“You’re only 29, gotta lot to learn.
But when your Mommy dies, she will not return.”
-The Sex Pistols, 1977
On the day Daniel Congress buried his mother, it rained like hell. Absolute buckets.
The morning had broken bright and clear, but by early afternoon the sky was ashen and the wind had picked up. As the funeral cortege turned into the Colma cemetery the rain began to fall, gently at first, but by the time the mourners were assembled around the open grave, the wind-driven downpour was lashing at them like a sadistic prison guard.
Daniel Congress’ mother had been killed eight days before, the victim of a ghastly head-on collision on the Golden Gate Bridge that made headlines across the state of California simply because it was so gruesome.
His father had died seven years ago at the age of 41, on the day Daniel had turned 18, the victim of a massive coronary brought on by years of smoking, heavy drinking and a deep and abiding hatred of physical exercise.
And it was just dawning on young Daniel that, with his mother’s death, he was alone.
When his father was alive, Daniel’s parents didn’t go out much. They preferred instead the company of their friends and neighbors at the more intimate gatherings they took turns hosting at their suburban homes – at least, that’s what he’d thought.
But his father’s body was still warm when his mother collected on his life insurance policy, sold their house in the East Bay hills and bought a condo in North Beach. And his mom was never home.
Instead, she was all over the city, volunteering during the day and out at night, at restaurants, clubs, parties – wherever there was the promise of a few cocktails and some lively conversation.
Of course, she was. Who could blame her?
His mother had always been a striking woman, good looking but not necessarily beautiful in the conventional sense, Daniel knew, but with a hint of something about her that said beneath her relatively conventional exterior beat an adventurous heart.
But that side of his mother had been pushed to the back burner and as the years ticked by during the course of her marriage to his father, he knew that somehow his mother had lost sight of herself – first in his father’s career and then in their c***dren – three of them – as they were born: first him, and then his s****r and then his other s****r.
And then one day she looked up and realized that she was no longer Elaine Whitney; she was instead Mrs. Arthur Congress, wife and mother of three, a former president of the PTA and a senior member of the local chapter of the League of Women Voters.
Until Dad had his heart attack.
His youngest s****r, who had always been pretty tightly wound and was still in college at USF, was repulsed by the change in their mother when Dad died.
Every few weeks or so, she would call Daniel to provide an update on Mom’s most recent “shameful” adventures, which usually involved a lot of alcohol, occasional recreation d**g use and the latest in a string of men who weren’t too much older than Daniel.
Let her be, Daniel would tell his s****r, at least she’s happy.
At least she was happy … although perhaps unsatiated.
Daniel’s mother and her date had been coming back to San Francisco after a night of drinking in the waterfront bars of Sausalito. When they merged onto 101 headed toward the bridge in his brand new BMW sportster, Mom’s e****t for the evening – some 26-year-old, Silicon Valley-type who evidently had a thing for MILFs – had been three sheets to the wind and coked to the gills.
And so had his mother.
But that wasn’t what caught the interest of the media; dead d***ks were a dime a dozen. No, the red meat for the reporters was what his Mom and her date had allegedly been up to when they so tragically met their fate.
According to the police report, neither of the car’s occupants had been wearing a seat belt, and at the moment of impact his mother had had her face buried in her date’s lap. He had been ejected through the windshield with extraordinary f***e. They found his battered, bl**dy body in the middle of the bridge, nearly 30 yards away from where the car finally came to rest, his pants around his ankles.
His mother’s body was still in the BMW, its interior spattered with an inky, black coat of its most recent occupants’ bl**d. Her head had been crushed by the steering column, and her jaw had snapped shut with the same massive f***e that had launched her date through his expensive windshield. When the EMTs pulled his mother’s body from the smoking wreckage, they found the bl**dy stump of his dick still lodged in what was left of her mouth.
The Bay Area reporters had had a great time with that salacious detail, although the limitations imposed by their facade of public decency made it difficult to adequately report on the incident without resorting to the primmest of euphemisms.
But they all took their shots, didn’t they, the bastards.
From across the open grave, Jennifer Taylor watched Daniel climb into the limo with his s****rs after the service. Jennifer had known Daniel’s mother well and although she had never met Elaine Congress’ son, she certainly had heard a lot about him from his mother: how he’d gone through a string of girlfriends after college, how he’d travelled through Europe, how he was offered this job here and that job there, but mostly how he was at loose ends, unable to really decide what to do next.
His mother thought it was her fault.
Jennifer and Elaine met seven years ago when Jennifer, one of San Francisco’s top real estate agents, then and now, had sold Elaine her North Beach condo.
The two women discovered they had a lot in common and they quickly became friends: they were about the same age and they both had graduated from UC Davis. Both were newly single and, as they found out over Cosmopolitans at the WashBag, they shared an interest in younger men.
But at the reception, Jennifer didn’t know many people. Elaine, as it turned out, had kept her life well compartmentalized. So, she mingled, made small talk and shared a few of her tamer Elaine stories, and no one talked about the well-publicized circumstances surrounding her death.
Jennifer was about to leave when she saw Daniel sitting by himself at a table in the back of the room, his hand curled around a glass of red wine, grief carved into his face.
He was, she decided, much better looking than his mother had led her to believe.
“Do you mind if I join you?” Jennifer asked, pulling out a chair.
“No, of course not. Please,” Daniel replied, gesturing across the open table.
Picking up his glass of wine, Daniel studied the older woman who sat across from him. Not too much make-up and a tailored black blazer over a tight-fitting black blouse. Her tight, black skirt emphasized the curve of her slim hips and her thick, (dyed?) blonde hair was fashionably cut.
She’s pretty well put together.
And her flinty blue eyes told him this woman did not waste time with bullshit.
“I just wanted to tell you how deeply sorry I am for your loss,” she said, looking him straight in the eye. “Your mother and I were good friends and I can only imagine the pain that you’re feeling right now. If there’s anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you,” Daniel said, looking up from his glass of wine on the table. “I appreciate your kind words, but I think I’ll be okay.”
Jennifer settled in to her chair and looked across at him.
“You know,” she said, breaking the silence, “your mother’s place isn’t far from here. Have you ever seen it?”
That’s a line …
“No, no I haven’t,” Daniel replied, draining the last of his wine. “Mom and I were close, but when we spent time together we always went out. I’d usually meet here or wherever we were having dinner. I’m not sure if she didn’t want me to see her place, or what, but there it is: in seven years, I never did.”
“Would you like to? Your mother gave me a key, just in case, you know, she needed something.”
Daniel nodded and didn’t bother to ask what that something might be, sizing up Jennifer with growing curiosity.
“I suppose. After all, I’m going to have to clean it out sometime now that she’s …” Daniel said softly, the end of his thought unspoken.
She put her hand over his on the table.
“C’mon,” she said quietly.
Jennifer slipped her key into the door of a third-story flat on Vallejo Street and they stepped inside.
“Holy shit,” Daniel whispered, looking around his mother’s place for the first time.
A bay window opened on to Grant Ave. below, and noise from the Columbus Ave. traffic drifted in to the room when he lifted the sash.
“I bet you can see Alcatraz from here on a good day,” he said, turning to Jennifer.
“You can,” she said, watching him take it all in.
His mother’s place was not at all like he had imagined it, and this room had a surprisingly masculine feel to it. One wall was entirely taken up with built-in bookshelves that held hundreds of volumes – growing up, Daniel couldn’t remember ever seeing his mom reading – and a Persian rug covered the oak floors. A brass floor lamp sat next to a chair upholstered in deep, chocolate leather.
“Would you like a drink?” Jennifer asked, hanging her coat in the front hall closet.
“I believe I would,” Daniel replied, sitting down in the leather chair. “Christ, I feel I like I should have a martini in this room. What did Mom keep on hand?”
“Pretty much anything you might want,” Jennifer replied, laughing. “Your mother liked to take care of her guests … let’s see, vodka, gin, bourbon … there’s probably some Guinness in the ‘fridge and I know she has a case of this marvelous little pinot we found when we went to Sonoma a few weeks ago stashed somewhere.
“Here it is,” she said, brandishing a bottle.
“That sounds fine,” Daniel said absently, trying to imagine his mother in this place, having coffee in the morning, reading the newspaper, planning her day, putting away the groceries and making dinner.
“How did you know my mother again?” he asked, looking at Jennifer more carefully now, as she opened up the liquor cabinet in the corner.
She reached for two glasses on the shelf above and Daniel watched the tight, black skirt ride up her leg as she stretched upward on her toes to reach the stemware, the muscles of her calf flexing beneath her sheer, black nylons.
Holy Christ, she’s got a nice ass … and legs, too …
She poured the wine.
“I sold her this place,” Jennifer said, handing one to Daniel.
They raised their glasses in silence and drank without looking at each other.
“Well,” Jennifer said, brightening. “Let me give you the rest of the five-cent tour.”
She led Daniel down the hall, past a kitchen outfitted with granite countertops and high-end appliances.
“Your mother didn’t cook much, but she liked the best,” Jennifer said, watching Daniel look around the room.
“She hated cooking,” Daniel said. “Growing up, we always had Thanksgiving dinner at someone else’s house and Chinese food on Christmas.”
“C’mon, let me show you the rest,” Jennifer said, grabbing his hand this time as she led him down the end of the hall.
Her hand was soft and warm and Daniel curled his fingers around it and let her take the lead.
“That’s the bathroom there,” Jennifer said, nodding to a door on the right as they moved on, “and this … is the bedroom.”
The room was close and comfortable and much more feminine than the living room or the kitchen. The night table near the queen-sized bed held a handful of books, piled one atop another, and a small lamp. Daniel sat down on the bed and picked up one of the books, a paperback edition of Nancy Friday’s “Forbidden Flowers.”
He thumbed through the well-read volume and stopped on a page that had been folded over at the corner. A woman named Susan from Pennsylvania was telling Nancy in great detail about how she fantasized about sucking off five or six guys at once, on her knees in the middle of them all, one rock-hard cock in her mouth while the others jacked off around her, waiting their turns.
In spite of himself and his grief, which sat like a lump in the pit of his stomach, Daniel felt his cheeks flush and his cock beginning to stir. He looked up to see Jennifer watching him, the hint of smile playing around her full, red lips.
“That was your mother’s favorite part of that book,” she said quietly, pulling out a tube of lipstick and applying it slowly.
Daniel’s cock twitched as Jennifer walked over and stood in front of him, the whisper of her nyloned legs loud in the quiet room.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, because I certainly don’t mean it in the pejorative sense, and I don’t mean to seem insensitive,” she said, looking down at Daniel as he sat on the bed, “but judging from that reception and the people who were there, I’m beginning to understand that there’s quite a bit I didn’t know about your mother. We were friends, good friends, but it’s clear that she was a bigger part of my life than I was in hers – that’s the way it always is in any relationship, one person’s always more invested than the other – and … maybe that was true for you and her, too.
“But Daniel, you have to understand, your mother was one of the most sensual and vibrant people I have ever met. She was amazing … a f***e of nature, and she loved life … everything about it, and sex was a big, big part of her life. It took her a long time to figure out who she was and what she liked after your father died, but I remember she told me once that sex for her was almost a way of reaffirming that she was still here and still alive … that her own life didn’t end when your father’s did and that in many ways, it really began when he died.
Maybe that’s true for you, too.”
The older woman dropped slowly to her knees in front of him, unzipping his fly. Daniel watched her manicured fingers draw down his zipper, the tendons working beneath the skin on the back of her hands as she pulled out his stiffening cock and stroked it to its full girth.
He stood up and Jennifer slowly took his cock into her mouth, holding her lips tight so that his shaft penetrated it like a hot, wet cunt. He groaned when her chin grazed his balls and he buried his fingers in her thick hair, holding her head with both hands while she worked on his meaty prick.
She paused for a second, licking the tip of his circumcised cock with her bright, pink tongue, looking up at him, his hands still wrapped in her freshly washed hair.
“Jesus, you’re amazing,” he rasped as she gently squeezed his balls with one hand and unbuttoned his pants with the other.
“I have to admit, this isn’t the first cock I’ve sucked,” Jennifer teased as his pants hit the ground, “but it is certainly one of the nicest.”
Her hands played over his ass, spreading his cheeks as she went down on his cock again and again. Daniel gasped as she slid an elegant finger into his asshole.
With her other hand, she gripped his cock firmly, behind his balls, closing her thumb and forefinger like a cock ring around the base of his tool and looked up at him again.
“Mmmm, you like that, eh?” she said, laughing gently as he squirmed in pleasure while her finger probed his tight hole, and then, more f***efully, “Take of your shirt, Daniel.”
Her finger slid from his ass and he removed his shirt and stood naked before the older woman, his turgid cock bobbing in front of her face as she shed her blazer and tossed it on the chair behind her.
He watched with growing excitement, stroking his dick, as she undid the buttons of her shirt, still kneeling on the ground before him, to expose a dark red, sheer, demi-cup brassiere that strained to control her magnificent breasts. Her hardened nipples pressed against the diaphanous fabric and he reached down beneath her shirt to pull her them free.
“Uh, uh, uhh,” she laughed teasingly, pulling back slightly and playfully slapping his hand away from her chest. “Eyes only.”
When she gripped his cock with both hands, the bra relaxed and her chest fell slack. The skin between her breasts rippled with crow’s feet, and his cock grew even harder.
Jennifer leaned forward and took his stiff tool in her mouth again.
All right, if she wants to drive this train, I’m okay with that …
And it struck him like a slap upside the head that he didn’t even know her name yet – didn’t even really know if she had known his mother – but any misgivings he may have had about those unanswered questions quickly vanished as her warm, wet mouth moved up and down along his hard-on.
His cock was covered in her spit and as she pulled her mouth away to jack him off again, a clear thread of saliva connected it to her chin. She worked him with both hands and urged him to fuck her throat, her voice husky with a primal, atavistic lust.
“Feed me your cock, Daniel,” she whispered. “Use my mouth and feed me your cock.”
Daniel did not need to be told twice. He plunged his fingers into her hair again, weaving them together behind her head, and pushed his cock into her throat as far as it would go. She gagged a bit and he felt her throat open to take the rest of his hard-on.
Her jaw slackened and he moved her head back and forth on his cock like some latex pussy fucktoy, savoring the velvety texture of her mouth and throat, slowly at first but picking up speed as he felt his orgasm building deep within.
He grunted as he rammed his cock into her hot mouth again and again, and he knew he could not hold back much longer.
“I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, pulling his rock-hard meat from her mouth.
“Yesss,” she hissed. “Let it go, let it go … shoot it, Daniel, shoot it … give me your load … right here … right now. Give it to me …”
She closed her eyes and wrapped her fingers around his shaft as he began to spurt, thread after ropey thread of white, hot jizz. It covered her face, splashing on her cheeks and nose, and it dripped from her chin to her chest in long and tenuous strands, staining her bra.
She opened her eyes and stood up as he took his hands from her head and collapsed back on the bed, weak in the knees and breathing hard.
She clambered on top of him, his cum still dripping from her face, leaned down and kissed him. He tasted his sperm for the first time as her tongue probed his mouth and he ran his hands over her firm, shapely ass.
“Mmmmm … you like that?” she asked rolling off to the side and laying her head on his shoulder.
He played with the fresh cum on her bra.
“Holy Christ, I loved it,” Daniel said. “It was fucking amazing.”
“What else do you like?” she asked.
He was quiet, and then, “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what else do you like?”
He didn’t answer.