Athletic Performance with Mom

There's a subtle change in Eliza that remains a mystery to me. Despite her bubbly public persona, sometimes she's happier than normal, other times there's sadness in her eyes, maybe shame. For the last several months, I see these tell-tale signs in private, away from other people.

The fact is, I need to know everything, from her diet, workout routine, mood, the situation with friends and family, even her sex life. She knows the same about me.

We're partners in beach volleyball and we've won Olympic medals together. Even at our older age, we're favored to win gold before retiring from the sport. We're in the midst of heavy training with the games approaching.

I'm positive she has a new man because of the glint in her eyes and the blush in her cheeks. It's baffling because I know all about her ex-husband and recent dates, but for some reason she's keeping quiet. Is she having a kinky sexual relationship with someone?

Finally I've had enough. I'm going to confront her and the best place is at her home. The training center is always busy and a heart-to-heart conversation requires a personal touch. I don't call or text, because I want Eliza caught off guard.

The drive is 20 minutes and I park on the street.

When I ring the doorbell, I wait a while, then Chris opens the door. He's the 19 year old son of Eliza and I've known him forever. We're like family and I jokingly call him my 'nephew' on occasions.

"Mom isn't home," he says after we make small talk. "She left to meet with parents about an upcoming game."

For context, Eliza has a side gig as a volleyball coach for young kids. Even with our training schedule and her endorsement deals and ventures, she's able to give these kids and parents high priority. I commend her for that, she's a beautiful person.

"Do you know when she'll be back?"

"Probably within an hour."

"Mind if I come inside and wait?" I ask.

"Yeah, sure. I'm actually in the middle of an online class right now. It's almost over though."

I wince and gesture for him to leave. "Yikes, go back, go back."

"Okay, I'm going, I'm going," he says, pretending to move faster. "There's soda in the fridge. Chips and fruits are on the counter."

"You better go. I don't want your professor to be upset."

"Okay, I'm gone."

When he rushes up the stairs towards his bedroom, I wonder if Eliza is seeing someone. The whole 'meeting with parents' thing could be a ruse. An elaborate lie that she tells her son. My theory of an intense sexual relationship gains new momentum. I wonder what fetishes she's into?

I hear audio from the online course in Chris's bedroom, so I decide to be a detective and snoop around. Going up the stairs, I make my way to Eliza's bedroom.

The bedroom looks the same as it always does, neat, clean, with a lot of things laying around. There are pictures on the wall of family, friends, and various sporting events that we've competed in together. Her medals and trophies are on a desk. Beauty products line her dresser mirror.

Something catching my eye; lingerie is hanging from a laundry basket. I walk over for a closer inspection. When I lift it, sheer fabric is revealed. Her nipples would be exposed wearing this. There's another lingerie in the basket with the same design.

Wearing this is fine for a lover, but why would she leave this out so brazenly? Her son would be able to see it from the hallway. In all the years I've known Eliza, she's always been a careful mother. She's always mindful of how her son views her.

I put the lingerie down and walk towards the dresser. Positioned next to an array of lipstick and eyeliner, is a six-inch dildo and a silver-colored vibrator. What on earth is she thinking? What kind of woman would leave these things out while living with an adult son?

The only logical explanation is that Eliza was in a hurry before leaving home. She's a busy woman who often rushes, running from place to place. It's plausible that she was in the middle of cleaning her toys and forgot to put them away. The same with the lingerie.

I pick up the vibrator from the dresser. It's normal and healthy for a woman to own sex toys, especially someone with a schedule like hers. The device is a marvel and I can see why she owns it.

What bothers me is that the vibrator and dildo are placed next to a framed photograph of Eliza with her son. It's a photo of them together after a qualifying game from months ago. They're on the beach, hot sun shining on their smiling faces, and they're so close their cheekbones are touching each other's.

The epiphany hits me like a ton of bricks. It's both absurd and the most logical conclusion. How could they? What the hell is she thinking? I could understand why Chris would want something like this -- he's a young man -- but a woman like Eliza with everything to lose?

I hear footsteps approaching, but I'm so transfixed by the situation that I remain motionless, the shining vibrator still in my hand.

"You didn't know?" he asks with a calm tone, standing by the door.

I put the vibrator down and look at him. "How long has this been going on?"

"About a year, but it got serious maybe six months ago."

The timeline makes sense. I think of our social outings, dinner with friends, parties we've attended, and our routine training sessions together. All that time wondering what's going on with her, now I know the answer.

"How could this happen?" I ask. "Eliza could go to jail over this. You know that, right? She'd go to jail. Her life would be ruined. Yours would, too."

He gulps. "Please don't say that. It's not as simple as..."

"She'd lose everything," I interject. "Her worldwide reputation. Her standing in the community. The endorsement deals. She'd even lose her coaching job, too. And for what?"

I stop myself before going further because I'm getting emotional. I want to yell at him, to scream in his face. I stop because Chris is 19 and this isn't his fault. The blame goes to Eliza because she's the mature person in this household. She's the mother in this family. The mother...

"Please don't be upset," he says.

"I'm not upset. I'm trying to figure this out."

It's obvious he's never thought of an excuse, because getting caught was never part of their plan. I'm sure they were so careful in covering their tracks and hadn't anticipated anyone snooping around in their home.

At my suggestion, we change the mood by going to a more comfortable setting in the living room, facing each other from different couches. He's still uncomfortable, but I have to get to the bottom of this.

"My mother had an injury last year," he says. "Lower back, do you remember?"

"Yes, I remember."

He's referring to when Eliza hurt her lower back from lifting weights. It put her out of commission for two weeks and she used acupuncture and ice packs to recover.

"Well, the doctor asked me to help with stretches, so we did that everyday in the living room. She'd lay on a yoga mat and my hands would press her back or legs. She said it helped with her athletic performance. When her training increased, she needed deeper stretches and massages."

"And that's how it started?" I ask.

"Yeah, that's how it started."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," he replies.

"Who made the first move?"

"Mom did," he replies.

I'm taken aback by the admission because I assumed that Chris made the first move. It feels worse that Eliza initiated all this, which is still difficult to believe. Part of me feels like there's more to the story, that it's more complex than I could ever imagine.

Another part of me feels like human sexuality is the most simple equation in the world; people need gratification. Eliza is only human. Her body responded to the stimulus.

"How did she make the first move?" I ask.

"She cupped my groin while stretching on the floor. She knew it was fucked up, but she did it anyway. She took my cock out and sucked it."

What a punch to the gut and I'm stunned by the candor.

"I don't know if I believe you. I'm starting to think that you put the vibrator on the table and left the lingerie scattered around. The moment she left the house you probably went through her stuff. A fetish of yours?"

The look on Chris's face is unwavering. He's not a young man who was caught red handed. Instead, he looks like an innocent party who carries a heavy secret. Either that or he knows how to lie.

"That's where mom leaves her things," he replies. "The sex toys are always on her table because she likes the aesthetics while doing her makeup. As for the lingerie, she always leaves them scattered around. She likes when I see them."

Again I marvel at how consistent this guy is. Either he's telling the truth or he's a complete sociopath who's stuck in a twisted fantasy.

"Just admit it, you were playing with your mother's things -- doing God knows what -- and now you're sticking to a fake story."

Chris thinks for a moment. "Move your car around the block so mom doesn't see it. Then come back here."

"Why?"

"Because she'll be home soon."

Right away I know exactly what he wants; the mere suggestion stops me cold.

***

My car is parked on a different block and there's a strange tension between myself and Chris as we wait. He's offered to turn on the tv a few times, but I declined. I prefer to wait in silence with my thoughts on this matter. The possibility that my best friend could be engaged in incest makes me nauseous.

I stand and walk around the living room, then I sit down and look at my phone, repeating the process. This makes Chris uncomfortable and nervous, but oh well. There are bigger issues to worry about.

"Don't be mad at her," Chris says.

"I'm not mad. I just want to understand. She's my best friend and competition partner. I'm looking out for her best interests."

"Thank you. I'm glad you're still here."

"If this is true, why are you telling me everything? Why do you want to show me?"

"I think mom feels trapped because she can't share this with anyone. It's bottled up inside of her. I don't know, I think she feels like a prisoner in some way, hoping for a friend who understands her, but knowing that could never happen."

Ah, now it all makes sense. Growing up, Eliza was an only child who was shy and awkward. She's told me, and has stated in multiple public interviews, that sports was her outlet to make friends and express herself.

I can imagine how alone she must feel carrying such a deep, dark secret, assuming this is true. I wonder if I can be her confidant, if I could accept this and give her emotional support. If the situation was reversed, I know she'd be there for me.

"Now you're hoping I'd comfort your mother?" I ask.

He nods. "It was my fault for letting you inside the house without putting mom's things away. So now you know And you're one of the closest people in mom's life."

A car pulls into the driveway and Chris goes to the window.

"She's here. Follow me."

I follow his lead up the stairs, towards his bedroom, having no idea what to expect. My heart pounds from the burst of adrenaline and the creeping realization that I'm about to spy on my best friend.

Chris opens the closet door and gestures for me to get inside.

"You can't be serious," I say.

"Would you rather sneak out the window and leave? Mom just came home."

Great point, so I step inside a closet, with the door closing just enough to leave a small opening. The opening is small enough to keep me hidden, but big enough to give me a view of the bedroom. The perfect, discreet size.

My heart pounds faster as Chris leaves to greet his mother. This is my first time being a secret voyeur, and in my best friend's home of all places. I keep waiting for Chris to return, open the door, and tell me it was all a joke. That, of course, none of this is true. That I'm horrible for making such a wild accusation, while justifiably laughing at me.

That moment never comes.

Instead I hear their voices as they come up the stairs.

"Mom, can you suck my cock real quick?" Chris says in a nonchalant manner.

They're in the upstairs hall and time slows while I wait for Eliza's response to the disgusting question. The Eliza that I've known for decades would raise hell from her son speaking to her like that. I wait for the sound of her furious voice to echo through every room in the house.

"Again? What's gotten into you?" Eliza replies.

"I'm in a great mood today. Plus you look hot right now."

"You've always had a thing for my casual outfits. Alright, let's hurry. I have other things to do later."

My perspective of Eliza collapses and I feel like I barely know her, as the mom/son duo enter the bedroom where I hide. Fear and adrenaline rush through my veins as I pray I don't get caught. Getting caught in this position could be the end of our friendship.

I see them together as I stand in the closet. Mother and son. They're in the bedroom, and once again, time slows down.

A short gasp escapes my mouth when I see them kissing. This isn't close to a normal mother/son kiss. It's a woman in her 40's locking lips with a 19 year old. Mother and son. That's exactly what they are, despite their physical actions together. They are a wholesome, all-American, mother and son.

I get a head-rush listening to the wetness of their tongues smacking and roaming the other's mouth. I can hear their lips pressing and I can see their hands on each other's bodies.

Their kiss ends when Eliza gets on her knees and works to free Christopher's penis. It's my first time seeing it, something that never should happen. He's erect and the sight makes me cringe; as I've said before, he's like a nephew to me.

Eliza strokes the cock and marvels at what she's dealing with, despite clearly having done this many times before. It confirms what Chris has been saying all along about their sexual relationship.

"Who gives the best blowjobs?" Eliza asks, stroking the cock while looking upward at her son.

"You already know."

"Say it," she says with a strict voice.

He smiles, looking down at mom. "My mother does. That's who."

"And who are they for?"

"Me. Only me. Because I'm your son."

She kisses the tip of the penis. "Smart young man. That's what I like to hear. You better appreciate this. I've turned down a lot of great sex to be exclusive to you."

"I always appreciate you, mom."

Their version of dirty talk horrifies me, but it's also exciting. Hearing her engage in role-my play with her son twists my stomach in knots. It feels vile coming from her mouth. How could this be the woman I've known for so long? Has she betrayed her own values? Am I the sinner for spying? We're all guilty, it seems.

Eliza is sucking her son's cock, head bobbing back and forth, loving every inch of what her son possesses. The worst part is, I've never felt so aroused. This is doing things to me that are wrong, but I can't stop looking. For fuck's sake, she's doing this to her son, a young man that I helped raise.

"Keep sucking, mom," he says.

She spits the cock out. "Cum for me, I need that pre-workout protein."

"Always."

She strokes and earns every drop, wrapping her lips around the dick while she keeps pumping. I hear soft moans as she gargles cum down her throat and gets off doing it. It's the hallmark of a woman who loves giving head.

After cleaning the cock with her mouth and smacking her lips together, she kisses her son's thigh and stands. The kiss on the thigh was an act of love which reveals how deep she's into this.

"I need to use the bathroom," she says, kissing her son on the cheek. "Thanks for the snack. Delicious as always."

Eliza pats her son's shoulder and goes to the bathroom. I breathe a sigh of relief because I haven't been caught. Standing here and watching them has been one of the most surreal moments of my life. The rush is similar to sports competition, only what I've witnessed is something out of a bizarre, pornographic dream.

The closet door opens and Chris gestures for me to remain silent.

"Walk quietly," he whispers.

I tiptoe and follow him out of the bedroom and down the stairs. My legs feel weak after that dump of adrenaline, but I force my feet to move.

Before I leave through the front door, he stops me.

"Do you believe me now?" he whispers.

I whisper back, "Jesus, you were telling the truth."

"Do you want to watch again? Or join?"

I shake my head. "I have to go. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about this. Ever."

With that, I leave and brisk walk outside towards my car.

By the next hour I'm training with Eliza, doing warm-ups on an exercise bike followed by a fitness routine for explosiveness and speed. We focus on box jumps and lifting weights for high repetitions.

She's focused today and we talk like everything's normal, but the image of a big dick in Eliza's mouth is hard to ignore. Who is this woman? Has she always been this way, or is there something about having a son's cock lodged down your throat that makes a woman change? Such deviancy. I've never known Eliza to be a woman who indulges in dark fetishes, but then again we all have secrets.

I masturbate when I get home, cumming in the toilet, hiding in the confines of a closed bathroom door. I wash my hands with soap, which is a symbolic way of cleansing my mind from these unholy thoughts, then I go to my family. Everyone is home and I'm the best partner and parent that I can be.

Everything has come full circle as I'm hanging out with my kids and talking about their science projects, while thinking about Eliza and her son. What must they be doing at this hour? I make an effort to engage with my kids about school, their social life, and everything in between. At the same time, I wonder if Eliza is naked or wearing see-through lingerie for her son's viewing pleasure.

I'm in bed at 10:49 p.m. and the lamplight shines as I use my phone. I deal with a lot of people so I'm constantly emailing and texting. I get a message from Chris which makes me pause.

Chris: Are you busy tommorow night?

Me: No, why?

Chris: Take a look at this

There's a moment of texting-silence until an image starts to load. It's a picture of Eliza naked from behind, standing in front of the bathroom mirror as she applies cream on her face. This is the same naked body that I've seen countless times in the locker room shower. I know every ripple of muscle, every curve, every tan line that she possesses.

Her nudity is nothing new to me, except in this context I wonder if she had just gotten fucked. God, what a twisted thought. It hurts to think about, or maybe that feeling is something else entirely, a feeling that an ordinary person should never think. My best friend fucked her son. And I'm starting to like it.

Me: I see the image, she's beautiful

Chris: Interested in watching again? I want mom to have a friend who understands, someone she can speak with. I have a plan. Interested?

Me: I might be interested, what's the plan?

Chris: Youll have to come at 9 pm tommorow because mom is busy all day. Im still working on the details. Interested?

Me: I'll be there. Have a good night, and thank you

I put the phone down and ignore the other emails that I was supposed to respond to. This takes precedence over everything. A stirring feeling takes hold of my gut and a fire burns in my groin. I turn the light off and lay in the darkness next to my partner. Part of me wants to have sex, but my mind won't be there. My mind is elsewhere, in Eliza's household.

When I hear my partner sleeping, I reach down and play with myself. Shame can be a powerful aphrodisiac, it seems.

***

By the next night, I'm sitting in my car at 8:51 p.m. down the street from Eliza's home. I'm nervous with my phone in hand, questioning myself. I think of all the reasons I should leave and go home to my family, who think I'm at a social function (which this technically is). I think of all the reasons I should stay and be part of this ill-conceived plan.