Sometimes, a mother needs to do whatever it takes to protect her son, even if it meant satisfying her son’s tormentors.
The sad truth was, there were two types of guys out there. There were nice boys, like my son, who was making his way towards me right now. Jamie was eighteen, awkward and sweet. Barely a man, but still hasn’t grown into his adulthood yet. He gets pushed around by the other type of men. Boys like Brett Jones.
I peered over my steering wheel, over at Brett and his friends with a mixture of scorn and shameful desire.
I knew what was going on. Boys like Brett picked on boys like my son. Jamie was weedy and passive and were a natural target for assholes like Brett.
But still… With his arrogant smirk and the casual way he sat against his sports car, it ignited those long forgotten feelings of mine. My body remembered what it was like being used by muscled assholes like him.
Many years ago, when I was Jamie’s age, I was a total slut.
Slut.
What a nasty, degrading word. I love it.
I missed sucking cock. I missed having my pussy filled with cum, sometimes from men who I didn’t even know the name of. I missed feeling sore the day after from a night of sinful indulgence.
And then I found a man who treated me like a queen. We married and I had Jamie and vowed to be an honest woman.
Still, a girl can indulge in the odd fantasy.
Jamie opened the car door and sank into the seat in the back. He huffed and hugged his back pack.
“Are you okay, honey?” I asked, looking into the rear-view mirror.
“That fucking Brett Jones,” he sniffled.
“Language, dear. And what about him? What did he do now?”
I felt my heart tighten. I knew the types of things bullies like Brett did to my darling boy.
“He… He called me a virgin loser. And humiliated me right in front of everyone in the canteen.”
“Did you tell him you didn’t like that?”
“And what then, mum? Get beaten up?”
