry.


    My body reacts before my brain can catch up, lunging across the table and yanking her zipper back up so fast I nearly catch her skin in it. I''m pretty sure my heart just exploded. sea??h th§× N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Oh my fucking god!" Sabrina gasps, her eyes wider than I thought humanly possible. Her hands fly to her now-covered chest, horror dawning on her face as she realizes what just happened.


    "Hey, it''s okay," I stammer, glancing around frantically to make sure no one else saw. Thankfully, the few other customers are either absorbed in their phones or facing away from us. "Nobody saw. We''re good."


    Sabrina''s face has transformed into a mask of pure mortification. Even through her dark complexion, I can see the flush spreading across her cheeks and down her neck. Her hands are still clutching the zipper like it might spontaneously open again if she lets go.


    "I think I''m going to die, Gabe," she whispers, sinking lower in her seat until only her eyes are visible above the table. "I just flashed my only friend at school. I literally just met you yesterday, and now you''ve seen my tits. I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole."


    I can''t help but laugh, not at her embarrassment but at the absurdity of the situation.


    "Listen, if it makes you feel any better, I didn''t really see anything," I lie, trying to ease her mortification. "It was too quick."


    "Bullshit," she groans, peeking up from her slouched position. "I saw your face. You saw everything."


    "Fine," I admit, lowering my voice. "I saw. But seriously, it''s not a big deal. These things happen."


    Sabrina gives me a look of pure disbelief. "These things don''t just happen, Gabe. Normal people don''t accidentally strip in Burger King!"


    "Look, you were hot, you forgot what you were wearing, and you unzipped. It''s embarrassing, but it''s not the end of the world." I push the second Whopper toward her. "Here, stress eat. It helps."


    She eyes the burger suspiciously before grabbing it, unwrapping it with the determination of someone who''s decided food might actually be the answer to their problems.


    "I can''t believe this," she mutters before taking another massive bite. "I was up all night getting off to anime boys, and now I''m flashing real boys at fast food restaurants. My therapist is going to have a field day with this."


    I nearly choke on my soda. "You tell your therapist about your... bean activities?"


    "Of course I do," she says, looking genuinely confused by my question. "That''s what therapy is for. Telling someone about all the weird shit you do."


    I can''t help but burst out laughing, shaking my head at this absolute hurricane of a human sitting across from me. "Sabrina, you''re such a fucking mess, dude."


    Her smile falters immediately, vulnerability flashing across her face. She sets down her burger, fingers fidgeting with the wrapper.


    "Please don''t stop being my friend," she says quietly, eyes dropping to the table. "I know I''m weird, and I overshare, and I accidentally flashed you, but I really like hanging out with you."


    Something warm unfurls in my chest, cutting through the chaos of everything else.


    "I''m not going anywhere," I tell her, surprising myself with how much I mean it. "Trust me, you''d have to try a lot harder than accidental nudity to scare me off."


    Her shoulders visibly relax, relief washing over her face.


    "Besides," I add, trying to lighten the mood, "my life is such a spectacular dumpster fire right now that your accidental flash barely registers."


    Sabrina tilts her head, studying me with those dark, perceptive eyes. Then, she dramatically clutches her chest through her zipped-up hoodie.


    "So what you''re saying is my amazing rack wasn''t even enough to make you feel better?" She grins mischievously. "I''m offended, Gabe. These are premium goods I accidentally displayed. Most guys would be cheered up for weeks."


    My face burns hot enough to fry an egg as I sputter on my soda. "That''s not what I..."


    "I''m kidding!" She laughs, reaching across to pat my hand. "Though your face is currently the color of ketchup, which is adorable."


    I duck my head, unable to meet her eyes.


    "For what it''s worth," I manage to say, "they were very cool."


    "Thanks, Gabe. Girls love compliments like that."

 Chapter 8: I DON’T WANT TO BE HORNY ANYMORE, I JUST WANT TO BE HAPPY

    Chapter 8 - 8: I DON''T WANT TO BE HORNY ANYMORE, I JUST WANT TO BE HAPPYI sit in my car outside our house, gripping the steering wheel like it''s the only thing keeping me from floating away. Three hours with Sabrina somehow made the world feel almost normal again.


    Burger King had turned into a walk around campus, which turned into coffee at some indie place with chalkboard menus. Sabrina talked the entire time about anime, her classes, her therapist, who''s apparently "the shit," and how she''s convinced raccoons have secret societies. Her mind jumps tracks faster than a derailed train, but somehow keeping up with her chaos helped quiet mine.


    But now I''m home, and reality waits inside like a crouching predator.


    Mom''s car sits in the driveway, gleaming under the afternoon sun. At least she''s not out... working. The thought makes my stomach twist with a confusing mix of relief and something darker I refuse to name.


    "You got this," I mutter to myself, grabbing my backpack from the passenger seat. "Just act normal. Go to your room. Lock the door if you have to."


    The walk to the front door feels like crossing a minefield. Each step bringing me closer to a conversation I''m not ready to have. I slide my key into the lock, the metal cool against my sweaty fingers, and push the door open.


    The house is quiet. Too quiet. No TV humming in the background, no dinner sounds from the kitchen. Just silence that feels thick enough to choke on.


    "Mom?" I call out, hating how my voice cracks on that single syllable.


    Nothing.


    I exhale slowly, shoulders dropping as tension bleeds from my body. Maybe she''s out for a walk. Maybe I''ve got a reprieve, a few hours to figure out what the fuck I''m going to say to her.


    I head up the stairs, each step creaking under my weight like the house itself is announcing my presence. The hallway stretches before me, my bedroom door at the end like a finish line. Just make it there, shut the door, and figure out the rest later.


    I turn the knob, push the door open, and freeze.


    Mom is sitting on my bed, her legs crossed at the ankles, white hair tumbling over her shoulders like snow. She''s still wearing that silky blue nightgown from this morning, the one that barely reaches mid-thigh. The afternoon light filters through my blinds, casting golden stripes across her bare legs.


    But it''s what''s in her hand that makes my blood run cold.


    Her black panties, the ones I stole yesterday morning, the ones I was jerking off into to right before my first day of college, dangle from her fingers like a flag.


    "Close the door, honey," she says, her voice honey-sweet but laced with something dangerous.


    I stand frozen in the doorway, my fight-or-flight response screaming at me to run, but my feet seem rooted to the floor. My heart hammers against my ribcage so hard I''m sure she can hear it.


    She taps the bed beside her with one manicured finger, her lips curling into an arrogant smirk that makes my stomach flip. "Take a seat, Gabriel."


    Like a puppet with cut strings, I find myself obeying, closing the door behind me with a soft click that sounds like a death knell in the silent room. I cross to the bed on wooden legs, perching as far from her as possible while still technically sitting beside her.


    She slides toward me, closing the gap I''d carefully created. Her bare thigh presses against mine, the silk of her nightgown whispering against my jeans. The contact sends electricity up my spine, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound. My body betrays me instantly, blood rushing south so fast I feel lightheaded.


    "Gabriel," she says, dangling the panties between us, "what is this?"


    I stare at the underwear, my stomach dropping as I notice the unmistakable evidence of what I''d done. The once-black fabric is stiff, whitish crusty stains covering most of the silky material. There''s so much of it, more than I remembered leaving. The shame hits me like a physical blow, heat crawling up my neck and flooding my face.


    "Fuck," I whisper, the word escaping before I can stop it.


    I want to run. I want to disappear. But part of me, a voice I''ve been fighting for years, whispers that this is inevitable. That this is where we''ve always been heading.


    Mom''s fingers brush mine as she places the panties in my lap. "You''ve been taking my underwear for quite some time, haven''t you?" Her voice isn''t accusatory. It''s almost tender. "How many times have you done this?"


    Shame crashes over me like a tsunami, burning my face and tightening my chest until I can barely breathe. The evidence of my sick obsession sits in my lap, undeniable and damning.


    "Please, Mom," I choke out, unable to meet her eyes. "This is so uncomfortable. I''m sorry. I know what Idid is it''s disgusting. I''m fucked up."


    "No, Gabriel." Her voice is soft but firm as her hand cups my chin, forcing me to look at her. "After this morning, you should understand my feelings for you. I''ve dreamt of this for so long."


    Her eyes bore into mine, something wild and desperate flickering behind that familiar blue. "How many times have you jerked off into my panties while thinking about me? Tell me the truth."


    My throat constricts, shame and arousal battling for dominance. "I don''t know," I whisper, then the truth tumbles out like a confession. "Over a hundred, okay? Maybe more."


    Her face transforms, lips spreading into a grin so wide and delighted it''s almost childlike, like I''ve just given her the perfect birthday present. Her fingers tighten on my jaw, trembling slightly.


    "You depraved little monster," she breathes, voice thick with something that sounds like pride. "You really are just like me."


    Reality crashes back in, breaking through the haze of confusion and desire. "Mom, no, we can''t," I protest, trying to pull away from her touch. "This isn''t right."


    Mom tilts her head, studying me with a predatory patience. "Okay, so my darling baby boy wants to take it slow? We can do that." Her hand slides from my face to my chest, fingers splaying over my racing heart. "Take your pants off, Gabriel."


    "Mom, I''m not..." I start, panic rising in my throat.


    "I''m not going to touch you," she cuts me off, irritation flashing across her face. "Take your pants off, Gabriel, unless you want me to be mad at you?"


    The threat hangs in the air between us, and I''m suddenly eight years old again, desperate to avoid her disappointment. My hands move to my belt buckle without conscious thought, fingers fumbling with the metal clasp.


    "That''s it," she encourages, leaning back to watch. "Good boy."


    The praise sends a jolt through me. I lift my hips, sliding them down to my knees along with my boxers, exposing myself to her hungry gaze.


    "Beautiful," she whispers, eyes fixed on my traitorous cock, standing at full attention.


    "Gabe," Mom whispers, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she shifts on the bed. With one fluid motion, she reaches under her nightgown and slides her blue lace panties down her legs. The movement is somehow both innocent and obscene.


    She dangles them from her finger before offering them to me. "Here, baby. These are fresh from the dealer."


    I stare at the delicate fabric, noticing immediately how the crotch is darkened with moisture. My mouth goes dry as I take them with trembling fingers, the damp material evidence of her arousal.


    "They''re... wet," I mumble stupidly, my brain short-circuiting.


    "Of course they are," she says with a giggle that sounds too young for her age. "I''ve been thinking about you all day."


    Before I can stop myself, I bring them to my face and inhale deeply, my eyes fluttering closed as her scent fills my lungs. It''s intoxicating, musky and, sweet and unmistakably her. A groan escapes me before I can trap it behind my teeth.


    When I open my eyes, Mom is staring at me with wide-eyed wonder, her lips parted in surprise.


    "Gabriel," she breathes, her voice barely audible. "Show me how you do it, honey." Her hand reaches out, stopping just short of touching my thigh. "Jerk off for Mommy. I want to watch."


    I look down at her panties still clutched in my hand, then at my painfully hard cock, then back to her expectant face. The fight drains out of me like someone pulled a plug. What''s the point in resisting anymore? She knows everything. She''s seen everything. And some sick part of me has wanted this for longer than I can remember.


    "Fine," I mutter, resignation washing over me.


    I wrap her damp panties around my shaft, the silky material gliding easily over my skin. I keep my eyes fixed on the wall above her head, the ceiling, the window, anywhere but her face. Yet even as I avoid looking at her, she''s all I can think about. Her scent surrounds me, her warmth radiates beside me, and the knowledge that she''s watching me pleasure myself with her underwear makes my cock throb painfully.


    I''m lost in the sensation, the silky fabric sliding over my length, when Mom''s fingers suddenly grip my chin, forcing my gaze downward.


    "Look at me," she commands, her voice husky with need.


    I gasp. She''s pulled down the top of her nightgown, exposing her breasts to the afternoon light streaming through my window. They''re even more magnificent than I remembered from last night''s drunken haze, full, round, and impossibly perfect. The pale flesh rises and falls with her quickened breathing, pink nipples standing at attention.


    "Jesus, Mom," I whisper, unable to tear my eyes away.


    Her free hand has disappeared beneath her nightgown, rhythmically moving as she touches herself. The fabric shifts with each movement, hypnotic in its rhythm. The wet sounds of her fingers sliding through her folds fill the quiet room.


    "That''s it, baby," she encourages, her blue eyes half-lidded with pleasure. "You''re doing so good for Mommy."


    My hand moves faster of its own accord, the panties now slick with my pre-cum mixed with her arousal. The combination of sensations, her scent in my nostrils, her breasts before my eyes, the knowledge that she''s pleasuring herself while watching me, is overwhelming.


    A deep groan escapes her lips as her movements become more frantic. Without warning, she withdraws her glistening fingers and presses them against my mouth.


    "Taste," she orders.


    I''m beyond resistance now. My lips part automatically, and I suck her fingers into my mouth, tongue swirling around the digits to capture every drop of her essence. The tangy sweetness explodes across my taste buds, and I whimper pathetically around her fingers, lost in sensations I''ve only dreamed about.


    She withdraws them with a wet pop, her eyes are wild with excitement, pupils blown wide with lust.


    "Yes, Gabriel!" she urges, her voice rising. "Cum for me, baby! Cum for Mommy!"


    The command breaks something loose inside me. My back arches off the bed as pleasure tears through me like lightning, vision blurring at the edges as I erupt into her panties. Rope after rope of hot cum soaks the delicate fabric, some splashing onto my stomach and chest as I cry out.


    "Mom! Fuck, Mom!"


    She watches with undisguised delight, her own fingers still working furiously between her legs. As the last tremors of my orgasm subside, she leans forward and presses her lips to my forehead, a twisted maternal gesture that somehow makes everything even more confusing.


    "Good boy," she whispers against my skin. "You''ve made Mommy so happy."


    I collapse onto my back, chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. The ceiling above me swims in and out of focus, a blank canvas for my shame to project itself onto. My limbs feel like lead, weighed down by what we''ve just done.


    Mom gently unwraps her soaked panties from around my softening cock, the fabric making an obscene squelching sound as she pulls it away. I wince at the noise, each little sound another reminder of my weakness.


    "My goodness," she purrs, examining the cum-soaked underwear with an almost scientific curiosity. She slides them back up her legs under her nightgown and moans softly as the wet fabric settles against her. "There''s so much, Gabriel. You''ve been saving up for Mommy, haven''t you?"


    Her smile is radiant, triumphant, like she''s won some prize I didn''t know we were competing for. She stands from the bed, smoothing down her nightgown with delicate, precise movements.


    "I''m going to start dinner, darling," she announces as if we just finished a normal mother-son chat instead of... whatever the fuck this was. "I''ll call you when it''s ready. Chicken parmesan tonight, your favorite." Sear?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    I manage a nod, not trusting my voice. As soon as the door clicks shut behind her, something inside me breaks. The tears come without warning, hot and humiliating, as they stream down my face. I don''t bother wiping them away, just let them fall as quiet sobs wrack my body.


    Depression sinks its fangs into me, a familiar predator that knows exactly where to bite. I curl onto my side, pulling my knees to my chest like a child.


    "I don''t want to want this," I whisper to the empty room, my voice cracking. "I don''t want to be like this anymore."


    My body betrayed me so easily, surrendered to her without a fight. What kind of sick fuck gets off on his own mother watching him jerk off with her underwear? What kind of son tastes his mother''s arousal?


    "I just want to be normal," I choke out, pressing my face into my pillow to muffle the sound. "I just want to be happy."

 Chapter 9: The Creation of Adam

    Chapter 9 - 9: The Creation of AdamI''m sitting at the kitchen table, drowning in the surreal normalcy of it all. Mom''s chicken parmesan, the ultimate weapon in her arsenal, sits steaming on my plate, the aroma of basil and melted mozzarella assaulting my senses. Even through the fog of self-loathing and confusion, my stomach growls. The first bite is a betrayal I can''t resist. My taste buds lighting up like they''re getting paid overtime.


    "How is it, honey?" Mom asks, her voice dripping with that sugary sweetness that used to feel safe but now feels like a trap.


    I can''t meet her eyes, those piercing blue pools that have seen parts of me no mother should ever see. My gaze stays fixed on the red sauce pooling around the crispy edges of the chicken. Despite everything, I don''t have it in me to lie about this.


    "It''s my favorite, Mom," I mumble, shoveling another bite into my mouth to avoid further conversation. "It''s really good."


    The fork feels heavy in my hand, each bite both a comfort and a punishment. How fucked up is it that after everything that''s happened, after discovering what she does, after what happened in my bedroom hours ago, her cooking still cuts through my depression like a hot knife through butter.


    Mom''s watching me eat with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. Her eyes never leave my face, tracking each movement of my fork like she''s memorizing the way my lips close around it. The silence between us stretches, elastic and dangerous.


    "You know," she says finally, her voice light and casual, "I added something special to the sauce this time. Can you taste it?"


    I hesitate, then take another bite, rolling it around my tongue. There is something different there, something I can''t quite identify. It''s familiar somehow, a subtle sourish flavor that cuts through the tomato and herbs.


    "I''m not sure," I say cautiously. "It''s different. Kind of... tangy? But good. Really good, actually."


    Her smile widens, slow and deliberate, like a cat that''s cornered its prey. "I''m so glad you enjoy it, Gabriel. I thought you might appreciate my... personal touch."


    The way she emphasizes "personal" sends warning signals flashing through my brain. Before I can process what she might mean, she delicately dabs her mouth with her napkin and sets it aside.


    "Gabriel," she says, clearing her throat. "There''s something I wanted to discuss with you."


    My stomach clenches, and I can feel the color draining from my face. "Can it wait? I''ve got some reading to do for tomorrow''s class and..." I lie.


    "I was thinking about our first time together," she interrupts, her voice soft but insistent. "At the party."


    I wince, my fork clattering against the plate. The chicken suddenly tastes like ash in my mouth.


    "While I didn''t realize it was you at first," she continues, reaching across the table to brush her fingers against mine, "I''ve been replaying it in my head. And I couldn''t help but notice something." She pauses, eyes glittering with amusement. "You only managed five thrusts before you came inside me. Five, Gabriel."


    "Mom!" I snap, heat rushing to my face. "It was my first time, okay? Cut me some slack!"


    Her hand freezes halfway to her wine glass, blue eyes widening to perfect circles. The kitchen goes silent except for the soft hum of the refrigerator.


    "What did you just say?" she whispers, voice barely audible.


    "Just... stop, alright? This is already fucked up enough without you making fun of me."


    Before I can react, Mom''s chair scrapes against the tile as she stands. In three quick steps, she''s beside me, pulling her chair right up against mine until our thighs touch.


    "Gabriel," she breathes, her hands trembling as they frame my face. "Are you telling me I was your first? That I took your virginity?"


    The vulnerability in her voice catches me off guard. This isn''t the predatory confidence from earlier, she looks genuinely curious, almost fragile.


    "Mom, please," I groan, mortification washing over me in waves. "This is embarrassing enough without..."


    I don''t finish my sentence because she pulls me against her chest in a crushing embrace, her arms wrapping around me with surprising strength. My face is suddenly pressed between her breasts, the soft flesh yielding against my cheeks as her familiar scent, vanilla and something uniquely her, fills my nostrils. Despite everything, my body responds instantly, blood rushing south as I inhale deeply.


    "I''m so happy, Gabriel," she whispers into my hair, her voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how much this means to me. That I was your first. That we shared that together."


    I should pull away. I should tell her this is wrong, that normal mothers don''t celebrate taking their son''s virginity. But her warmth seeps into me, and I find myself sinking against her, starved for her comfort even from the source of my confusion.


    "I didn''t want it to happen like that," I mutter into her chest, the words muffled. "Not drunk at some frat party with everyone watching." Sear?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    She pulls away, her hands sliding up to cup my face. There''s a softness in her eyes I wasn''t expecting.


    "Yes, that was... less than ideal circumstances," she coos, her thumbs caressing my cheeks. A frown creases her perfect forehead as she searches my eyes. "If only I''d known how you felt about me sooner, Gabriel. God, I would have made your first time so special, candles, silk sheets, just the two of us. I would have taken such good care of you."


    I let out a heavy sigh, my shoulders slumping. This whole conversation feels like I''m trapped in some bizarre dream.


    Her expression shifts suddenly, eyebrows drawing together as she adopts a more maternal tone. "Though, as your mother, I must say I''m rather disappointed in you for choosing to lose your virginity to a prostitute while intoxicated at a college gangbang. That''s not how I raised you to treat such an important milestone."


    Something snaps inside me. The absurdity, the hypocrisy, it''s too much.


    "Are you fucking kidding me right now?" I shout, jerking away from her touch. "YOU were that prostitute, Mom! YOU!"


    Her lips curve into a small, knowing smile, completely unfazed by my outburst. "Ah," she says, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against the table. "That brings me to the second thing I wanted to discuss with you tonight."


    My heart pounds in my chest as she reaches for her wine glass, taking a deliberate sip before setting it down with a soft clink.


    "I''ve made a decision, Gabriel," she announces, her voice suddenly businesslike. "I''m retiring. Effective immediately."


    I blink at her, trying to process this information through the chaos in my brain. "You''re... retiring? From being an escort?"


    She nods, reaching across to stroke my hair like I''m still a child. "For you, darling. Just like you asked this morning. No more clients, no more late nights away from home."


    Relief floods through me so intensely I almost feel lightheaded. "That''s... that''s good, Mom. Really good."


    Her eyes darken, pupils dilating as she leans in close, her breath hot against my ear. "Admit it, Gabriel," she whispers, voice husky and demanding. "You wanted me to quit because you can''t stand the thought of sharing me. You want me all to yourself, don''t you?"


    Her hand slides up my thigh, fingernails dragging lightly against my jeans. "Show me how much I mean to you, baby. Right here, right now. Take what''s yours on the kitchen table."


    Something cold settles in my stomach despite the heat coursing through my veins. This isn''t right. Not like this.


    "No, Mom," I say, my voice firmer than I expected. I gently remove her hand from my thigh. "I don''t want you selling yourself because you deserve better than that. Not because I want to... claim you or whatever this is."


    She pulls back, surprise flashing across her face. For a moment, she looks genuinely confused, like she can''t comprehend my rejection.


    "This isn''t about possession," I continue, finding strength I didn''t know I had. "It''s about you having a life that doesn''t involve being used by strangers. About you finding something that actually makes you happy."


    Mom''s expression hardens, her eyes narrowing with annoyance. There''s something calculating in her gaze that makes me squirm in my seat.


    "I don''t believe you," she says flatly, crossing her arms. "Not for a second."


    "What''s not to believe?" I throw my hands up. "It doesn''t even matter what my reasons are! Fine, maybe there''s a part of me that hates the thought of you with other men. Maybe I am jealous in some fucked-up way. But that''s not the whole story, Mom! I just want you to be safe, and being a hooker isn''t safe! Do you have any idea what could happen to you?"


    The corners of her mouth curl upward, a smug satisfaction replacing her annoyance. "Well, good news, sweetheart," she says, reaching for her wine glass. "I''ll be a professor at your school starting tomorrow."


    "What the fuck? That''s... that''s so fast! How did you even find a new job that quickly?" My brain struggles to catch up with this bombshell. "Mom, what was even the point of being a prostitute if you could just land a professor job overnight?"


    She takes another slow sip of her wine, savoring my confusion like it''s the finest vintage. "Gabriel, while this position will ensure your education is completely covered, keeping my beautiful boy out of debt, it doesn''t even pay half of what I made as an escort." She sets down her glass with deliberate precision. "Not even close."


    The implications hit me like a truck. All these years, she wasn''t just making ends surviving she was thriving. And she did it for us.


    My poor Mom. Carrying such a burden.


    "I''m sorry, Mom," I say, my voice softer now. "I''ll start looking for a job tomorrow. I meant to today, but I had... a lot to process."


    Mom lets out a heavy sigh, her fingers tracing the rim of her wine glass. "Gabriel, I don''t want you to find a job. I want you to focus on your studies and..." she reaches for my hand across the table, eyes intense, "I want us to further our relationship."


    Something in me snaps. All the confusion, the shame, the twisted desire, it crystallizes into sudden clarity.


    "ENOUGH!" I yell, yanking my hand away. "I''m getting a job."


    Her eyes widen at my tone, mouth opening to protest, but I''m done listening.


    "No, Mom. I don''t want us to find ourselves in a situation where we end up needing money, and you just fall back into relying on being an escort." My voice rises with each word, hands gripping the edge of the table. "I have to get a job for us! End of story."


    I stand so quickly my chair nearly tips over.


    "And we are not in a relationship," I add, the words tasting like freedom on my tongue. "We are not dating. We are just a regular mother and son."


    Mom''s face transforms before my eyes, the confident seductress vanishing, replaced by confusion.


    "I''m going to bed, Mom." My voice softens slightly. "I love you. Goodnight."


    I turn and walk away, not waiting for her response. Each step up the stairs feels lighter than the last like I''m shedding some invisible weight. Behind me, the kitchen remains silent, no footsteps following, no voice calling me back.


    Inside my room, I collapse onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. My heart pounds against my ribs.


    The image of Mom leaning across the table, her voice husky as she invited me to take her right there, replays in my mind with painful clarity.


    "I really almost fucked her on the table," I whisper, the words barely audible even in the silence of my room.


    My hand drifts down to the front of my jeans, feeling the hardness there. Despite everything, the confusion, the moral arguments with myself, the firm boundaries I just established, my body still responds to the memory of her offer.


    A strange mixture of shame and something like defiance washes over me. I stood my ground. I made the right choice. But that doesn''t mean I can''t indulge in the fantasy alone, on my own terms.


    "I deserve this one," I mutter, unzipping my pants with trembling fingers. "After everything today... I''ve earned this."


    My hand slips beneath my boxers, wrapping around myself as I close my eyes. I let the fantasy unfold, not the reality of my complicated relationship with Mom, but a simpler version where I didn''t walk away. Where I swept those plates aside and took what she offered on that kitchen table.


    "Fuck, Mom," I whisper, desperate for her not to hear me.


    ¡ª


    [Angela''s POV]


    I sit frozen in my seat, watching my son storm away, his footsteps thundering up the stairs. My mouth hangs open, not from shock at his little rebellion, how adorable that he thinks he can resist what''s between us, but because the poor, sweet boy had absolutely no idea he was sporting the most magnificent erection while delivering his little speech. The outline was perfectly visible through his cute little pants, straining against the fabric like it was reaching for me even as he tried to deny us both.


    "Oh, Gabriel," I whisper, picking up my wine glass and taking a slow sip. The rich liquid rolls across my tongue as I savor both its taste and the delicious irony of his defiance.


    "I won''t let you resist me much longer, my love. My patience is running thin."

 Chapter 10: Cum to Mama

    Chapter 10 - 10: Cum to Mama"Mom!"


    I''m buried deep inside her, my fingers digging into her wrists as I pin them against the mattress. Her white hair spills across the sheets like spilled milk, and with each thrust, she moans my name in that voice that''s haunted me for years.


    "Harder, Gabriel," Mom begs, her voice a breathless plea that sends electricity down my spine. "Don''t hold back. I''ve waited so long for this."


    I flip her over, positioning her on all fours, her perfect ass raised toward me. She looks back over her shoulder, those loving blue eyes half-lidded with desire. My hands find her hips, fingers pressing into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks. I want to mark her, to claim her, to make her understand that she belongs to me now.


    "I love you, Mom," I groan as I thrust back inside her, the heat of her enveloping me like a fist. "I love you so much."


    The words feel right here. The rhythm of our bodies moving together is perfect, practiced, like we''ve been lovers for centuries instead of just these few stolen moments.


    "Oh my," she purrs, reaching back to grab my thigh, pulling me deeper inside her. "You''re already so hard."


    The comment strikes me as odd. Already? We''ve been going at it for what feels like hours. My pace falters as confusion cuts through the haze of pleasure.


    "What?" I mutter, the world starting to fray at the edges.


    Something''s not right. The bed feels different beneath my knees. The air on my skin is cooler than it should be. Mom''s body, so solid and real a moment ago, seems to be dissolving like mist at dawn.


    I open my eyes.


    The darkness of my bedroom materializes around me, morning light slicing through the gap in my curtains to illuminate a sight that makes my heart stop. Mom is sitting on the edge of my bed, her nightgown, a different one from earlier, this one sheer and barely there, hanging off one shoulder. Her blue eyes gleam in the half-light, hungry and triumphant.


    But what stops my breath entirely is the sight of her slender fingers wrapped around my cock, stroking with practiced precision.


    "Mom?" The word escapes as a strangled whisper.


    She doesn''t stop, her grip tightening just slightly as she slides her hand up to the sensitive head before gliding back down to the base. My hips buck involuntarily, betraying me instantly.


    "Shhh," she soothes, her free hand coming up to brush my hair from my forehead in a gesture that''s both maternal and deeply perverse, given what her other hand is doing. "Just enjoy it, Gabriel. Let Mommy take care of you."


    My sleepy brain short-circuits, unable to process what''s happening. Just last night, I stood in our kitchen and firmly told her we needed boundaries, that we were just a normal mother and son. I went to bed thinking I''d finally taken control of the situation, that I''d made the right choice.


    Yet here she is, and here I am, harder than I''ve ever been in my life, leaking pre-cum over her delicate fingers.


    "This isn''t right," I try to say, but it comes out as a moan when she twists her wrist in a way that makes my toes curl.


    "Your body disagrees," she whispers, her voice like velvet. "Look how much you want this, Gabriel. Look how much you want me."


    She strokes me twice more, her rhythm perfect, her touch electric, and it''s too much. The combination of the dream, the forbidden nature of what''s happening, the weeks and months and years of wanting her, it all culminates in an explosion I can''t control.


    "Fuck, Mom!" I cry out as the first pulse hits, my back arching off the bed.


    Her eyes widen in genuine surprise as my release erupts with shocking force. The first rope catches her across the cheek, the second across her parted lips. The third and fourth land on her nightgown, darkening the sheer fabric where it clings to her breasts. Her hand never stops moving, milking every last drop as I writhe beneath her touch.


    "Oh my," she breathes, clearly not expecting such an explosive response. There''s wonder in her voice, mixed with something darker, something possessive that makes my spent cock twitch against her palm.


    I lie there, chest heaving, watching through half-closed eyes as she slowly brings her cum-covered fingers to her mouth. Her tongue darts out, pink and delicate, licking my release from her skin with deliberate, sensual strokes. Her eyes never leave mine, gauging my reaction as she scoops the strands from her cheek and suckles them from her fingertips.


    "Mom," I croak, horrified and aroused in equal measure. "What are you doing?"


    She doesn''t answer, just continues her obscene cleaning ritual, gathering my seed from her face and nightgown. When she''s collected as much as she can, she tilts her head back slightly and opens her mouth, letting me see it pooled on her tongue before she swallows with an exaggerated gulp.


    "Mmm," she hums, running her tongue across her upper lip to catch a stray drop. "You taste divine, Gabriel. So much better than I imagined."


    My stomach twists with a nauseating mix of surprise and desire. This is my mother, the woman who raised me, and she''s sitting on my bed savoring my cum like it''s some gourmet delicacy. Yet I can''t tear my eyes away, can''t help the way my cock is already stirring again despite having just exploded all over her.


    "Gabriel," she says, her voice dropping to that husky register that makes my nerve endings sing, "are you usually so quick?"


    Her fingers are still loosely wrapped around me, thumb idly circling the sensitive head, coaxing me back to hardness with minimal effort.


    "No," I blurt out, embarrassment flooding me. "I''ve never... With my own hand, I usually last way longer."


    A slow, knowing smile spreads across her face, transforming her features into something predatory and triumphant. She shifts closer on the bed, her nightgown riding up to expose the pale expanse of her thighs.


    "Oh," she purrs, tilting her head coyly. "So you only cum this fast with your mother, then?"


    "I..." I stammer, but she cuts me off with a squeeze of her hand that makes me gasp.


    "That''s love, Gabriel," she says, her smile widening until it''s almost blinding in the dim room. "That''s what happens when you finally get what you''ve always wanted."


    My brain finally catches up to what''s happening. I jerk my hips backward, yanking myself from her grip as I scramble to the far corner of my bed, pulling the sheets up to cover myself.


    "Wait a fucking minute, Mom!" My voice cracks with panic. "You can''t just sneak into my room and... and touch me while I''m sleeping! That''s rape, Mom!"


    Her expression shifts from predatory to something resembling concern, but there''s a performative quality to it that makes my skin crawl.


    "Rape?" She tilts her head, eyes wide with mock innocence. "Gabriel, sweetheart, if that was rape, why did your hips buck so eagerly into my hand? Why did you moan my name before you even woke up?" Her lips curl into a knowing smile. "Is it because you want Mommy that badly?"


    "No! That''s not..." I stammer, heat rushing to my face. "My body was reacting involuntarily! I was asleep, for fuck''s sake! This is seriously messed up, Mom."


    I grab my boxers awkwardly, pulling them on beneath the sheets. The fabric sticks to my still-wet skin uncomfortably.


    "You can''t just touch people without their consent," I continue, finding my voice growing stronger with each word. "Even if... even if that person is your son. Especially if that person is your son!"


    Mom''s face hardens, the facade of concern dropping away entirely. She sits up straighter, smoothing down her cum-stained nightgown with deliberate movements.


    "I don''t think it counts as rape if there wasn''t any penetration, Gabriel," she says coolly. "I was simply helping my son with a problem. A very hard problem." Her eyes flick down to where the sheet tents slightly despite my anger.


    My jaw drops at the audacity. "Are you serious right now? Get out of my room!" I shout, pointing at the door with a trembling finger. "GET OUT!"


    She stands with glacial slowness, every movement calculated to maximize the sway of her hips, the bounce of her breasts beneath the thin fabric. Her expression is a mask of annoyance, but I catch something else flickering behind her eyes¡ªuncertainty, perhaps even fear.


    "Fine," she says, her voice clipped. She moves toward the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. "Good morning, by the way!" she adds with false brightness before slipping out into the hallway.


    "I''m going to have to change the lock on my door." sea??h th§× n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 11: Relaxative

    Chapter 11 - 11: RelaxativeThe professor swap email hits my phone like a plot twist nobody asked for. I''m standing outside the humanities building, squinting at my screen as if that might change what it says.


    "Creative Writing 101 will now be taught by Professor Sterling due to unforeseen circumstances."


    Great. Just when I''d finally memorized Professor Daniels syllabus.


    I stuff my phone in my pocket and hoist my backpack higher on my shoulder, realizing it doesn''t matter.


    "What''s good, bestie!" Sabrina''s voice cuts through my thoughts as she bounces up beside me, her psychology textbook clutched against her chest. Her smile is wide enough to make me forget about the handjob for a second.


    "Hey," I manage, trying to match her energy but falling short by about a thousand watts.


    "So," she says, leaning in conspiratorially, "you wanna come over and take laxatives with me?"


    I stare at her for what feels like an eternity, my brain temporarily offline.


    I ignore the laxative part of her question. "I wish I could hang out," I say slowly, "but I have to try and find a job today."


    Sabrina snaps her fingers. "Oh dude, the convenience store near the Burger King is hiring! I saw the sign yesterday."


    "It is?" My interest perks up. Walking distance from campus would be perfect.


    "Yeah! The QuickMart. They''ve got a ''Help Wanted'' sign up."


    I consider it for a moment. "I guess I''ll check there first."


    "Sweet!" She hooks her arm through mine. "And then, after you''re done, we can hang out and do the laxatives."


    "Sabrina," I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose, "don''t fucking take laxatives for fun."


    "Dude, come on, we can..."


    I cut her off with a sharp gesture. "Sabrina, what is this? What''s going on here?" My voice drops to a harsh whisper as students stream past us. "Is this like a fetish thing?"


    Her eyes widen in horror. "Hell no! I don''t have a shit fetish! I just thought it''d be funny if we got the shits together." She''s practically bouncing on her toes like this is the most normal suggestion in the world.


    I stare at her, mouth slightly open. "Sabrina, that''s fucked."


    Her enthusiasm deflates like a punctured balloon. A flash of embarrassment crosses her face, and she glances down at her shoes. "Look, I was lying, alright?" She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "My roommates really want to meet you."


    "Then why not just say that?" I throw my hands up in exasperation. "Why make up some weird laxative party?"


    "Well, I got nervous you''d ask why they want to meet you," Sabrina says, scuffing her sneakers against the concrete. "And I thought you might be the adventurous type."


    Is Sabrina human?


    I look at her, trying to map out all the possible directions this conversation could take. My brain feels like it''s running diagnostics on fifteen different scenarios at once. But when I really focus on her face, I can see she genuinely wants me to come over. There''s something almost pleading in her eyes.


    "Uhhh, sure, I''ll come by," I finally say, shoving my hands in my pockets.


    She brightens immediately, but I''m not done.


    "Look, Sabrina, we''re friends. I know we just met, but I really like you, alright?" The words tumble out before I can overthink them. "I''m like you. I don''t have many friends either. So you don''t have to try so hard. You can just be yourself around me."


    Her cheeks flush darker, and she looks down at her shoes again, this time with a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.


    "Alright," she says softly. "I''ll see you later then, Gabe."


    She gives a little wave and walks backward a few steps before turning and heading toward her next class. I watch her go, feeling like I''ve just navigated a minefield while blindfolded and somehow made it to the other side.


    "She''s so cooked."


    ¡ª


    I push open the door to QuickMart, the electronic bell chiming overhead. The fluorescent lights hit me like a slap, making everything inside look simultaneously too bright and somehow dingy. The smell of coffee, processed food, and industrial cleaner hits my nostrils in a familiar convenience store cocktail.


    "Be right with you!" calls a voice from somewhere behind the counter.


    I scan the store, taking in the usual convenience store setup, racks of chips, coolers of energy drinks, and sad-looking hot dogs rotating on metal rollers. The "Help Wanted" sign is taped to the counter, slightly crooked, the edges curling from being handled.


    A woman emerges from the back room, arms full of cigarette cartons. She''s tall with a full figure, brown hair pulled back in a messy bun that looks like it''s one head shake from completely falling apart. Wire-rimmed glasses slip down her nose as she sets the cartons on the counter.


    "Sorry about that," she says, pushing her glasses back up with one finger. "What can I help you with?"


    I approach the counter, suddenly feeling my mouth go dry. Job interviews always make me nervous, even informal ones at convenience stores.


    "I, uh, saw the Help Wanted sign," I manage, pointing to the paper. "I was wondering if the position was still open?"


    The woman''s eyes light up, warm brown irises catching the harsh overhead light. "Oh! Yes, absolutely," she says, straightening her posture. Her QuickMart name tag pinned slightly crooked. ''Debbie,'' it reads in faded print.


    "I''m Debbie Kline," she says, extending her hand across the counter. Her smile seems genuine, revealing slightly crooked front teeth. "I''m the assistant manager here."


    I shake her hand, noticing how soft her palm feels against mine. "Gabe King. I''m a freshman at UMaine."


    "Nice to meet you, Gabe," she says, holding onto my hand a beat longer than necessary. When she realizes, she quickly withdraws. "So, you looking for part-time work?" sea??h th§× NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Yeah, I need to start making some money," I say, shifting my weight. "My schedule''s pretty flexible, and I can work evenings, weekends, whatever you need."


    Debbie nods enthusiastically, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "That''s perfect, actually. We''re especially short-handed for closing shifts." She hesitates, then adds, "Not many students want to work until midnight on weekends."


    "That works for me," I say, perhaps too quickly. Midnight shifts mean less time at home with Mom, which sounds like exactly what I need right now.


    "Let me just grab an application for you to fill out."


    She turns and steps, completely missing the small yellow stepping stool behind her. Her ankle catches on it, and she lets out a startled yelp as she topples backward.


    I lunge forward instinctively, my arms shooting out across the counter. I catch her, one hand supporting her back while the other grips her arm. For a moment, we''re frozen like that, her body suspended at an angle, her surprised eyes locked with mine, our faces uncomfortably close.


    "Oh my god," she breathes, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. "I''m so sorry."


    I help her regain her footing, my hands lingering perhaps a second too long before I pull back. "No problem. Are you okay?"


    She straightens her shirt with trembling hands, her face still flushed. "Yes, yes, I''m fine. Just clumsy." She laughs nervously, tucking another strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you for the quick save."


    "Don''t mention it," I say, offering a reassuring smile.


    She stares at me for a beat too long, then seems to remember why we''re here. "Well, after that graceful display," she says with a self-deprecating chuckle, "I think I can safely say we would love to have you. How soon can you start?"


    "I have class tomorrow, but I''m free at night," I reply, trying not to notice how her eyes keep darting to my arms.


    "Ah, perfect," she says, nodding a bit too enthusiastically. "I work from four to midnight tomorrow. How about you come in at seven, and I can train you until midnight?"


    "That sounds great," I say with a genuine smile. The job practically fell into my lap, or I guess Debbie fell into my arms, but either way, it''s exactly what I need right now.


    "Wonderful." She beams at me, though there''s still a nervous energy about her as she pulls out a form from under the counter. "Just fill this out before you leave, and bring your ID tomorrow."


    I take the application and quickly fill it out, aware of her watching me the whole time. When I hand it back, our fingers brush, and she jumps slightly at the contact.


    "Well, I should get going," I say, backing toward the door. "I''m looking forward to working with someone that seems so nice."


    Her expression softens, a warm smile spreading across her face. "Nice, huh?" she murmurs, more to herself than to me.


    I step out of the QuickMart into the afternoon sunshine, a weird lightness in my chest that I haven''t felt in days. The automatic doors whoosh closed behind me, and I can''t help the small grin that spreads across my face.


    I got a job. A real fucking job with actual money coming in. My first paycheck might not be much, but it''s a start, a way to chip away at the burden Mom''s been carrying alone all these years.


    The thought of Mom sends a complicated wave of emotions through me. Everything between us is so fucked up right now, this tangled mess of desire and shame and boundaries constantly being crossed. But beneath all that chaos, I still love her. Not just in that twisted way that keeps me up at night, but in the normal way a son loves his mother.


    She sacrificed everything for me. Eighteen years of selling herself to strangers, putting her body on the line so I could have the best of everything. No matter how inappropriate things have gotten between us, I can''t forget that.


    "Alright, I guess I''ll go see Sabrina now."

 Chapter 12: Mario Kart World

    Chapter 12 - 12: Mario Kart WorldI knock on the door of Sabrina''s dorm, shifting my weight from one foot to the other as I wait. Getting into the freshman building was surprisingly easy. I just followed some girl with blue hair who held the door open without even looking at me. Campus security at its finest.


    The door swings open. Sabrina stands there with her black sweatshirt unzipped so low it''s basically decorative at this point. The hot pink bra underneath is clearly struggling against the laws of physics, her breasts practically spilling over the top like they''re making a break for freedom. The contrast of the bright fabric against her dark skin is striking in a way that makes my mouth go dry.


    "Gabe! Hey, come in," she says, her voice pitched slightly higher than normal. There''s something off about her demeanor, a weird theatricality to her movements as she steps aside to let me in.


    I step into what''s easily the nicest dorm I''ve ever seen. It''s a suite with a small common area, kitchenette, and what looks like three-bedroom doors. The walls are decorated with fairy lights and posters of bands I vaguely recognize, and there''s an actual couch instead of the standard-issue furniture I''d expected.


    Two girls are sitting on said couch, and they both look up when I enter. One has long blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail, wearing a UMaine sweatshirt that''s at least two sizes too big. The other has a short pixie cut dyed purple, multiple ear piercings, and a sleeve of tattoos disappearing under her tank top. They''re both staring at me with expressions I can''t quite read, somewhere between skeptical and concerned.


    Sabrina spins around dramatically, gesturing toward me with both arms like she''s presenting a game show prize.


    "See?" she announces triumphantly, her chin tilted up with unmistakable arrogance. "I told you my boyfriend was real!"


    I freeze for half a second as the pieces click together in my head. Of course. This makes so much sense now, the weird laxative excuse, her nervousness, why her roommates "really wanted to meet me." She''s been telling them she has a boyfriend, and they didn''t believe her. My heart squeezes with unexpected sympathy. Having social anxiety is rough enough without roommates thinking you''re making up relationships.


    "Hey, yeah, I''m Gabe," I say, slipping an arm around Sabrina''s waist and pulling her against my side. "Sabrina''s boyfriend."


    She squeaks, actually squeaks, as I tug her close, her body going rigid before melting against mine. The blush spreading across her cheeks is so intense I can practically feel the heat radiating off her skin.


    The blonde girl exchanges a quick glance with the purple-haired one before her face softens into a gentle smile. sea??h th§× N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Hey Sabrina," she says, her voice kind in that careful way people use when they''re trying not to upset someone fragile. "We told you, we believed you. You really didn''t have to bring him here to prove anything."


    Purple Hair nods, adding, "Seriously, we feel bad you thought we didn''t believe you."


    The blonde turns to me with an extended hand. "It''s nice to meet you, Gabe. I''m Jessica, and this is Mia."


    I shake her hand, feeling Sabrina trembling slightly against me. "Nice place you guys have," I say, trying to keep things casual despite the awkwardness hanging in the air.


    "Thanks," Mia says, fidgeting with one of her earrings. "We got lucky with the housing lottery."


    Sabrina''s still pressed against my side, her breathing shallow and quick.


    "So," Jessica says, clearly trying to salvage the situation, "Sabrina tells us you''re in the same Creative Writing class?"


    "Yeah, we met on the first day," I confirm, wondering how much of our actual meeting Sabrina has shared with them. "Hit it off right away."


    "And now we''re dating!" Sabrina cuts in, her voice high and slightly manic. "It''s been such a whirlwind romance. Just so... romantic and real."


    I can feel her heart hammering against my side like she''s about to have a panic attack. Her fingers clutch at my shirt with surprising strength for someone so small.


    "I have to go to the loo," she suddenly blurts out, the words tumbling over each other. "Just... need to freshen up."


    Despite her declaration, she seems reluctant to actually detach herself from me, her fingers slowly uncurling from my shirt one by one as if letting go might make me disappear. She finally steps back, giving me a smile that''s equal parts terrified and hopeful.


    "I''ll be right back," she says, backing toward one of the doors. "Don''t go anywhere, okay?"


    "I''ll be here," I promise, watching as she disappears into what must be the bathroom.


    The moment the door clicks shut, Jessica and Mia practically lunge forward on the couch, their expressions transforming instantly.


    "Okay, listen," Jessica whispers urgently, "we know you two aren''t actually dating."


    I open my mouth to protest, but Jessica holds up her hand, stopping me.


    "It''s fine, seriously. We''re actually in on it," she explains, her voice barely audible. "That girl is absolutely head over heels for you. Like, embarrassingly so."


    "This whole boyfriend charade was her idea," Mia continues, glancing nervously at the bathroom door. "She thought if you pretended to be her boyfriend today, maybe you''d start seeing her as girlfriend material for real."


    "She''s been talking about you non-stop since you met," Jessica adds. "We''ve heard every detail about your lunch together, your Burger King adventure, even how you helped her not strip in public."


    My face heats up, a blush creeping from my neck to my hairline. "She likes me that much?"


    Mia snorts. "Dude, she made us practice this conversation with her for two hours last night. She''s got it bad."


    I can''t help the smile that spreads across my face. Sabrina, weird, awkward, oversharing Sabrina, has a crush on me. The thought sends a warm flutter through my chest that catches me off guard.


    "Just... be gentle with her, okay?" Jessica''s voice softens. "She seems like the type that if she receives a little bit of attention she''ll be your little puppy."


    Mia leans forward, her voice dropping even lower. "So just let her down easy if you''re not into her, okay?"


    "But I hope you are," Jessica interjects, shooting Mia a look. "She seems weird, but I like her chaotic vibe."


    I rub the back of my neck, suddenly aware of how quickly this situation has escalated. My mind races through the past few days with Sabrina. There''s something so genuine about her that cuts through all the noise in my head.


    "I''ve never had a girlfriend before," I admit quietly, surprised by my own honesty. "Not sure I even know how to be with someone."


    The bathroom door handle jiggles, and we all freeze like guilty teenagers.


    "I mean, I like her," I whisper hurriedly. "She''s easy to talk to. It''s just..."


    My words trail off as I think about Mom. How would she react to me having a girlfriend? After everything that''s happened between us, would she be supportive or possessive?


    Maybe she''d stop pursuing me?


    The bathroom door swings open, and Sabrina emerges looking slightly more composed, though her hands still fidget nervously with the zipper of her sweatshirt.


    "So!" she chirps, voice an octave too high. "What did I miss?"


    Jessica smoothly shifts back into casual mode. "Just getting to know your boyfriend here."


    "He was just telling us how good you two are kissing, why don''t show us, Sabrina," Mia adds with a wink in my direction.


    Sabrina freezes mid-stride, her eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. "W-what?" she stammers, shooting a panicked glance my way.


    I feel a strange surge of protectiveness watching her squirm. Before I can think twice about it, I''m on my feet, crossing the room to her side.


    "Don''t tease her, Mia," I say, sliding an arm around Sabrina''s waist. She practically melts against me again. "Besides, we''re not really into PDA."


    "Speak for yourself, babe," Sabrina suddenly announces, her voice steadier than it''s been all day.


    Before I can process what''s happening, she spins in my grip, rises onto her tiptoes, and presses her lips against mine. The force of her movement nearly knocks me backward as her hands clutch the front of my shirt, pulling me down to meet her.


    My eyes fly open in shock. This is actually happening. My first kiss. Her lips are impossibly soft against mine, warm and eager, tasting faintly of cherry lip balm.


    I close my eyes, trying to follow her lead, but I have no idea what I''m doing. Her tongue darts out, tentative at first, then bolder as it slips between my lips. It moves erratically, exploring my mouth with frantic energy, like it can''t decide where to go first, scared but excited.


    My heart pounds so hard I''m certain everyone in the room can hear it. I''m standing stiff and awkward, my hands frozen at her waist, but slowly I start to respond. My tongue meets hers hesitantly, then with growing confidence as something instinctive takes over.


    I''m trying, really trying, to be good at this, to make this moment special for both of us. My hands finally remember how to move, one sliding up to cup her cheek while the other pulls her closer.


    When we finally break apart, I''m breathing like I just ran a marathon. Sabrina stares up at me, her green eyes wide and searching, a nervous smile playing at the corners of her mouth.


    "Wow," she whispers, her fingers still clutching my shirt.


    Behind us, I hear Jessica clear her throat. "Well," she says, amusement evident in her voice, "I guess that''s that."


    Mia slowly claps, the sound jarring in the suddenly charged atmosphere. "Bravo, lovebirds. Very convincing."


    I stand there, still dazed from the kiss, my lips tingling with the lingering taste of cherry. Sabrina''s looking up at me with her saucer-wide eyes, a mixture of panic and triumph dancing across her face. The room suddenly feels ten degrees warmer.


    Jessica shoots Mia a meaningful glance, then grabs her hand, pulling her up from the couch. "You know what? We''re going to grab dinner," Jessica announces, already tugging Mia toward the door.


    "Yeah, you crazy kids have fun," Mia adds with a laugh, barely resisting as Jessica drags her along. "Don''t do anything I wouldn''t do!"


    The door slams behind them before I can even process what''s happening. Just like that, I''m alone with Sabrina in her dorm room, the air between us crackling with something I''m not experienced enough to name.


    "So..." I manage, my voice coming out embarrassingly hoarse.


    Sabrina takes a small step back, her fingers suddenly fascinated with the zipper of her sweatshirt, pulling it up and down an inch at a time. She''s not meeting my eyes anymore, staring intently at the floor instead.


    "I think we should date," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "For real, I mean. Not pretend."


    My heart does a weird stutter-step in my chest. I wasn''t expecting this, even though I probably should have been. "Sabrina, I like you a lot, but we don''t know each other all that well."


    She looks up then, green eyes flashing with determination despite her obvious nervousness. "So what? Let''s get to know each other while dating. That''s what dating is for, right? Getting to know someone?"


    I run a hand through my hair, trying to organize my thoughts. My mind is a hurricane of complications she knows nothing about. The gang bang where I accidentally slept with my own mother. Mom''s increasingly aggressive advances. The hand job this morning that I''m still trying to process. How do you even begin to explain that kind of baggage to someone?


    "I''m in a really weird spot emotionally in my life right now," I say carefully, the understatement of the century. "Things are... complicated."


    Sabrina''s face falls for a moment, but then she squares her shoulders, stepping closer again. "Gabe, meeting kindred spirits like this..." She gestures between us, her voice gaining strength with each word. "Talking to you is like when I yap at my Discord friends. It''s so easy, so natural. Please."


    There''s something painfully earnest in her eyes, something that cuts through all the chaos in my head. I think about how I feel lighter when I''m with her, like I can breathe easier. Like I''m just a normal college guy with normal college problems instead of whatever the fuck my life has become.


    Maybe this is exactly what I need. Maybe Sabrina is the lifeline I''ve been drowning without.


    "Alright then," I say, surprising myself with how right it feels. "I''d love to be your boyfriend."


    Her entire face transforms, lighting up with such pure joy it''s almost blinding. She lets out a squeal that should probably shatter glass and launches herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck so forcefully I stumble backward.


    "You won''t regret this!"


    A/N: I got a switch 2 so idk if im gonna slow down with releases.

 Chapter 13: Let’s Taco Bout It

    Chapter 13 - 13: Let''s Taco Bout ItIt''s fucked up how love and fear can occupy the same space in your heart. Standing on my own front porch, takeout bag gripped in my sweaty palm, I feel like I''m about to face a firing squad instead of my own mother.


    The weight of the day sits heavy on my shoulders. Getting a job at QuickMart. Becoming Sabrina''s boyfriend.


    Today''s her first day as a professor at the university, and despite everything, I''m proud of her. Proud enough to brave this twisted tension between us.


    "You got this," I mutter to myself, fishing my keys from my pocket. "Just be normal. Talk about her first day. Don''t think about her hand on your dick."


    I cut that thought off real quick, taking a deep breath before sliding the key into the lock. The door swings open with a familiar creak, and I step inside, the smell of home hitting me like a physical force.


    "Mom?" I call out, my voice steadier than I expected.


    I follow the soft rustling of papers to the living room and freeze in the doorway, the sight before me temporarily short-circuiting my brain.


    Mom sits cross-legged on the couch, surrounded by stacks of papers. But it''s not the papers that make my heart stutter, it''s her. She''s wearing slim glasses I''ve never seen before, perched delicately on her nose as she reads. Her white hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, a few stray strands framing her face. She''s dressed in a crisp white blouse and pencil skirt, looking every bit the professor she now is.


    She glances up, those blue eyes magnified slightly behind the lenses and smiles. "Hello, sweety."


    My heart melts in my chest like ice cream on hot pavement. This new look, professional, sophisticated, yet somehow still her, hits me in ways I wasn''t prepared for. The glasses make her look smarter, the ponytail younger. The combination is devastating.


    "Hey, Mom," I manage, lifting the paper bag. "I brought home dinner."


    She sets down her papers, removing her glasses with one fluid motion. "Tacos? From Rosita''s?" Her smile widens, genuine warmth flooding her expression. "My favorite."


    "Yeah, I thought we should celebrate your first day," I say, moving toward the kitchen to set down the food. "How did it go?"


    Mom rises from the couch in one fluid motion, papers sliding off her lap onto the cushions. She crosses the room with purposeful strides, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor.


    "Let me take that," she says, gently removing the bag from my grip. She places it on the coffee table, the paper crinkling as she sets it down.


    Before I can step back, her hands find my waist, fingers pressing into my sides with gentle possession. My face immediately flushes hot, blood rushing to my cheeks as she steps closer, closing the distance between us. sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "It''s been such a hard day, my baby boy," she murmurs, her blue eyes searching mine. Her voice drops to a sultry whisper. "But I think a kiss would make it all better, don''t you?"


    My heart hammers against my ribs as I try to step backward, but her grip tightens, holding me in place.


    "Mom, I told you, this isn''t normal," I protest, my voice embarrassingly weak. "I got a job today. I have a girlfriend now."


    Her eyes widen, the warmth vanishing like a candle snuffed out. "A what?" The word ''girlfriend'' hangs between us like a live grenade.


    "A girlfriend," I repeat, my voice steadier now despite the sudden chill in the room. "Her name is Sabrina. We met during orientation."


    Mom''s fingers dig into my sides, her manicured nails pressing through my shirt until I feel them against my skin. Her face transforms, beautiful features contorting with rage as her pupils contract to pinpoints.


    "You ungrateful little shit," she hisses, her voice barely recognizable. "After everything I''ve done for you? After everything we''ve shared?"


    Her grip tightens further, pulling me closer until I can feel her breath hot against my face. I could break her hold easily with my strength, but I don''t want to hurt her. Even now, with her practically vibrating with fury, I can''t bring myself to push her away.


    "Mom, let go. Please," I whisper.


    "Let go?" She laughs, a sharp, broken sound that raises goosebumps on my arms. "I''ve sacrificed my body for eighteen years so you could have everything and this is how you repay me?"


    Her blue eyes swim with tears that don''t fall, the moisture making them glitter dangerously in the living room light. One hand releases my waist only to grab my chin, forcing me to look directly at her.


    "Tell me about her," she demands, voice trembling with barely controlled rage. "This Sabrina. Is she pretty? Does she make you hard like I do? Did you fuck her already?"


    "Mom, stop," I plead, shame burning through me. "It''s not like that. She''s just nice and normal and..."


    "Normal?" she spits the word like poison. "You think she can give you normal? You think she can erase what''s between us?"


    Her fingers slide from my chin to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there like a promise. A threat. Her other arm snakes around my back, pulling me flush against her body again.


    "I was going to take it slow for you, Gabriel," she whispers, her lips brushing against my ear. "I was going to be patient. But I see now that was a mistake."


    Her hand on my throat feels like it belongs there like some twisted part of me was always meant to be held this way by her. The pressure isn''t painful, it''s implied ownership. My pulse beats against her palm and I hate how my body responds to her touch, how something deep inside me recognizes it as right even while my mind screams it''s wrong.


    I swallow hard, feeling the movement against her fingers.


    "Mom," I say, my voice surprisingly steady despite everything. "The tacos are going to get cold."


    Mom''s eyes flash with something dangerous, her fingers still pressed against my throat. For a moment, I think she might actually squeeze, but then something shifts in her expression. The fury doesn''t disappear, but it transforms, cooling from volcanic rage to glacial contempt.


    "Fine," she snaps, releasing me so suddenly I almost stumble backward. "You''re hungry? I''m still your mother, after all. Let''s eat."


    She turns on her heel and marches to the dining table, dropping into her chair with regal posture despite her obvious anger. She sits there, back straight, eyes boring into me, waiting like a queen who expects to be served.


    I quickly grab the takeout bag and bustle around the kitchen, gathering plates, napkins, and silverware. My hands are still shaking as I set the table, arranging everything perfectly the way she likes it. I unwrap her favorite, the chicken tacos with extra lime, and place them carefully on her plate before setting it in front of her.


    As I hand her the food, something flickers across her face, a flash of sorrow, perhaps even regret, as she watches me making such an effort to please her. It''s gone in an instant, that momentary vulnerability vanishing like morning mist when I finally sit down across from her.


    She doesn''t touch her food, just stares at me with those piercing blue eyes, her head tilted slightly.


    "So," she says, her voice deceptively casual, "your girlfriend... is she better than me?"


    The question hangs in the air between us, loaded with meanings I don''t want to unpack. I focus on unwrapping my own taco, desperate for something to do with my hands.


    "It''s not a competition, Mom," I say quietly, not meeting her gaze. "Sabrina is just... different."


    "Different how?" She picks up her taco but doesn''t bite into it, just holds it suspended halfway to her mouth. "Is she more experienced? More beautiful? What exactly does this girl have that I don''t?"


    I take a bite of my food to buy time, chewing slowly. The flavors I normally love taste like cardboard in my mouth.


    "She''s my age," I finally say, setting my taco down. "She''s at the same place in life that I am. It''s not illegal to date her. And we haven''t had sex yet. We barely know each other."


    Mom''s eyes flash dangerously as she slams her taco down on her plate, sauce splattering across the pristine tablecloth.


    "Oh, pardon me for not being young and good-looking enough for you," she hisses, her voice dripping with venom. "I didn''t realize my advanced age of forty-one made me so repulsive to you."


    "Mom, you''re the most attractive woman in the world," I blurt out before I can stop myself.


    The words hang in the air between us, and I immediately want to snatch them back. Mom''s expression transforms, anger melting into triumphant satisfaction as a slow, predatory smile spreads across her face.


    I groan out loud, dropping my head into my hands. "That''s not what I meant. It''s not about looks, Mom. I said I want to be normal. I want a normal life, normal relationships."


    "Normal?" she echoes, leaning forward across the table. "You think what you feel for me is something you can just switch off? You think this girl can erase eighteen years of connection?"


    "I''m trying," I whisper, my voice cracking. "I''m really trying to do the right thing here."


    Mom shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. She pushes her plate away and fixes me with those piercing blue eyes, suddenly cold and calculating.


    "And what if I said I''d go back to being an escort if you''re just going to date someone else?"


    The words hit me like a physical blow. My fork clatters against my plate as my hand goes slack.


    "What? You can''t be serious." My voice comes out strangled, barely above a whisper.


    She leans forward, her expression deadly serious. "Oh, I am. If you''re going to reject what we have, reject everything I''ve offered you, then why should I bother with this professor charade? The money was better. The hours were better." Her lips curl into a cruel smile. "And at least my clients appreciated what I gave them."


    My vision blurs as hot tears well up in my eyes. Something inside me cracks, like ice breaking on a frozen lake. I push my chair back and stand, the legs scraping against the floor with an ugly sound.


    "You know what, Mom?" My voice comes out thick and raw, each word catching in my throat. "I got that job today, so you wouldn''t have to sell yourself anymore. I''m will do to anything I possibly can to help you stop being an escort. I''d happily quit college to find a job to support us."


    I back away from the table, desperate to escape, before she sees me completely fall apart. My feet find the hallway that leads to the stairs, my only path to sanctuary.


    "But if you want to be a prostitute again so badly, you''re an adult," I continue, unable to keep the pain from my voice. "At the end of the day, I can''t stop you. I really hope you don''t go back to it, but it''s your life, Mom."


    Mom''s face transforms like she''s been slapped. The cold fury in her eyes dissolves into something raw and vulnerable. For a moment, she looks genuinely shocked, like my words cut deeper than she expected.


    "Gabriel..." she whispers, her voice suddenly small.


    Before I can retreat up the stairs, she''s on her feet and closing the distance between us with startling speed. Her arms wrap around me with desperate strength, pulling me against her so forcefully I nearly lose my balance. She buries my face in the crook of her neck, her familiar scent enveloping me completely.


    "I''m so sorry, baby," she breathes into my hair, her voice breaking. "I didn''t mean any of that. I was just angry and scared of losing you."


    I stand frozen in her embrace, fighting the tears that threaten to spill over. Her hand strokes the back of my head with trembling fingers, her touch achingly gentle.


    "I promise I''ll never go back to that life for you," she whispers fiercely. "Not ever."


    Something inside me fractures at her words. The dam breaks, and I''m suddenly clutching her back just as tightly, hot tears soaking into the collar of her blouse.


    "Shhh, it''s okay," she murmurs, rocking me slightly like she did when I was small. "You''ve been through so much because of me. Let''s go upstairs and lie down, okay? Let Mommy hold you for a while."


    I should say no. I should pull away. But I feel like I''m so close to losing her, like she might slip away.


    "Okay," I whisper.


    She takes my hand, leading me up the stairs like I''m a child again.


    ¡ª


    [Angela''s POV]


    I guide Gabriel into my room, my heart aching at the sight of those beautiful eyes rimmed with tears. My perfect boy, so sensitive, so easily wounded by my words. I draw back the covers and gently guide him onto my bed, his body yielding to my touch like it always has, ever since he was small.


    "Come here, baby," I whisper, sliding in beside him.


    He curls against me instantly, his face pressing into my chest as I wrap my arms around him. His tears soak through my blouse, warm and wet against my skin. I stroke his hair, those soft brown waves I''ve loved since they first grew on his tiny head.


    "I''m sorry," he mumbles against me, his voice muffled and broken. "I didn''t mean to upset you."


    "Shhh," I soothe, my fingers working through his hair in slow, rhythmic motions. "You have nothing to apologize for."


    His body trembles against mine, each sob tearing through him like he''s being ripped apart from the inside. My beautiful, fragile boy. I haven''t seen him cry like this in years.


    Something shifts inside me, a tightness in my chest I wasn''t expecting. This wasn''t supposed to affect me this way. The threat was calculated, a perfect manipulation to keep him close, to remind him of his responsibility to me. I''d anticipated anger, perhaps guilt, but not this raw, unbridled pain.


    I press my lips to the top of his head, breathing in the scent of his shampoo. "I would never go back to that life, Gabriel. Never. I didn''t mean to hurt you so deeply. I''m sorry."


    He clutches at my blouse, fingers curling into the fabric like he''s afraid I''ll disappear. The desperation in his touch makes my heart constrict further. I did this to him. I broke something precious in my beautiful boy.


    "I just want you to be happy, Mom," he whispers. "I''d do anything for you. Anything."


    His words pierce through me, those simple words laced with such devastating sincerity. I''d planned to push harder, to force him to choose between this girl and me, to make him understand that his place is by my side, in my bed, in my life completely.


    My original strategy would have worked eventually, I''m certain of it. If I''d continued threatening to return to escorting, his protective instincts would have overridden everything else. He would have abandoned this Sabrina girl, focused entirely on saving me from myself.


    But at what cost? Looking at him now, so fragile in my arms, I can''t bear to be the source of such profound suffering. Not when there are other ways to reclaim what''s mine.


    This Sabrina. This interloper. This is a temporary distraction.


    I smile as Gabriel''s tears begin to subside, his breathing evening out against my chest. This moment of vulnerability is perfect, he''s completely in my arms again, seeking comfort from the only woman who truly understands him. As I play with his hair, a delicious thought blooms in my mind like a poisonous flower.


    Why am I working so hard when there''s a much simpler solution?


    I almost laugh at my own oversight. This Sabrina girl isn''t an obstacle, she''s an opportunity. College relationships are fragile things, held together by hormones and proximity rather than genuine connection. All it would take is one small push to send it all crashing down.


    If I play this right, I won''t need to threaten or manipulate my sweet boy at all. I can simply engineer a situation where this girl destroys his heart herself. And when she does... who will he run to? Whose arms will cradle him as he falls apart? Who will piece him back together?


    Me. Always me.


    The corners of my mouth curl upward as I visualize how perfectly it will unfold. I could befriend her, be a supportive, understanding mother figure. Learn her weaknesses, her insecurities. Perhaps introduce her to someone rich, someone who''ll turn her head. Or maybe I''ll simply help her reveal the ugliness that surely lurks beneath her surface.


    These naive little college girls are all the same, selfish, immature, incapable of truly loving someone as complex as my Gabriel. All I need to do is create the right circumstances, and she''ll show her true colors.


    And when she breaks his heart, I''ll be here. Patient. Loving.


    I feel Gabriel''s weight shift against me, his breathing deeper now, the steady rise and fall of his chest signaling he''s drifted off. My sweet boy, exhausted from his emotional outburst, has surrendered to sleep in my arms, exactly where he belongs.


    I glance down at his face, so peaceful in slumber, all the worry lines smoothed away. A small puddle of drool darkens the silk of my blouse where his open mouth presses against me. Most women would find this disgusting, but I feel only tenderness watching my beautiful boy mark me with any part of his essence, even unconsciously.


    "Sleep well, Gabriel. Mommy loves you," I whisper, pressing my lips to his

 Chapter 14: One Last Good Morning

    Chapter 14 - 14: One Last Good MorningWarm softness envelops me as I drift between dreams and reality, my body nestled against something impossibly comfortable and familiar. The scent of vanilla and sleep-warmed skin fills my nostrils, pulling me gently toward consciousness like a fishing line reeling in its catch.


    I crack one eye open, blinking against the morning light filtering through unfamiliar curtains. Confusion washes over me for half a second before my brain catches up to where I am and what my face is pressed against.


    Mom''s breasts. My face is literally buried between my mother''s breasts.


    I try to jerk back, but her arms tighten around me, holding me in place with surprising strength. That''s when I notice the wetness, a massive dark spot on her blouse where my open mouth had been resting. Horror floods through me as I realize I''ve been drooling on her like an idiot.


    Even worse, my morning wood is pressing insistently against her thigh, a betrayal so blatant I want to die on the spot. I must have shifted in my sleep because now I''m practically humping her leg like some horny dog.


    Mom''s fingers thread through my hair as she feels me stir. "Good morning, sleepyhead," she murmurs, her voice thick with amusement.


    I try to shift away, but she holds me firmly against her. My eyes flutter fully open, meeting her gaze. The blue of her irises seems especially vibrant in the morning light, watching me with an expression that makes my stomach flip.


    "You really made a mess on me, didn''t you?" She smirks, glancing down at the wet spot on her blouse. "First inside of me, now all over me."


    My entire body freezes, blood rushing to my face so fast I feel dizzy. The casual reference to the frat party, to what happened between us, sends my heart into overdrive.


    "Mom, I..." I stammer, but she cuts me off with a gentle finger against my lips.


    "Shhh, it''s okay," she whispers, shifting slightly beneath me. The movement causes my erection to slide against her thigh, and I have to bite my lip to stifle a groan. "I love it when you''re messy with me."


    "What time is it?" I ask as sleep threatens to take me back.


    Mom glances at the clock on her nightstand. "Almost nine," she says, her fingers still lazily combing through my hair. "Don''t worry, you don''t have class until eleven on Fridays, remember?"


    "You''re right," I mutter, relief washing through me. "Since the school is close, it''s not really a rush."


    I start to sit up, trying to wake up slowly. As I shift, Mom leans forward, her lips finding my neck with feather-light precision. The soft, warm press of her mouth against my skin sends an electric current racing down my spine.


    "Mom," I whisper, but it comes out embarrassingly breathy.


    Her kisses grow more insistent, trailing up and down the column of my throat. Each touch of her lips feels like it''s searing into my skin, marking me. My eyes flutter closed against my will, my body responding even as my mind screams that this is wrong.


    A strange thought floats through my head as I sink back against her. I''ve never slept this well before. Last night, wrapped in her arms, I slept like the dead, no tossing, no turning, no waking up in cold sweats from nightmares I can never quite remember. It''s like our bodies were designed to fit together, puzzle pieces slotting perfectly into place.


    Her mouth opens against my skin, and I feel the wet heat of her tongue, followed by the gentle scrape of teeth. She''s sucking on my neck now, trying to mark me deliberately, while her hand slides down my stomach and beneath the waistband of my pants. Her fingers wrap around my already hard cock, squeezing like it was made for her.


    The sensation jolts me back to reality. This is my mother. This is wrong. This has to stop.


    I grab her wrist, trying to pull her hand away. "We can''t."


    Her fingers tighten around my shaft, making me gasp involuntarily. The pressure is exquisite torture, firm enough to make my protest die in my throat.


    "Let Mommy show you how sorry she is for upsetting her baby," she whispers against my ear, her breath hot and damp. "Let me make it better."


    Her hand starts moving, expert strokes while i try to physically remove her hand without hurting her.


    One stroke. Two. Three. Each movement of her hand sends lightning coursing through my veins.


    "Mom, stop, I can''t..." My words dissolve into a strangled moan as her thumb circles the sensitive head, spreading the wetness gathering there.


    Four. Five. Six.


    "Oh god," I gasp, feeling the pressure building at the base of my spine, unstoppable and overwhelming.


    Seven.


    My back arches off the bed as pleasure explodes through me like a supernova. Mom''s eyes widen as she watches my face contort, a look of wonder and triumph spreading across her features. Before I can even process what''s happening, her lips crash against mine, swallowing my cry of ecstasy as her hand continues its relentless rhythm.


    Her tongue invades my mouth with loving precision, nothing like Sabrina''s nervous, eager explorations. Where Sabrina was tentative and uncertain, Mom''s tongue moves with absolute confidence, claiming every inch of my mouth as her territory. The taste of her is intoxicating, something uniquely her, a flavor I couldn''t describe if I tried for a thousand years but better than life itself.


    I whimper pathetically into her mouth as pulse after pulse of release floods through me, coating her fingers and soaking my boxers. My hips buck wildly against her hand as she milks every last drop, never breaking our kiss. I find myself sucking on her tongue, desperate to keep her connected to me in this moment of complete surrender.


    The world narrows to just this, her mouth on mine, her hand around me. I''m trembling, shaking like a leaf in a storm as the aftershocks ripple through my body. Still, we kiss, her free hand cradling the back of my head, fingers tangled in my hair to hold me exactly where she wants me.


    When she finally pulls back, her lips are glistening, her blue eyes dark with satisfaction. She brings her hand up between us, fingers coated with my release, and slowly, deliberately licks them clean, one by one, never breaking eye contact.


    With my cum still coating her tongue, Mom''s blue eyes glitter as she speaks, "Seven strokes, Gabriel. That''s quite the personal record for you, isn''t it?"


    The words hit me like ice water. A wave of shame washes over me in a suffocating wave, reality rushing back with brutal clarity. Sabrina''s face flashes in my mind, her genuine smile, her awkward charm, the trust in her eyes when she asked me to be her boyfriend. My stomach twists with self-loathing.


    "What''s wrong?" Mom asks, noticing my expression darkening. She swallows what remains of my release, the motion of her throat making me wince with conflicted desire.


    "I have a girlfriend," I whisper, the words barely audible even in the quiet room. "Sabrina. This... this is wrong."


    Mom''s expression softens as she reaches out to stroke my cheek, her touch gentle despite what we''ve just done. "Don''t look so devastated, baby. It''s not cheating." Her thumb traces my lower lip, still sensitive from our kiss. "This was just one last time. I promise our morning... activities... won''t happen again."


    I nod weakly, desperate to believe her, to believe I can somehow salvage my moral compass after this.


    "Actually, just one more thing," she adds, her voice dropping to a honeyed whisper. "Give Mommy one more kiss like you just did, and I''ll really stop. Okay?" sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    I draw back, a heavy sigh escaping my lips. "No, Mom. We can''t do this anymore."


    Her eyes flash with something dangerous, the soft maternal warmth vanishing in an instant. Before I can react, she lunges forward, one hand gripping the back of my neck while the other cups my jaw. Her lips collide with mine, demanding and possessive.


    I try to pull away, but she follows, pressing me back against the headboard. Her tongue forces its way between my lips, exploring my mouth with desperate hunger. The taste of myself on her tongue makes her feel like she''s really mine.


    When she finally breaks the kiss, she''s breathing hard, her blue eyes filled with love. A strand of saliva connects our lips for a moment before breaking.


    "There," she whispers, her voice husky. "That wasn''t so terrible, was it?"


    I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, shame burning through me like acid. "I need to shower," I mutter, scrambling off the bed and putting distance between us.


    Mom reclines against the pillows, watching me with that predatory gaze that makes my skin crawl. "Go ahead, baby. I''ll make breakfast while you get ready for class."


    The normalcy in her voice after what just happened makes my head spin. I back toward the door, unable to tear my eyes away from her until my hand finds the doorknob.


    "Gabriel," she calls as I''m about to escape. "This Sabrina girl... I''d love to meet her sometime. Maybe bring her over for dinner?"


    The suggestion sends ice water through my veins. "I don''t think that''s a good idea."


    Her smile widens, revealing perfectly white teeth. "Nonsense. What kind of mother would I be if I didn''t meet my son''s girlfriend?"


    The thought of Sabrina and Mom in the same room makes me physically ill. "I''ll think about it," I lie, knowing I''ll do everything in my power to keep them apart.

 Chapter 15: Creative Writing

    Chapter 15 - 15: Creative WritingMy face is still burning hot as I come down the stairs, the scalding shower failing completely to wash away my shame. It''s been a little over an hour since Mom jerked me off, and I still feel her hands on me, still taste her tongue in my mouth. The worst part? I can''t stop thinking about how good it felt.


    I freeze at the bottom of the stairs, my entire body going rigid as I catch sight of her.


    Mom stands in the kitchen, adjusting something in her reflection from the microwave door. She''s wearing a teal and white wrap dress that hugs every curve like it was painted on her body. A navy blazer with gold buttons adds an air of professionalism that''s completely undermined by the plunging neckline of the dress beneath it. Her cleavage is abundant, practically spilling out, framed perfectly by the crisp lapels. Red-framed glasses perch on her nose, giving her a sexy librarian vibe that makes my mouth go dry.


    She turns, catching me staring, and does a little twirl. "How do I look?"


    My eyeballs are practically out of my head. "Stunning," I blurt out before I can stop myself.


    I sigh heavily, realizing I just told her exactly what I actually thought. Fucking great self-control, Gabe.


    Her smile shifts, turning from pleased to something wild and hungry. Those blue eyes widen behind her glasses, pupils dilating until they nearly swallow the irises.


    "If you say things like that, I''ll be forced to reward you," she purrs, approaching me with swaying hips.


    My back hits the wall as I try to retreat, but I''m trapped. Mom reaches up, inserting her index fingers at the corners of her mouth, spreading her lips wide in an obscene display.


    "How about it, baby?" she asks through her stretched lips. "Do you want to see if you can hit double-digit thrusts fucking Mommy''s face before class? I''ll swallow it all so there''s no mess."


    My stomach drops as heat rushes to my face. "Jesus Christ, Mom!" I push past her, desperate to put distance between us.


    She laughs, the sound both musical and slightly unhinged, before turning to the counter. She lifts a plate loaded with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, setting it on the table in front of me.


    "Breakfast is served," she announces like nothing happened like she didn''t just offer to... I can''t even finish the thought.


    I stare at the perfectly arranged food, my appetite battling with my disgust at her suggestion. The eggs look fluffy, the bacon crisp, she knows exactly how I like everything. It tastes divine.


    "Hey, Mom," I say hesitantly, poking at my eggs with my fork, "aren''t you worried someone will recognize you from... you know..."


    The question hangs in the air between us. Her escort days. The men she''s been with. The possibility that someone at the university might have been a client.


    "Oh honey," she responds with a dismissive wave, "people will recognize me."


    She takes a seat across from me, crossing her legs with deliberate slowness. "But they won''t say anything. Men are cowards that way, terrified their dirty little secrets might get exposed." Her smile turns sharp. "Besides, I have enough dirt on half the administration to ensure my position is quite secure."


    I nearly choke on my bite of toast. "You''re blackmailing the university?"


    "Not actively," she says, sipping her coffee delicately. "Let''s call it... mutually assured destruction. They know what I know, and I know what they know." She winks at me over the rim of her mug. "It''s all very civilized."


    I push my eggs around the plate, my appetite fading with each word she speaks. "This is insane. You can''t just... what if someone talks anyway?"


    "I''m sure some of the students will talk," she says with a shrug, dabbing at her lips with a napkin, "but the dean made it very clear he won''t allow any ''false'' accusations in his school." Her fingers form air quotes around the word "false," her smile turning predatory.


    "Mom, people are gonna figure out my mother''s a hooker at this rate."


    She sets down her coffee cup with a sharp clink, eyes narrowing behind those red frames. "Oh, are you embarrassed of how your mother fearlessly waded through men to raise you? Of the sacrifices I made to ensure you had everything you needed?"


    I feel my face burn with shame. "I''m sorry, I didn''t mean it that way," I mumble, staring down at my half-eaten breakfast.


    Her expression softens unexpectedly, and she laughs, the sound lighter than before. "Don''t worry," she says, reaching across to pat my hand. "I''m using my maiden name to teach. That way, if you want to fuck me on campus, no one will know you''re my son."


    I jerk my hand away like I''ve been burned. "That''s not... I wouldn''t..." I sputter, pushing back from the table so violently my chair nearly topples over. "I have a girlfriend, remember?"


    "Ah yes, Sabrina." Mom''s lips curl around the name like she''s tasting something sour. "The girl you''ve known for what, three days? How sweet."


    I grab my backpack from the floor, slinging it over my shoulder with more force than necessary. "I need to go. I''ll be late for class."


    Mom''s eyes crinkle at the corners, a strange amusement playing across her face. She checks her watch and tilts her head.


    "No need to rush, Gabe," she says, laughing at something I clearly don''t understand. Her shoulders shake with barely contained mirth.


    "What''s so funny?" I ask, my hand still gripping the strap of my backpack like it''s a lifeline.


    She presses her lips together, trying and failing to suppress another laugh. "How about we carpool?" she suggests, her eyes gleaming behind those red frames. "I''m heading to campus anyway."


    My stomach drops. Being trapped in a car with her is the last thing I need right now. "I have to work after school," I say quickly, relieved to have a legitimate excuse.


    She nods, accepting my answer with suspicious ease. "I''ll see you soon, then."


    "I''ll see you tonight," I respond, already backing toward the door.


    Her smile widens until it''s almost predatory, those perfect white teeth gleaming. The sight follows me as I walk out, shutting the door firmly behind me.


    The cool morning air hits my face as I escape the house, bringing momentary relief. But even as I drive to campus, Mom''s words echo in my head. Her suggestion about carpooling strikes me as odd now that I think about it. Something''s not right, but I can''t put my finger on what.


    I park in the crowded student lot and make my way across campus, trying to shake off the lingering unease. The English building looms ahead, its brick facade catching the morning sunlight. As I approach the entrance, a familiar figure comes into view.


    Sabrina''s standing by the doors, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She''s wearing a black sweater that''s at least two sizes too big for her small frame, the sleeves rolled up multiple times to free her hands. Her dark skin glows in the sunlight, and she''s done something different with her hair, tiny clips holding back sections in a way that frames her face perfectly.


    When she spots me, her entire body seems to light up. The genuine joy in her expression makes something warm unfurl in my chest, pushing away the darkness of my morning.


    "Hey," I call out, closing the distance between us.


    "Hey yourself," she replies, her voice slightly higher than usual. She does an awkward little half-wave that makes me smile despite everything.


    "You look gorgeous," I say, the words tumbling out before I can overthink them.


    Her eyes widen, and she immediately drops her gaze to the ground. A deep flush spreads across her cheeks as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.


    "Nice shoelaces," she mumbles, pointing at my feet.


    I glance down at my completely ordinary white laces and can''t help but laugh. "Thanks," I say, nudging her shoulder gently with mine. "I picked them out special for today."


    She looks up at me through her lashes, a shy smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Shut up," she says, but there''s no heat in it.


    We stand there for a moment, just grinning at each other like idiots, and I realize that the knot of anxiety that''s been sitting in my chest since I woke up has loosened. Something about Sabrina''s awkwardness makes my own social anxiety seem manageable in comparison. Her chaotic energy somehow grounds me, like watching someone else be a mess makes it okay for me to be imperfect, too. sea??h th§× n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Ready to go in?" I ask, nodding toward the doors.


    "Yeah, let''s go." Sabrina nods, adjusting her oversized sweater. "I''m kind of excited about the new professor. Heard she''s replacing old Daniels."


    We walk into the building together, her shoulder occasionally brushing against mine. The contact sends little sparks through my body, a welcome distraction from the chaos at home.


    "I wonder what she''ll be like," I say as we navigate the crowded hallway.


    We enter the classroom, finding two seats next to each other in the middle row. The familiar smell of old books and chalk dust fills my nostrils as I settle in, pulling out my notebook and a pen. Students filter in around us, the usual pre-class chatter filling the room.


    Sabrina leans close, her breath warm against my ear. "By the way, I made you something." She rummages through her backpack and pulls out a small paper crane, meticulously folded from notebook paper. "It''s dumb, but... I thought you might like it."


    I take the tiny origami creation, turning it over in my palm. "Thanks," I say, genuinely touched by the simple gesture. "I love it."


    The classroom door swings open, and my heart stops.


    Mom walks in, the teal dress hugging her curves as she moves with practiced grace to the front of the room. The leather messenger bag in her hand looks expensive, professional. She places it carefully on the desk, the soft thud echoing in the suddenly quiet room.


    "Fuck," I whisper, sinking lower in my seat.


    I don''t know how I didn''t see this coming in hindsight. The new job, the carpooling suggestion, her amused expression this morning, it all makes terrible sense now.


    Her eyes scan the classroom, landing on me with laser precision. A wide smile spreads across her face, triumphant and possessive, but she doesn''t acknowledge me directly. Instead, she turns to address the whole class, adjusting those red-framed glasses with one manicured finger.


    "Good morning, everyone. I am Professor Sterling, and I''ll be teaching Creative Writing 101 for the remainder of the semester."


    Her voice carries through the room, commanding and confident. Several male students sit up straighter, their attention clearly captured by her beauty.


    Beside me, Sabrina leans close again. "Wow," she whispers, "she''s gorgeous. Like, intimidatingly gorgeous."


    I feel the blood drain from my face as Mom begins outlining her teaching philosophy, each word punctuated by graceful hand gestures that draw attention to her long, elegant fingers, the same fingers that were wrapped around my cock this morning.


    "For our first exercise together," Mom announces, "we''ll be exploring the theme of forbidden desires."

 Chapter 16: Forbidden Relationships

    Chapter 16 - 16: Forbidden RelationshipsThe universe has a sick sense of humor, and I''m the punchline. Mom stands at the front of the classroom, those red-framed glasses perched on her nose, sipping coffee from a mug that says "Best Mom Ever." The same fucking mug I got her last Mother''s Day. The same mug I jerked off into before wrapping it up with a bow because I''m that level of fucked up. My cum was probably sealed into the ceramic by now.


    God, I hate myself.


    She catches my eye over the rim, and I swear she''s smirking. Probably remembering this morning, her hand around my cock, seven strokes to completion, like I''m some kind of virgin teenager. Which, technically, I was. Whatever.


    I slouch lower in my seat, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole. Of course, she''s teaching my creative writing class. Of fucking course. I should''ve seen this coming a mile away, should''ve connected the dots when she mentioned becoming a professor. But my brain''s been too busy short-circuiting between guilt over Sabrina and whatever twisted thing is happening with Mom.


    Speaking of Sabrina, she''s sitting next to me, completely oblivious to the nuclear meltdown happening in my head. Her knee occasionally bumps against mine as she shifts in her seat, each contact sending guilt spiraling through me. She''s doodling little stars in the margin of her notebook, her green eyes darting up to watch Mom with undisguised admiration.


    "Professor Sterling is so put-together," she whispers, leaning close enough that I can smell her cherry lip balm. "Like, magazine-level gorgeous. I bet she''s never had an awkward day in her life."


    If she only knew. If she only fucking knew that less than two hours ago, "Professor Sterling" was licking my cum off her fingers while I lay in her bed like the world''s most pathetic motherfucker.


    "Yeah, she''s something," I mutter, the understatement of the century burning my tongue.


    Mom sets down her mug and starts writing on the whiteboard, her handwriting elegant and flowing. The teal dress hugs her ass as she reaches up, and I notice at least three guys in the front row adjust themselves not-so-subtly. My stomach churns with a nauseating mix of jealousy and disgust before I realize I''m sporting a chub myself.


    "Forbidden Desires," Mom writes on the board in flowing script, each letter a deliberate stroke as she underlines the words twice. She turns to face the class, those red frames highlighting the intensity in her eyes.


    "Can anyone give me an example of character relationships that fall into this category?" she asks, scanning the room before her gaze lands directly on me. "What about you, Mr. King? Any thoughts on forbidden desires?"


    The room seems to shrink around me, air suddenly thick and unbreathable. Every eye turns in my direction, including Sabrina''s curious green ones. My mouth opens but nothing comes out, my brain a jumbled mess of panic and inappropriate memories.


    "I... uh..." My voice cracks like I''m thirteen again.


    "Teacher-student relationships," some guy in the back calls out, saving me from total humiliation. "That''s pretty forbidden."


    Mom''s, Professor Sterling''s, lips curl into a slow smile. "Yes, quite forbidden indeed. Though perhaps a bit... obvious." She walks along the front row, heels clicking against the linoleum. "Anyone else?"


    "My mom and her boss," some dude with a patchy beard shouts from across the room.


    I flinch, my face involuntarily scrunching up as I glance at him. Jesus Christ. The way he blurted that out with such enthusiasm makes me wonder what kind of fucked-up home life he''s dealing with.


    Probably more normal than mine.


    "Interesting dynamic," Mom says, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "The power imbalance there creates natural tension."


    "A nun and a priest," pipes up a girl with purple hair from the front row, not bothering to raise her hand.


    Sabrina clutches my hand. It''s a nice feeling, but makes me feel nervous.


    Mom''s eyes light up, clearly entertained by the growing energy in the room. "Religious taboo, excellent example. The conflict between spiritual devotion and human desire creates powerful narrative possibilities."


    I notice Sabrina''s other hand shooting up beside me, her entire body practically vibrating with excitement. Her eyes are wide, earnest, like she''s about to share the most brilliant literary insight of the century. My stomach drops as Mom''s gaze lands on her, a predatory gleam flickering behind those red frames.


    "Yes?" Mom points to her with a perfectly manicured finger. Then her eyes notice Sabrina holding my hand. "Your name, girl?"


    "Sabrina Johnson," she announces, her voice clear and confident in a way I''ve rarely heard from her. Then, without hesitation, she drops the bomb.


    "Incest."


    The word hangs in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled. Several students snicker nervously. Someone whispers "damn" under their breath. I sit frozen, blood draining from my face so fast I''m surprised I don''t pass out.


    Mom''s expression doesn''t change, but something dangerous flashes in her eyes as they flick from Sabrina to me, then back again.


    "Incest," she repeats, rolling the word around her mouth like she''s tasting fine wine. "Perhaps the ultimate taboo in most societies. Can you elaborate on why you chose that example, Ms. Johnson?"


    Sabrina''s confident demeanor evaporates instantly under Mom''s intense scrutiny. Her shoulders hunch as she shrinks into herself, those few seconds of academic boldness withering like flowers in frost.


    "I... um..." she stammers, fingers fidgeting with her pen. "It''s just something that comes up a lot in, you know... media and stuff." Her voice drops to nearly a whisper. "Like, it''s a common trope in certain... adult content. Not that I watch that! I mean, sometimes, but not specifically that genre or anything."


    The class erupts in laughter, and Sabrina''s face darkens with embarrassment. She slides down in her seat until her chin nearly touches her chest.


    "Just something I''ve read about in psychology," she mumbles, clearly wishing she could disappear.


    Mom''s smile widens, predatory satisfaction gleaming behind those red frames. "No need to be embarrassed, Ms. Johnson. You''re absolutely correct. Incestuous relationships are indeed a recurring motif in literature, from ancient Greek tragedies to modern psychological thrillers." She walks closer to our row, each click of her heels making my heart rate spike. "The forbidden nature of such connections creates instant dramatic tension."


    I want to reach out and comfort Sabrina, but my body feels paralyzed as Mom approaches. She stops directly in front of our desks, so close I can smell her perfume, the same scent that was all over her sheets this morning.


    "The question becomes," Mom continues, leaning slightly forward, "what drives characters to cross such boundaries? Is it mere lust? Psychological trauma? Or something deeper, a love so deep that it transcends societal norms?"


    Her eyes lock with mine for a fraction of a second, a private message passing between us that makes my throat go dry. Then, she turns away, addressing the entire class again.


    "For this week''s writing assignment," Mom announces, striding back to her desk with purpose, "I''m going to assign each of you a forbidden relationship I''d like you to write short stories on."


    The class murmurs with interest as she picks up a stack of small papers and begins moving through the rows, distributing them like playing cards in some twisted game of literary roulette.


    "These are your assigned relationships," she explains, handing one to Patchy Beard Guy, who grimaces at whatever he sees. "Two thousand words minimum, exploring the psychological and emotional complexities that drive your characters together despite societal taboos."


    My pulse thunders in my ears as she approaches our row. She hands Sabrina a slip first, her fingers lingering just a moment too long before moving to stand directly in front of me. Our eyes lock as she extends the paper, her fingertips deliberately brushing against mine during the exchange.


    I look down at my assignment, and the two words written in her elegant handwriting punch me in the gut: "Mother/Son."


    Of fucking course.


    I sigh heavily, fighting the urge to crumple the paper and walk out. This has to be some kind of sick joke. Or a test. Or both.


    Curiosity gets the better of me, and I lean over to peek at Sabrina''s assignment. Her paper reads "Teacher/Student" in the same elegant script. She notices me looking and gives a nervous smile, tucking the paper quickly into her notebook. sea??h th§× NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Mom finishes distributing the assignments and returns to the front of the class, surveying us like a general inspecting troops.


    "One important guideline," she announces, tapping her manicured nails against the desk. "I don''t want stories about why these relationships fail or how society tears them apart. That''s predictable, boring writing." Her eyes lock onto mine again. "Instead, I want you to imagine what these relationships look like when they actually work. How do two people navigate the forbidden nature of their connection and find happiness despite everything?"


    A hand shoots up from the back. "So you want us to write, like, happy endings?"


    Mom''s smile is all teeth. "I want you to explore the possibility that sometimes the forbidden isn''t forbidden because it''s wrong but because others don''t understand it."


    She prowls between the rows again, stopping when she reaches our desk. Her fingers trail along the edge of my table as she leans down, addressing both Sabrina and me, but her eyes never leave my face.


    "And don''t be afraid to make it smutty," she adds, her voice dropping to a silky purr that sends heat racing up my spine. "Writing sex is good for the soul."


    Sabrina makes a small choking sound beside me, her pen clattering to the floor. Mom straightens, looking immensely pleased with herself as she walks back to the front.


    "This is due next Friday. Any questions?"


    The room remains silent, everyone seemingly processing what just happened. I''m staring at my assignment slip, the words "Mother/Son" burning into my retinas.


    I''m staring at these two words so hard they start to blur. It''s like Mom''s handwriting is branding itself onto my brain. This clearly isn''t a coincidence.


    The sick realization hits me like a freight train, this whole assignment is just her twisted way of making me write out my darkest fantasies. She wants me to put into words what I''ve only ever allowed to exist in the shameful corners of my mind. She''s forcing me to confront exactly what I feel about her, what I want from her, all under the thin veneer of academic work.


    Fucking brilliant, Mom. Get your son to write incest porn as homework. Maybe she''ll grade it based on how wet it makes her.

 Chapter 17: LET MARLBORO SPONSOR F1 AGAIN

    Chapter 17 - 17: LET MARLBORO SPONSOR F1 AGAINThe fluorescent lights of QuickMart buzz overhead like the thoughts in my brain, constant, irritating, impossible to ignore. My first day of actual employment, and I''m already exhausted before I''ve even clocked in. Between dodging Mom in the hallways and pretending everything''s normal with Sabrina, college is turning into an Olympic sport of avoidance.


    After a grueling day of classes, I wolfed down a sad cafeteria sandwich and headed straight to QuickMart. The job might pay minimum wage, but at least it gets me out of the house and away from Mom''s increasingly aggressive advances.


    I push through the automatic doors, the electronic chime announcing my arrival. The smell hits me immediately, that distinct convenience store cocktail of coffee, processed food, and industrial cleaner that somehow manages to be both nostalgic and depressing.


    "Gabe! Right on time!" Debbie calls from behind the counter, her face lighting up when she spots me. She''s wearing the standard QuickMart polo, her brown hair pulled back in the same messy bun from yesterday, though today there''s a pencil stuck through it at a precarious angle.


    "Hey, Debbie," I respond, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice despite feeling like I''ve been hit by a truck. "I''m ready to learn how to be a QuickMart professional."


    She laughs, the sound genuine enough to momentarily lift my mood. "Professional is a stretch, but I''ll teach you everything I know." She beckons me behind the counter, pointing to a door marked ''Employees Only.'' "There''s a locker in the back where you can put your stuff. Your uniform''s in there, too."


    I follow her directions, finding a small, dingy break room with a row of dented metal lockers along one wall. Mine has a piece of masking tape with "GABE" written in Sharpie stuck to the front. Inside is a red polo shirt with the QuickMart logo emblazoned on the chest, still in its plastic packaging.


    I change quickly, the polyester fabric clinging uncomfortably to my skin. When I emerge, Debbie''s waiting with a clipboard and a patient smile.


    "Look at you! Official QuickMart material," she says, her eyes lingering on my shoulders a beat too long before she clears her throat. "Let''s start with the register, shall we?"


    The next hour passes in a blur of training, how to ring up items, process returns, check IDs for alcohol and cigarettes, and restock the shelves. Debbie is surprisingly thorough, her clumsiness from yesterday apparently limited to walking, as her hands move with practiced efficiency over the register keys.


    "Sorry if I''m going too fast," Debbie says, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "My ex-husband always said I talk too much when I''m nervous."


    "You''re doing fine," I reassure her, trying to keep up with the barrage of information about inventory codes.


    She pauses, her fingers hovering over the register. "He said a lot of things, actually." Her voice drops, suddenly fragile around the edges. "That I was too scattered. Too emotional. Not enough of... well, everything."


    I glance up from the training manual, caught off guard by the personal turn. Debbie''s eyes have gone distant, fixed on something I can''t see.


    "Anyway," she continues with a forced brightness that doesn''t reach her eyes, "let me show you how to process lottery tickets."


    As she demonstrates the lottery machine, her wedding ring tan line catches the fluorescent light. I notice how she keeps unconsciously touching that faded mark with her thumb.


    "Five years of marriage," she says, following my gaze. "Ended eight months ago. He found someone younger. Someone who could give him children."


    Her voice cracks on the last word, and she busies herself with straightening a stack of scratch-offs.


    "I''m sorry," I offer lamely, not sure what else to say.


    "Don''t be. It''s fine. I''m fine." She waves dismissively, but her smile trembles at the corners. "Some women just aren''t meant to be mothers, I guess. That''s what he said when he left."


    The raw pain in her voice makes my chest tighten.


    "That''s bullshit," I say with unexpected heat. "There''s more than one way to be a parent. And anyone who leaves over something like that isn''t worth keeping anyway."


    Debbie looks up, startled by my vehemence, then her expression softens into something grateful.


    "There''s always adoption," I suggest, leaning against the counter. "Plenty of kids need homes."


    Debbie''s eyes meet mine, a sad smile playing on her lips. "I''m 37 now, Gabe. Most agencies prefer younger parents, and the waiting lists..." She trails off, shaking her head as she reaches for a box of receipt paper.


    As she stretches across the counter, there''s a small popping sound followed by her sharp intake of breath. One of the buttons on her QuickMart polo has given up the fight, springing off and skittering across the floor. The gap in her shirt reveals a generous amount of cleavage, her full breasts straining against the fabric.


    "These damn shirts," she sighs, looking down at herself with resignation. "If I go one more size up, I''m basically swimming in it."


    There''s no embarrassment in her voice, just a weary acceptance. She makes no move to cover herself or turn away, it''s not like she''s exposed indecently, just showing more than the QuickMart employee handbook probably recommends.


    I avert my eyes, suddenly finding the candy display intensely interesting. "Do you want me to grab you a safety pin from the office?"


    "It''s fine," she says, waving her hand dismissively. "Not the first time, won''t be the last."


    When I risk looking back, I catch her watching me with an expression that makes my heart twist strangely in my chest. It''s warm and appreciative. There''s something nurturing in her gaze, something that reminds me of simpler times when I was small, and someone looked at me with uncomplicated love.


    "You''re sweet to worry," she says, her voice softening. "Most young guys would either stare or make some crude joke."


    I shrug, suddenly self-conscious. "My mom raised me better than that."


    A customer enters, saving me from further conversation. Debbie straightens her shoulders and plasters on her customer service smile.


    "Why don''t you handle this one?" she suggests, stepping aside to let me take the register. "I''ll be right here if you need help."


    The next few hours pass in a steady rhythm of transactions and restocking. Debbie stays close, guiding me through each new challenge with patient instructions and encouraging nods. By the time we hit eleven, I''m starting to feel like I might actually get the hang of this job.


    "You''re a natural," Debbie tells me as we restock the cooler with energy drinks. "Most new hires take days to memorize the cigarette layout."


    "I have a good memory," I reply, oddly pleased by her praise.


    She hands me another case of Monster, our fingers brushing briefly. "It''s more than that. You''re attentive. Present. That''s rare these days."


    I feel my cheeks warm at her compliment. "Thanks. I''m trying."


    As I reach for the next case of energy drinks, my elbow knocks against a precariously balanced stack of Red Bulls. My heart lurches as they start to topple, and I lunge forward with a panicked yelp, arms flailing wildly as I try to catch them. In my desperate attempt to prevent disaster, I somehow manage to smack my head against a shelf while simultaneously tangling my feet together.


    The result is spectacular, I''m sprawled half in, half out of the cooler, hugging an armful of energy drinks to my chest like they''re precious infants, with one leg awkwardly raised behind me in what must look like the world''s most pathetic ballet pose.


    "Are you okay?" Debbie asks, concern in her voice.


    I look up, mortified, expecting to see judgment or irritation on her face. Instead, her eyes crinkle at the corners, and suddenly, she''s doubled over, laughing so hard she has to brace herself against the cooler door.


    "I''m sorry," she gasps between fits of giggles, "but you should see yourself right now. You look like you''re trying to save those cans from drowning!"


    Her laughter is infectious, deep, and genuine, nothing like the polite chuckles I''ve heard from her all evening. It''s the kind of full-bodied laugh that comes from somewhere real.


    "My heroic instincts kicked in," I say, carefully extracting myself from my ridiculous position. "These energy drinks have families waiting for them at home."


    This sets her off again, tears now streaming down her face as she tries to compose herself. "Oh God, stop, my stomach hurts," she wheezes, wiping at her eyes.


    When she finally catches her breath, there''s something different in her expression, a lightness that wasn''t there before. "Thanks, Gabe. I needed that laugh. It''s been... a while."


    I help Debbie return the last of the energy drinks to their rightful places, a strange warmth settling in my chest. Standing here in this fluorescent, lit cooler, surrounded by caffeine and sugar, I realize something unexpected, I''m completely comfortable. My usual anxiety, the constant background noise of self-consciousness that follows me everywhere, has faded to a whisper.


    "You know, you''re really easy to talk to," I say, surprising myself with the admission.


    Debbie looks up, her eyes soft behind those wire-rimmed glasses. "Am I?"


    "Yeah. It''s weird, I''ve always had pretty bad social anxiety, but lately..." I trail off, considering the past week. Between navigating the minefield at home with Mom, dating Sabrina, and now working with Debbie, I''ve been more socially functional than I can remember being in years.


    "Maybe you''re just growing into yourself," Debbie suggests, closing the cooler door with a soft thud.


    "Maybe," I say, though the word feels hollow in my mouth. The truth is messier than that. It''s not that I''m "growing into myself" or whatever. My brain is just so completely consumed with the whole Mom situation that everything else feels secondary, like background noise compared to the blaring alarm of my home life. When your mother''s trying to seduce you daily, somehow asking a customer if they want their receipt doesn''t seem so intimidating anymore.


    But I can''t exactly tell Debbie that.


    "Or maybe I''m just too exhausted to be anxious," I add with a half-smile. "It''s been a weird week."


    "Could be," Debbie says, leaning against the cooler. Her eyes soften as she studies my face, a gentle concern replacing her earlier amusement. "Is everything okay? You''ve got this look like you''re carrying something heavy."


    I hesitate, weighing how much to share. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting strange shadows across her face.


    "Just life stuff," I mumble, fidgeting with my nametag.


    "You know," she says, her voice dropping to something warm and confidential, "I''m a pretty good listener if you need to talk. Sometimes, it helps to tell someone who''s not wrapped up in your situation."


    There''s something so genuine in her offer that I almost consider it. For a split second, I imagine how it would feel to unload everything. But the moment passes, reality reasserting itself. Some things you just can''t share.


    "Thanks," I say instead, offering a smile that feels more genuine than I expected. "I appreciate that." S§×ar?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Debbie reaches out, her hand briefly squeezing my shoulder. The touch is comforting in a way that reminds me of mom.


    "Anytime, Gabe. I mean it." She adjusts her glasses, which have slipped down her nose again. "When I was going through my divorce, I didn''t have anyone to talk to. It makes a difference, having someone in your corner."


    The store''s electronic bell chimes, announcing a new customer. Debbie straightens up, her professional demeanor sliding back into place like a well-worn mask.


    "Back to work," she says with a wink. "I''ll take this one. You finish up here."


    As she walks away, I find myself watching her go with an unexpected sense of gratitude. There''s something steadying about Debbie''s presence, like finding solid ground after a week of quicksand.


    "I think I''ll like it here."

 Chapter 18: Blacking Out

    Chapter 18 - 18: Blacking OutAnxiety tastes like copper pennies in my mouth as I stand outside our front door at 12:22 AM, my QuickMart name tag still pinned to my shirt. The weight of what I''m about to do makes my hand tremble as I fit the key into the lock.


    I''d rehearsed this conversation a dozen times on the way home. But now that I''m here, all my carefully prepared words feel like sand slipping through my fingers.


    "Fuck it," I mutter, pushing the door open with more force than necessary.


    The familiar glow of our living room TV casts Mom in silhouette on the couch. She''s wearing another silk night gown, her white hair loose around her shoulders, looking so normal it makes my chest ache. For a split second, I can almost pretend we''re just a regular mother and son, that the past week has been some fever dream.


    "How was work, honey?" she asks, her smile warm and genuine as she mutes the TV. There''s no predatory gleam in her eyes tonight, no suggestive undertone to her words. Just Mom, asking about my day like she''s done a thousand times before.


    Something inside me cracks at the normalcy of it.


    "Mom, look..." I begin, my voice rougher than I intended. I drop my backpack by the door and step into the living room, keeping the coffee table between us like a shield. "I''m exhausted by our new... relationship. Can we please just go back to how things were?"


    Her smile freezes, then slowly fades. She blinks rapidly, those blue eyes I''ve known my entire life suddenly unreadable. The silence stretches between us like a rubber band pulled too tight.


    "No," she says finally, the single syllable falling like a stone. "I''m not going to stop flirting with you, Gabriel."


    My heart sinks, but before I can respond, she continues, her voice softening slightly.


    "But I''m willing to tone it down for now."


    I drop onto the armchair across from her, running my hands through my hair. "Mom, up until this week, you were basically my only friend. My best friend. And I''m terrified I''m going to lose that." sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Mom''s expression softens, something vulnerable flickering across her face. "You won''t lose me, Gabriel. Not ever." She rises from the couch in one fluid motion and crosses to the kitchen counter, where a bottle of tequila sits.


    "Would you like to have a drink with your mother?" she asks, lifting the unopened bottle with a gentle smile. "We can just talk."


    I stare at the bottle, exhaustion weighing on my shoulders. "Mom, I''m only eighteen."


    "You''ve had a hell of a week, though," she says, her voice gentle as she sets the bottle down and leans against the counter. "And honestly, sweetheart, you look like you could use something to help you relax."


    "I can''t," I protest, shoving my hands in my pockets. "You''ll just... take advantage of me again."


    Mom''s fingers still on the bottle cap, her eyes meeting mine with unexpected sincerity. "I promise I won''t take advantage of you, Gabriel. Have I ever broken a promise to you in the past?"


    The question hangs between us, heavy with implication. I swallow hard, she''s one to always keep to her word when she makes promises.


    "No, but..." I trail off, unable to articulate the chaos of emotions swirling inside me.


    Something wild flashes in Mom''s eyes, a manic joy that makes my stomach drop. "Are you worried about becoming a beast yourself?" she asks, her voice practically vibrating with excitement. "That you won''t be able to control yourself around me?"


    "Of course not," I snap, heat rushing to my face.


    Mom takes a deep breath, visibly composing herself. The predatory gleam recedes, replaced by something more measured, more maternal.


    "Gabriel, I''m not forcing you," she says softly. "It''s okay to say no. But I think you could really use a drink... and I would love to enjoy one with my best friend."


    Her words strike a chord deep within me. Despite everything, I miss her, the real her, the mom who was my rock through every awkward phase and teenage crisis. Before all this... complication.


    "Okay," I concede. "But we just talk. Like normal people."


    Three glasses of tequila later, I''m sprawled on the couch beside Mom, the room pleasantly spinning around me. My leg keeps drifting against hers like it has a mind of its own, each brush of contact sending electricity through my veins. The bottle sits half-empty on the coffee table, a silent witness to my rapid descent into drunkenness.


    "My goodness, Gabriel," Mom laughs, her eyes twinkling in the soft lamplight. "You''re absolutely plastered after just three drinks. What a lightweight."


    I slump further into the cushions, my head lolling back. "Cut me some slack," I mumble, my tongue feeling thick in my mouth. "I''m only eighteen, remember?"


    She arches one perfect eyebrow. "Oh? But weren''t you drunk at that party? The one where..." she trails off meaningfully, her lips curving into a knowing smile.


    Heat rushes to my face as memories from when I came in her during a gangbang come flooding back.


    "That was actually my first time drinking," I admit, unable to meet her eyes. "First time for... everything that night."


    Mom''s expression softens. She reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with gentle fingers. "Well, don''t worry about a thing," she murmurs. "Mommy will always keep you safe if you want to drink around her."


    Something about the tenderness in her voice makes my chest ache. I find myself leaning into her touch, craving the comfort only she can provide. Before I can think better of it, my hand covers hers where it rests on the couch between us.


    "Would it be okay if we had one more?" I ask, my fingers intertwining with hers.


    Her eyes widen slightly, genuine surprise flickering across her face before something darker, hungrier takes its place. Her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip as she studies me with predatory intensity.


    "I would love that," she purrs, squeezing my hand before reaching for the bottle.


    The tequila burns less, going down this time. Mom watches me over the rim of her own, those blue eyes never leaving my face.


    The room twists and breathes around me, the liquor making everything soft at the edges. Mom''s face glows in the dim light. Something swells in my chest, a feeling so overwhelming it threatens to choke me.


    "I love you so much, Mom," I blurt out, the words tumbling from my lips before I can stop them.


    She blinks, a delicate flush spreading across her cheeks. The tequila has finally started to affect her, but there''s something else in her expression, too, a hunger that makes my pulse quicken.


    "I love you too, Gabriel," she whispers, her voice husky. "More than you could possibly understand."


    The tequila emboldens me, loosening my tongue and my inhibitions. "About this morning..." I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "When you offered to... um..."


    Mom leans forward, her nightgown slipping off one shoulder. Her eyes darken with unmistakable desire as she places her glass on the coffee table with deliberate slowness.


    "When I offered to let you fuck my face?" she finishes, her voice dropping to a sultry purr. "Is that what you''re trying to say, baby?"


    The room sways slightly as I reach for the bottle, pouring us each another generous helping. I down mine in one burning gulp.


    "Someone''s thirsty," Mom chuckles, watching me with amusement dancing in her eyes.


    "So what''s it going to be?" Mom asks with a teasing lilt, her fingers playing with the rim of her glass. "You''ve been staring at my mouth all night, Gabriel."


    She lets out a soft laugh that sends shivers down my spine. Then she hooks her fingers into the corners of her mouth and pulls them apart, revealing the glistening pink interior. I can see all the way to her throat, wet and waiting.


    "Do you want to use Mommy''s mouth, baby?" she purrs through her stretched lips, her voice muffled but unmistakable.


    My body responds before my mind can catch up. I''m harder than I''ve ever been in my life, the alcohol dissolving every rational thought. The room dances around me, but Mom stays in perfect focus, like she''s the only solid thing in a world gone liquid.


    I lunge forward without thinking, capturing her lips with mine. This is primal, a dam breaking after years of pressure. My hands fumble with my belt, tearing at my pants like they''re burning my skin.


    "Please," I gasp against her mouth, the word torn from somewhere deep inside me. "Please let me fuck your mouth, Mom. Please."


    I feel her freeze for just a heartbeat, genuine surprise flickering across her face. Then she''s kissing me back with equal passion, her tongue sliding against mine as her hands help me wrestle my pants down my legs.


    Mom slides from the couch to the floor in one fluid motion, positioning herself between my legs. Her blue eyes gaze up at me with an almost reverent expression as she takes in the sight of my erection standing at attention. She inhales deeply, her eyelids fluttering closed for a moment.


    "God, Gabriel," she whispers, her breath hot against my sensitive skin. "You smell incredible, baby. Like everything I''ve ever wanted."


    My heart hammers against my ribs as she parts her lips, that perfect mouth opening wide. Her tongue extends, making the lightest contact with the underside of my cock. The wet heat of it sends electricity shooting up my spine, but then she stops, leaving me trembling on the edge of something monumental.


    Instead of continuing, she reaches for my hands, guiding them to either side of her head. Her fingers wrap around my wrists, positioning my palms against her silky white hair.


    "Fuck my face, Gabriel," she commands, her voice husky with need. "Don''t hold back. I want you to use my mouth as hard as you can."


    I hesitate for only a second before instinct takes over. Gripping her hair, I thrust forward, watching in fascination as her lips stretch around me. The power of her mouth is overwhelming. I pull back and slam forward again, a groan tearing from my throat.


    Her eyes never leave mine as I establish a rhythm, each thrust deeper than the last. She takes me effortlessly, her throat relaxing to accommodate me perfectly. Tears form at the corners of her eyes, but her expression remains one of absolute ecstasy.


    By the fifth thrust, I feel the pressure building at the base of my spine, a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to crash over me. By the seventh, my legs are trembling, my grip on her hair tightening as I fight to maintain control.


    On the ninth thrust, I lose the battle. My vision whites out as I explode, my entire body convulsing with the force of my orgasm. Surges of pleasure sweep through me as I empty myself down her throat, my hips jerking uncontrollably.


    "FUCK!" I cry out, my voice barely recognizable even to my own ears. The intensity is almost painful like my soul is being ripped from my body through my cock.


    Mom doesn''t pull away, swallowing everything I give her with enthusiastic gulps. Her throat works rhythmically around me, prolonging my pleasure until I''m shaking and oversensitive.


    When she finally releases me with a wet pop, her lips are swollen and glistening. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, looking immensely pleased with herself.


    "Nine thrusts," she says, her voice slightly hoarse. "That''s a new record for you, isn''t it, baby? You''re improving."


    I collapse back onto the couch, chest heaving like I''ve run a marathon.


    Every nerve ending in my body feels like it''s been dipped in lightning.


    "Holy shit," I slur, unable to form more complex thoughts. My limbs feel impossibly heavy, sinking into the cushions like they''ve become part of the furniture.


    Mom rises from her knees with feline grace, wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb. There''s something triumphant in her expression, a primitive satisfaction that makes my heart stutter. Her hair is mussed where I gripped it, white strands framing her face like a halo.


    "You''re so beautiful," I mumble, the filter between my brain and mouth completely dissolved by alcohol and post-orgasmic bliss.


    She smiles down at me, those blue eyes soft with something that looks almost like tenderness. "So are you, my sweet boy."


    The euphoria rushing through my veins feels almost dangerous in its intensity. I''ve never felt this good before, this complete. Some distant part of my brain knows I should be horrified by what just happened, but I can''t summon even a flicker of shame. Not now, not with her looking at me like I''m everything she''s ever wanted.


    "C''mere," I manage to say, patting the couch beside me with clumsy fingers.


    Mom slides onto the cushion, her body fitting perfectly against mine as she curls into my side. Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare thigh, my pants still bunched around my ankles. I should fix that, I think distantly, but moving seems impossible right now.


    "I can''t believe how good you taste," she whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to my neck.


    Her lips find my softening cock again, placing delicate kisses along its length. I should be oversensitive, should be pushing her away, but instead, I find myself sighing with contentment, my fingers tangling in her silky hair.


    "Shh, baby, it''s okay," she whispers against my skin, her breath warm and comforting. "Just rest now. Mommy''s got you."


    My eyelids grow impossibly heavy as she continues her gentle ministrations. The last thing I register before darkness claims me is the feeling of her lips, soft and loving against my most vulnerable part, and the strange certainty that I''m exactly where I''m supposed to be.

 Chapter 19: A Promise Kept

    Chapter 19 - 19: A Promise Kept[Angela''s POV]


    I wake with the first light of dawn streaming through the living room blinds, my body curled protectively around Gabriel''s sleeping form. A delicious warmth radiates from where our bodies touch, his back pressed against my chest, my arm draped possessively across his waist. The blanket I pulled over us sometime in the night pulled around us tightly.


    Last night feels like a dream, a beautiful, perfect dream I''ve waited years to experience. My body hums with satisfaction, Gabriel''s essence still lingering on my tongue, in my belly, fueling me with a primal energy I''ve never felt in my entire life. Who knew tequila would transform my hesitant, conflicted boy into the demanding, passionate man who gripped my hair and used my mouth with such delicious abandon?


    I carefully shift to study his sleeping face. Long lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, his lips slightly parted, occasional soft snores escaping. I can''t help but smile, remembering how those same lips formed desperate pleas, how his voice broke when he begged to fuck my mouth.


    Nine thrusts. My boy is improving so beautifully.


    After he collapsed into unconsciousness, I couldn''t resist tasting him again. He didn''t even stir as I took him into my mouth once more, his body responding instinctively to my touch. When he came that second time, filling my mouth with his seed, I felt an overwhelming urge to preserve the moment.


    My phone still sits on the coffee table where I left it after taking that perfect picture, Gabriel unconscious, his pants around his ankles, while I knelt between his legs, mouth open wide, displaying his precious gift on my tongue. A dangerous memento, perhaps, but one I''ll keep locked away where only I can see it.


    After that, I buckled his pants back up. This has to stay a secret for now. Judging by his current state of mind lately, if I push now, it''ll likely only make him run further away from me.


    I need Sabrina to ruin him so I can build him back up.


    I''m not counting this as breaking my promise. He took far more advantage of his drunk mother than the other way around this time.


    I press a gentle kiss to his temple, inhaling the alluring scent of his skin, tequila, and sex. He won''t remember much of last night, he drank far too much for that, but I''ll never forget it. I will always remember how he looked at me with unfiltered desire, how he finally stopped fighting what we both know is inevitable.


    My fingers trace the curve of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble beginning to form there. My beautiful boy becoming a man in my arms. Just as it should be.


    "Mine," I whisper so softly it''s barely a breath against his skin.


    I tighten my arm around Gabriel''s waist, pulling him even closer against me. His warmth is intoxicating, and I have absolutely no intention of disturbing this perfect moment.


    I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. There''s something so pure about him in sleep, all his defenses down, all his conflicted feelings momentarily forgotten. This is how it should always be between us. No resistance, no guilt, just this perfect union of bodies and souls.


    My fingers ghost over his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. I can feel his heartbeat through his thin t-shirt, strong and rhythmic. I wonder what he''s dreaming about. Is he dreaming of me? Of last night? The thought sends a delicious shiver through me.


    "Mmm," he mumbles in his sleep, shifting slightly in my embrace.


    I freeze, not wanting to wake him yet, but he merely settles back against me. I press my lips gently against the nape of his neck, a feather-light kiss that wouldn''t disturb even the lightest sleeper.


    The blanket has slipped down slightly, exposing his shoulder. I pull it back up, tucking it carefully around us.


    Gabriel stirs again, his body tensing slightly before relaxing into my embrace. His breathing changes rhythm, becoming deeper, more ragged.


    "Mom," he moans out, the word escaping his lips in a husky whisper that sends electricity racing down my spine.


    I smile, pressing my lips against his ear. My beautiful boy is dreaming of me.


    "This time, I''m gonna last..." he mutters, his voice trailing off as he shifts again, his hips moving subtly against me.


    My heart races at his sleep-laden confession. Even unconscious, he''s thinking about our intimate moments, about improving for me. Such a good, eager boy, always wanting to please his mother.


    I slide my hand up to stroke his hair, careful not to wake him from whatever delicious dream he''s having. His face is flushed, lips parted, eyelids fluttering with rapid movement beneath. I wonder what position we''re making love in within his dream.


    "Yes, you will," I whisper back, though I know he can''t hear me. "We''ll practice until you can last as long as you want."


    ¡ª


    [Gabe''s POV]


    Sunlight filters through my eyelids, pulling me reluctantly from a dream where Mom and I were... doing things I shouldn''t admit to wanting. My head throbs with each heartbeat, mouth dry as sandpaper, telltale signs of a hangover. I groan softly, shifting against something warm and soft.


    Mom.


    My eyes snap open to find us tangled together on the couch, a blanket pulled over us. For a terrifying second, I frantically take inventory of my body. Relief floods through me when I realize I''m fully clothed, jeans, belt, t-shirt, everything intact. We''re just... cuddling.


    Her eyes flutter open, blue irises catching the morning light as her lips curve into a gentle smile.


    "Good morning, sweetheart," she murmurs, voice raspy with sleep.


    Fragments of last night flash through my mind, drinking tequila, talking, laughing. Nothing sexual. Nothing inappropriate. Just us reconnecting as mother and son.


    "You kept your promise," I whisper, throat scratchy and voice rough. The relief in my tone is palpable even to my own ears.


    Mom''s eyebrows rise slightly, a question in her eyes.


    "I''m sorry I treated you like a nympho," I continue, rubbing my temples to ease the throbbing. "You said you wouldn''t take advantage of me while I was drunk, and you didn''t. We just... talked."


    Surprise flickers in her eyes briefly before settling into a smile. She reaches up to brush hair from my forehead.


    "Of course, I kept my promise, Gabriel. I would never betray your trust."


    The sincerity in her voice makes my chest ache. This is the mom I remember, the one who bandaged my skinned knees and defended me from playground bullies.


    "How much do you remember from last night?" she asks, her fingers still playing with my hair.


    I wrack my brain, trying to pierce through the alcohol-induced fog. "We talked about... my job? And Sabrina, I think." I wince as a particularly sharp pain lances through my skull. "Honestly, it''s pretty hazy after the third drink."


    Mom sits up slowly, adjusting her nightgown, which has somehow remained perfectly modest. "You were quite the chatterbox once the tequila hit you. Very affectionate, too."


    Heat creeps up my neck. "Did I say anything embarrassing?"


    "Nothing you need to worry about," she assures me, patting my cheek. "Just that you love me."


    I let out a relieved breath.


    She stands, stretching like a cat in the morning light. The silk of her nightgown catches the sun, turning momentarily translucent before she moves out of the direct beam.


    "I''ll make coffee and breakfast," she offers. "Something greasy for that hangover."


    As she pads toward the kitchen, I slump back against the couch, grateful for this moment of normalcy. Maybe we can find our way back to something healthy. Maybe last night was the first step.


    "Hey, Mom?" I call after her.


    She pauses, looking back over her shoulder. "Yes, Gabriel?"


    "Thank you. For being my mom last night. Not... you know."


    Her smile falters for just a split second before returning, brighter than before. "Always, baby. Whenever you need me to be."


    I close my eyes, listening to her move around the kitchen, the familiar sounds of home washing over me. The coffee grinder whirs, pans clatter, the refrigerator door opens and closes. For the first time in days, I feel safe at home. Protected.


    But as I drift in this comfortable haze, something nags at the edges of my consciousness. A fleeting image, Mom''s face, looking up at me, her mouth... I shake my head, dispelling the thought. Just residue from my dream, nothing more.


    "Aspirin?" Mom appears beside me, holding out two white tablets and a glass of water.


    "God, yes." I take them gratefully, swallowing them in one gulp.


    The kitchen fills with the mouthwatering aroma of frying bacon, and I force myself to stand despite my pounding head. I shuffle to the kitchen table, collapsing into a chair as Mom tends to the stove.


    "You look deep in thought," she observes, flipping the bacon with practiced ease. Her white hair is pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face.


    I watch her move around the kitchen, something warm and comfortable settling in my chest. Despite everything that''s happened between us, this moment feels right. Safe.


    "I''m just... happy," I admit, surprising myself with the truth of it.


    Mom glances over her shoulder, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I''m glad, sweetheart."


    "I still can''t believe I don''t remember parts of the night," I say, rubbing my temples. "Was I that far gone?"


    She laughs, the sound light and musical as she slides eggs onto a plate. "You were quite insistent on glass four and five of tequila. Poured them yourself." S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "God, I''m so sorry," I groan, embarrassment washing over me. "I hope I didn''t get you too drunk as well."


    Mom turns fully toward me, placing a loaded plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. Her blue eyes sparkle with something I can''t quite read as she leans down, her lips brushing my forehead in a kiss that feels purely maternal.


    "Not at all," she murmurs, her voice warm with affection. "I had the time of my life."

 Chapter 20: Am I Ready

    Chapter 20 - 20: Am I ReadyIt''s amazing how much more beautiful the world looks when you''re not hiding from your own mother. The kitchen is flooded with afternoon sunlight, turning Mom''s white hair into a silver halo as she sits across from me at the table.


    "This is nice," I say, pushing the plate of sandwiches I made closer to her side of the table. Turkey and Swiss on sourdough, her favorite.


    Mom smiles, those blue eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that makes my chest feel warm. She''s wearing a simple white sundress today, nothing provocative, nothing designed to make me uncomfortable. Just Mom being Mom.


    "It is nice," she agrees, taking a sandwich.


    I nod, biting into my own sandwich. The normalcy feels fragile, like blown glass I''m afraid to touch too roughly. Last night''s drinking session somehow reset things between us, brought us back to safer ground. I don''t remember much after the third glass of tequila, but whatever happened, it seems to have satisfied something in her. The predatory edge that''s been haunting her gaze has softened.


    "So," she says, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a napkin, "how''s that writing assignment I gave you going?"


    I shrug, reaching for my glass of lemonade. "I''m not worried, honestly."


    "Why not?" She asks with a look of surprise in her eyes.


    "Because... I have a lot of experience... thinking about the topic," I admit, my voice dropping lower despite us being alone in the house.


    Mom''s eyebrow arches delicately. "Oh? You have ideas?"


    Something about our current level of honesty and the momentary peace between us, makes me decide to be brutally honest. I set down my sandwich, meeting her eyes directly.


    "Mom, I''ve thought about folding you over this table so many times in my life I think I could do it with my eyes closed."


    The words hang in the air between us. Mom''s cheeks flush pink, but her eyes darken with unmistakable hunger, pupils dilating as she processes what I''ve just said.


    "Well," she says, voice husky as she runs her finger along the edge of her plate, "if you need me to help you with a practical example of that... I''m around."


    My phone buzzes in my pocket before I can respond, breaking the electric tension. I pull it out, glancing at the screen.


    "Who''s that?" Mom asks, taking another bite of her sandwich, eyes never leaving my face.


    "Sabrina," I say lazily, unlocking my phone to read the full message.


    Do you want to come over and watch Netflix with me? Roommates are gone for the weekend ????


    I stare at the text, feeling the weight of Mom''s gaze on me. The invitation is clear enough, Netflix and chill with my actual girlfriend, alone in her dorm room. No roommates. Just us.


    "What does she want?" Mom''s voice has an edge to it now, that dangerous undercurrent returning.


    I look up from my phone, caught between two worlds. The forbidden promise of Mom''s offer and the normal, healthy relationship waiting for me in Sabrina''s dorm room.


    "She wants me to come over and watch Netflix," I say, deliberately vague.


    Mom sets down her sandwich, all pretense of casual conversation vanishing. "And will you go?"


    "Yeah, she''s my girlfriend." The words come out more defensive than I intend, my shoulders tensing as I watch Mom''s expression harden. "I''d like to spend time with her."


    Mom''s fingers tighten around her glass, knuckles whitening as she forces a smile that doesn''t reach her eyes. "Of course. That''s what boyfriends do, isn''t they? Run when called."


    I pocket my phone, appetite suddenly gone. "It''s not like that. We''re just watching movies."


    "Just movies?" Mom laughs, the sound sharp enough to cut glass. "Gabriel, darling, we both know what ''Netflix and chill'' means these days."


    Heat crawls up my neck. "Mom..."


    "Are you sleeping with her?" The question slices through the air between us, all pretense of our peaceful lunch shattered.


    "For God''s sake, Mom," I say, running my hand through my hair in frustration. "Sabrina and I have barely been together a week. We''ve shared a few kisses, that''s it." I look away, uncomfortable with her interrogation. "It''s all still new between us."


    Mom''s expression shifts, the hard edges softening slightly as she processes this information. She takes a slow sip of her lemonade, studying me over the rim of her glass.


    "Just kisses?" she asks, her voice lighter now, almost relieved.


    "Yes," I confirm, meeting her gaze again. "I''m not... I haven''t been with anyone else since..." The words hang unspoken between us, but we both know what I mean. Since the frat party. Since her.


    Her lips curve into a small, satisfied smile as she sets down her glass. "I see."


    The tension in the room shifts, transforming into something more complicated than simple jealousy. Mom picks up her sandwich again, taking a delicate bite as though we''re just having a normal conversation.


    "But if you are going to her room..." Mom says, setting her sandwich down again, her expression shifting to something calculating. "I do wonder if you''re prepared for what might happen." sea??h th§× N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "What do you mean?" I ask, already sensing the conversation veering into dangerous territory.


    She leans forward, elbows on the table, chin resting on her interlaced fingers. "Are you worried about lasting, Gabriel? Between the hand jobs and the frat party, I don''t think you''ve made it more than twenty strokes for me."


    A cold wave of dread washes over me, starting at the base of my skull and flooding downward. My mouth goes dry as cotton, the sandwich turning to ash on my tongue. She''s right. Every sexual encounter I''ve had, all with her, has ended embarrassingly quickly.


    "I..." My voice cracks pathetically. "That''s not..."


    "Not what? True?" Mom''s smile is gentle, but her eyes gleam with triumph. "You came the moment you were inside me at that party. And in my hand? Seven strokes, if I recall correctly."


    "Fuck."


    "You''re worried she''ll think you''re inadequate," Mom continues, her voice softening with false sympathy. "That she''ll laugh at you when you finish before she''s even warmed up."


    My stomach twists with anxiety. The worst part is she''s absolutely right. The thought of embarrassing myself with Sabrina, of seeing disappointment replace desire in those green eyes, makes me want to cancel immediately.


    "I could help you practice," Mom offers, her voice a silky purr as she reaches across the table to touch my hand. "Teach you how to control yourself. How to please a woman properly."


    I stare at her hand on mine, my pulse racing as I consider her offer. The smart thing would be to leave now, go to Sabrina''s, stumble through whatever happens naturally. But Mom''s words have planted a seed of doubt that''s rapidly growing into full-blown panic.


    "How..." I swallow hard, meeting her eyes. "How would you teach me?"


    Mom''s smile spreads slowly across her face, transforming her features into something radiant and victorious. Without a word, she rises from her chair, her movements deliberate and hypnotic. Her fingers find the hem of her sundress, and in one fluid motion, she pulls it upward, bunching the fabric around her waist.


    She isn''t wearing underwear. Of course, she isn''t.


    My breath catches in my throat as I stare at her exposed core. She''s completely hairless, her folds glistening with unmistakable arousal. The afternoon sunlight streaming through the kitchen window illuminates every perfect detail, pink, wet, and practically begging to be tasted.


    "Lesson one," she purrs, leaning back against the edge of the table. "Learning to pleasure a woman with your mouth until she begs you to fuck her."


    I can''t tear my eyes away. My face burns hot enough to melt steel, but I keep staring, breathing heavily through parted lips. Something primal stirs in me, a hunger that transcends shame or morality. In this moment, with perfect clarity, I realize there''s nothing in this world I want more than to bury my face between her thighs.


    I would cross oceans, climb mountains, conquer empires just to taste her.


    "Come here," Mom whispers, spreading her legs wider, offering herself to me with shameless confidence.


    Time stands still as I remain frozen in my chair, unable to look away from the most beautiful sight I''ve ever witnessed. My mouth waters like I''m starving, and in a way, I am starving for something I shouldn''t want but desperately crave.


    "Gabriel," she whispers, her voice a siren call. "Don''t you want to taste me?"


    The question snaps something inside me. I push my chair back with a screech against the tile floor and stand up. My hands are trembling, and my erection strains painfully against my jeans. I close my eyes, inhaling deeply through my nose as I fight for control.


    "I can''t," I say, my voice barely audible. "We can''t keep doing this."


    When I open my eyes again, I see confusion flash across Mom''s face, quickly replaced by disbelief.


    "You''re choosing her over me? Are you fucking kidding me?" Her voice cracks slightly, hands still holding her dress bunched at her waist.


    I step forward, but not toward what she''s offering. Instead, I lean in and press a chaste kiss against her cheek. The scent of her perfume fills my senses, almost breaking my resolve.


    "I love you, Mom," I whisper against her skin. "And... thank you for wanting to help me. But I need to figure this out with Sabrina on my own."


    She remains perfectly still as I pull away, her blue eyes wide with shock. For once, she seems genuinely surprised, caught off-guard by my refusal.


    "You''ll regret this," she says softly, finally letting her dress fall back into place. "When you embarrass yourself with that girl..."


    "Maybe," I concede, already backing toward the door. "But it''s my mistake to make."


    I grab my keys from the counter, keeping my eyes fixed on her face rather than letting them wander down to where she was exposed moments ago. The memory is already seared into my brain anyway. I''ll probably see it every time I close my eyes for weeks.


    "I''ll be back later," I add, my hand on the doorknob.


    As I turn the knob, I hear Mom''s voice behind me, suddenly softer, almost vulnerable.


    "I love you, Gabriel."


    I look back to see her expression has shifted, annoyance mixed with genuine concern. The predatory gleam is gone, replaced by something that reminds me of when I was younger.


    "Please be safe and try to be home before midnight," she continues, adjusting her dress self-consciously. "I don''t want you anywhere near drunk drivers."


    The earnestness in her voice catches me off guard. For a moment, she''s just my mom again, worried about her son.


    "You got it, Mom."