It was late August, and I was heading off to college. In Florida, this time of year is brutally hot, and all morning, my dad and I had been loading the car with my stuff, sweating buckets in the process. Meanwhile, Mom sat watching us, sipping wine.
"Mary, you're not supposed to mix antidepressants with alcohol. What are you doing?" Dad said, his voice sharp with concern.
"Don't be a buzzkill, Mike. It's just a couple of glasses," she shot back. You could tell she was struggling with me leaving.
The last few days, she'd been acting strange--cryptic, staring at me for too long, coming into my room at night to say goodnight and kiss me on the forehead, something she'd never done before.
Honestly, I was nervous too. What if I didn't fit in with the crowd? What if my roommate turned out to be a jerk? What about the girls--would they be gorgeous and out of my league? Would I even stack up against everyone else?
The car was almost full, but we still had suitcases, boxes of books, and a big TV to fit in. Where were we supposed to cram all this?
"Looks like you're staying behind, honey--no room for you," Dad said, half-joking.
"No, *you're* staying, dear. I'm going no matter what," Mom replied. I could tell she was already tipsy. And when Mom's had a few, arguing with her is pointless.
"Angelo, your call: the TV and books or your mom," Dad said, tossing the decision my way.
I didn't even have time to think before Mom cut in, decisive. "I'll sit on his lap. It's only five hours--I'll manage."
"But if the cops see that, we're screwed," Dad protested.
"Move the stuff to the front seat. We'll sit in the back behind you. No one'll see us, and shove the TV between the front seats," she instructed.
Dad gave me a questioning look.
"If we can technically fit, I'm fine with it, but I'm not leaving the TV or my books," I said. How was I supposed to play my console without the TV? And my self-help book collection--those were too precious to leave behind. I'd already cut down to the bare essentials.
"Alright, smartasses, but if either of you starts whining, I'm dropping you at the first bus stop," Dad warned.
Mom and I exchanged a glance and smirked. This was shaping up to be one hell of a ride.
---
We waited in the car while Mom changed.
"I'm worried about her, son," Dad said, his voice low. "Her therapist called me specifically to warn me she can't mix those new antidepressants with booze. Said there'd be side effects." I could hear the genuine fear in his tone.
"She's a grown-up. She can handle herself," I replied. "I bet she'll just pass out like she always does on long drives." Just then, I saw her step out--in a short, sheer pink summer dress, holding an unfinished bottle of wine.
"Oh my God," Dad groaned under his breath.
Mom yanked open the back door, climbed onto my lap with confidence, straddling me, and said firmly, "Let's go."
I froze at how casual she was about it--like she did this every day, no hesitation, no awkwardness. She settled in, her warmth pressing right against my crotch.
I didn't know where to put my hands. Her weight pinned my dick in an awkward position--it hurt a little, but I could deal.
I noticed she wasn't wearing a bra. She was drenched from the heat, her skin slick and hot. A bead of sweat rolled down her tanned neck. I caught the scent of Chanel No. 5 mixed with her damp skin.
"Dad, please turn on the AC and roll up the windows," I said.
"Small problem: the AC's barely working. Probably out of coolant--needs a refill. Once we hit the highway, it'll cool off with the windows cracked. Hang in there," he replied.
Mom took a few big gulps from the bottle while we idled at a light.
"You only fix problems when they're unbearable," she snapped at Dad.
He didn't respond, and the silence grew thick with tension.
I could feel the heat radiating from her, especially her ass. My groin was soaked and burning up.
"Turn on the radio, or I'll lose my mind in this quiet," she said. "Sex on Fire" by Kings of Leon blared through the speakers.
Mom started singing along, swaying slowly like she was dancing. That was the spark that changed everything. My dick twitched involuntarily, swelling against her grinding.
I didn't know what to do. I couldn't stop it--she kept moving. A pothole in the road made it worse.
The pain from my boner's weird angle was excruciating.
"Mom, lift up a sec--I need to fix my shorts," I said.
She shifted slightly, and I freed my thick, heavy cock, laying it to the side.
"Done," I said. She sat back down.
I knew she'd feel it now--too big to miss.
She froze, stopped swaying, stopped singing. I went rigid with embarrassment. She took another swig from the bottle.
"Baby, you comfy? Everything okay?" she asked, half-turning to me.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry," I said.
"I need to pee. Pull over," she told Dad. Did she not like it? Was she freaked out by my hard-on and didn't want to sit on me anymore? Maybe she'd demand to drive--but she was drunk, and Dad wouldn't let her.
"It's all fields out here--where are you gonna go?" he argued.
"I'll squat somewhere. Stop the car--I can't hold it."
"Mary, you're plastered! We'll get in trouble with the cops. Wait for a gas station," Dad pleaded.
"I'm gonna piss myself."
She arched her hips back, pressing her hot, soft crotch harder against me.
What the hell was happening? This wasn't like her. Maybe the wine and heat were hitting her harder than usual.
