I Hate You

He encouraged her to be vocal about her needs but in the end, he did what he wanted. He pushed himself in and out of her until he was nearly there. As the first sign of orgasm appeared, he pushed all the way inside her and began pumping his seed into her. She showered approval on him as he came inside his mother. She was left on the bed, legs wide open with semen slowly dripping from her vagina. She was breathing heavily as he told her he would make them all dinner for the evening after his shower. He leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. He pressed just hard enough to encourage her participation but not hard enough for her to feel as if he was forcing himself on her.

She said not a single word to him. In her mind, he walked away as if that was only the first time he would have her on her back, spewing vulgarities at him as he impaled her with his penis. She considered the idea that perhaps it would not be the end of the world if it happened again. When she chastised herself for thinking that way, she reminded herself that she did not say a word to him. Never did she tell him to stop.

She went through all the mistakes she made along the way as she remained naked on the bed. She never told him to stop. When he exposed himself, she escaped to the one place in their home that would have given him the impression she wanted him to follow her. Not locking the door was invitation he looked for. He waiting for him at the end of the bed was the golden seal on that invitation. She did everything wrong but as his semen continued to trickle out of her, she realized she could have been a lot angrier about it.

She woke that morning next to her husband feeling disgusted. She had denied his advances, claiming she was too tired which she hated herself for doing to him. She couldn't imagine another man's penis inside her so soon after a different one dumped its load in her. She would have been a whore for fucking two men in her bed the same evening, she told herself. The fact that it was her son confused her mind, made her nauseous and not want to be in the house. She showered early, kissed her husband goodbye as he slept and crept out of the house.

The meeting ended with her being oblivious to what took place. Her partner came up to her having noticed she didn't seem to be okay.

"You don't look good. Take the rest of the day. Now that the papers are signed from the closing yesterday, it's business as usual around here," her partner said to her.

She had hoped to hide her preoccupied mind, but it was clear that the entire day would be a struggle for her. She told him she had just one thing left to do in her office and she would take him up on his offer.

She went back to her office, closed the door and opened the letter she wrote. She intended to finish it and go home.

" For all these reasons, I hate what you've done to me. I hate who you've become and I cannot and will not have you in my house a minute longer. Don't bother with your things. Walk out the front door and don't come back. I never want to see you again. You've ruined everything and only with you gone is there a hope I can recover my own self-respect. "

She read the entire letter and though it was an emotional train wreck and looked like a middle-schooler wrote it, she thought it would serve its purpose. She also felt herself getting turned on for a third time, quickly working through all the events through the words she put on paper. She hate the position she was in and in a flash of a thought, she added a single line before signing her name.

" My son is gone. "

She wrote her first name only, accepting the fact that she failed as a mother to him and could not longer claim that role. She packed up the letter and made her way to her car. She got in, fighting back tears as her long drive home filled her with thoughts. She remembered the way his eyes looked at her differently. She thought about how careful he was with her body, even though his touch was rough as she always thought a man's touch aught to be.

She dared compare the events of the prior day to the several years of experiences she had with her husband. They didn't compare and she refused to accept the reason her mind told her. She tried to remain as angry and justified in her decisions as she woke that morning but the longer she drove, the more of a struggle it was turning out to be. She thought about the last line of the letter. She gave in once again to him. She wasn't giving her son a letter and kicking him out of the house. She was giving a man with a beautiful cock a letter, inviting her to come fuck her again.

"If he would only see it," she thought.

When she got home, she walked in to what seemed like an empty house. She set her bag down and retrieved the letter she spent all morning writing. She found her son in the garage fetching some food from the box freezer. She waited for him to bring it to the kitchen and put it away before handing him the letter. She watched his eyes move over each word quickly left to right but slowly down the page. She watched his face go through a series of reactions, none of which reminded her of his smug, calculating face he showed her just twenty-four hours before. When he was done, he looked up at her with as sad a face as she could ever remember.

The entire letter and her stern stance in front of him were all a facade. Deep down, she wanted him again. She wanted him to fuck her again and again in every way imaginable. He was energetic in his youth and forceful in his ways and words. She wanted him to take her right there on the table. She needed the son she knew to walk away but leave the man who fucked her stay and do it again. She tried to let him walk out like she knew she should but as soon as he dropped the letter and turned toward the door, her facade crumbled.

"Stop!" she told him.

He stopped but never turned to look at him.

"Turn and look at me," she demanded.

He turned and held his head down in shame. She walked over to him, lifted his head up and looked him in the eyes.

"I hate my son for what he did to me yesterday."

Her eyes stared deeply into his as she chose her words carefully.

"You're not the son I raised in this house. My son would not feel so emboldened to come into my room and do the things you did to me. My son" she said, pausing so he could take in the meaning of her words, "is no longer allowed in my house."

She kept her eyes on him for just a few seconds as she turned to walk away from him. She moved slowly down the hall, loosening her shirt and untying her dress. She turned to face her opened door and removed her shirt.

She turned her head to see the man standing in the vestibule of her home watching her. She kept her eyes on him as she lowered her dress to the floor and revealed her body to him once again, wearing only a bra. She turned her eyes on the bed and walked in to her come.

"Come and fuck me again," she thought as she laid on the bed and opened her legs slightly.

She waited for him.

"Come on..."