Chapter Two: The Kilt
I got home and immediately decided to find the kilt. My search first revealed a new Night/Dayshirt in black, still in its original wrapping. Eventually, in the bottom drawer of my wardrobe, I found the kilt and put both on the kitchen table as I set about cooking my dinner.
After dinner, I sat in the lounge, gazing into the fire I had lit, thinking non-stop about Jason and, yes.... his huge cock as I brought him to climax. I even pondered if he gets faint when erect from the redirection of blood from his body, but, shaking my head in shock at my thoughts, I reminded myself that such a question was an old fable and would never happen.
I poured another whisky and continued to think about him, my life and how I had ended up where I lived now. Was it destiny? Was it.... well, I couldn't decide as I finished the single malt in the glass and retired for the night.
Sleep came quickly as I drifted off, imagining Jason's cock erupting in my hand, the warmth of his seed spilling over my fingers. The image lingered in my dreams, morphing into a hazy fantasy of him wearing the kilt I'd found, the hem riding up as he straddled my thighs.
Then the dreams twisted. Jason's cock loomed monstrously in the dark, swinging like a pendulum with each step as he advanced. His laughter echoed, not cruel, but pitying, as he gestured downward. "Poor little Steve," he chuckled, and the words stung worse than mockery. His shaft blocked out the moon, casting me in shadow. I tried to run, but roots erupted from the ground, tangling my ankles. The scent of pine sap and musk choked me as his silhouette grew larger, swallowing the starlight and then.....the alarm clock rang. It was 7am, and time to get up.
Changing my nightshirt, I walked downstairs in my clean dayshirt, such was the transition from night and day provided by the versatility of the design. Nightshirt in bed and a dayshirt during the day. Clothing minimisation at its best, I reminded myself as I padded into the kitchen for a cup of coffee and an urgent cigarette.
Sunlight sliced through the window, illuminating the items for Jason to try on, lying on the kitchen table as my fingers trembled while lighting the cigarette, the first drag burning away the dream's residue.
I glanced at the kilt folded neatly beside the other item for him to try on. Black wool still smelling faintly of mothballs and some forgotten party. The absurdity of yesterday crashed over me again; the Bluebells, Jason's choked confession, the way his cock had jerked in my palm like a living thing. My laptop remained stubbornly silent, its keys accusing me of distraction as I stared at the half-finished manuscript waiting to be finished.
My latest book was called "During England's Dark Ages." The subject, different from the norm. "Nudity and the Early Christian Church," and I reread the first chapter of the manuscript, refreshing my thoughts, pondering perhaps, had I found a muse for my writing in the form of Jason.
"Nudity during the Dark Ages wasn't inherently sinful but varied by context, common in communal bathing, labour (to avoid soiling clothes), or representing purity/fertility in art. Though daily clothed life was the norm, with severe poverty being common, sometimes peasants couldn’t afford proper clothing, leading to economic nudity being common. Later, the Church's stricter views shifted perceptions, yet the period saw both acceptance in certain situations and shame when tied to transgressive acts".
I closed the laptop lid; the coincidence of my subject matter and meeting Jason was not lost as I read. Was it a coincidence at all? I asked myself.
As I sat pondering the question, the knock at the kitchen door brought me back from my deep dive into the meaning and interpretation of coincidence.
Three sharp raps that rattled the loose pane in my kitchen door as I walked out of my study towards the kitchen. My heart fluttered seeing Jason through the windowpane, knowing he had arrived.
I shouted, "Come in. Door's open!"
The words came out louder than intended, bouncing off the copper pans hanging above the stove as the door opened.
Jason stood silhouetted against the morning light, his oversized shorts already slipping low on his hips. He hesitated on the threshold, one hand gripping the doorframe, suggesting he might bolt. Sunlight also caught the fresh scratches on his forearms from his walk through the woods. “You should be more careful when walking through the woods,” I told him. “Look at your arms.”
“I was rushing, taking a shortcut to get here,” Jason answered.
"Well, at least you came," I said, my doubt after his promise proving unfounded as the cigarette between my fingers sent up a lazy curl of smoke.
Jason’s eyes flicked to the kitchen table, to the kilt, then back to me. "Yeah," he rasped, clearing his throat. "Mum thinks I'm helping you chop wood by the way."
“I’m not sure you should have lied to your mum,” I suggested, “about visiting your neighbour.”
Jason smiled. “Well, it was either wood chopping or….mum, I’m going for some gratuitous sex. Is that okay? I preferred the wood chopping approach.”
“Yeah, okay, I get it,” I responded. “Now, try them on, since you’re staring at them, while I make you a coffee."
Jason stepped inside, the floorboards groaning under his weight. He hesitated again before reaching for the kilt, fingers testing the rough wool. "This won't... flap open, will it?"
"Not if you wear it properly," showing him the buckles to silence his doubtful look. "Let me show you."
"Please," he said, his excitement obvious as his oversized shorts pooled around his ankles before he stepped out of them, having already kicked his shoes off. Next, he slipped his t-shirt off to stand eagerly naked in the kitchen while I unfolded the kilt and the dayshirt he was going to wear.
“Lift your arms, Jason, while I slip this over your head.”
Jason was eager to cooperate as the dayshirt slipped down his body to hang halfway down his thighs. “Great, looks good to me,” I suggested. “How does it feel?”
“It’s so soft and warm, Steve,” as the fabric whispered against his skin, settling over his shoulders, the loose linen draping effortlessly over his lean frame. He looked down at himself, running his hands along the fabric with something like wonder. No tight seams, no restrictive waistband, just the easy flow of cloth moving with his body.
“Now you understand why I wear them, Jason. Warm at night and comforting during the day.”
“Now, the kilt,” as I picked up the eight yards of fabric. “Remember, Jason, a kilt is a handcrafted garment made from a single, long piece of wool fabric, typically about eight yards long, and you wrap it around your waist, securing it with the twin buckles.”
I moved into him and wrapped the fabric around his waist, and then, using the two buckles, I strapped it together, allowing it to hang naturally. The kilt sat on Jason's hips beautifully, the pleats falling to just above his knees.
"Well?" How does it feel?" I asked.
He rotated slowly, more a twirl than anything, allowing the kilt to sway with each step, giving tantalising glimpses of thighs and calf muscles. "Move around. Walk in it."
Jason took two stiff steps before the hesitation broke. He strode across the kitchen, shoulders loosening with each movement. The kilt swung with his gait, air whispering against his bare skin. "Fuck," he breathed, grinning as he pivoted. "It's like wearing nothing at all."
I reached out without thinking, adjusting the buckles where they appeared loose. Jason went very still. His breath hitched when my hands ran over his buttocks, brushing the wool flat, more out of habit than anything else.
“Now, if you want, you can also wear this,” holding up the sporran. “In Gaelic, it’s a purse, but we can call it a manbag if you prefer. Up to you if you want to wear it or not, but take my word for it, it’s a handy addition since you don’t have pockets in a kilt.”
“I like it, Steve,” Jason said with excitement as I fixed it around his waist, allowing the thing to rest over his groin.
“Perfect,” I declared as the fridge hummed to life, breaking the spell. I stepped back. "You look fabulous. Truly," I said, louder than necessary. "It's yours now if you like it, and you look like a proper Scotsman if that’s the image you want to portray.”
Jason's fingers curled into the pleats as his cheeks flushed pink. "Thanks," he muttered, appearing to be overwhelmed with the change as he found the mirror in the hallway. "Jesus," he breathed, as his reflection stared back, showing his broad-shoulders, kilt swaying with each shift of his hips, the dayshirt hanging open enough to reveal a hint of collarbone. For the first time since I’d met him, he didn’t look like he was hiding.
A slow, almost disbelieving smile spread across his face. "I look... normal," he said, as if it were the highest compliment he could give.
"Better than normal," I corrected. "You look like yourself, and you look great."
His fingers clenched in the fabric again, but this time it wasn’t discomfort; it was something closer to relief.
"So," he said after a pause, glancing at me sidelong. "What now?"
I leaned against the counter, folding my arms. "Now," I said, "you tell me how it feels to move without discomfort, and I will tell you how long it will take for me to order another kilt and more shirts. My gift to you."
Jason huffed a laugh, rolling his shoulders experimentally. Then, without warning, he dropped into a sudden crouch, testing the limits of the kilt, before springing back up. The motion sent the pleats flaring outward, revealing a fleeting glimpse of thigh before the fabric settled again.
"I feel like I can run through the woods or go into town and not give a damn," he admitted, grinning. "Like I could actually breathe without comments from folks who just don’t understand how important it is to feel… normal."
The words hung between us, weightier than he’d intended. I nodded toward the door. "Then go and test that theory, while I make us a coffee I should have made before we both got distracted."
Jason didn’t hesitate, putting his shoes back on in haste, pausing to kiss me on the lips, accompanied by a “thank you,” as he bolted out the kitchen door like a deer startled by gunfire, the kilt swinging wildly around his thighs as he vaulted the stone wall and vanished into the tree line. I caught one last flash of pale linen before the forest swallowed him whole. The silence he left behind was charged, as if the very air vibrated with his sudden absence.
I busied myself with the percolator, grinding beans louder than necessary to drown out the memory of his laughter, raw and unguarded in a way I hadn’t heard before. The scent of coffee bloomed bitter and rich, mingling with the lingering musk of Jason’s sweat on my dayshirt. Through the window, sunlight dappled the path he’d taken, painting the Bluebells in surreal cobalt.
Twenty minutes passed without sound, save for the occasional rustle of leaves mixed with birdsong. I traced a finger along the rim of Jason’s untouched mug, watching the steam curl and dissipate. He’d either found freedom in those woods or...
Standing by the kitchen door, I saw Jason burst back into the clearing, chest heaving, the dayshirt and kilt clinging to his damp skin. His knees were streaked with dirt, his grin wilder than the brambles tangled in his hair. "Didn’t trip once!" he panted, skidding to a halt inches from me as I stood on the porch.
"Told you it’d work," I declared triumphantly.
"Felt like…" He gestured vaguely upward, "as nothing could catch me."
The admission hung there, fragile. I resisted the urge to fix his askew hem. "Good," I said. "That’s how it’s supposed to feel."
For the first time since we’d met, he looked me full in the face as he unbuckled the kilt, allowing it to drop onto the floor. Then he moved closer and...leaned in to kiss me on my lips. "Thank you again," he whispered.
His lips were warm, hesitant but insistent. The scent of crushed Bluebells and fresh sweat clung to him, mixing with the damp linen of his dayshirt brushing against my bare forearms. His hands hovered near my shoulders, not quite touching, not quite retreating, and I felt the tremor in them when he held my face before he kissed me again.
I couldn't help it. My hands slid down his back, bunching the fabric that covered his body, as I traced the curve of his waist. The linen was thin enough that I could feel the heat of his skin beneath, the subtle flex of muscles as he shifted closer. My fingers dipped lower, skimming the rise of his buttocks, as he made a small, choked sound against my mouth. His cock, half-hard, straining against the dayshirt's hem, pressed insistently against my thigh.
I was hooked as the intensity of our kissing increased, and my hands roamed and explored more of his body.
"Steve, would you mind if I make love with you?" Jason whispered.
His voice cracked on the last word, but his hands were steady as they slid down my chest, fingers catching on the buttons of my dayshirt. The morning light through the window turned his eyelashes to gold as he blinked up at me, waiting.
I answered by pulling him toward the lounge, the fire still going from the previous day, having received new wood. Our knees knocked together in another kiss, the foreplay starting to become impatient. Jason stumbled, laughing breathlessly, lifted my arms, hoisting my dayshirt over my head, allowing it to fall as he pushed me down onto the rug in front of the fire. Jason looked at my body and my waiting cock, hard and demanding as he landed half atop me, the fabric of his dayshirt riding up to expose the pale curve of his arse. His cock, now fully erect, left a damp streak on my thigh as he adjusted himself, all eight inches of hard meat twitching with movement and precum.
"Easy," I murmured, catching his wrist. His pulse thundered under my fingers. "We've got time. Plenty of time if you want to take me with love."
Jason exhaled sharply, his breath warm against my collarbone as he nuzzled into me. "I’ve been thinking about this all night," he admitted, lips brushing my skin with each word. His teeth grazed the hollow of my throat, tentative at first, then bolder when I arched into it.
The scent of crushed grass clung to him, mingling with woodsmoke from the fireplace as he straddled my lap. His cock bobbed between us, flushed dark at the tip where precum beaded. I reached between us, wrapping my fingers around him, relishing the way his hips jerked at the contact.
"Fuck," he gasped, forehead dropping to my shoulder as I stroked him slowly. His thighs trembled against mine, muscles taut beneath golden skin. Every hitch of his breath, every twitch of his cock in my grip felt like a revelation.
When my free hand slid beneath his dayshirt to grasp his arse, he moaned outright, the sound muffled against my neck. "Need to feel you," he panted, and the raw hunger in his voice sent heat pooling low in my belly.
Outside, a breeze stirred the Bluebells beyond the window, their scent drifting in to mix with the musk of our bodies. Jason's lips found mine again, less tentative now, his tongue sweeping past my teeth as his hips rolled into my grip.
I guided my hands upward, helping him peel the fabric over his head. He emerged tousled and golden in the firelight, shoulders broad and freckled, his cock bobbing thick and eager between us. Jason hesitated for just a heartbeat, eyes darting to the bottle in my hand, before straddling my thighs with a boldness that belied his earlier shyness. The heat of him burned through my body, his erection a heavy brand against my belly.
"How do you want this?" I murmured, thumbing the slick bottle's cap open. Jason exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers flexing on my shoulders as he saw that I had likewise thought about this moment and prepared accordingly.
"Ride me," he rasped, pupils, swallowing blue as his gaze dropped to my mouth. "I want to watch you ride me, all eight inches."
The challenge in his words sent a thrill down my spine. I kissed him slowly and then rolled Jason over so I was now straddling his hips. The first cold dab of lube made me gasp as I dabbed the liquid at the entrance to my passage, while Jason's bitten-off groan echoed when I slicked him next. His cock pulsed in my grip, veins standing proud beneath silken skin, the length of him, daunting, ready and waiting.
"Like this," I breathed, guiding him before rising on shaking knees. Firelight gilded the sweat beading along Jason's collarbones as he braced himself, his hands gripping my waist almost hard enough to bruise as I lowered myself to be impaled on the largest cock I had ever seen.
The first press at my entrance stole my breath. An inexorable stretch that burned even through careful preparation. I had never taken one so long and thick as Jason whimpered, his thighs quivering as I sank lower, our shared groan tangling in the charged air between us. "Fuck, it hurts," I moaned as I pushed down again.
"Christ, you're tight," Jason choked out, fingers digging into my hips. I rocked experimentally, my own cock dripping between us, and watched his head fall back against the cushioned rug, his throat exposed. His hips jerked upward instinctively, burying himself deeper. The stretch bordered on severe pain as he stretched me wider, taking his shaft deeper with each attempt. Raw hunger was visible in Jason's eyes, the way his breath hitched when I clenched around him, made the burn sweet, almost enjoyable, knowing it would only be temporary.
I braced my hands against his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath my sweat-slicked hand. Slow circles at first, barely lifting, letting the drag of him inside me build the heat coiling low in my belly. Jason's thighs trembled beneath mine, his cock twitching as I squeezed around him on the upstroke. "Look at you," I murmured, thumbing a bead of precum from his nipple that had dropped conveniently, there.
Jason’s response captured the moment. "You're taking me so well," as Jason made a wounded noise when I finally lifted almost completely off him, only to sink back down in one smooth roll of my hips, the lubrication doing its job. The pace was agonisingly slow, but his ragged breathing and the way his fingers spasmed against my waist told me everything. His cockhead nudged something deep inside that sent sparks up my spine, my erection leaking uncontrollably, untouched between us.
"Faster," he pleaded, arching up into me, but I kept the rhythm deliberate, savouring the way his pupils blew wider each time I took him to the hilt. The fire popped beside us, casting flickering shadows across Jason's heaving chest as his control unravelled. His hands slid down to grip my arse, kneading the flesh there as his hips stuttered upward in tiny, desperate thrusts.
It must have been torture for him as I slid along his entire length each time I lifted almost off him, only to slide back down again. I kept this going for as long as I could, beginning to feel my climax building each time his cock rubbed against my G-spot while wondering how long Jason could hold out.
The shift was subtle, his breathing hitched differently, his rhythm faltered. I recognised the signs a second before his back bowed off the floor, his release surging hot inside me with a guttural cry. The sudden flood of warmth made me clench involuntarily, capturing his cock against my G-spot, tipping me over the edge untouched, caused by his huge cock inside, driving me mad with the physical response to his cock’s touch.
My orgasm ripped through me in silent waves, spilling across Jason's face and chest. I climaxed like a man possessed as I continued to ride him, spurts landing on his stomach in healthy amounts as his young cock remained steadfast, pumping unreasonable amounts of his seed into my body.
Jason's hands scrambled up my thighs, blunt nails digging crescents into my skin as he gasped through the aftershocks. His cock twitched valiantly inside me, still hard from youth and inexperience, or perhaps just sheer stamina. When I finally lifted off him, his release spilt between us in a slick trail, glistening on his stomach alongside my own mess.
"You're still..." I murmured, reaching down to wrap my fingers around his shaft, finding it stubbornly erect despite his climax. Jason whined through his teeth, hips jerking into my grip. "Christ, you're insatiable as I dropped to take his long, huge, beautiful cock in my mouth."
His laugh came out ragged, his fingers knotting in the discarded dayshirt beneath us. "Don't stop," he begged, and the raw need in his voice sent heat pooling low in my belly again. His cock pulsed in my mouth, still leaking, still impossibly hard. I marvelled at the resilience of youth and the sheer size of him, even now, as I remembered the classic line from Blazing Saddles…. It's true, it's true and chuckled.
Outside, the wind stirred the Bluebells anew, their scent mingling with sweat and sex as I leaned down to take him deeply, tasting salt, semen and desperation. His hands found my hips again, pulling me against him with surprising strength, his erection trapped in my mouth. "Again," he whispered against my ear, and I wondered how far this untamed hunger of his could take us both as I licked his cock clean and smiled at him.
"I can do again. How do you want me this time?"
Jason didn't answer as he rolled me onto my back. "This way, that's how I want you."
His hands trembled slightly as he lifted my legs, his fingers pressing into the backs of my thighs with a possessiveness that belied his youth. The scent of sex and sweat clung to us both, thick and heady in the fire-warmed air as he positioned himself. The smell of lube on his cock made my breath hitch, still hard despite his earlier climax, the flushed length of him glistening in the firelight as he pressed forward.
I gasped as he entered me again, the stretch easier now but no less overwhelming. His cock slid in deep with one smooth thrust, my body accommodating him faster this time, still loose from our coupling. Jason groaned, his forehead dropping to mine as he bottomed out, his hips flush against my arse. "Fuck, you're still so tight," he murmured, his breath hot against my lips. His hands tightened on my thighs, urging them wider as he pulled back slowly, dragging against sensitive flesh before thrusting in again with a sharp snap of his hips.
The rhythm was different now, less tentative, more assured. more confident. Each drive of his hips sent sparks up my spine, his cockhead rubbing relentlessly against that sweet spot inside me. My own erection, half-hard again, bounced against my stomach with each thrust, precum smearing across my skin. Jason's gaze locked onto it, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he adjusted his angle, hitting deeper.
"Touch yourself," he ordered, voice rough with arousal. When I hesitated, he reached between us, wrapping my fingers around my shaft and guiding my strokes to match his thrusts. "Like that. Fuck, yes… just like that."
The dual sensations threatened to overwhelm me, the relentless stretch of him inside, the tight heat of my own grip moving in counterpoint. Jason's pace quickened, his breath coming in sharp pants as he fucked into me with growing desperation. The wet sounds of our joining filled the small room, mingling with the crackle of the fire and Jason's occasional muttered curses. His eyes darkened as he watched me unravel beneath him, my thighs trembling where they rested against his shoulders.
"Oh God," I warned, my voice breaking as pleasure coiled tighter in my gut. Jason's answering grin was feral, his thrusts turning erratic as he chased his own release. His fingers dug bruises into my skin, holding me open for him as he pistoned into me with abandon. "Come for me," he demanded, and the raw command in his voice tipped me over the edge. My climax crashed through me with startling intensity, stripping my chest as my body clenched around him. Jason swore loudly, his own release following moments later as he buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing deep within me.
He collapsed forward, catching himself on trembling arms, his forehead pressed to mine as we both gasped for air. Outside, the wind rustled the Bluebells again, their delicate scent drifting in through the open window, an incongruously sweet counterpoint to the musk of our sweat-slicked bodies tangled together on the floor.
Try to decide if I had died and gone to heaven, I traced the length of him, still half-hard against his thigh, marvelling at the sheer impossibility of him. The width I could take and had taken repeatedly now, but that relentless length pressed boundaries I hadn't known existed. My fingers walked from root to tip, mapping the veined terrain, feeling him twitch under my touch like a living thing with its own pulse.
"What you thinking?" Jason asked in a whisper. "I can hear you thinking.... It's so loud."
"Nothing really," I responded. "I was just wondering how you will handle your mum when you go home in your new kilt. I don't think she will believe the wood-chopping part of your excuse to be here when she sees the way you are dressed."
Jason chuckled, shifting his weight as he rolled onto his side. "She won't care. She will ask, though, because it’s such a change, and I will then explain how wonderful you have been, understanding my problem," as his fingers plucked at the linen dayshirt where it lay rumpled between us.
"Will you tell her that... we have become lovers?" I sort of demanded. "Won't she be outraged. Afterall, I'm old enough to be your father...just."
Jason snorted, stretching like a cat in the firelight. "You don't know my mum," he said, picking at a loose thread on my discarded dayshirt. "She's the one who told me to stop hiding what I am and who I am," as his fingers stilled. "Even if she figures it out, and she will, she'll just be glad I finally found someone who doesn't treat me like a circus freak or a cheap fuck."
I rolled onto my back, looking up at Jason's silhouette against the ceiling where firelight painted gold along his jawline. His eyelashes cast shadows down his cheeks when he blinked slowly. "What do you want to do now?" I asked quietly.
Jason's stomach growled loud enough to echo off the stone hearth. "Hungry," he admitted, rubbing at his sternum where blond hairs curled damp from exertion. He stood up with the unselfconscious grace of someone who'd forgotten he was naked, pulling me up with eagerness that suggested his hunger might be more acute than his hunger for me.
We padded into the kitchen, our bare feet leaving faint prints on the cold flagstones. The fridge hummed softly when I tugged it open, revealing half a roast chicken wrapped in wax paper, a wedge of cheddar sweating in its clingfilm, and two forgotten beer bottles shoved behind a tub of margarine. The chill air billowed out, raising gooseflesh along my arms as I crouched to inspect the lower shelf, stocked with egg cartons, wilting spring onions, and a jar of pickled onions nearly empty.
Jason pressed close behind me, his warmth radiating through the gap between my thighs where I knelt. His cock, soft now but still substantial, nestled against the crease of my buttocks with an intimacy that made my breath hitch. His fingers brushed my hipbone as he reached past me for the cheese, his breath hot on my shoulder when he murmured, "If you don't mind... after lunch..." The sentence dissolved into the click of his teeth, worrying his lower lip.
I turned my head just enough to catch the flush spreading down his neck, the way his pupils dilated when our eyes met. "After lunch, I want you again."
"You can take me anytime you like," I told him as I plucked the chicken from its shelf with deliberate slowness so the plastic nestled against his stomach.
Jason made a soft, punched-out noise when I stood, our bodies aligning briefly as we shuffled around each other in the kitchen. He tore into the cheese wrapper with his teeth, eyes locked on me as I carved dark meat from the chicken carcass with practised strokes. Grease glistened on the blade when I offered him the first slice, balanced on the flat of the knife, a silent challenge he accepted by leaning forward to take it directly into his mouth, his tongue flicking against the steel.
Outside, the spring day was warm, carrying the scent of crushed Bluebells through the open window, mingling with the salty tang of Jason's sweat as he braced one hand against the countertop, watching me with wolfish patience.
Jason ate like he fucked, with single-minded intensity, grease glistening on his chin as he gnawed chicken bones clean. I watched the tendons in his throat work, the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he chugged beer straight from the bottle. A drop escaped his lips, tracing the column of his neck before disappearing into the golden fuzz of his blonde chest hair.
"Slow down," I murmured, wiping my fingers on a kitchen towel. "You'll choke."
He grinned around a mouthful of cheddar, kicking my ankle under the table. The contact lingered, his bare foot sliding up my calf with deliberate friction until it nestled in my groin, wiggling my cock side to side. Sunlight caught the dirt still smeared across his knees from his woodland sprint, the dust of crushed Bluebells clinging to his toenails and the fact that he was actually quite mucky for whatever reason.
When the last crust of bread vanished, Jason pushed back from the table with a contented sigh, then froze mid-stretch at the unmistakable crunch of tyres on gravel outside. His head snapped toward the window, shoulders tensing like a spooked deer's, but all I saw was his naked form and the cock that dangled between his legs.
"Expecting company?" he asked too casually, fingers drumming the tabletop.
I shook my head, moving to the window. "All I can see is an old Ford pickup in the drive, with green paint peeling around an old logo on the door."
"What?" Jason asked.
I continued describing the scene. "It's a woman, fortyish, with a wiry frame swallowed by an oversized cardigan, with choppy blonde hair, and she's walking towards this door. I must confess, I don't know who the fuck it is."
Jason's chair scraped violently backwards. "Fuck. That's Mum."
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