The Perfect Son

Jessy and Adam, both nineteen, sat rigid at the dining table while he second-guessed the whole visit. She’d been the one pushing to meet his family, because she figured if things were getting serious she wanted in. Under the table she squeezed his hand, gave him a cocky little smile that said relax, I got this. The second Mrs. Curtin stepped in with the tray, Adam snapped his fingers away and stood up like a damn soldier. His mother moved like someone walking on eggshells, polished and sweet on the outside, but her eyes never stopped twitching. She smiled at Jessy and bragged about how Adam was “such a perfect son,” like she was pitching him for sainthood. Jessy grinned back, chatter-box bright, and told the story of how they’d met, but you could feel the woman wasn’t listening; her focus was glued to her boy. Every time Adam drifted toward Jessy, his mother fired off another errand—“Adam, the salad tongs, sweetheart”—and back he’d trot. After a couple rounds Jessy’s stomach flipped, so she excused herself to the bathroom and leaned against the door once it shut. Something here stank. When she came back Adam was alone, fingers drumming the wood. Before he could answer her question about his mom, Jessy laid it out flat—his mother was treating him like a toddler, it was weird as hell, and if she were him she’d be halfway out the door already. She scooted in for a kiss, still laughing, then her gaze dropped. Mrs. Curtin knelt under the table with her lips wrapped around her step-son’s cock, sucking slow and quiet like it was dessert. Jessy recoiled, cursed both of them for the sick fucking display, and bolted. Adam chased her into the driveway, palms up, swearing it wasn’t cheating, not really. His mom wasn’t blood, his dad had been a violent bastard, and the only thing that kept her from meltdown panic attacks was a quick throat-fuck now and then. Jessy spit the word “pervert” at him; he reminded her it was how their fucked-up household stayed upright. He insisted he’d invited her over to change it. If she loved him, come back inside, tell his mom together that they’re serious, and cut the cord for good. Jessy wiped her face, muttered that this was insane, but followed him anyway. In the living room, Mrs. Curtin waited coiled on the couch. Jessy perched stiffly at Adam’s side while he cleared his throat and said the arrangement had to stop. His mom curled into a sobbing knot. Adam lunged to soothe her, which only made Jessy stand up threatening to leave. Through the tears Mrs. Curtin offered her deal: if Jessy really meant more, then show her exactly why—right there, let her watch the two of them fuck.