Then Bobby sat back down. "You see how hard I am, Mom?"

"Oh, yes!" she gurgled. "And I'm very wet, too."

"Show me, Mom! Show me how wet you are!"

"Honey, that's impossible here," Susan said, looking about the restaurant. "I'd have to lift my dress."

Bobby giggled. "I wouldn't care, Mom. Show me!"

"Wait until we get home. Then I'll show you."

"But, Mom, you might not be wet then."

"I will," she smiled wickedly at him. "I'm always wet."

"You are?"

"Like you're always hard," she giggled. "Let's go home now, Mom. I'm not hungry any more."

"You know, neither am I."

They left the pizza parlor holding hands, both excited and in a hurry to get home. The relationship had suddenly changed, and Susan was anxious, very anxious to fuck her son.

They were almost running as they entered the apartment, and Susan saw her son's cock straining in his pants.

"Were you hard all the way home?" she asked, pointing at his cock. "People probably saw it."

Bobby giggled, standing proudly with his hips thrust forward. Susan stared at her son's cock openly, all pretense gone. This was real, not fantasy. Her dream of fucking her son was about to come true, and her cunt was drooling.

"Show me, Mom!" Bobby said excitedly. "You said you'd show me when we got home."

"You first," Susan insisted, wanting to make sure he was truly wanting this.

"You already saw me," he replied. "When you jacked me off, too."

"I want to see your cock again."

She stood on weak legs, watching her son fumble with his zipper. He fished his cock out. Susan gasped with pleasure as she stared at it. The cock head looked so sweet, so smooth and round, swollen tightly. Already, Bobby was dripping, and she started forward to take his prick in her hand. Bobby, though, backed up.