|About the Book|
Mark is tired of Vicky and wants to break up with her. Shes constantly getting drunk and starting fights in college bars, and hes the one that must pick up the pieces and drive her home. Usually, that also entails interacting with her mother. MarkMoreMark is tired of Vicky and wants to break up with her. Shes constantly getting drunk and starting fights in college bars, and hes the one that must pick up the pieces and drive her home. Usually, that also entails interacting with her mother. Mark always had a repressed to desire for Vickys mom. What he didnt know is that she felt the same way.This short story contains graphic and explicit depictions of consensual sex. It is intended only for mature and adult readers.Excerpt:She finished her drink before setting the empty glass on a coaster. She looked me in the eye. “Why aren’t men my age more like you?” Her hand began to creep up my thigh.“I’m sure they’re not all losers.” For a long moment, I looked at her. She looked almost exactly like Vicky, but only 17 years older. She had the same straight black hair, but unlike her daughter, she had shaped it conservatively with hair pins. She had high cheekbones, and unlike Vicky, she did not wear a lot of cosmetics. Plus, she has the body of a pilates and aerobics instructor – which is, exactly, what she does during the day. Her jeans stretched over her shapely legs, and her simple blouse hugged her chest and stomach in all the right ways. I realized, at that moment, that I had always been attracted to her – perhaps even more so than Vicky. But then again, she was out of my league, and hitting on her struck me as taboo and touch sleazy. After all, who in their right mind would ever put the moves on their girlfriend’s mom? At that moment, Lena noticed how I had been briefly looking at her.“No,” she said. “They’re all losers.” Then, she took the drink out of my hand and set it on a coaster. She leaned into me and pressed her lips against my neck.“Ms. Mendes!”“Lena,” she corrected, softly and in my ear. Her hand groped my waist, until she found and unbuckled my belt. “I’m not that much older than you. Twelve years.” She whispered in my ear. She softly nibbled on my earlobe, and by now, her hand had found my zipper and was slowly pulling it down . . .