My Son, My Friend, My Secret Lover

My Son, My Friend, My Secret Lover

A longtime coming, literally eighteen-years in the making, unembarrassed and unashamed, having no regrets, 39-year-old, Susan Jill Parker, finally had a romantic, sexual affair with her 18-year-old son, Mathew.

This is a true story that Mathew asked me to write about his mother, Susan Jill Parker.

# # #

Always struggling to keep a roof over our heads, food on the table, and clothes on our backs, my life as a single mother hasn't been an easy one. It's always been my son and me against the world. Yet, with no one to blame but myself, I'm still paying for the one mistake that I made when I was 18-years-old and that turned out to be a blessing in disguise.

After a night of partying with my friends at my high school graduation party nearly twenty-years-ago, a man I didn't know and had never met until that night, impregnated me when I was 18-years-old. Invading my graduation party, a group of stockbrokers that he was with at the next table, his co-workers from Merrill Lynch at the Boston Financial District, were celebrating the money they made that week. Flirting with me all night and finally dancing with me, he ordered champagne in celebration of my high school graduation.

I was flattered. Just as I never had the attention from a man old enough to be my father, I had never had champagne until that night. Accustomed to men saying sexually inappropriate things while groping me, touching me, and feeling me through my clothes, especially when slow dancing with me, he was nice. Instead of talking about sex and all things sexual, instead of asking to see my naked tits, he talked about what interested me. He talked about the epic poems of Milton's Paradise Lost and Dante's Inferno.

Difficult not to wonder, I always wondered if there was a Heaven and a Hell. I always wondered if there was life after death. Or in the words of the immortal Peggy Lee, "Is That All There Is? Is that all there is?" Are we all doomed to suffer this life and not expect anything better? It's better if you have money but most of us don't.

With him seeming so worldly, I wanted to get his take on Heaven and Hell, and life after death. I figured that a stockbroker, a man who talks for a living and who forecast the prices of stocks and who discusses past, future, and current events, would have a different perspective on things. Yet, as much as I didn't know if there was Heaven and Hell, and life after death, he didn't know either. The answers to those questions were anyone's guess.

I thought that we were discussing fine works of literature. I had no idea that he was secretly, sexually seducing me until it was too late when I was naked and he was on top of me, humping me, and cumming inside of me. Not grabby nor was he sexually inappropriate, he was so smooth. A time when most men had no class, when they'd lift your short skirt to see your panties should they catch you alone in an elevator or alone on the stairwell in a parking garage, I felt as if I was being romanced by Luke Perry, John Stamos, or Brad Pitt.

# # #

"My name is Grant, Grant Bentley," he said flashing me his million-dollar smile.

'Grant Bentley? What the Hell kind of name is that? He's definitely not from this neighborhood,' I thought. 'Judging him from his sparkling, monogramed, gold cufflinks, his Rolex watch, his expensive, silk suit, his perfect smile, and his Caribbean tan, he didn't have to tell me that he was rich, he looked rich.

Curious about him, I never knew anyone named Grant. With him owning a brand new, 1990 Rolls Royce, and Rolls Royce owning Bentley Motors Limited before being sold to Volkswagen and then to BMW years later, I wondered if his family had anything to do with Bentley automobiles. Not seeing a Rolls Royce every day, I wondered if his family had anything to do with Rolls Royce.'

"Susan, Susan Jill Parker," I said the first time using my entire name as my formal introduction and as my way to identify myself and hopefully impress him.

Only, unless I was naked and, on my knees, or in his bed, he was a man that no high school schoolgirl could impress. Yet, I was no longer in high school. I was a high school graduate. Besides, I wasn't just any schoolgirl. I was SusanJillParker.

Moreover, it wasn't my name that impressed him. It was my pretty face, my natural, blonde hair, my big, blue eyes, and my full, red lips. He looked at me as if I was his sexy desert after he had eaten a seven-course meal. It was my round, firm ass, my long, shapely legs, and my huge D cup breasts that not only captured his interest but also that held his interest.

He looked at me as if he was taking inventory. He looked at me as if he was summing up and assessing all of my body parts. I knew he was sexually enamored with my sexy and shapely body; all men are. Before Kim Kardashian was even born, men wanted women who looked like Christie Brinkley. They wanted tall, classy, blue-eyed blondes with big tits and killer bodies instead of a short, promiscuous whores with big asses.

# # #

When he wasn't staring in my big, blue eyes, he stared at the tops of my huge breasts, at my long, line of sexy cleavage, and down my low-cut blouse top. With my nipples making their presence known, he stared at the impressions my erect nipples made through my thin brassiere in my sheer top. Already sexually aroused, my nipples ached to be fingered and sucked.

Gravitating away from our friends, the best night of my life, we spent the night talking, drinking, laughing, and dancing. Totally flattered, I never had the focused attention of a man old enough to be my father. Having never known my father, adding to my romantic illusion, I imagined Grant Bentley being my dad. In the way that my four brothers were all sexually attracted and incestuously intimate with my mom, I imagined being sexually attracted and incestuously intimate with my dad.

'How hot would that be if my dad was a handsome millionaire? How hot would that be to have a father who could buy me anything at any time that I wanted it,' I thought? 'If only Grant Bentley was my father, I'd be so proud. If only Grant Bentley was my lover, I suck him every morning and make love to him every night.'

Only, with him at the other end of the spectrum, no doubt, he was just another perverted man who was more sexually attracted to an 18-year-old girl instead of to a woman his age. Clearly, if only by the way that he looked at me with unrequited lust, undressing me with his eyes, he imagined me naked and being my lover instead of my father. Nonetheless, I imagined kissing him, French kissing him while reaching down to feel his stiff prick through his pants. I imagined making out with him while allowing him to touch and feel me everywhere through my clothes.

Taking two to have sex and with me taking after my mother Natty, Nasty Natty, a skilled cocksucker, a huge understatement I loved stroking cock as much as I loved sucking cock. My compliment that I did a good job of sucking them, I loved it when men ejaculated cum in my mouth, all over my face, and gave me a cum bath. I imagined unzipping him, pulling out his stiff prick, and giving him a hand job before moving to my knees to give him a blowjob.

Something that I'm very skilled at doing, sucking cock, wouldn't he be surprised that someone my young age mastered the skill of cocksucking. I imagined stroking his prick while sucking his prick. I imagined him cumming in my mouth and all over my face. I imagined him giving me a cum bath. Making me feel loved and sexually wanted, I loved it when men ejaculated in my mouth and all over my face. I loved receiving cum baths.

# # #

It was late, well after midnight and he offered me a ride home. Instead of declining his offer to drive me home, taking a cab, or calling one of my brothers for a ride home, instead, when I saw his car, I couldn't say no to accepting his offer for a ride. He had a shiny new, 1990, gold, Rolls Royce, Silver Spur convertible.

'Wow! Look at this car,' I thought. 'It's beautiful. It's sexy. It's classy. Imagining arriving in this automobile in style for dinner, in Sidney Poitier's words in the movie, "Guess who's coming to dinner, Guess who's coming to dinner?"

Having never even seen one up close, I had never been in a Rolls Royce before. To be chauffeured home in a Rolls Royce was a dream come true and a chance of a lifetime. How could I say no to that? Who could say no to that? I couldn't.

When we drove by my house and continued going, I saw my mother, Natty, peeking out the living room window. She had her share of luxury transportation over the years. With her an ex-stripper, an ex-prostitute, and an all-around whore, she's been transported in limousines, private jets, and aboard yachts going from this exclusive, private party to that exclusive, private party.

Honestly, I was excited about being driven home in a Rolls Royce. I couldn't wait to tell my four, much older brothers, Freddie, the twins, Vito and Guido, and Big Louie, all car buffs, that I had a ride in a Rolls Royce, Silver Spur convertible. My mother had her four of her five children by four, different men. With her having sexual intercourse with my brothers before I was born, and with me an accident of birth, I suspected that one of my brothers was my father.

'How fucked up is that,' I thought?

# # #

Before I was born, they all worked for Ford in Detroit, where they're originally from before moving to Boston. Even though they were Mustang fanatics and all owned new Mustangs, they loved Rolls Royce's. Who doesn't? A handmade, one-of-a-kind automobile, what car buff wouldn't love to own a custom made, one-of-a-kind, Rolls Royce?

Suddenly, I felt like Daisy Buchanan in F. Scott Fitzgerald's novel, The Great Gatsby, being whisked away in such a fine, luxury, handmade motorcar. Giving me his undivided attention, he made me feel so special. He made me feel like a princess.

Something that I knew I'd never be, he made me feel rich. I felt like Michelle Dockery as Lady Mary Crawley in Downton Abbey. I felt like Cinderella and his Rolls Royce was my glass slipper. Not knowing anyone rich, I couldn't wait to tell my friends that the man that I met at my high school graduation party was rich.

# # #

Instead of going straight home, we stopped to look at the stars. Clearly, with me his star, he stared more at me than he looked up at the stars. Instead of just looking up at sparkling lights that were billions of miles away, he pointed out specific ones and told me their names. It was a magical, romantic night and, having never met anyone like him, I was enthralled with him.

Unfortunately, with me having had too much champagne to drink, I was drunk. I was his easy victim for him to do whatever he wanted to do to my naked, virginal body. What he wanted to do was to strip me naked and have sexual intercourse with me. What he wanted to do was to make love to me before fucking me.

Call it convoluted or wishful thinking but I continued thinking of him as my dad. No doubt, he continued thinking of me as his daughter. With him thirty-years older than me, I felt as if I was having incestuous sex with my father. Once again, no doubt, he felt that he was having incestuous sex with his daughter.

Whether imagined or real, father and daughter sex doesn't get much better than that. Wicked for me to admit but, totally enamored with him now, I'd have sex with him even if he was my dad. At the very least, I'd suck his cock. I'd give him a blowjob and allow him to cum in my mouth. Then, unable to help myself, I'd allow him to cum all over my face. I'd allow him to give me, his young whore, a cum bath.

"We'll be more comfortable in the backseat. I'll put the top down so that we can look at the stars," I remember him saying that as his excuse to get me in the backseat, to strip me naked, and to fuck me.

# # #

Once in the backseat, as if he was Dr. Jekyll turned into Mr. Hyde, he touched and felt me everywhere through my clothes while kissing me, French kissing me. Too drunk to resist, I allowed him to sexually do whatever he wanted to do to me. He moved his hand inside my blouse and felt my breasts through my bra. Then, he moved his other hand beneath my short skirt and cupped my pussy through my white, bikini panties and reached around me to feel my panty clad ass.

Not stopping there, he had one hand inside of my bra cupping my big, naked tit and fingering my erect nipple. His other hand was buried in my panties rubbing my clit and finger fucking my pussy. He was masturbating me. Living out my sexual fantasy, my imagined dad was masturbating me. I couldn't believe my imagined dad was masturbating me.

Using me and sexually abusing me, he made me feel like such a slut and that made me feel so hot. If he had been anyone else, a man my age, I may have resisted him. Yet, there was something irresistible about him.

I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to feel me. I allowed him to strip me naked. I wanted him to see me naked. I wanted him to make love to me. I wanted him to fuck me.

Nonetheless, having just met the man and allowing him to have his wicked, sexual way with my naked body, he made me feel powerless to stop him. Feeling how my mother must have felt when having sex for money, he made me feel like such a whore. Yet, ready to give myself to him, he made me so wet. Having never had sexual intercourse with anyone before, a virgin, but not wanting to be a virgin anymore, I wanted him to fuck me.

Something I've grown accustomed to with men my age, waiting for it, I expected him to unzip himself and pull out his prick. I expected him to put a heavy hand to the back of my blonde, pretty head and push my head down and forward. Having had men do that to me many times before, I expected him to stick his erect prick in my mouth and force me to blow him. I expected him to want to cum in my mouth and watch me swallow his cum.

When he didn't force me to suck him, I was surprised. I was drunk and I wouldn't have resisted giving him a hand job and/or a blowjob. Definitely, I would have blown him. I would have allowed him to cum in my mouth and watched me swallow his cum. Accustomed to giving hand jobs and blowjobs, all the men my age wanted me to suck them. All men my age wanted to cum in my mouth while they fondled my naked tits and pulled, turned, and twisted my erect nipples.

With us at men's mercy, it wasn't easy being a woman back then. Men had all of the power and control, sexual and otherwise while women were their willing and/or unwilling victims. Whether stripping us naked and/or forcing us to blow them, especially at the annual Christmas party, men were always groping us and forcing us to do sexual things that we weren't ready to do.

In the hands of a master lover, the men my age didn't know how to romance a woman. They didn't know how to sexually seduce a woman. They didn't know how to make love to a woman. Rushing the sex and not taking the time to get us sexually aroused, they were clueless to what women wanted and needed.

Uniquely different, instead of wanting me to blow him, he wanted to make love to me. Instead of cumming in my mouth, he wanted to fuck me and cum in my pussy. Instead of wanting me to suck him, he wanted to fuck me.

Unfortunately, I was too drunk to realize that he wasn't wearing a condom. Luckily, one of my friends knew his name and where he worked. Two weeks later, when I discovered that I was pregnant, I confronted him and told him that I was pregnant. Without even having to ask him, he willingly gave me money for an abortion.

# # #

I staggered in my front door with my blouse unbuttoned, my naked breasts dangling out of my front snapping bra, my skirt on backwards, my hair a mess, and my lipstick smeared. Obvious to my mother, who had been there plenty of times before, something my mother did all the time, she knew that I had sex with a man that I had just met. Like mother like daughter, I felt like such a whore.

Yet, a night to remember and one that I'd never forget, while making out with him, I remember allowing him to feel my big tits through my bra. I loved having my breasts felt while French kissing. Never having felt the touch of an older man, a man old enough to be my father, I allowed him to unbutton my blouse and grope me through my brassiere. Not nearly stopping there, I allowed him to unhook my front snapping bra and remove my breasts from my bra.

How could I forget? Yet, something I never wanted to remember. Only several months earlier, I had been with older men, four of them. I suddenly remembered my four brothers gang raping me on my 18th birthday for giving them lip.

'Happy birthday to me,' I thought while forced me to sexually endure them fucking me.

Ripping off my clothes, they stripped me naked. Never was I as embarrassed as I was with my four brothers seeing me naked, touching and feeling my naked body everywhere, and having their wicked way with my naked, virginal body. With none of them wearing condoms, with them all brutally fucking me and cumming inside of me, not that time of the month, I was fortunate that I wasn't pregnant. The last thing that I needed was to have a baby by one of my brothers.

Yet, this was different than being gang raped by my four, perverted brothers. With me so sexually aroused, I wanted to have sex with Grant. With sucking cock my specialty, I wanted to blow him. I wanted to suck his cock. I wanted him to cum in my mouth. I wanted him to cum all over my face and across my naked breasts. I wanted him to give me a cum bath.

Yet, it wasn't Grant that gave me what I wanted. It was my four brothers that sexually satisfied me. After stripping me naked and before fucking me, they forced me to blow them. They forced me to allow them to cum in my mouth. They forced me to swallow their cum.

As if he had never seen or felt a woman's naked breasts before, he was all over my big tits. A huge understatement, he loved my big tits. Touching them, feeling them, fondling them, groping them, and sucking them, he had his wicked, sexual way with my naked breasts. Yet, oddly enough, drunker than I thought I was, I never felt him go under my short skirt and remove my panties. I didn't know that he had removed my panties until I felt his stiff prick inside of my soaking wet pussy.

Slowly humping me, he made love to me. Then, humping me harder and humping me faster, as if he fucked me as if he was fucking his daughter. A new, sexual experience, submitting to him, I wrapped my arms around his neck and returned his hard and fast humps with my hard and fast humps. As if I was fucking my father, I fucked him. I fucked Grant Bentley.

Other than the time my brothers gang raped me, having never had sexual intercourse before I was assuredly having consensual, sexual intercourse now. Then, as if he was shot, he abruptly stopped humping me when he ejaculated load of cum inside of my pussy. I had no idea that he wasn't wearing a condom until I felt his cum running down my legs. I had no idea that this was the creation of my son, Mathew.

# # #

Even though I told him that I was 18-years-old and showed him my driver's license, with me always looking so much younger, he didn't believe me. Fearing that I was underage, when I wasn't, nonetheless, thinking twice about fucking me, he gave me ten-thousand-dollars not to report him to the police for rape. Then, when he disappeared like a thief in the night, I never heard from him or saw him again.

A year later and every year thereafter, he continued sending me ten-thousand-dollars. He sent me a stack of one-hundred, hundred-dollar-bills in a sack and sealed in a registered and insured envelope. With his donation supplementing my income, now, I had enough money to buy all that I needed for my baby.

Even though I thought about aborting my baby, I couldn't. With me a Catholic in good standing, I couldn't abort my baby nor could I put my baby up for adoption. It was wrong to murder my child as much as it was wrong to abandon my baby. I couldn't do it. I just couldn't do it. Already attached to my baby before my baby was even born, I loved my baby.