Mother’s Meatloaf

Devin returned from the bathroom and climbed into his mother’s bed. She was naked under the covers. Now, so was he. They’d just made love.

Devin’s mother, Liz, was lying on her left side now, leaning on an elbow, hand supporting her smile and pretty face. “So tell me more about this man you’ve moved in with,” she said.

Devin, for his part, lay on his back, a stack of two pillows supporting his head, hands folded atop his chest. Between them was the no man’s land of the wetspot, his fresh deposit of semen. The remnants of it, at least. Devin shrugged.

“Not much to tell.”

“Sure there is. You told me it was a good deal. Good enough,” she added, “for you to move out of here.”

“Mom,” Devin said, looking to his left, “it’s a small house. This guy’s condo is, like, a mansion. Besides, it was time. I’m nearly twenty.”

“You have your own bedroom?”

“Of course.” Like any young man seeking his independence, a latent independence, perhaps, in this case, Devin enjoyed being peppered with personal questions about as much as having his fingernails pulled out with pliers. “Three bedrooms, four baths.”

“More bathrooms than bedrooms?”

“It’s weird, I know,” Devin admitted. “He entertains a lot.”

“What type of entertainment?”

Another horizontal shrug. “Parties and stuff. His rich friends.”

“And are you invited to these parties?”

Devin looked at his mom with a mixture of resentment and disbelief. “Of course. I live there, mom. Besides,” he added, “there’s only been one so far.”

“One party?”

A nod. “Last Saturday.”

“And what kind of party was it?”

This earned Devin’s mother another look. “What do you mean what kind of party was it?”

“What kind of people? What went on?”

“Nothing went on. Rich people.”

“So your new friend is wealthy?”

“I would say so. A 17th story luxury condo on the water? Drives, like, an S-class Mercedes...?”

“And what does all this mean for you. It’s getting hot in here,” Liz abruptly declared, pushing the comforter down to her thighs, baring her smallish breasts and small patch of golden-brown pubic hair. Devin, meanwhile, clung to the other half, not allowing the comforter to slide below his trim waist.

“Free room and board,” said Devin. “He’s teaching me how to cook.”

“How old is this man?”

“About forty. No,” Devin corrected, on second thought. “He’s about your and dad’s age. Mid-forties?”

“Have you heard from your dad?”

“Not in a long time, no.”

Liz sighed. “Typical...”

“I don’t expect anything.”

“And you shouldn’t.”

Devin was getting aroused again by the sight of his mother’s slender body. It was good to be 19. He hoped it didn’t show.

“What kind of man offers a young boy free room and—”

“I’m not a boy.”

“You’re still a teen, Devin. Free room and board unless he wants something in return? Is he gay?”

“He...I guess so. He is. But that doesn’t bother me. He was married once. Has a grown son.”

“So you’re living with a gay man in his luxury condo and he’s teaching you how to cook and all you have to do in return is...?”

“That a question?”

“I’m curious. Sounds like an odd arrangement.”

It was Devin’s turn, head buried in the pillows, to sigh. “I clean the place. He’s teach me how to cook for him like I say. I go to school three days a week. He’s paying my tuition...”

“I’ll pay your tuition,” Devin’s mother challenged.

“Mom, you can’t afford that. You’re barely scraping by as it is.”

“I’m doing fine.”

“So fine you have to bring men home with you?”

“Dates,” Liz said, “rolling onto her back and folding her arms below her still-perky little middle-aged breasts.

“Men...dates...who leave, like, an hour after they arrive? I’ve heard ‘em with you, mom.”

“That’s the way men are, Devin. They’re pieces of shit.”

“Justin’s not.”

“His name is Justin?” glancing over with something, for some reason, approaching alarm. Devin nodded.

“He’s a great guy.”

“And you’re his glorified...maid or whatever? And cook?”

“It’s the least I can do. After all he’s doing for me? And I don’t mind cleaning...”

“You sure always minded cleaning your room.”

“That was different,” Devin said sullenly.

“I don’t see the difference. You were getting free room and board here. And I was paying your tuition.”

“I was a burden.”

Liz reached out to her son, across the wetspot. “You were never a burden, hon. Ever.”

A moment of grateful filial silence passed. Devin wondered if he should push the covers further down, revealing his erection. Maybe they could fuck again, him and his mom, and the barrage of questions would cease. Then he’d inform her he had to get going. Return home. (And she would counter: “This IS your home, Devin.”) He now held the leading edge of the colorful comforter in both hands, but resisted lowering it, for now anyway. Instead, he decided to go on the offensive.

“Did you bring a man home last night?” he asked.

“No,” her unconvincing reply.

“No?”

“None of your business.”

That meant she had. “Jesus, mom!”

“The money’s good.”

“It’s, like, prostitution, mom!”

“It’s not like that at all. These are nice men.”

“You just said all men sucked.”

“I mean it’s not like I’m picking them up off the streets, Devin, OK? It’s like your new friend...what’s his name? Jason?”

“Justin.”

“Same difference,” Devin’s mom declared, refolding her arms.

“How’s it the same?” Devin wasn’t a chess player—he knew the rules, that was about it—but he realized even as the words left his mouth that he’d just opened himself up to a near-fatal move. Maybe not checkmated yet but checked.

Devin’s mom was looking over at him. She was not smiling. Her face was plain—no makeup. But even so her beauty shone through. Devin liked it when his mom wore red lipstick. He liked it when she got him ready, sucked his cock while wearing lipstick then made out with him. “You’re telling me this gay friend of yours, your roommate, old enough to be your father...you’re telling me he expects nothing in return for all this free stuff? Which probably really isn’t free is it?”

“Like I say,” Devin mumbled, “I clean for him and stuff...”

“No sex?”

“He never said to me, not once... ‘I’ll do all this for you in return for, you know, sex. You doing this or that with me.” Devin left out the essential part, however, where Justin led him into his palatial bedroom, with its sliding glass doors and balcony and view of the bay 17 stories below, and announced:

“This is where I’ll be fucking you. You won’t be sleeping with me here. You have your own bedroom for that. I sleep alone. But this is where we’ll usually have sex. Nice, isn’t it?”

“I find that hard to believe,” Liz said doubtfully.

“Well...”

“Nothing?”

Devin sighed with exasperation. And raised himself up against the headboard, pulling the covers with him. “Are you asking me if I’ve ever, like, had, you know, oral sex with him?”

“Have you?”

Another sigh filled the pause. “I don’t know. Yes. Oral, yes.”

“You’ve sucked his cock?”

“Since you put it so delicately, yeah. We...sucked each other.”

“Often?”

“Sometimes.”

“More than once.”

“Christ, mom, I’ve only been living there, like, four weeks. Yes, to answer your question...we’ve done it more than once. Satisfied?”

“What about anal?”

“What about it?”

“I don’t mind that you’re sexually attractive to other men...That’s fine as long as you’re safe about it. But...”

“I’m not gay. Obviously,” Devin added, pointing in the general direction of his naked mother, or the wetspot between them.

“OK, bi then. I don’t care about that. I just want you to be safe, that’s all.”

“I’m safe.”

“Does your friend Justin wear a condom?”

Devin felt like he was delaying the inevitable. He could, however, cut it short. Slide out from under the covers and get dressed and leave, saying, “Enough! OK, mom?” But then she’d see his erection. And then she’d smile and wave him over with a seductive hand and say, “Bring me that beautiful thing of yours...”

“When I suck him?” Devin asked incredulously.

“No, when you have sex with him. Anal sex. I assume that’s part of the deal? Tit for tat? You do this for me and I get to...”

Devin rolled his eyes. They were the same hazel color as his mother’s. “You don’t understand the arrangement at all, mom.”

“So it is an arrangement?”

“We’re roommates!”

“I’m asking you, honey, if he wears a condom?”

Yet another sigh. “He doesn’t have to.”

“Why not?”

“He showed me his bloodwork. Healthy as a horse. He made me go to the same lab. So am I. Everything’s great. Everything’s fine, mom. Hunky fucking dory.”

“No need to swear.”

“We’re talking about gay sex and all!” And even to his own ears an increasingly self-aware Devin sounded petulant. He was about to turn 20, not 15.

Liz rose up against the headboard as well, baring more of her unblemished thighs. Baring her knees, in fact. “I wish I had known you were having gay sex—intercourse with another man before I let you make love to me with your bare penis. That’s all.”

“I just told you, ma. My bloodwork came back, like, perfect.”

“Still...”

“Fine. I’ll bring condoms next time.”

Liz was reaching over, toward the bedside lamp. “I have some here.”

“I bet you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We’re both, like, sexually promiscuous, mom, that’s what.”

“I choose my men carefully.”

“So do I,” said Devin. “Two peas in a pod.”

Liz stopped short of opening the drawer, revealing the strips of foil. She leaned back in saying: “So tell me about this party...”

“What party?”

“You said your friend—Justin?—threw a party last Saturday?”

“Yeah?”

“And you were there?”

“I live there, mom.”

“What was your role in all this?”

“My role? My role was, like, to help Justin serve his rich-fuck guests. Excuse my language.”

“And what did that involve exactly?”

Devin sat there thinking: My mom really missed the boat. Instead of dropping out of college and working jobs as a server and a hostess and even a sometimes dancer and all the rest...she should have gone to law school and become a goddamned prosecutor.

“Well, I helped Justin clean the place until around three or so. Then we started preparing all the, you know, finger foods and stuff. The hors d’oeuvres. There was Champagne, too. The real stuff. I’m learning a lot from Devin about all this. The first guests started arriving about seven. I...my first job was to, you know, meet them at the door, each of them, with a glass of Champagne. A flute it’s called.”

Devin conveniently skipping over the lost hour, between three and four or so, when Justin got in his pre-party fuck seeing how, as he explained just before sliding his cock in, “No way I’ll get a chance during the party...” Justin even administered the enema, two in fact, “so you’ll be nice and clean for me and, if it comes to that, some of my guests later on...”

Devin left this part out. Even so his mother seemed, well, skeptical of the whole thing. He could read it in her unsmiling face.

“How were you dressed?”

“Dressed?” He wasn’t expecting this.

“When you were meeting these rich guys at the door with Champagne.”

“Oh. Well...,” giggling nervously. “Not much. A bikini brief. Devin buys them for me. He...likes me in them.”

“Girls’ or boys’?”

“Um...women’s. I think. Based on the material. And the colors and—”

“Your gay roommate dresses you in women’s panties?”

“Not all the time. He did for the party.”

“You must have looked quite cute in them. Been quite a hit with these old men...”

Devin was again astonished. Did mothers know everything? “How do you know they were old?”

“Because they’re rich. So you said.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.”

“What else did you do for these men?”

“I...This was my main job, OK? I circulated with silver platters, serving more Champagne, hors d’oeuvres...”

“Silver platters? So you were this Justin guy’s glorified waiter?”

Devin turned on his mom. His naked mother. It was almost enough for him to lose his erection. Almost...

“Look, ma...I didn’t do anything that you haven’t done in your life. Served drinks, served food, played...you know, hostess sort of. Host I mean. Official greeter or whatever...”

“Did any of these party guests take advantage of you?”

“Advantage. You mean, like, groping and stuff?”

“That and...”

“You said it yourself before,” a smile breaking out on Devin’s face. “I looked cute. So...”

“You go to bed with any of them?”

Devin swallowed. He waved a hand. “Look, mom, that’s my business. I don’t even want to go there...”

“It’s a simple question.”

“It’s not simple at all.”

“Did this Justin character tell you—instruct you—to go to bed with any of them? His guests?”

“Justin wouldn’t do that...”

“Did he?”

“No!” It was good it was dark, semi-dark, in his mother’s bedroom with its drawn blinds. Because Devin’s face was brimming red. With anger, yes, but also with embarrassment. What could be more fucking humiliating than being asked all these questions by your own mother! When the only reason you were sticking around, slogging through all this torture, was to get the chance to put your hard cock in her pussy again, and shoot another load...

“No,” Devin repeated, albeit softly this time. “No. It was voluntary.”

“What was?”

“The sex! The sex I had with some of them!”

“I’m not judging you, Devin,” his mother advised. “Just tell me.”

Devin drew breath. Then let it out slowly, his lips poised as if to kiss. “This one guy...,” he began. “Older, yeah. He started coming on to me out in the livingroom, when I was making the rounds. Put his arm around my waist. OK, grabbed my ass. Started asking me questions...”

“What sort of questions?”

“Questions, like... ‘What exactly’s your arrangement with Justin?’ ‘Is it sexual?’ ‘You live here with him?’ Not sure he entirely liked Justin. ‘Have your own bedroom?’...

“When I told him yeah he asked if he could see it. Show him around the condo, that sort of thing...So I took him down the hall to my room and...I don’t know, ma. I can’t tell you. It all happened so fast. Next thing I knew he was fucking me. Sorry for the language but I won’t call it making love, it wasn’t that. It was just...

“Before long,” Devin went on, unable, it seemed, to stop himself—or unwilling to... “they must’ve been lined up outside the door. I couldn’t see. I was...

“One would finish then another would climb in bed behind me. There must’ve been, when it was all said and done...I don’t know, a half-dozen of them? Or more?” Devin added ominously, truthfully. He’d lost track. But a smiling Justin had estimated eight. Nine maybe? As many as nine of his party guests.

Counting Justin that afternoon, between three in the afternoon and eleven at night Devin—Devin’s ass—may have “entertained” as many as a score of horny men. He would leave out the part about how the later men were pumping out the semen of the earlier ones—sloppy fourths, fifths, sixths, etc—and Devin could feel it oozing from his hole and running down his crack and—this part he could see, looking between his legs—dripping from his pendant balls...

Devin expected—anticipated—judgmental anger, but instead his mother reached a hand out and, frowning, said, “You poor thing...”

Then, filling his silent response: “And did any of these creeps wear protection?”

“They weren’t creeps.”

“OK, fine then. These rich old men...”

Devin shook his head.

“Oh, Christ, honey...”

“Justin told me afterwards not to worry...They were all, like, professional people. Lawyers.”

“So?”

“A couple of them, he said, were even doctors.”

“Then they should have known better.”

Laughter bubbled uncontrollably to Devin’s lips again. “Justin was mainly pissed afterwards that none of them had tipped me.”

“Oh how thoughtful of him!”

“Oh like you never accepted money for sex? He’s really a helluva nice guy, mom. You shouldn’t judge him. Maybe after I get better at cooking you can come over some time and I’ll make a gourmet meal for the, you know, two of you.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

Liz’s arms were now tightly cinched across her bare chest and she was looking off—away from her son.

“What’s wrong?” Devin asked, himself reaching out now. He felt it was time—past time to reveal his erection. All this talk about sex. He wanted her again, his pretty mother with her unblemished body.

“I can’t believe it,” said Liz, with a shake of the turned head.

Devin leaned toward her, the covers coming down. “What? Tell me, mom.”

“You fucked me with your bare cock just now knowing you just bottomed for, like, a dozen men?”

“I’m sorry, I...” There were a lot of things Devin could have said at this moment, as he rolled toward his mother, wetspot or no, but none of them came to him. Liz pulled away from him in response, though perhaps in order just to open the bedside drawer.

What really amazed Devin at this moment, however, was how his mother knew the number of men—exaggerated, true, perhaps—that had fucked her son the previous Saturday.

“How’s your mother?” Justin asked. He was standing at the granite-topped kitchen counter, cracking some eggs into a stainless steel bowl. Apparently he was about to make one of his “world-famous” omelets. 

“She’s good.” 

“When am I going to get to meet her?” 

“Um...someday, maybe.” 

“She doesn’t approve?” 

“Of what?” Justin was smiling. And how was it adults always seemed to know so much? “Of you living here with me?” 

“She worries.”

 “That’s a mother’s job.” Devin wanted to change the subject. Fast. 

“Anything I can do?” he offered. 

“Well for starters you can undress.” 

“Oh, right. Sorry. Panties?” 

Justin didn’t reply. Which meant yes, of course. Devin was learning fast. Not wanting his roommate to see a possible stain in the front of the otherwise innocuous old pair, Devin went into his room and put on something new. Bright. Cheerful. Colorful. It seemed like every time a man—Justin or otherwise—put a cock up his ass he felt a little more...girly inside. A little more effeminate. He loved it, the encroaching feeling. 

Justin smiled at his young charge upon his return and said: “You can do this for me. Open a bottle of Rose’? A Tavel. Remember what a Tavel is?” 

“From France,” replied Devin. 

“Well, yes. There are lots of Rose’s from France but, yeah, one of them is a Tavel. It’ll go great with a cheese omelet. I’m gonna fuck you after dinner.”

 “OK.” 

“I’ve been horny for you all day. I’m not used to being all alone here anymore.” 

“No, I know.” 

“Did you remember to take your mother flowers?” 

“Yeah. Uh-huh.” 

“Did the two of you go out for lunch?” 

“No, we...we ate in.”

 “What did you have?”

 “Have?” “For lunch.” 

“Oh...nothing. Something simple. Meatloaf,” was the first lie that came to Devin’s mind. 

“Sounds like a mom to me,” Justin grinned, as he dumped the egg mixture into a low-heat sauté pan. The corkscrew was still only halfway in the long-necked bottle. And Devin seemed to be in suspended animation, staring off into space (though a kitchen cabinet was only a foot from his face), mouth open. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” 

“What’re you thinking?” 

“Oh, nothing.” Devin resumed twisting the screw in. 

“I was just thinking...” 

“What?” “My dad...” 

“The one you hardly know?” 

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before...” 

“Think about what?” “His name...” 

“What about it?”

 “His name is Justin, too.”