This is a work of fiction. All character in this story are above 18 years old. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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I could tell myself that my mom would not cheat all I wanted, but the lingering doubt in my mind could not be drowned out. The conditions were all just perfect for her to cheat. Sure, mom would not cheat because she valued her family and was loyal to dad and all, but she could easily cheat. She could go out to meet her lovers while no one else was at home. Hell, she could even invite them to come over and leave before I got home. Every night when I sat in front of her during dinner time, my mind would be invaded by the image of a white cock thrusting in and out of her pussy on the very kitchen table that I was having my meal on just a few hours earlier.
Despite the self-reassurance, my mind began to mull over a taboo question: But what's wrong if she cheats? She was only in her late 30s, yet she was by herself most of the time, being little more than a housekeeper to a man who was rarely home and spent more time at work than with her. It was only natural that she would look elsewhere for affection and companionship. What was the point of being loyal and upholding the oh-so-great traditional family values if that meant starving herself of her basic sexual needs? Why would I be surprised if I caught her cheating one day?
Not long after her conversations with our neighbors started, her behavior began to change a little. Some days she would look more energetic and refreshed, with a glow in her face that was not there before. Sometimes she would smile to herself while doing her chores, as if she were recalling a pleasant memory. When I asked her about it, she quickly made up some generic reasons, usually because she had had a pleasant conversation with our neighbors earlier, or because she was talking to dad in the afternoon. I chose to believe her, but at the same time, I could not shake off another possibility from my head: She was happy on those particular days because white cocks satisfied her.
That sinful thought made me afraid that she would divorce dad and leave us for her lovers. It would turn our lives upside down for a long time.
So I thought to myself, if she could escape her boring life and enjoy the pleasure of sex without tearing my family apart, I would not get in her way.
The uncertainty tormenting my mind for a long time. I finally felt relieved when I came home earlier than usual one day, without telling mom first, only to see a stranger leaving our home.
He was a tall, athletic white man, probably in his mid-thirties. He walked to his car in our driveway with a confident gait, as if he was proud of himself for what he had done. I quickly hid behind a fence so he would not notice me.
Going inside to see the mess that they had just made would be awkward, so I decided to return to the library and wait until mom cleaned up.
As I was walking, I could not help but feel a tinge of excitement inside me. When I saw the evidence of her infidelity with my own eyes, my first thought was that, fortunately, the best scenario I mentioned above had happened.
It opened up an exciting possibility: There were erotic scenes happening right under our roof, with my own mother being the main actress that I could watch with my own eyes.
Mom was pretty good at cleaning up the evidence too. By the time I got home, everything was in order, she was setting the dinner table, but not without a slight grin on her face.
I became so obsessed with that depraved thought that porn no longer aroused me as much as the taboo image of my own mother being conquered by white men.
The virtuous part of my mind kept screaming that it was wrong, that I needed to confront mom, or at least, look away from her debauchery. But just like her, the perverted part of my brain convinced me that the pleasure I would gain was better than any abstract moral value.
I was determined to see her in the act, and I knew what I needed to do to get what I wanted. The attic was directly above our parents' bedroom. One time, when I was moving some stuff there, I noticed a crack on the wooden floor that I could peek through and get an eagle-eye view of my parents' bedroom. Back then, I did not know how useful it would be to me.
Next, I needed to pay attention to mom's behavior. Usually, she would be more gleeful on the days that she invited her lovers over.
It would not take long for an opportunity to come. On that day, while eating breakfast, I noticed that mom wore a slight grin on her face and sometimes giggled to herself while she was vacuuming the floor.
As soon as my mind registered that characteristic change, my fingers trembled in excitement. I told her that I would go to the library as usual, then quickly finished my breakfast. I drove to the library, parked my car there, got on a bus, got off at a station near my house, and walked back home from there. I carefully timed my arrival to make sure that I got home while mom was going out for groceries. I went to my room and waited.
About 30 minutes later, I heard mom's car entering the garage. Minutes later, the front door clicked open. I quietly tiptoed to the hallway in front of my room and crouch down to avoid being seen. I was disappointed to see that it was just mom carrying the grocery bag inside. She went to the kitchen and began her daily routine. I went back inside, thinking about going back to the library.