Mom Son Together

CHAPTER ONE

Marge Sayre awakened to the feel of a fat dick sensually worming its way in between the sleep-warm cheeks of her voluptuous ass.

“Mmm, she sighed, smiling as she clenched her buttocks around the forefront of her lover’s erection and snuggled back into his embrace. “And just what do you think you’re up to this morning?”

“As if you didn’t know,” the big redhead chuckled. He’d worked her nightgown up around her trim waist; now he pulled the front of it higher, cupping her cleft and mound with one hand, rubbing it with an up and down motion as he tweaked the sensitive brown cones of the thirty-three-year-old woman’s embarrassingly small tits. Marge was nearly flat-chested and never went anywhere without wearing falsies in her bra. “Come on, baby, relax the buns. Daddy wants to go up the old dirt road.”

“Oh, honey, don’t,” she protested, and winced as she felt his hard glans wedging insistently into her tiny rectum. “Your cock’s so big. It hurts me too much.”

“Don’t hand me that.” He captured her tumid nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and began pinching down on them. “You like it when I hurt you. Am I hurting you now? Am I pinching those little-girl titties hard enough for you yet?”

“Ohhh! Stop it, Frank! Damn it, not so hard!”

“It’s turning you on, isn’t it?” he demanded.

She nodded. “You know it … oooh … is! I can’t help it.”

“Yeah,” the six-foot-three redhead gloated. “And you can’t help turning on to fanny-fucking either, once we get going good. Now roll over on your stomach and spread your cheeks for me like a nice little slut.”

“Please don’t force me, honey. Not this morning. You know you have to get me drunk and work me up good before I can relax enough to – ouch – enjoy that!”

“Crap,” he hissed, and rolled away from her. “No wonder your husband ran off with another cunt. Okay, okay … get on your back and spread ’em. Or is it asking too much to expect a piece of puss off you?”

Marge glanced at the clock. “Couldn’t you wait till tonight? The alarm will be going off soon. I’m afraid Kenny will hear us.”

Kenny was her nine-year-old son, who was sleeping for the first time on the couch in the living room of Frank Dixon’s shoddy, three-room walk-up apartment near the business district of downtown Albuquerque.

“Sonofabitch!” Frank, who was eight years younger than Marge, cursed through gritted teeth. “I knew it wouldn’t work, bringing that kid and his dog in here. Why the hell couldn’t you have left ’em with your mother?”

She rolled onto her side and snuggled up to the handsome younger man, her thigh resting on his legs and her fingers toying with the patch of coppery hair at the center of his broad chest.

“Darling, don’t be that way,” she wheedled. “Love me?”

He broke into a grin, “Better believe it, little tits, even if you are old and skinny.”

“Don’t say that!” she whined. “You know how sensitive I am about the size of my breasts. Besides, I’m only a year older than you,” she said, continuing the lie she’d told him when he had picked her up in a cafe a month ago. “And I am not skinny … at least not from the waist down.”

“I’ll say. It was them long, shapely legs that made me do a double take when I seen you the first time. And that gorgeous rump, the way you was swingin’ it, I damn near creamed my jeans. Hell, no, you’re not skinny, and I dig them little-girl titties, too, if you want to know the truth. Each one of ’em is a just-right mouthful with nothing goin’ to waste. I was only teasing. Don’t you know that by now?”

“I guess so,” she replied, and kissed his beard-stubbled cheek. “But I wish you wouldn’t. I love you with all my heart, and it hurts my feelings when you make fun of the way I’m built. And you know I didn’t have any choice about bringing Kenny here. Mother disowned me when she found out I was living with you. I had to get Kenny away from her before she went to court and tried to have me declared an unfit mother. She threatened to. You know she did.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Kenny’s my son. He belongs with me. If we’re going to live together, our home has to be Kenny’s home too. You said you understood.”

“Yeah,” Frank agreed grudgingly. “But I got a feeling that kid’s gonna come between us.”

“Oh, darling, no. Be patient. When I find a job, we’ll rent a house so Kenny can have his own bedroom. Everything will be fine then. You’ll see. We’ll be so happy.”

“Sure, baby, but in the meantime, how about making your daddy happy this morning?” he said with a grin, and placed her hand on his erected penis.

Marge wrapped her slender, red-nailed white fingers around the standing column of pulsing turgidity and gave it an affectionate squeeze. Slowly she began moving her hand up and down on the slightly upward-curved shaft, popping the rubbery foreskin on and off the blood-engorged crown.

“You go for that hunk of meat, don’t you?”

“You know I do,” she sighed. Her head was resting on his shoulder now, her hazel eyes

watching his dong as her hand stroked it.

“Show me how much you like it.”

He put his hand on her head and began pushing it down toward his loins, her disheveled, shoulder-length brunette hair trailing behind, tickling his chest then his stomach. The first time he’d gotten the deserted wife and mother to go down on him, he’d had to get her drunk and slap her a couple of times to make her come around. No longer. Once she’d had a taste of cock, she went for it in a big way. Oh, she still thought it was dirty and degrading, but that only made it more exciting for both of them. No matter what she said, Frank knew she loved it when he fed her the old fuckstick. He had her number, all right. At least he was satisfied in his own mind that he did. Despite her fancy airs and middle-class morals, she was no different from any other cock-hungry cunt, and he’d taken great pleasure in showing her what she was, beginning with the first night they’d met.

Marge knew what he expected of her, and she wanted to do it for him; but as always, her sense of decency held her back. Each time it was the same. She would give in against her better judgment, her conscience telling her what a weak-willed, filthy slut she was for enjoying the perverted oral sex act.

Only this morning it was worse, because her little boy was sleeping just a few feet beyond the closed bedroom door.

“What are you waiting for?” he barked.

“Please, honey, couldn’t we postpone this until tonight?”

“For crissake, why?”

“Look at the clock, The alarm is about to go on.”

He snatched the clock off the bedside table and jabbed the alarm button to off. “That satisfy you?”

She shook her head. “I just don’t feel right about it, Frank, with Kenny in the next room.”

“He’ll be there, tonight, too, remember?”

“But it’ll be dark then, and he’ll be asleep,” she whined. “He might be awake now. What if he hears us? Or comes in here and sees what we’re doing? I’d just die!”

Frank grabbed her by the wrist and jerked her back up beside him. He forced her onto her back and got on top of her, prying her legs apart with his knees. “Now you listen to me and listen good!” he growled. “You’re my woman, and I’ll hose you any time I feel like it, understand? It wasn’t my idea to move your kid in here. I want a piece of tail, and, by God, I’m gonna have it. Right now! If the brat sees us or hears us, tough shit! He’s gotta grow up sometime, don’t he? Now, that’s the way it’s gonna be, or you can pack up and get the hell out. You got that, Marge?”

She nodded stiffly. With less than five dollars to her name, where could she go now that her own mother had piously washed her hands of her? She’d never felt so helpless and humiliated in her life. Her lips quivered. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Aw, come on, sugar, turn off the water works.”

“I’m nothing but a piece of ass to you!” she sobbed.

“Not true. I love you. We’ll even make it legal someday if you want to, after you get your divorce.”

“If you love me, how can you talk to me like that and, treat me this way? Without any concern for my feelings!”

“I told you before, baby, I’m the boss. I never took no crap off any broad, my ex-wife included, and I’m not about to start taking it now. That’s the way I’m made. I can’t help it any more than I could help falling for you like a ton of bricks. You gotta take me like I am or not at all. We’ve been through all this before, remember, sweet stuff?”

Marge sniffed and nodded. She forced a weak smile as she reached for a facial tissue to dry her eyes.

“That’s more like it,” he said, and kissed her.

Reluctantly Marge opened her mouth and allowed his insistent tongue to slither in through her lips and invade her oral cavity. She didn’t want to let him arouse her. It was time to get up. There was breakfast to prepare, and after Frank left for work, she had to take Kenny and enroll him in that dreadful old school with all those Mexican and Negro children. But it would only be temporary. When she found a job, they could rent a nice house in a decent part of the city and transfer Kenny to one of the better schools again.

“What the hell’s the matter with you? Get hot, damn it!”

“We should be getting up, Frank. I’ve got to make breakfast and take Kenny to school. I guess I was thinking about that.”

“Later,” he told her. “Piss on that noise for now. Think about me, and the fucking I’m gonna give you before I let you out of bed.”

“I’ll try,” she murmured, and resignedly she put her arms around him.

When he kissed her again, she met his tonguetip with hers and licked back at his taste organ as he probed it gradually into her mouth. He snaked his desire-provoking tongue ever deeper into her responsive oral chamber, and when she felt the tip of it teasing the soft lining at the back of her throat, she emitted a submissive sigh and began sucking it in earnest.

As they kissed with tongues entwined, Frank took his erection in hand and started running . the feverish head round and around the dew-moistened inner surfaces of her hair-ringed labia majora, making sure that he flicked her elongating clitoris every time his enlarged knob swabbed through the inverted V at the top of her elliptical opening. Doggedly he kept it up, deliberately teasing her pussy until he got her worked up past the point of no return. Only then did he ask, “How about it, baby, you ready to put out for your daddy now?”

“Yes, yes,” Marge panted. “You’ve got me so hot! Put it in me, darling! Please put it in now!”

He wedged the bluntly rounded forefront of his skinned-back dome between the slippery brownish lips of her juiced-up snatch, then paused and grinned down at her lust-contorted face from a stiff-armed position above her.

“Ooooh,” she sighed, squirming about in sensual discomfort. Her shimmering eyes gazed up at him imploringly, her tongue sweeping her red lips. “More!” she begged. “Oh, darling, don’t tease me this way!”

“You want my cock in you now, huh?”

“Your big, sweet cock! Yes, yes … give it to me!”

“What about your kid?” he taunted. “You didn’t forget about Kenny, did you? Aren’t you afraid he’ll hear us?”

“Oh, damn it … yes, but … if we go easy, maybe he won’t!”

A sadistic gleam in his eyes, Frank suddenly lunged into her right up to the hilt. His dickhead jarred her womb. His lean abdomen clapped against the satin-skinned mound of her slightly rounded lower belly, and a split second later his heavy nutsac swung forward and whacked lewdly into the milk-white crack of her cringing ass. .

“NAAAHHHH!” Marge cried, and then sucked in her breath raggedly, the pleasured shock of being penetrated so roughly causing her to shudder involuntarily.

“Was that easy enough for you?” he grunted, and began fucking into her like a wild man.

“Please, Frank … ohh, ohhhh … not so hard!”

“Shut up! You know you like it this way! You’ve told me so often enough!” he husked, banging away at her, the bedsprings creaking raspingly as his stomach slapped rapid-fire against hers.

“Ohhhhh … God, that’s good!” she moaned as she slid her palms down his back and clasped the muscular cheeks of his furiously pumping butt. “Yes, I love it! But slow down! This old bed … it makes too much … aaaah … noise! Ease up, honey … pul-eeze … ooouuuu … or Kenny … will be sure … to hear us!”

“That’s our song … unnn … the bed’s playing!” Frank countered, riding her hard and fast. “Remember what you said? ‘Let it squeak, Daddy! Make it sing louder for us, ’cause I dearly love to hear it!’ “

“But not with … mmmmm … my little boy … ahhhh … in the next room! For God’s sake, Frank … oh, sweet dick … let up … a little … OHHHHH … won’t you, please?!”

But Marge’s piteous pleading fell on deaf ears. Being the type of man he was, Frank callously brushed aside the basically decent woman’s natural motherly concern that her innocent child might hear them having sexual intercourse. It gave him a charge to hear her beg between ever longer and more throaty sighs of mounting pleasure. For some perverse reason, he wanted the boy to know he was throwing a fuck into his mother. He even found himself hoping the little shit would open the door and come into the room while he was ramming it to her.

Silently Marge prayed that her young, son wouldn’t hear the incessant creaking and popping of the rusty old bedsprings. For the boy’s sake, she tried to hold herself in check. But it was a losing battle. It felt better each time Frank hunched it to her, his fat dick boring deep into her belly as the force of his thrusts kept driving her butt down into the sagging mattress. It was getting too good. She couldn’t hold back.

“Oh, damn you!” she sobbed, and began working with him.

“I figured you’d come around,” Frank gloated. “Gettin’ good to you, is it? Yeah, that’s it, baby! Shake that sweet ass for me! Throw that hot cunt up to your daddy!”

Marge drew up her long tapering legs, bending them at the knees, and planted the soles of her small feet in the mattress beside his legs. The tendons connecting her thighs to her groin stood out taut as bowstrings, alternately jerking and relaxing as she employed the muscles in her shapely lower limbs to help her hammer her sopping twat up to her adulterous lover.

“DADDY, DADDY … AHHHHH … GIVE IT TO MEE!” she moaned, matching the two-hundred-pound man stroke for stroke.

“GOD, WHAT A MAN! UNN, UNN! HOW I LOVE IT … THE WAY THAT HORSECOCK … OF YOURS BANGS AWAY AT … OOOOHH … MY VERY WWOOMMBB!!!”

The combined weight of their thrashing bodies totaled three-hundred-twenty-five pounds, and they were really going at it now, making the bed’s headboard go BAM, BAM, BAM against the wall as the dilapidated springs supporting the mattress squawked and snapped protestingly.

“Your kid’s gonna hear us, Marge!” Frank said with mock concern.

“I KN-KNOW IT!” she wailed piteously. “BUT, GOD HELP ME … I DON’T CARE … NOW! YOUR COCK! OHHHHH … LORD IT’S SOOOO GOOODDD!!!”

He laughed derisively, threw a volley of extra hard jabs into her then paused suddenly, grinding his coarse, redhaired pubic mound against her spongy mons with his rod planted balls-deep in her firebox pussy. “That’s all that matters, huh, baby? A belly full of stiff meat!”

“YES, YES, OHHHHH … OH, YESSS!!” she squealed. She felt cheap and sinful for responding so passionately with her child in the next room, almost sure to hear her crying out like a vulgar slut, but she couldn’t help herself. Frank had every bit of his fat seven-inch pole into her. He was rotating his hips, stirring her guts like a tossed salad with the bloated head of his turgid tool. “OH, GOD … FRANK … DADDY, DADDY … OOOUUU … THAT FEELS … SO DAMN GOOOODDD!!”

Frank’s expression was a mixture of amusement and lust as he started stroking it to her again, his sex-wetted pole plowing rapidly in and out of the steaming furrow between her drawn-up, widely-parted legs.

“OHH, OHH, OHH!” Marge chanted, her face a mask of rapture, her head lolling about on the pillow.

The headboard beat a rhythmic tattoo against

the wall, the springs popping and creaking loudly with the age-old song of heated sexual intercourse.

“GIVE IT TO ME! AAAAAH! OH, DADDY, DADDY … HARDER … FASTER! GIVE IT TO MEEE!!”

He kissed her with open-mouthed urgency, ramming his tongue down her throat. He slid his hands under her and cupped the resilient globes of her womanly buttocks, his fingers kneading her spongy assflesh, jerking her up to him each time he socked his rampant member into the silky depths of her slippery vagina.

Marge moaned through her passion-flared nostrils. She sucked his tongue hungrily. Her long, red-lacquered fingernails dug at the twin moons of his freckled buns, spurring him on.

“OH, JESUS GOD!” she said, the back of her head burrowing into the pillow when he broke the tongue-sucking kiss. “SWEET DICK! OH, FRANK … DAR-LINGGG … LOVE YOU … YES, YES … FUCK ME … FUCK ME … AAAAAHHHH!!!”

Frank grunted his pleasure and maintained the rapid tempo of his pile-driving thrusts. They were both perspiring freely now, their abdomens smacking together, making a continuous stream of lewd, wet, slapping noises.

“SHAKE IT, BABY!” he husked. “OH, YOU SWEET BITCH … YOU COCK-HUNGRY SLUT!”

“YOUR BITCH!” she whimpered protestingly, but, as they always did in the heat of passion, his degrading remarks gave her an illicit thrill. “YOUR SLUT, DADDY! MMMMM! ONLY FOR YOU!”

A cruel smile twisted his face. Humping away, he panted, “IT’S COCK YOU LOVE! AND THE BIGGER THE BETTER, RIGHT?”

“OH, DARLING, NOOH! UNN, UNN … OHHHHHHH … YOUR COCK! ONLY YOURS! LORD, IT’S … SOO GOOD! FITS ME … OOOUUUU … JUST RIGHT! HUSH! DON’T TALK! JUST SSCCRREEWW ME!.!!”

He was cramming it to her a mile a minute, making her sigh and moan as the force of his womb-jolting thrusts drove her gyrating rump down into the sagging mattress.

“YOU WISH … IT WAS BIGGER, THOUGH … DON’T YOU, SLUT?” he persisted.

They’d been through this several times before. Marge knew what he wanted to hear, so she told him, “YES, YES … I DO! I WISH YOUR COCK WAS BIGGER! AHHHHHH! A FOOT LONG … OHH, OHH … AND TWICE AS BIG AROUND! SO YOU COULD … OH, SHIT … RAM IT CLEAR UP TO MY TITS!”

“NOW YOU’RE TALKIN’, HOT ASS!” he rasped, and French-kissed her, his butt arcing furiously up and down as he poured on the coals and began galloping down the home stretch.

Marge had had Kenny, her only child, by Caesarean section, so her pussy was tight as a young girl’s. Her velvety sheath fit Frank’s thick shaft like a custom-made glove. Now that he’d got her over some of her hang-ups, she was the best hunk of butt he’d ever found. But for some reason which he himself didn’t understand, he had to keep humiliating the middle-class woman. He’d already dragged her down to his level, and still he wasn’t satisfied. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her, because he did. But Frank was a mixed-up guy, and the other women who’d fallen for the handsome redhead since his divorce each regretted it later. There was no tenderness in the man. He was the type that couldn’t help hurting women. It was a compulsion with him. At the moment he wished he had a prong a yard long and as big around as his arm, so he could shove it up Marge and split her in half.

“TAKE IT, LITTLE TITS!” he bellowed. “TAKE IT! TAKE IT!!!”

There was nothing she could do but take it. He was snorting and bucking, riding her like a stallion rides a mare. She couldn’t keep up. He was ramming the meat to her for all he was worth, his two-hundred-twenty-pound frame buffeting her slender, sweat-sheened body with the fury of a tropical storm.

“OHHH, GAWD!” she groaned. Her lovely legs came up around him like two gripping pythons. She locked her trim ankles over the small of his back, the pink heels of her dainty feet digging into the upper slopes of his muscular buttocks to help him cram it to her. “GO DADDY, GO! HUMP IT TOOO ME! FUCK THAT HORSE-COCK … AHHHHHH . INTO ME … HARD AND … FFAASSTTT!!”

Her son was the farthest thing from her mind now. She was about to cum and knew that Frank was, too. His bloated balls had drawn up against his groin and were no longer whacking her in the ass. His face was contorted with preorgasmic agony and his green eyes had a glassy appearance to them.

His rear end was a blur of motion, driving his rock-hard prick like a piston in the sucking wet cylinder of her copiously secreting vagina. The blood-engorged lips of her hairy hole clung to the pulsating shaft of his glistening, pussy-wetted organ, distending out around it during each out-thrust, then folding inward in joyous acceptance as he plowed it back into the feverish depths of her rippling, sweat-dripping belly.

The bed threatened to collapse when a slat worked loose and clattered to the floor. Frank let out a curse but kept hammering away at her without missing a stroke. If anything, he was powering the pole to her even harder than before, the impact of his sledge-hammer thrusts scooting her up in the bed till her head was raised and her shoulders were mashed against the headboard.

“GOD, GOD, GOD!” Marge chanted, hissing through her teeth. “OHHHHHHH … YOU BIG-DICKED BASTARD … I LLOOVVEE ITT! STAB ME! RIP ME! OHH, DADDY, DADDY … CRAM IT TO ME! FUCK ME … AAAAAAH … FFUUCCKK MMEEE!!”

“YOU READY?” he gasped.

“JESUS, YESSS!” she wailed, hugging him as she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “DON’T HOLD BACK! LET IT GO, DADDY! SHOOT IT! OHHHHHHH … NOW, NOW … NNOOWWW!!”

A choking sob ripped from the redhead’s gaping mouth as he plunged the throbbing length of his turgid stalk hilt-deep into the moist head of her juiced-up snatch for the final time. The enlarged head of his rod banged against the tender neck of her pear-shaped uterus and stayed there, his bloated testicles quivering as they released their burdensome load of pressurized semen. His cockhead expanded to the limit as it spewed out a massive gush of spiraling hot cream.

The first and most forceful spurt of his scalding ejaculate hit directly into the ultra-sensitive mouth of Marge’s orgasmically primed womb, triggering her release mechanism instantaneously. Her lust-glazed eyes clenched shut, deepening the crows-feet at their corners. Her mouth flew open, her puffy red lips drawing back to show her teeth as her face took on an expression of agony/ecstasy. Her toes curled down to hug the balls of her feet, a guttural cry of fulfillment rumbling up from deep inside her suddenly stilled chest.

“WHAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!” she shrieked, as the first in a series of flesh-quaking tremors wracked her perspiration-soaked torso.

“UNG, UNG, UNG!” Frank grunted in the typical male fashion as his fully inserted root planted his masculine seed in the fluttering depths of her feminine belly.

“OHHHHHHHHHHH!” Marge groaned, the cords in her neck standing out as she pressed the back of her skull against the headboard. Her ankles lost their grip, her heels grazing his thighs as her legs flopped down to the mattress and began jerking and twitching erratically. “CUMMING … I’M CUMMING, TOO! CUUUUMMMMM IIINNNNGGGGG!!”

It wasn’t necessary for her to announce her climax. He could feel her snug sheath grabbing convulsively at his stem, as if he couldn’t pump his load to her fast enough and her greedy cunt was trying to milk it out of him.

“OH, DADDY! YESSSS! SHOOT IT! AAAAAAHHHHHHH! SQUIRT IT INTO MEE … DEEP AND HOT! OHHHHHH … CHRIST, THAT’S GOOOOODDD! CUM, DADDY! OOOUUUU! CUM, CUM, CCUUMMM!!”

Mindlessly she bit into his shoulder and raked his back with her sharp, red fingernails. He gritted his teeth and drove his fingers into the sweat-dampened cleft of her rump, took a firm grip on her tremulous asscheeks and started squeezing and twisting them.

“GAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!” she yelled, her face contorting with the pain his punishing hands imparted to her tender buttocks. But she was disinclined to complain. If she did, he would only hurt her more. Besides, he was right – she did like it when he hurt her! At least up to a point, because he’d discovered her hidden streak of masochism and she couldn’t deny the wild thrill which was now blasting through her, making her orgasm so ungodly intense that she feared it would shatter her very soul.

“DARLING!” she bleated, shivering from head to toes. “YESSS! HURT ME! OHHHHHHHHH … OH, GAWD, GAWD … AAAAAAAHHHHHH … OH, FRANK … I LOVE YYOOUU … AAAGGGHHHHHHH … WITH ALL MY … MMMMMMM … HEART! AAARRRHHHHH … OOOUUUU … AAAHHHHHH … OH, SHIT, SSHHIITTTT … NNAAGGHHHH!!”

Her legs flailed jerkily about, her heels beating the mattress. She chewed her lower lip, moaning and whimpering as she pounded the back of her skull against the headboard. Her glassy eyes rolled up until only their whites could be seen, and heaving a guttural groan, she collapsed into a sobbing, blubbering heap of sweat-drenched feminine fuckstuff, her spasming pussy clutching blissfully at the sperm-spurting cock of her adulterous lover.

When finally she opened her eyes, she wanted to die, for standing in the open doorway were her son and his pet. The big German shepherd was wagging its tail, but the expression on her little boy’s face was one of horror-stricken incredulity.

“OH, MY GOD! KENNY!” she gasped, her cheeks burning with shame. “HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN STANDING THERE?!”

“Long enough to get an eyeful, huh, kid?” Frank laughed. The boy nodded dumbly. Frank backed his deflating, slick-streaked dong from Marge’s sperm-filled muff, and holding her legs open, he said, “I believe the little fart wants a look at your cunt, Marge. Come on, kid, take a gander if you want. I don’t mind.”

“FRANK! WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?!” Marge wailed. She felt like crawling in a hole and pulling it in behind her. “KENNY, NOOH! DON’T YOU DARE COME IN HERE! TAKE BOBO DOWN TO THE ALLEY SO HE CAN GO TO THE BATHROOM! GO OONNN!!”

When her son nodded unsurely and timidly closed the door behind him, Marge burst into tears, shrieking, “YOU BASTARD! HOW COULD YOU HUMILIATE ME THAT WAY IN FRONT OF MY LITTLE BOY?!”

“Aw, pipe down!” Frank muttered as he climbed out of bed. “So your kid saw us! So, what? It was bound to happen sooner or later, wasn’t it?”

“I … su-suppose so,” Marge reluctantly admitted. She clenched shut her eyes and hugged herself. The way Kenny had looked at her! Dear God, she felt cheap, so ashamed of herself for exposing her innocent son to such a display of sinful sordidness.

“Then why make a big deal of it?” Frank asked. “Come on, sugar. It’ll be all right. How about fixing breakfast now? Okay?”

CHAPTER TWO

It wasn’t okay. What had happened would never be all right. Marge felt like crawling under the bed, not getting up to make breakfast. Kenny had seen her having intercourse and she was wretched with guilt. But it was done. There was no undoing it, and life had to go on. So Marge, sick at heart, dragged herself out of bed.

Happy go lucky as usual – when he wasn’t drinking too much or sexing – Frank wolfed down a big plate of fried ham and scrambled eggs, with Kenny pecking halfheartedly at his smaller portion and Marge chain smoking cigarettes as she sipped steaming black coffee. She had no appetite this morning, was grateful for the lack of conversation.

“Gotta get rolling,” Frank said, jumping up soon as he’d bolted his food. “Be finished with this job today. Maybe we’ll celebrate tonight,” he called over his shoulder as he went out the door without kissing Marge goodbye.

“What was he doing to you, Mama?” Kenny asked the instant they were alone.

Marge had known the question was coming, and she’d been dreading it. She gulped, fought down the urge to run and dive under the bed, and deciding the simple truth would be best, she said, in as calm and matter-of-fact a voice as she could muster, “He was making love to me, son.”

For a moment Kenny said nothing. It was obvious he didn’t understand. “Sounded like he was hurting you. I got scared. I didn’t know what to do.”

How could she explain it to him? He was only nine years old. “It’s too complicated. You won’t understand such things until you’re much older, but Frank and I love each other. We’re going to be married soon. He’s your new daddy now.”

“I don’t want him to be my daddy,” Kenny pouted.

“But, Kenny, your real father deserted us, and I …”

“I don’t want no other daddy! Or my real one back either!” the boy sobbed, throwing himself at her, locking his arms around her as he climbed onto her lap and buried his face against her padded bosom. “All I want is you, Mama! Let’s go back to Grandma’s and live! I don’t want you to love that old Frank! I want you to love me!”

“Oh, precious, I do love you,” she crooned, and hugged him tight.

“But you sleep with him now!” Kenny sobbed. “At Grandma’s you slept with me! I don’t like it here! I don’t want you to sleep with that old Frank! You don’t love me no more!”

“Oh, yes, I do love you, Kenny. Just because I love Frank doesn’t mean that I can’t love you, too. I love you both!”

“But you love him better!” the child sobbed. “He’s the one you was sleepin’ with!”

Kenny’s reaction of frightened jealousy was quite normal for a child his age, under the circumstances. He’d lost his father and now feared he was about to lose his mother, too. It had been a traumatic experience for the nine-year-old, seeing his mother in the primal act with the big redheaded man who was a virtual stranger to him. It had shaken the very foundation of Kenny’s already damaged sense of security.

“Honey, listen to me,” Marge pleaded, her hands caressing his back as she gently rocked him to and fro, the way she’d done countless times when he was younger. “You’ve got to understand that there’re many different kinds of love. I love Frank, yes, the way a woman loves a man. I love him the way I loved your father. Can you understand that?”

Kenny nodded. “I think so.”

“Well, I loved you, too, didn’t I, when your father was living with us?”

“Yeah.”

“And didn’t I sleep with him?”

Kenny nodded grudgingly but said nothing. “Then don’t you see how it’s the same way now, only with Frank instead of your real daddy?”

“I guess so,” the child sniffed.

“Of course you do. Now, the way I love you, that’s the strongest love of all. You’re my little boy, and no man can ever take your place in my heart. I’ll never stop loving you, Kenny, no matter what, because I’m your mother. You’re my kid, my own flesh and blood, and you’re the most precious thing in the whole world to me.”

He drew back, studying her face hopefully as he asked, “Does that mean you love me more than you do Frank or Daddy either?”

“I guess it must,” she replied honestly. “Because I love you even more than I love myself.”

“Then let’s go back to Grandma’s!” he chirped.

“No, son, we can’t. Grandma doesn’t want me in her house anymore. We’re going to stay right here with Frank.”

The boy didn’t like it, but finally he drawled, “Well … okay, I guess, if we gotta. But he can sleep on the couch, ’cause from now on, me and Bobo’s sleepin’ with you, Mama.”

Marge couldn’t help smiling. “Why, Kenny, I believe you’re jealous of me.”

“What’s that mean?”

She laughed softly. “Jealous? It means you want to keep me all to yourself, that you don’t want me to love Frank, too.”

“I don’t mind too much if you love him just a little bit, but I don’t want you sleepin’ with him no more. Is it a deal? Him on the couch and me and Bobo in the bed with you?”

“No, honey, Frank would never go for that deal. Me, either, for that matter. When a man and woman love each other, they want to sleep together. You won’t have to sleep on the couch for long. Soon as I find a job, we’re going to move to a nice house and you’ll have your own bedroom again.”

“Then till we move, I’ll sleep with you and

Frank, in the middle, and Bobo can sleep on the floor.”

“Oh, no, you won’t,” she chuckled, and kissed the tip of his nose. “Our sleeping arrangement stays just as it is. And, Kenny, I don’t want you coming into the bedroom again without knocking first, do you understand?”

“All right,” he grumbled. “But I don’t like it.”

Marge hugged him impulsively, and purred, “I know you don’t, jealous, but that’s the way it’s going to be. Oh, precious, isn’t it enough that Mother loves you the most?”

“No, I want to sleep with you like at Grandma’s.”

“Well, you can’t, so you may as well forget it.”

“Why? Because you want him to make love to you some more?”

“Kenny! What a thing to say to your mother!”

“Well, you do, don’t you?” he demanded, looking her right in the eye.

Her cheeks flushed. She started to deny it, then changed her mind and decided to stick with the truth. He’d already caught her in the act and would probably hear them doing it again anyway. “All right, mister nosy, if you must know, yes, I do want him to make love to me again. You’re too young to understand that a woman needs that sort of thing, but you will some day.”

“But, Mama, you don’t need him. I love you more’n he does! I saw what he was doing to you. Heck, I could make love to you good as him. I know I could!”

“Kenny! Hush! You don’t know what you’re saying!” Marge gasped. “Now, not another word, young man! I won’t have you talking that way! Go brush your teeth! Scoot! Hurry! I’ve got to take you to school right now! You’re late already!”

If Kenny had known what he was suggesting, Marge would’ve been mortified. The very idea! Her nine-year-old son making love to her! But he didn’t know, and although it embarrassed her, she was secretly pleased that the little bugger was so jealous of her, the ludicrousness of his naive notion notwithstanding.

It wasn’t the type of school Marge wanted her son to attend, but for the present she had no choice in the matter. She enrolled him, told him she would meet him at the door they’d come in when the day’s classes were over, then pecked his forehead and left him in the care of a middle-aged Mexican-teacher as wide as she was tall.

Marge walked hurriedly back to the apartment, fighting the awful feeling that she’d permanently come down several notches in the world. Her husband had been a successful real estate salesman. The previous year he’d earned almost sixteen thousand dollars in commissions. They’d been living in a thirty-thousand-dollar home, mortgaged of course, with two cars in the garage, one of them three years old and paid for, the other new with monthly payments due at the bank. They’d wanted for nothing they really needed, and until five weeks before her husband deserted her for a woman half her age, running off to God knows where with the home-wrecking slut, Marge had thought all was well in her middle-class world.

And look at me now, she thought miserably, realistically appraising her current situation as she climbed the narrow, dark stairs toward the shoddy little apartment located above a second-hand furniture store. Still married to that bastard Carl and living with a house painter in a dump like this! Maybe I don’t deserve any better, but Kenny does. I won’t let my son become white trash!

Their savings had disappeared along with Marge’s husband. All he’d left her was a few hundred dollars in their joint checking account, and now that was gone. The mortgage company had evicted her from her home. Her husband had taken the paid-for car and the bank had eventually repossessed the other.

Choking back tears of self-pity, Marge entered the apartment and began tidying up. She refused to think about what she might do with the place to make it more liveable. Enrolling Kenny in that dreadful school with all those Mexican and Negro children had made her desperate to move into a house in a decent neighborhood again. She’d had no luck finding a suitable job as yet, but she had to start trying again. Immediately! Today!

And as soon as she saved enough money, she would start divorce proceedings against Carl. She loved Frank despite his coarseness, but she couldn’t go on shacking up with him forever. Now that her son was with them, it made her feel even cheaper than before. For all their sakes, she wanted to divorce Carl and marry Frank as soon as possible.

Once they were married and living as a family in a nice little home of their own, then she could subtly start to work on Frank. At thirty-three, with one marriage failure behind her, Marge had no illusions about remaking a second husband into her ideal of what a man should be. But Frank was a bit on the lazy side, which was no way for a self-employed man to be, and he drank more than she thought he should.

When Frank worked, he worked hard and Marge knew he must be an exceptionally good house painter because he turned down at least two jobs for every one he accepted. All she would have to do was get him to ease off on the drinking some, and imbue him with enough ambition so he would want to make something of himself, and there was virtually no limit to how far he could rise in the world.

At the very least, even if Frank insisted on continuing to work alone – he’d said he didn’t want a paint contracting business with all the problems of hiring other painters and everything – he could easily handle twice as many jobs as he was now doing, and make upward of a thousand dollars a month.

To push Frank this far was Marge’s first goal, and if he sincerely wanted to go no further up the ladder of success, then she would ease up on him and be satisfied. But she didn’t dare start working on him until after they were married, and before she could get a divorce or a decent house, she had to get herself out and find a suitable job of her own, so as to show Frank what a little ambition and initiative could do to make life more pleasant and enjoyable for them as a family.

Marge showered and then shaved her armpits. With a hand mirror, she closely examined her pussy and, finding three crisp pubic hairs with telltale gray near the roots, she plucked them out and flushed them down the toilet. Lord only knew how much gray there would be on her head if she ever stopped dyeing her shoulder-length brunette tresses. But she wasn’t about to stop dyeing her hair now or ever. She couldn’t bear to see a gray hair on her head or between her legs, and she shuddered at the thought of Frank ever finding one on her. She would either pluck her cunt bald or start shaving it before she would ever let that happen. At least until he started turning gray himself, because he must never learn that she’d lied to him about her age.

In the bedroom, Bobo wagging his tail as he watched her every move, she hooked a white garter belt around her flared hips then sat down on the edge of the bed to put on a pair of sheer, flesh-toned nylon stockings. Standing, she stepped into a pair of lavender, lace-trimmed panties and drew them up her long, shapely legs and over her rounded buttocks. She put on a bra of the same color as her panties and filled the too-large cups with a set of foam rubber falsies.

Back in the bathroom, she reapplied the make-up base which the shower had washed off – it hid the tiny age lines in her face which Frank had never seen since she wore her make-up even in bed nowadays. Her eyebrows were thin lines, carefully plucked and arched. She darkened and lengthened them with a dark brown eyebrow pencil, giving them a slight, somewhat catlike upward curve at the outer ends. She darkened her eyelashes with mascara, brushed a faint blue eyeshadow over the lids, concealed the bags under her eyes with an expensive make-up specially designed for that purpose and topped the eye job off with a thin line of jet black along the lower edge of her eyelids that ended in an upward angle giving the appearance of a perpetual smile about a quarter of an inch past the corners of her eyes.

She applied a generous coat of wet-red lipstick to her full, well-proportioned oral petals, a shade that complemented rather than matched the bright red color of her carefully polished fingernails and toenails. On impulse she moistened the tip of her eyebrow pencil with her tongue and applied a tiny beauty mark, an almost imperceptible round dot, just below the finely chiseled prominence of her right cheekbone.

Beaming approval – she thought the heavy but tastefully applied face make-up made her look a good ten years younger – Marge returned to the, bedroom to finish dressing. She donned a light brown sheath dress, a mini that would show off her attractive legs to best advantage, and put on a pair of brown, high-heeled, ankle-strap shoes that would be sure to call attention to her legs.

Adding a modest, becoming pair of small gold earrings to her pierced lobes, and a broad brown belt cinched tightly about her trim waist so as to highlight the undulating curves of her womanly hips and buttocks, Marge tripped lightly from the apartment with high hopes of finding that suitable, ladylike job which she wanted and needed so badly.

CHAPTER THREE

But this was Marge’s first day of serious job hunting, and she was fooling no one except herself. Had she been snowing some horny guy in a dimly-lit cocktail lounge, she could’ve gotten away with knocking ten years off her age. To the trained eye of a prospective employer, however, she came across as exactly what she was – a rather desperate woman in her early forties.

At the beginning, as she applied for sales and office jobs in the downtown district, the help-wanted ads carefully folded and tucked away out of sight in her purse, she had herself psyched up to the point where she felt twenty-three and almost believed her own lie when she said she was thirty-three.

Her make-up, while not exactly garish, was a bit on the heavy side to all but the most casual of observers. Actually it called attention to her age rather than hiding it, making her appear somewhat pathetic to the very people she hoped to impress in precisely the opposite manner.

Without realizing that her tits were fake, several male interviewers ogled her shape, a couple of them literally drooling over her long, nylon-encased legs and the compelling curves of her alluring, womanly hips and butt. Unfortunately, since she had no work experience, they were each forced to regretfully turn down her job application and wish her better luck elsewhere.

It was all very disillusioning to Marge, but she wouldn’t give up. She needed a job! So she kept plugging away, trudging about here and there, her appearance becoming more and more wilted as the day wore on. Finally deciding she was getting nowhere on her own, Marge went to an employment agency, where she was interviewed by a hard-nosed woman of perhaps fifty with the build of a man and a voice to match.

“Look, honey, why don’t you cut out the bullshit?” the woman told Marge in a blunt but not unkindly manner. “You’re thirty if you’re a day, and you may as well admit it. You’ve got no experience at anything except being a wife and mother. In case you didn’t know, that doesn’t qualify you for anything but more of the same. Nowadays, the economy being in the mess it is, a man your age is in a helluva fix when he gets out of work, even if he’s got a trade, so where do you think that leaves you? Up the creek, that’s where. You come in here asking me to place you in a ‘dignified, ladylike position.’ I’m sorry, but I’ve got no magic wand. Now, if you want to come down to earth, there’s a new pants factory opening up next week. They need sewing machine operators bad enough to train some, and I believe I can get you on there. Minimum wage to start and a dime raise a month for six months. Think you can hack it?”

“I didn’t come in here to be insulted!” Marge huffed as she got to her feet.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. In my business, time is money. I was only giving it to you straight in as few words as possible. If you change your mind, give me a call. Now if you’ll excuse me, good day and good luck to you.”

Hurt and angry, Marge stomped from the employment agency onto a sidewalk teeming with people hurrying toward buses and parking lots. It was ten after five. The workaday world was over until tomorrow, and she had gone down in ignominious failure.

Bone-weary and thoroughly disheartened, Marge began making her way along the crowded city sidewalk, plodding toward the dinky, walkup apartment which she now realized might be her home for a good deal longer than she’d hoped she would have to put up with it. Her stomach rumbled from lack of food; she’d had no breakfast and had forgotten to eat lunch. The muscles in her legs ached from walking all day. Her feet were swollen, painfully cramped inside her fashionable high-heeled shoes. She wanted a cigarette in the worst way but was too much of a lady to light one and smoke it while she was walking down the public street,

When she climbed the narrow stairs in her stocking feet, carrying her shoes in one hand and her purse in the other, she found Kenny sitting morosely outside the apartment door.

“For heaven’s sake, son, why are you sitting out here?” she asked, and then answered her own question in a high-pitched whine: “Good grief, I didn’t get a key made for you yet, did I? And I completely forgot to meet you at school! Oh, precious, Mother’s so sor – “

Kenny, leaped up shaking his fists and screaming with rage. “YOU SAID YOU’D BE THERE! YOU PROMISED! I WAITED AND WAITED AND YOU NEVER DID COME! WHY DIDN’T YOU COME GET ME?! WHERE WERE YOU?! WHAT WERE YOU DOING ALL – ?”

This was too much. In frustration she flung down her purse and shoes and lashed out at the slender boy. She slapped his delicately featured face then grabbed him by the upper arms and shook him till his teeth rattled.

“DON’T YOU YELL AT ME!” she shrieked. “GODDAMN IT, DON’T YOU EVER YELL AT ME LIKE THAT AGAIN! I’M YOUR MOTHER! AND I’LL HAVE THE RESPECT DUE ME … DO YOU HEAR?”

Kenny nodded, his eyes as big as saucers. He pissed his pants. Marge didn’t know whether she scared it out of him or shook it out of him. But she was sorely ashamed of the childish way she’d matched his tantrum with an even worse one of her own.

“Mama, I c-couldn’t help it!” the nine-year-old whimpered, looking down in horror at his soiled pants. “I been sittin’ out here … about to b-bust … for a long time!”

Tears welled up in Marge’s eyes when her young son broke down and started bawling helplessly. Contritely she made over him as only a guilt-stricken mother can, drying his tears as she assured him that his humiliating predicament was her fault, not his. She explained why she hadn’t called for him at school and apologized profusely. Then she took him into the apartment and sent him to the bathroom to shower and change his clothes. Bobo had been locked up in the apartment all day, so she had a dog mess to clean up, too.

Christ, what a miserable day! She felt like screaming. She could barely resist the urge to beat her head against the wall.

CHAPTER FOUR

Marge was washing her hands in the bathroom when Frank, still wearing his paint-speckled work clothes, came in roaring like a playful lion, a fifth of whiskey in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other.

“Hey, Marge! Where are you? Finished that job and I got a pocketful’a money!

“In here, Frank,” she called, and examined her face in the mirror as she dried her hands. She wished she’d had time to freshen her make-up before he saw her.

The big redhead stuck his head in through the open bathroom door. A shit-eating grin came over his face as he glanced from mother to son. Kenny was in the bathtub. “Well, now, ain’t this cozy. Does Mama wipe your butt for you too, kid?”

“Frank, please!” Marge whined. “Do you have to talk that way? Kenny doesn’t know what to make of you yet.”

“That so, boy?” Frank walked up beside the bathtub and grinned down at Kenny. “You scared of me, are you?”

“No!” Kenny shouted, glaring up at him.

“No, sir,” Frank said, and laughed as he clouted the boy on the head with the brown paper bag.

“Ouch!” Kenny yelped. Whatever was inside the bag felt hard and soft at the same time. It had wrapped around the back of his head, the end of it slapping against his ear.

“You had no call to hit him!” Marge protested.

Ignoring her, Frank tapped the top of Kenny’s head with the bag-concealed object. “Say sir when you answer your elders, boy. Didn’t your mama teach you no manners?”

“No, sir!” Kenny hissed. “But I’m still not scared of you!”

Frank let out a howl of delighted laughter and tousled Kenny’s sandy, neatly trimmed hair. “Good! I like that. You’re all right, son. Damned if I don’t believe me and you’ll get on okay, after all.” He set the bottle on the floor and approached Marge with the bag held out in front of him. “Bought you a present, baby.”

Unsurely Marge reached for the bag, her face brightening a little.

He pushed her hand aside. “Huh-uh, you don’t get it till later tonight.”

“What did you get me?” she asked. It was the first present he’d ever brought her, and she was pleased despite the fact that he’d been drinking and was in a rough, playful mood. He hadn’t really hurt Kenny. In fact, he seemed to be growing fond of her son.

“You’ll find out when I give it to you,” he replied, his green eyes dancing mischievously as he poked her lightly in the belly with the end of the bag-hidden article. “I think you’ll like it, too,” he added. Suddenly his hand darted lower. He stuck the bag up under her mini-dress and rubbed it against her crotch.

“Honey, don’t!” she squealed, slapping at his arm as she jerked her hips backward. “Kenny’s watching us!”

A burst of male laughter rumbled like thunder in the tiny john. “Yeah, baby, sure,” he grunted, turning away from her. He picked up the fifth, uncapped it and took a slug from the bottle. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and offered the bottle to Marge.

After what she’d been through today, she needed a drink, but she shook her head no, not wanting to drink in front of her son directly from a bottle.

Frank dropped the bag. It hit the floor with a rattle of paper and a dull thud, bouncing once. He pushed the fifth at her. “Don’t be that way, baby. Daddy wants to celebrate. You got to catch up with me if we’re gonna have any fun tonight. Take a drink.”

“Not in front of Kenny,” Marge said.

“Not in front of Kenny!” Frank mocked. He shoved the fifth at her. “I said take a drink, damn it!”

“Honey, please, not out of the bottle, at least!” she whined, backing away.

“Out of the bottle’s good enough for you when we’re by ourselves and, by damn, it’s good enough for you now,” he insisted as he backed her into the corner. He cupped the back of her head, tilting the bottle as he pressed its neck against her closed lips. A trickle of whiskey ran down her chin, Marge making noises of protest in her throat as she wrestled ineffectively with his bottle-wielding arm. “Take a drink or I’ll pour it in your hair!”

Marge whimpered as she fitted her lips to the rim of the bottle and allowed the strong-tasting amber fluid to flood her mouth. She felt cheap for letting him force it on her, but it was better to take one drink and humor him than to stubbornly refuse and make him sullen and angry for the rest of the evening.

It burned all the way down her throat. Frank was not a connoisseur of fine liquors. He liked to booze it up but he always bought whatever brand of rotgut the liquor store happened to have on sale when he went in.

“That’s enough!” she gasped, finally managing to push away the bottle after he’d poured three large gulps of the fiery liquid down her. She hadn’t eaten all day. The eighty-proof whiskey hit her empty stomach and sent a warm glow emanating out from it. She was already getting tipsy as she tore off several sheets of toilet tissue with which to blot her mouth and booze-streaked chin. “I hope you’re satisfied. Good Lord, Frank, you’ve got me half-drunk already.”

“You’re more fun that way, baby,” he said, and swatted her playfully on the butt.

Marge giggled., When he took her in his arms, she protested only halfheartedly, then gave up and opened her mouth for him as he pulled up her dress and fondled her lavender-pantied rump in full view of her innocent young son. His prick sprang up to a full erection and, for some strange reason, it gave her a perverted charge to see the expression of tormented jealousy on Kenny’s face as she clung to Frank, sucking his tongue, letting him feel up her ass and rub his lovely fat dick against her flip-flopping belly.

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Frank asked, when at long last he broke their spit-swapping kiss and held Marge out at arm’s length to look at her.

Her face took on an odd little smile as she shook her head.

“What are you grinning about?”

“I dunno,” she chuckled. “I just feel like it.”

“Good. You feel like going out to eat? Celebrate a little?”

She nodded. “I’d like that.”

“Gotta have a bath and a shave first,” Frank said, and he began undressing. “Kid, you about through with the tub?”

“Honey, wait. I’ll get Kenny out of the tub and clean it for you, so you can have the bathroom all to yourself. Frank! Don’t undress yet!”

But Frank paid her no mind. He stripped in front of her and Kenny, the boy’s soulful brown eyes nearly bugging out of his head when he got a good look at the burly redhead’s fully erected seven-inch phallus and the huge, copper-haired nutsac dangling below it. “What’re you gawkin’ at, kid? What’sa’matter, you never seen a hard cock before?”

“Frank, please!” Marge wailed, jumping in front of the man as she held open a towel for her son to step into. “He’s just a little boy!”

“Yeah,” Frank laughed, “but he’s gettin’ a few ideas of his own, I’m thinkin’. Take a look at how that little peter of his is standin’ at attention.”

Hurriedly Marge wrapped the towel around Kenny and whisked him from the john, her cheeks stinging with embarrassment. “For God’s sake, Frank, stop it,” she called over her shoulder. “Don’t tease him that way! It’s not healthy, honey!”

“Yeah, sure, baby, anything you say,” Frank readily agreed, his resonant voice booming lightheartedly through the apartment. “Guess I did get a little out of line there. Sorry about that.”

“Well, I should think so,” Marge muttered to herself as she began toweling her son dry. “The very idea!” Then it hit her – Frank had agreed with her, had actually yielded to her superior judgment in matters of decency for once – and she smiled, thinking that at last her persistent efforts to polish away his rough edges and turn him into a gentleman were beginning to pay off.

Little did Marge suspect what sort of lewd fantasies were going on at that moment in the dirty mind of her horny lover, however, lurid things involving her, perverted sex acts that would make the upsetting incident in the bathroom seem like a Sunday School session by comparison.

CHAPTER FIVE

The only vehicle Frank owned was the rattling panel truck in which he stored and transported his ladders and other painting equipment. It looked somewhat out of place as he pulled into the parking lot of a supper club noted for their excellent steak dinners and nosed into a parking space between a low-slung sports car and a gleaming new Cadillac.

Marge would’ve preferred to arrive at such an expensive place by taxi, but the whiskey was having its effect on her so Frank’s old truck didn’t embarrass her as much as it might have. Once inside, thanks to the modern custom of casual dress, she felt only slightly conspicuous because of Frank’s Levi’s, loud sports shirt and scuffed cowboy boots. His face and hands were a bit leathery from exposure to the sun and wind, and Marge fancifully imagined that the well-dressed people around them were mistaking Frank for a wealthy, eccentric young rancher who couldn’t care less what anyone thought of his appearance, for indeed he didn’t give a damn how he looked and his boisterous manner proved it.

“About time,” he gibed good-naturedly when the scantily-clad waitress came to take their order. “Grandma was slow but she was old; what’s your excuse?”

“I’m handicapped, sir,” the young woman shot back at him pleasantly. “I’m built too close to the ground. It sort of slows me down.”

Frank’s booming laughter momentarily drowned out the dinner music and conversation around them. “You’re built, all right, short stuff.”

Marge felt like sliding down under the table.

The waitress smiled politely: “Would you like to order now, sir?”

“Yeah, give us each a T-bone with all the trimmings. The best you got.”

“I can give you a child’s plate for the boy,” the waitress said, her pencil poised above her pad.

“Nah, don’t shortchange my buddy there. Give him the works. If he don’t eat it all, we can take the leavings home to Bozo in a doggy bag, right, Kenny boy?”

Kenny nodded. “His name’s Bobo,” he corrected.

“Bozo fits him better,” Frank grinned. “He’s a clown like short stuff here.”

The waitress was no longer smiling. “How would you like your steak, sir?”

“Medium rare, all three of ’em. That’s the only way to eat good steak.”

The waitress looked questioningly at Marge, who nodded agreement although she would’ve preferred hers and Kenny’s steaks to be cooked well done.

“Would you like to order cocktails or wine now?”

“I’ll have a dry martini,” Marge said. She was mortified by Frank’s lack of manners in such a posh place as this. “On second thought,” she added, “please make that a double.”

“Hey, that’s the spirit, baby,” Frank said, much too loudly. “Live it up.”

“A double for you, too, sir?”

“Hell, no, I don’t go for that fancy stuff. Bring me a cold bottle of Coors, and a Coke for the kid. That suit you, Kenny, old buddy?”

Kenny looked at his mother. She usually made him drink milk with his meals. “Is that okay, Mama? Can I have a Coke this time? Or do I have to drink milk?”

“Sure it’s okay,” Frank told him without waiting for Marge to answer. “I said it was, didn’t I?”

The boy got his Coke with no objections from his mother. Marge wasn’t about to cross Frank for fear he would make a scene in public. Actually, Frank’s behavior was true to his character. It was just that here, in the midst of elegant surroundings and well-mannered people, Marge noticed it more. She felt as if they were stuck out like a sore thumb, and that everyone was secretly laughing at them.

When their food came, Frank attacked his steak like a starved savage, actually picking up the bone toward the end to uncouthly tear off the remaining meat with his teeth. His atrocious table manners embarrassed Marge to the point where she ordered another double martini.

Thank goodness he didn’t tuck his napkin into his shirt collar for a bib, she thought. It was a mistake, coming here to eat. I’ll never let him bring me to another nice place like this, until after we’re married and I’ve taught him some dining etiquette.

When they left the supper club, Marge was well on her way to becoming potted.

“What’a’ya say we park the kid at the apartment and come back here to dance for a while?” Frank suggested as he started the truck’s engine.

There’s no way you’re going to get me back in there, Marge felt like saying, but instead she begged off, explaining that she was pooped from job hunting all day. “All I want to do is collapse on the couch and kick off these shoes, and go to bed soon as the late news is over.”

“Sure, baby, whatever you say,” Frank agreed, grinning to himself.

He stopped at a liquor store on the way home, bought another fifth of on-sale whiskey and a bottle of chilled wine.

“Take Bobo down to the alley so he can go to the bathroom, Kenny, and feed him the steak down there,” Marge said as they entered the apartment, and just as she’d said she wanted to do, she plopped down on the couch and kicked off her shoes, sighing with relief as she rubbed one stockinged foot with the other.

Glasses rattled in the kitchen. Marge supposed Frank was making them a nightcap. Good, she thought fuzzily, I can use another drink. God, I’m tired! She lit a cigarette and took a deep, lung-biting drag.

There was a nagging, troublesome question in the back of her mind. How could she love the handsome redhead and yet be ashamed of the big lug in public? It hadn’t occurred to her that the trauma of being deserted by her husband had caused her to latch onto the first seemingly strong man who appealed to her, or that her attraction to Frank might be nothing more than animal magnetism due to her sex-starved condition when they’d first met.

Kenny and Bobo were reentering the apartment when Frank returned to the living room carrying three water glasses. He had rotgut on the rocks for Marge and himself, and a mild, sweet red wine for Kenny. He told Marge it was strawberry soda pop but winked conspiratorially at the boy as he handed him the glass.

Although he didn’t know what his glass contained, one sip was enough to convince Kenny that he liked it. He grinned and winked back at Frank. First a Coke with his supper and now this, whatever it was, that Frank wanted him to have but hinted that his mother mustn’t know what it really was because if she knew she wouldn’t let him have it. They were putting something over on her, him and Frank, and Kenny was beginning to like the big man. Frank had called him his buddy, and the way he was treating him now made the boy feel big and important.

In no time the wine had Kenny feeling all warm and funny-like on the inside. After he gave a couple of inappropriate giggles, Marge smelled a rat and took a sip from his glass.

“Why, that’s wine!” she cried. “Frank, how could you? He’s only nine!”

With a burst of laughter, Frank told her, “Don’t get your bowels in an uproar, baby. It’s just Strawberry Hill. Only nine percent alcohol. Now can that hurt him? Hell no, so pipe down and let my buddy have a little fun, too. We’re celebrating, remember?”

“But I don’t want Kenny drinking!” she wailed, and started to get up with Kenny’s half-full glass and her nearly empty one in her hands.

“You know what your problem is, Marge? Frank drawled, holding her down on the couch between himself and Kenny. “You’re too damned sober.”

“I’m half drunk and you know it,” Marge . protested. “Let me up, Frank. It’s time for the news. I want to turn on the TV.”

“Piss on the news,” he said. “What you need is another drink.” He wrenched the glasses from her hands, gave Kenny back his wine, and instead of refilling Marge’s glass, he picked up the fifth of whiskey and held it to her mouth. “Come on now. Open up and take a drink for daddy. You’re all uptight, baby. It’ll help you relax.”

Marge took a swallow to humor him.

But Frank wasn’t letting her off that easy. He cupped the back of her head, the way he’d done in the bathroom earlier, and kept the bottle, perhaps a third full, tilted against her lips, his resonant voice droning, “That’a girl. Take another swallow. Another. Don’t stop now, baby. A little more. You know you need it. Just one more swallow. Come on, it’ll make you feel better.”

“Unn … glub, glub … noom … glub, glub … UNN-NNNN … glub, glub … HUH-UHHHHH … glub, glub … UNN, UNN … glub, glub, glub.” She struggled and whimpered, thrashing about desperately, but it did her no good.

His hamlike hand held her head securely as he eased the neck of the bottle into her mouth and poured the fiery liquid down the throat of the piteously protesting woman, forcing her to choke or swallow.

The burning sensation in her rapidly working throat brought tears to Marge’s eyes. Frantically she dug her fingernails into the wrist of his bottle-wielding arm, causing him to wince and mutter a curse, but he didn’t let up on her. When at last he pulled the bottle from her mouth, it was empty.

“MY GOD!” she croaked, and plunged her face into her hands, coughing and sputtering, fighting to catch her breath. “YOU MADE … ME DRINK … IT ALL!”

“Wasn’t much left anyway,” he chuckled. “Don’t worry about it, sugar. Got another full one right here beside the couch. Want a slug out of it?”

“Goddamn it, Frank! NO!” she husked, her hands shaking as she angrily fired up a cigarette. The room was spinning around her. Her throat felt raw. There was a bonfire in her stomach. She feared she was going to be sloppy drunk before she even finished her smoke. “Why the hell did you have to pour all that booze down me?!” she wailed, batting her eyelids in an attempt to clear her tear-misted vision.

Frank winked at Marge’s tipsy son as he took her in his arms, cuddling her tenderly but offering no excuse for his actions. By the time she finished her cigarette, she was stoned out of her gourd, which was exactly the way Frank wanted her.

He began working her up, hugging her, Frenching her ear and stroking the nylon-sheathed columns of her long, lovely legs. At first Marge protested that she didn’t want her little boy to see them carrying on this way, but Frank repeatedly silenced her with kisses. Marge pushed weakly at his chest, then finally whimpered submissively and started sucking his tongue as he fed it to her like a cautious, slippery snake.

Awareness of her son’s presence faded gradually from Marge’s alcohol-dulled mind.