Losing the House but Winning Mom 02

He wondered what she sounded like when having an orgasm. He wondered what it would feel like to having his mother's hand on his cock. He wondered what it would feel like to have her stroke him before kneeling in front of him to suck him. In the way he wondered how it would feel like to have his cock buried in his mother's pussy, he wondered what it would feel like to have his cock in his mother's mouth. He wished he could masturbate without his mother knowing that he was masturbating. Only, with neither one having much privacy in this motel room, he'd have to save masturbating himself until later.

If they were sexually intimate, he wouldn't have to masturbate. If they were sexually intimate, they could pass the time and temporarily forget their worries and woes by having sex, incestuous sex. With him imagining how she looked naked not quite enough, he would love to know what his mother looked like topless. If only he could see her tits, just once, giving him enough fodder for him to masturbate more accurately over the imagined image of her naked breasts for the rest of his life, he'd be so happy.

Having never seen her without her clothes, he wondered what she looked like topless and/or naked. He could only imagine what she looked like topless and/or naked. A sexual, sexy, incestuous dream come true, if only for a split second he could see his mother topless and/or naked, he'd no longer have to imagine what her tits, her ass, and her pussy looked like. Knowing that he couldn't and wouldn't ever see his mother topless and/or naked, nothing more than an outrageous, incestuous, sexual fantasy he enjoyed having when masturbating himself, he wished he could sleep naked and in the same bed with her. Only, his mother didn't sleep naked. She always wore a nightgown. Making himself unbearably horny, now, he was just sexually teasing himself of thoughts that would never happen.

With her a modestly moral woman, she'd never go for having incestuous sex with her son or even showing him her topless and/or naked body. She'd never show him what she looked like in her bra, never mind showing him her tits. She's never show him what she looked like in her bra and panty, never mind showing him her naked body. If she never show him her naked body, she'd never sleep with him when naked. In all the years he lived with her after his father left her for another woman, a much younger woman, he had only seen brief, up skirt flashes of her panties and brief, down blouse flashes of her bra and cleavage. Yet, he had seen enough of her through her sheer, thin nightgowns to know that she had a sexy and shapely body beneath her clothes.

"Too good to be true, I knew there was something wrong with the bank giving someone like us a mortgage," she said looking at him for his agreement. "What was I thinking? Blinded by the dream of owning our own house, I should have went with my instincts," she said blaming herself for something that was totally out of her control. "They tricked me into believing that I was deserving of a mortgage. They took advantage of me. They deceived me into believing that we would financially afford and finally have our dream home," she said continuing to beat up herself.

Michael was quick to defend his mother.

"You couldn't have known Mom what they were doing behind the scenes. No one knew what was happening back then," said Michael. "Even the financial experts were mystified that someone could devise such a wicked scheme with such a dastardly plan."

Jennifer fisted her hand in frustration.

"We were nothing but pawns in an economic, criminal game of lying, cheating, and deception of Wall Street hedge funds and derivative managers," she said. "Banks were betting against us and against their own mortgages in hopes that we would fail and couldn't afford to pay our inflated mortgages. As if they all had side bets, with us the tiny ball rolling in the opposite direction on a giant roulette wheel, they sold junk bonds as insurance to cover their business loses when we didn't have those safety nets in place. They made more money with us not paying our mortgage than they would if we paid out mortgage," she said with bitterness mixed with anger.

He patted her hand in his feeble attempt to calm her.

"You're right Mom," said Michael.

He knew that she needed to go through this to come out the other side sane and with a clear head to thing what their next move should be.

"Those assholes. Either way, whether we paid our mortgage or not, they made money. Then, even after they made their money, they still took our house. Those banks didn't lose a penny. To add even more profit to their bottom lines, Treasury Secretary Paulson gave them golden parachutes with billion dollar bailouts. Where's our golden parachute? Where's out bailout? Instead our bailing us out, the ones who need it the most, we get evicted from our house."

She looked at her son with sadness.

"It wasn't our fault Mom. They used us. They played us. With billions of dollars at stake, greed and power corrupted them, especially when there was no one to call them on any of it, not even the SEC," he said. "Then, leveling the playing field and to avoid prosecution, Angelo Mozilo, CEO of Countrywide Bank, President Bush's close, personal friend, gave any member of congress and of the house, who wanted one, low interest bank loans. Nothing more than hush money, I don't know why they all weren't charged with conflict of interest and/or conspiracy at the very least," he said.

She looked at her son with dejection.

"It was a well-orchestrated scam of bright men over average, hardworking, people, common folk who just wanted to own their own home. By offering me, an average American a home mortgage and making me believe that I could afford it, the bank turned my head around for me to think that I could live in a nice house and in a safe neighborhood," she said.

He was angrier that his mother was upset than he was that they lost the house.

"It's okay Mom. It's okay," said Michael patting her hand when he'd much rather feel her tits while fingering her pussy.

She looked at him with fire in her eyes. She looked at him in the way that he imagined her looking at him with sexual passion should ever they be intimate with one another.

"All of those bastards and bitches who crashed the stock market should have gone to jail but no one was even arrested or even charged with a crime," she said letting go of her son to pace the room. "When a black man is shot in the back by the police for stealing a loaf of bread to feed his family," she said wagging her index finger, "how could Wall Street's, Caucasian, stock traders steal billions of dollars without penalty?"

As if she was she was Ellie Mae Clampett from the Beverly Hillbillies of old, she was getting all riled up again. Only, they didn't leave a shack in the Ozarks for a mansion in Beverly Hills. They left a three thousand square foot, four bedroom, and three bath house in a nice neighborhood to rent a 300 square foot room in the seedy part of downtown.

"Well, like millions of others who lost their homes, now we know we've been scammed out of our dream and out of our money. Yet, we held onto that house longer than most folk did or would. When the interest rate went up and the valuation of our house went down, and we were unable to refinance, we should have stopped paying the mortgage. We should have known right then that it was all just a scam," said Jennifer.

With his mother continuing to feed the flame, Michael was angry all over again too.

"We should have walked away from that house like all those other people did," he said sharing his mother's anger. "We would have ruined our credit but we would have salvaged our pride and left ourselves with more money than we have now."

Not knowing how to make his mother feel any better other than to stop feeding her more fuel, he remained quiet while looking at her with sorrow.

"If I knew then what I know now, I would have had them take the house a year earlier," she said with sadness.

She looked away from her son to stare down at the mattress.

"It's not our fault. We were just trying to take our piece of the pie to live the American dream. We didn't know that the pie was already poisoned. We didn't know that our dream was a nothing but a nightmare," he said careful to not raise his voice and further upset his mother any more than she was.

Then, expecting her to still be upset, instead, she gave him a sexy look that she had never given him before. She gave him a sexy look he had seen on her face before but not a look that she had ever given him. She gave that same, sexy look to that man who brought her home from work. When they pulled up in his car and he got out to walk her to the door, Michael peeped out at them from his bedroom window. Expecting them to kiss, expecting the man to feel his mother through her clothes in the way he wished he could feel his mother through her clothes while kissing her, the man didn't kiss his mother. While waiting for the kiss to happen, he watched them standing on the porch and staring at one another in silence.

In the way she looked at that man then was the way she was looking at him now. He could tell his mother liked that man who drove her home from work. It was obvious she liked him when she twirled her hair between her fingers and looked at him with those big, green, beautiful eyes in the way she was curling her hair between her fingers and looking up at him now. Definitely, he could tell his mother liked the man. He could tell his mother wanted and expected to be kissed. Only, just as he wouldn't dare kiss his mother, that man didn't kiss his mother either.

'God, damn it! Why didn't he kissed her? She deserved to be kissed. If that was him standing there on the front porch with his mother, he would have kissed her,' he thought while remembering that awkward moment his mother experienced.

Yet, here he was sitting with his mother and even though she looked like she wanted and expected to be kissed, just as that man didn't kiss her then, he didn't kiss her now either. How could he kiss her? He couldn't kiss her in the way that a man kissing a woman. She was his mother. He didn't dare kiss her in a sexual way. What was wrong with him for even having such a thought of kissing his mother sexually while feeling her though her clothes.

"Would you like to come inside?"

His mother looked at the man seemingly already knowing that he wasn't going to accept her invitation to come inside. He was just giving her a ride home and nothing more than that. Instead of giving her an interested look, he gave her a panicked look. He gave her the look that a married man would give a single woman. He looked from her to look at the front door before looking back at her.

"Thank you, no, um, sorry, I have to get home," he said turning towards his car and walking down the steps. Seemingly feeling as if he needed to give her more of an explanation why he declined her invitation, he turned to face her before leaving. "I just had a messy divorce. I'm not looking to begin another relationship. Not yet. Not now. Sorry," he said getting in his car.

As if he was her last hope, he remembered seeing his mother standing there dejectedly while watching him drive away. Obviously, she was lonely. Obviously, she liked him and thought that he liked her too. Obviously, she expected more from him. Obviously, she was looking to latch onto a man, but not just any man. She was looking for a man she liked. She was looking for a man who she thought was good and who would help her keep her house. As if he was standing there with her on the front porch, he could feel her rejection from his bedroom. If he wasn't her son, he'd kiss her. If he wasn't her son, he'd feel her through her clothes while kissing her.

To be continued...

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