Cam was absolutely tanked. His equilibrium was way off kilter, his motor functions were slowed and sloppy, and his mind was fuzzed by the copious amount of alcohol he had imbibed that evening. All that being true, however, had not prevented him from following his ex-lacrosse teammates down the hall. They hadn't noticed him as he'd been skulking back and they were too captivated by the prospect of fucking his mother, but even if they had it wouldn't have mattered to Cam.
In his current state, he likely wouldn't have been able to do much ass-kicking, but he wasn't averse to trying anyways. Instead, however, they had entered the guest room at the end of the hall and closed the door without so much as looking back. Cam lingered in the hallway awkwardly for a few minutes until he heard the unmistakable sounds of intercourse through the door even from a few feet away. He walked gingerly toward the door and pressed his ear against it, feeling a strange mix of emotions bubble up within him as he listened.
He could hear his mother gagging and moaning and two male voices uttering sexually aggressive messages against the backdrop of slapping flesh. He pictured the scene as a spit roast, with his mother servicing two cocks from two different holes simultaneously. The image in his head was vile, especially so because it was his mother, but the physical reaction that Cam felt did not quite echo that notion. Instead, his cock surged and began to harden beneath his light khaki shorts for some inexplicable reason.
Cam also wrestled with the return of the jealousy that he had felt while watching his mother with Foster, and a bit of his trademark anger begin to rise as well. 'Why was he feeling this way?' He asked himself. But there was something deep down that Cam had rarely, if ever, really acknowledged. He was a 'momma's boy,' and that was something that he would readily admit. He had never been ashamed about the love and admiration he felt towards his mother, and how much her approval had really meant to him.
Afterall, what was wrong with loving your mom and wanting to make her proud? But Cam knew on some level that it had progressed into something a little less healthy. He had essentially modeled himself after the ideal that his mother had of a successful, classy gentleman. He was poised and confident and ambitious to a fault, rarely ever crass or impulsive. He was levelheaded and composed, bordering on aloof, but in a way that he believed was an indication of his station in life. At least, these were all the things that he presented to the outside world.
Inside, Cam was a little bit empty. He felt very little for most people and aside from the bump to his ego every time he was praised and recognized for his achievements felt mostly ambivalent about his activities. The one place that he got his real sense of accomplishment and meaning from, however, had been his mother. When he was very young, Cam remembered feeling a distinct lack of interest in almost anything. He didn't care about friends, or school, or even playing games and sports.
He was sure there was something wrong with him, but being as young as he was, didn't know how to communicate that or even really understand it himself. But the one thing he did know, however, was that his mother knew what was right. She was so confident and sure of herself, and her strong opinions about how to live was captivating to Cam's aimless experience of youth. He also loved that she doted on him so thoroughly despite feeling utterly unworthy of attention.
It had begun with something banal, like picking up his room or making his bed in the mornings--but his mother's approval of his behavior was like a drug to Cam. Additionally, it represented a clear path forward. Even if what he was doing didn't resonate as meaningful to him, because it was meaningful to his mother it must have been correct. So, it began to go, and by the time Cam had graduated from 6th grade he was using his mother's approval and guiding touch to develop himself in all ways.
Cam hadn't really thought hard about it for a long time, because it was no longer very noteworthy as a constant truth in his life. But there was a point at which he realized that he would need to find a wife that nearly perfectly mimicked his mother. His girlfriend's up till that point had all been either flings to satiate basic needs, or convenience plays to reinforce his social status through connections with athletic stars and prominent members of the school or community. The only real love and connection he had felt, was with his mother.
Cam didn't masturbate, as weird as that was to all his friends. As early as he could remember he could basically get laid any time he wanted. But the real reason was because he didn't really fantasize about things. Sure, he appreciated the sight of a beautiful woman, but he didn't go back to his room and imagine himself with her. But there had been one day in the summer of his freshman year of high school that had confused Cam and subsequently been buried in his subconscious ever since.
He had gone out with some friends to a movie and after a pre-movie stop at a local restaurant had started feeling sick. He ditched the movie and came home early with an intention to go lie down when he heard his parent's voices from the patio. He unknowingly walked over to let them know what had happened and was confronted with his parents making love on one of the patio recliners. They didn't notice him, as he was inside the house and they were still outside, but he could see them clearly in the waning light of the early evening through the sliding glass door.
He watched a few moments, feet frozen to the floor as his mother rode his father slowly about 20 feet in front of him. His eyes roamed along the silhouette of his mother's womanly figure as her hips undulated on top his father and she arched her back in pleasure. As soon as his muscles unseized he raced upstairs to his room and dove under the covers. His heart was pounding, and his brow was wet with perspiration but the strangest of all was the blood that had rushed to his midsection.
It was one of those moments in early adolescence that seemed propelled by a mix of confusing emotions and hormones, but Cam knew better at the time and decided to bury it all the same. Now, standing outside of the guest room where his mother was being plowed by a couple of jocks from high school the truth had resurfaced with a vengeance. If it had been a fluke of puberty when he was 14, he could have continued to ignore it. But with the experience last night with Foster and now here, it had become impossible to deny.
His feelings for his mother were far more complicated than he had ever wanted to admit, and in his compromised state of inebriation he wasn't sure if he had the presence of mind to step away from the door. Before he had time to really consider his options, the door burst open and nearly smashed into his face. He instinctively raised his hand in defense just in time for the two men exiting the room to come face to face with him. They were sweaty and panting, with huge shit-eating grins plastered to both of their faces that immediately went slack when they saw who was there to meet them at the door.
They stammered a moment before simply nodding at Cam and hastily shuffling past him. Cam wanted to smash his fist in their faces and keep doing so until his knuckles were bloody and bruised. Instead, he let them pass and barely mustered any response above a grunt. When they'd disappeared back down the hall toward the party, Cam turned his attention back to the room. His mother was there, laying on her stomach on the bed. It was dark but if he squinted, he could still make out her naked body bent over the edge of the bed and her hand pawing at her crotch from between her legs.
