The rejection stings, always. Another casting call, another dismissive glance, another whispered, “She doesn’t have it anymore.” Doesn’t have it. What it even was, I wasn’t sure anymore. I used to have it. Back when I was Marie Dubois, the girl from nowhere who landed on magazine covers. Now I was just Marie, Gary’s mom, the woman whose expiration date had apparently arrived.
Los Angeles is a cruel mistress. It chews you up, spits you out, and leaves you wondering where all the sparkle went. My sparkle had dulled, that much I knew. Raising Gary alone after his father walked out took its toll. The late-night auditions, the early morning school runs, the constant struggle to keep a roof over our heads—it aged me. Not just physically, but somewhere deeper, inside.
Tonight, the frustration was a live wire buzzing beneath my skin. I poured myself a generous glass of wine, the cheap stuff, because that’s what my budget allowed. I’d pulled on my favorite red nightie, the one I swore I’d throw away years ago but never could. It was short, maybe too short for a woman my age, and the thin straps barely contained my… assets. Black panties peeked out from underneath. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. I was just…trying to feel something other than invisible.
Gary shuffled into the living room, bathed in the soft glow of the TV. He was 18, on the cusp of adulthood, and lately, he’d been… different. More attentive, more observant. It was unnerving, and, if I was being honest with myself, a little… flattering.
“Hey, Mom,” he said, his eyes flicking over me. “You look… good.”
Good. Not beautiful, not stunning, not even pretty. Just… good. But the way he said it, the slight hesitation in his voice, made my cheeks flush.
“Thanks, honey,” I mumbled, taking a long sip of wine.
He grabbed a bag of chips from the counter and sat on the edge of the sofa, close enough that our knees almost touched. “Long day?”
“You have no idea,” I sighed. “Another audition, another ‘we’ll call you.’ I swear, they’re all looking for the next young thing. Like experience and talent don’t matter.”
“You’re talented, Mom,” he said, his voice firm. “And… you’re, like, smoking hot.”
I choked on my wine. Smoking hot? My son called me smoking hot?
“Gary!” I exclaimed, half-laughing, half-horrified. “You can’t say things like that!”
He shrugged, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Well, it’s true. You’re a MILF, Mom. A total MILF.”
The term hung in the air between us, laced with awkwardness and something else entirely. Deep down, a tiny, forbidden part of me felt a thrill. To be seen, to be desired, even by my own son… it was wrong, I knew it was wrong, but after years of feeling invisible, it was also… intoxicating.
And what was worse, my gash was throbbing a little at what he said. It had been years. Years of neglect.
The silence stretched on, thick with unspoken tension. I took another gulp of wine, trying to ignore the heat rising in my chest. “Don’t you have homework or something?”
“Done,” he replied, not taking his eyes off me. “So, Mom…you going to be okay?”
“Of course, honey. Why wouldn’t I be?” I said trying to reassure him and myself.
I spent the next few hours trying to block out Gary’s words. “Mom you’re smoking hot.” I went to bed and tossed and turned and I came back out to have a little bit more wine . Then more and more finally I was drunk. So drunk I could barely stand.
I stumbled back into the living room, clutching the wine bottle like a lifeline. The room swam around me, the edges of the furniture blurring into indistinct shapes. Gary was still there, sprawled on the sofa, watching some late-night show.
“Gary?” I slurred, my voice thick with wine.
He sat up, his eyes widening slightly. “Mom, are you okay? You’re really drunk.”
I giggled, a high-pitched, nervous sound. “I’m fine. Just… celebrating. Or mourning. I can’t remember which.”
I lurched towards the sofa, misjudging the distance and nearly falling. Gary reached out, steadying me with a strong hand on my arm.
“Careful, Mom,” he said, his voice laced with concern.
I leaned into his touch, suddenly grateful for his presence. In my drunken state, he felt like the only solid thing in a world that was spinning out of control.
I was so drunk my legs basically flopped open, and then I heard Gary say, “Are you ok mom.”
“I am just warm honey, and so drunk. I feel very vulnerable right now. God I could do with a man right this instant,” I said as I felt so relaxed I put one of my legs over Gary’s, not knowingly what I was doing. I felt his hand on my thigh, god I haven’t felt something like that in years as he slowly went up further. An intoxicating heat shot through me, a long-dormant desire awakening with a vengeance.
“Gary,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” he said quickly, pulling his hand back. “I didn’t mean—”
“No,” I said, cutting him off. I didn’t know what I was saying, didn’t know what I was doing. All I knew was that I didn’t want him to stop. “It’s ok honey keep going please.”
His hand went up my nightie I helped as I placed his hand on the front of my panties as he rubbed.
“Oh mom, your soaking,” he moaned as he could feel my labia through the thin fabric. His hand reached into the front and inside my panties.
“Sweetie, you like mommys pussy,” I said as his touch felt good rubbing my wet swollen gash.
“Mom,” he whispered again, his voice thick with wonder, “your pussy’s so wet.”
A soft, involuntary moan escaped my lips, and I couldn’t help but press into his touch, guiding his fingers with a daring I hadn’t known I possessed. The feeling of his fingers exploring me, the silky fabric caught between the folds of my swollen flesh, was electrifying.
“Yes, sweetie,” I breathed out, my words slurring slightly from the wine. “I haven’t been touched like this in so long… it feels so good. That’s it finger mommy honey ahh yes like that.”
“Can’t wait to get my dick in there,” he said which shocked me.
“Can’t wait to get my dick in there,” he said which shocked me.
“No, no, darling,” I murmured, my head spinning from the wine and the rush of sensations, yet my voice firm with the sudden clarity of a boundary. “Just your fingers tonight. That’s as far as we can go.”
His eyes, wide with a mix of desire and confusion, met mine, but he nodded, the air between us thick with the unexpected intimacy. My heart thumped in my ears like a drum at a parade, but I guided his hand again, now pushing the fabric of my panties aside, exposing my slick, swollen gash to his curious touch.
“Oh, Gary, yes,” I encouraged, my voice a breathy plea. “Right there, sweetie, you’re doing so good.”
“I really want to stick my dick in you badly,” he pleaded.
“I said no honey, no penetration. Look I can give you an handjob if that helps relieve you,” I said reaching for his zipper as he fingered me hard.
I pulled out his throbbing member and started to pump my hand up and down his dick. “Does that feel good honey.”
“Feels amazing, Mom,” he gasped, his voice cracking with the intensity of the sensation. I could hear the catch in his breath, like someone sucking in air to cool a scorching mouthful of hot soup. My grip was firm, thumb circling the head of his cock just the way men seem to like it, while his fingers kept up their rhythm, teasing and probing my soaked gash, making slick, squishy sounds like a happy splash in a wading pool.
That is when he suddenly tricked me into laying down. He made excuses to help him finger me better. Then out of no where he started to kiss me, my hand let go of his cock and around his head as we snogged like mad. Then, shit I felt his cock slide inside me and he rammed hard forward.
We stopped kissing and he was thrusting his hard cock in and out my pussy, “oh fuck, w-why… why are you fucking me.”
He was going well at me really good so fucking good, “fine I can stop.”
But in that moment, drunk as I was and wanting as I felt, the forbidden desire and the spark of being wanted again surged through me stronger than the sting of guilt or alcohol. I grasped his shoulders, my fingertips digging into his skin, and whispered back, breathless, “No… don’t stop, Gary. It feels too damn good.”
He hesitated, his eyes searching mine—probably for regret, for a sign this was a drunken mistake—but all he found was raw need reflected back. His thrusts resumed, each one punctuated by the squelchy sounds of his cock sliding in and out of my slick, wet cunt, like a hungry mouth taking a slow, eager bite of the juiciest fruit. The room filled with the wet, slappy rhythm, his cock plunging deep, hitting every sweet spot inside me that had been neglected for too long.
“Oh God, Gary,” the wine still swirling in my head, but my body was clear with craving as I moaned louder, “Your dick… it’s exactly where it should be. Don’t stop, fuck mommy harder, sweetie, yeah, just like that!”
“Gary, oh yes!” I cried out, my voice laced with raw ecstasy. His thrusts were strong, each one a promise kept, a need met. “Your dick feels so big inside me… so perfect! Pound mommy, show her she’s still wanted!”
As the wine’s haze swirled around me, Gary’s hesitation melted away and he began to move with a relentless hunger, his body answering the primal call I didn’t dare voice. The room was filled with the raw, wet sounds of our forbidden union. With each powerful thrust, his dick plunged deep into my pussy, making a “schlick-squelch” noise, like the slurp of a juicy lollipop being sucked on—deep and greedy. His balls slapped against my thighs with a rhythmic thwack, echoing the pounding beat of my racing heart.
“Harder, Gary, yeah—just like that!” I urged him, breath hitching with every deep plunge of his cock. His rod stretched me, filling me, hitting spots that ached from years of emptiness. Our bodies slapped together, the sound of skin on sweaty skin resonating like a drumbeat, harsh and primal. I could hear his heavy grunts, the effort of his relentless pounding making him groan with each forceful drive.
His hand gripped my hip hard enough to leave marks, the other one still delving into the slickness between my legs, rubbing my clit in tight circles, a maddening rhythm that matched the pace of his cock. The slurping, squelching sounds of his dick moving inside my dripping cunt were loud, like a juicy, wet embrace. Each time he pulled out, it made a sound like pulp pulled from an overripe fruit, and when he slammed back in, it was a wet, eager gulp.
“Fuck, Mom,” he gasped, his voice ragged with effort, “you’re so fucking tight!”
I was a mess of sensation, my back arching to meet his every thrust. “Don’t stop, baby! Fuck your mom’s pussy like you mean it!” Heat flooded my senses, the slick friction driving me wild. My nails clawed at his back, urging him on, feeling the surge of his muscles as he picked up speed, the headboard slamming against the wall with a bang that matched our rhythm.
My breath came out in ragged gasps, mingling with his, the air thick with the musk of our bodies. He shifted his angle, hitting a spot that made stars burst behind my eyelids. “Oh, yes, right there! You’re hitting it, Gary, right there!” I squealed, my cunt gripping his cock like it never wanted to let go.
His thrusts were brutal, hard, each one sending shockwaves through me, making my tits jiggle with the force. I watched his face, twisted in concentration, the sweat beading on his forehead, his eyes wild with lust. “Make mommy cum, sweetie!” I pleaded, my words sloppy with intoxication and desire.
His fingers found my swollen clit again, rubbing with the perfect pressure, and I could feel the coil tightening. The slapping of our bodies, the squelch of his dick thrusting in and out—it was all so loud, so raw. I was a symphony of need, a cacophony of moans and grunts, a symphony of sinful pleasure.
With a final, deep, punishing thrust, he sent me over the edge, and I cried out, “Fuck, Gary! I’m coming!” My pussy clenched around his cock, gripping him like a vice, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me, the room echoing with the sounds of our passion.
“Mom… I’m… oh God, I’m gonna—!” he groaned, his voice thick with exertion, his eyes locked on mine, searching for permission, for reassurance that this wasn’t a dream, that this wasn’t just drunken madness.
“Let go, Gary,” I whispered, my voice a husky command. “Inside me, sweetie. I want to feel you.”
And he did. His cock pulsed, throbbing with his release, filling me with heat as he groaned my name. It was a moment so wrong, yet every sensation was so blisteringly right. I wrapped my legs tighter around him, holding him close, the squelching sounds of our union mixing with the symphony of our moans and the thudding against the headboard.
“Gary, oh my…” I sighed out, my body still trembling from the aftershocks. “You made mommy feel so good, so needed.”
We collapsed into each other, a sweaty, panting heap, the air around us heavy with the scent of sex and spilled desire. I stroked his hair, a tender touch amidst the rawness. His chest heaved against mine, our hearts pounding in sync as if trying to make up for lost years, lost chances.
“Love you, Mom,” he whispered, his words sincere and soft, carrying a weight that transcended our tangled limbs and flushed skin.
“Love you too, sweetie,” I replied, meaning every word despite the wrongness of it all. In that tangled mess of sheets, with my nightie askew and his hands still clutching me, there was a raw truth. A truth that, for tonight at least, I wasn’t invisible.
The morning would bring its reckoning, I knew. But for now, curled up in my son’s arms, feeling his warmth, his breath evening out against my neck, I let myself bask in the forbidden glow of being wanted, of being felt, of being alive again.
As the first light of dawn crept through the curtains, Gary’s arm slipped from my waist, and he stirred, probably realizing the gravity of what we’d done. I pretended to sleep, not ready to face the daylight and what it would bring. The room was quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of our breathing and the distant chirping of birds outside, a stark contrast to the night’s symphony of slaps and moans.
But as I lay there, the remnants of last night’s wine and wild passion still clinging to me, I knew one thing for sure—my heart, my body, my very soul felt awakened. Whether in regret or in sin, I’d been touched, I’d been desired, and for that moment, I was more than just Gary’s mom; I was a woman alive with sensation and need.
The aftermath would come. The whispers, the glares, the judgment—surely they’d follow. But for one night, I’d let loose the woman inside, the one who craved touch and intimacy, who craved to be seen. And Gary, my dear, sweet, wrong, wrong Gary, had been the one to show me I wasn’t done, not yet. Not by a long shot.