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In the eighteen years that I had lived under my parents’ roof, I had not once heard or even suspected that they were having sex.
A few more moments passed and any doubts as to what was happening below me disappeared.
“Oh God, Slate, that’s it, baby; keep fucking me just like that.”
My mother’s voice had reached a high-pitch that was unfamiliar to me.
I felt like an unwilling voyeur but what choice did I have? Maybe if I put the pillow over my ears . . .
It was too late.
Just then I heard a succession of moans and whines from my mother, followed by Slate’s masculine groaning. Their sounds seemed to blend together in a very synchronized, rhythmic, carnal song. It seemed to go on forever.
I was both fascinated and envious, which was disturbing. That was my mother for Chrissake! I didn’t want to think of her as a sexual being even though I knew how immature that sounded. She probably felt the same way about me.
No need to worry, Mom. I now know what an orgasm sounds like; I have no clue as to what it feels like though. If she knew that, she would probably find me pathetic.
I smiled when I recalled how she had called him “Slate” again just now in bed. Perhaps “Diamond” was back.
CHAPTER 5
Mom and I had been up with the chickens to start the preparations for our Thanksgiving turkey feast.
Slate had taken charge of Bryce which was a big help. Dinner wasn’t scheduled until 7:00 p.m. this evening, so we had time.
It was kind of a fun and bonding thing for both Mom and me.
She worked on rolling out the pie dough for her pumpkin pies while I shredded stale bread for the dressing.
Mom was in such a good mood these days. I noticed how she would hum happily while she worked in the kitchen. I thought about what I had overheard the night before and figured that might account for some of the humming.
“Mom,” I started as I tossed some of the seasoning into the big bowl where I was mixing the dressing, “does Taz see anyone?”
She immediately looked up from where she was stirring the pumpkin filling mixture, suspicion written all over her face as to why I would even be asking.
“Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no reason, really. I just thought it was odd that he didn’t bring a date to your wedding or at least to the reception.”
“Hmmph,” she replied, giving an eye roll, “It’s hard to imagine Taz knowing anyone that would have the couth or manners to be able to pull it off at a gathering like that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you know when Slate and he were working undercover in Indy all those months?”
I nodded, chewing on a piece of celery that I had sliced for the dressing.
“Taz was totally into that scene, I mean totally. From the do-rag to the slutty groupies that were constantly around, he totally loved that persona.”
“Well, come on, Mom, how does that prove that he doesn’t date, you know, nice girls?”
“He may,” she said with a shrug, “I’ve never seen him with one. Slate’s never mentioned him being seriously involved with a woman. Who knows?”
“You know what is strange, Mom?”
She looked up at me again, waiting for me to divulge some unknown juicy tidbit or piece of gossip about Taz she hadn’t yet been made aware.
“What?”
