He prayed they wouldn't hear anything, that he wouldn't fall down and make a racket. He could hardly breathe any more in the stuffy closet. All he cared about was the peephole in the wall, the spectacle in his mother's bedroom. He drew it out. He slowed down the pumping of his hand. He wanted to finish with them. Then suddenly Paul was fucking like a demon as he started coming and Ryan let himself go.

Did Jennifer come too? Ryan wasn't sure. He couldn't see her face. Then the jism shot out of his cock like a blast out of a firehose and he thought the top of his head was gone. Wad after wad splattered against the side of the closet as he pumped his prick.

Oh, fucking Christ, he thought. What a lovely bitch she is.

Jennifer had always found it strange to think of herself as the mother of a teenaged son. The years seemed to have flown by and now Ryan was almost a man. Almost. Not there yet, but moving fast. And he had eyes for her, too. She could see the way he looked at her when she was the least bit undressed in the house. For a long time she'd been thinking that maybe he was hooked on her. She'd heard about that happening to boys sometimes. They were turned on by their mothers, tangled up by daydreams and fantasies. Was Ryan like that? The way he looked at her these days made her think maybe he was.

One day she was in his room, putting away some of his clothes that had arrived from the cleaners, when she noticed the large cardboard box on the floor of the closet. The box had always been there and she'd never paid any attention to it. In the past she'd guessed that Ryan kept his old football equipment in the box. He had so much of that stuff lying around in all the closets and under the bed.

But now the top part of the box was open enough so that she could see inside. She was curious. She looked more closely. What she found was not football equipment but magazines. They were mostly sports magazines. She looked at a few of them and tossed them back in the box. Ryan didn't care about much else beside sports.