Against my better judgment, I accepted a dinner invitation from my son. My husband was working a double shift, and my daughter was spending the weekend with her bestie.

As soon as we were seated, he ordered a bottle of wine. We drank a couple of glasses while perusing the menu and another bottle during a delicious dinner. My son is a very good conversationalist. He's very romantic and attentive, and because of that, I have always envied his girlfriends. I was having a wonderful time.

I knew I was a little tipsy, but it really hit me when I tried to stand up. My son suggested that we stop at a two-hour, transit motel, so I could 'freshen' up. In my inebriated state, that sounded like a good idea.

After a short drive, we arrived. My son rented a room. Given our age difference, the clerk gave us both a strange look as she checked us in. I didn't appreciate the way she looked me over like I was an 'over-the-hill' hooker.

We took the elevator up to the third floor then walked down the dingily-lit hallway to our room. He opened the door, and we stepped in. Immediately after closing the door, and seemingly, out of nowhere, my son started French kissing me, passionately. His hand cupped my breast and pinched my nipple.

I hadn't been "French" kissed in forever. When we first got married, my husband did it, but it's been years since I felt that passion. A sudden flush rushed over me, and you'd have thought it was George Clooney or Brad Pitt kissing me. I couldn't help myself as I instinctively returned his kisses. Our tongues were dueling and whipping the other into a frenzy.

He threw me on the bed. I loved being treated that way. He was the man taking what he wanted. Our hands explored every inch of the other's body as our tongues continued dancing in each other's mouths. I was wet beyond my dreams.

As his tongue slithered in and out of my mouth, it reminded me of how his cock felt when I had sucked him. I was flowing like the Mississippi, which was being encouraged by his hand under my dress with his finger circling my panties-covered clit.

Of course, my hand was feeling his cock as it strained against his suit pants. It was hard and throbbing. I teased him as my fingers caressed his cock's head. For once, I knew I wasn't just my husband's fuck hole. My son REALLY wanted ME.

"Let's strip!" he suggested.

"I can't. Let's keep our clothes on," I managed to maintain a smidgen of decorum.

If it would have been anyone else, I would have fucked him, but this was my son. I just couldn't. If he only knew, how badly I wanted to tear his pants off and suck his beautiful cock. My panties were soaked through and through. The rest of the time was a blur of tongues, hands and fingers exploring until after midnight.

When I awoke the next morning, we both acted as if nothing had happened. My husband was totally oblivious to the whole situation, which just goes to show you how much he notices me except when HE wants to get his rocks off.

I couldn't get the sensation of what happened out of my head. I lost track of how many times I masturbated. Each time I came, it was induced by my memories of that night with each being better than the last. I had never felt anything this intense in my life. I was in a state of denial and can't believe I acted that way.

Now, when I walk around the house in my shorts, I can feel his eyes on me. I've stopped flashing my panties for him because I'm afraid he'll jump me and fuck me right then and there. I feel like an antelope being tracked by a lion. It feels like he's about to explode from sexual frustration. However, I just can't shake the exhilaration and excitement of that night. I hate to say this, but it's just a matter of time.