All These Roadworks note: The following text is the first portion of “Fuckmeat”, the bonus story included in the e-book “It’s Just Sex” by Pan. To read the rest of Fuckmeat – plus the novella “It’s Just Sex” – get your copy of Pan’s new book in the All These Roadworks store now! (Click here to view in store.)
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“Felix!” Sandra gasped, as she entered her son’s bedroom.
He was naked, pounding into a girl on his bed. He knew that his mother was home, and he was… he was… . he hadn’t even closed the door!
“Oh, hey mom,” he said, not slowing down for a second. The girl seemed similarly unworried—all Sandra could see were her long, shapely legs and an expanse of blonde hair.
She couldn’t help but notice how toned her son’s body was. He was skinny, but all the muscle he did have was clearly defined and lean, and his butt looked downright fantastic, flexing with every thrust. She could see his balls, too; large and full and hanging heavily between his legs, bouncing up and down from the force of his thrusts.
“Um, I, er…” she said, unable to tear her eyes away.
Felix just grunted, and kept going.
The girl on the bed began to twitch and moan, and Sandra saw her legs wrap around her son’s back. “Oh, fuck, Felix… I’m cumming!”
“Almost done, Mom. You can wait until I’ve finished with her, right?”
The question was enough to snap her out of it. Sandra turned and left, blushing furiously. She couldn’t… he couldn’t…
When she was alone, she fell against the wall, breathing heavily. She’d known her little man was growing up—he was nineteen!—but she hadn’t realized how far it had gone.
She wanted nothing more than to deny the heat she could feel between her legs. She wasn’t sopping wet, she was just… she was just…
It was a perfectly natural response to watching any two humans copulate.
Even if one of them happened to be her son.
***
Sandra avoided her son for the rest of the day. Fortunately, her daughter came home soon, and chatting to Catherine helped distract her from her thoughts. It was a completely normal conversation: ‘hey, how’s school going, how was your test, what did you get up to today’, and she was grateful for it.
The next morning, Catherine went to school, and—alone in the house with her son—Sandra knew she had to talk to him.
“Oh, hey mom,” Felix said, as casually as he had yesterday.
She was glad to see that he was dressed, this time, but couldn’t help but notice how tight his pants looked. Was that a bulge she saw pressing up against them?
“We need to talk about yesterday,” she said, trying to keep her eyes on his face. “Who was that?”
“Who?”
“The… the woman!”
“Oh,” Felix laughed. “That was Chloe. You remember Chloe, right?”
Sandra’s eyebrows shot up. Chloe was known to be bad news—she was eighteen, in the same grade as Catherine, and Sandra was constantly hearing stories about her. Mostly to do with how many guys she’d been through, but there were also the drugs, the drinking, the smoking, and the partying…
“Felix!” she exclaimed, for the second time in two days. “I do not want you dating that girl!”
“Dating?” Sandra’s son’s nose wrinkled. “Who said anything about dating? Naw, Mom: she’s just fuckmeat.”
Sandra’s eyes widened. “She’s what?”
“She’s just fuckmeat,” Felix shrugged.
Sandra stared at her son, unable to believe what she’d heard.
“Y’know,” he said, as though the word he’d just used was in any way acceptable.
“No, Felix, I absolutely do not! That’s the most vulgar, misogynistic, disgusting thing I’ve ever heard in my life!” Sandra felt her temper rising. “I don’t want to hear you talking like that again. And I don’t want you anywhere near Chloe!”
Rather than the cowering ‘yes, Mom’ she’d been hoping for, Felix yawned, and turned his attention back to his phone.
“I don’t know what the big deal is,” he said nonchalantly. “She’s just fuckmeat.”
***
For the rest of the day, her son’s words rattled around inside her head, and she found herself unable to focus on anything else.
Fuckmeat.
Fuckmeat.
She was just… fuckmeat.
Sandra had to find out what he meant.
She’d never been very tech-savvy, but she had a phone, so it was simple enough to fire up a web browser and type in the word.
As the search results began to load, Sandra realized she was shaking. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this angry, this disappointed in her own offspring.
The first page of results was porn, but she scrolled down until she found some sort of online dictionary. She clicked the link, and gasped.
Fuckmeat:
*Dude’s term for a woman in whom he has no interest other than sex. *
A woman whose sole purpose is to provide sexual relief for her boyfriend or master.
Sandra was a modern, liberated woman. She’d been to the rallies, read the books, attended the classes. She knew that men’s attitudes had improved over her lifetime, but were still a long, long way from perfect. And she’d prided herself on raising a man who would respect women, and treat them as equals. She’d been so proud of her son, even when he’d gone through his teenage years.
But now… this?
Where had she gone wrong? Where had her sweet, respectful son picked this word up? It was vile, disgusting, offensive…
And, she had to admit, a little hot.
After all, it wasn’t like Chloe hadn’t been enjoying herself. Sandra had been single for well over two decades (raising two children doesn’t give you much time for dating), but she remembered what really good sex had felt like. Not the passionate, gentle lovemaking she’d had with Felix’s father… no, the ‘bad boys’ she’d dated before that.
She remembered what it had felt like to be used for sex. Used, like Felix had been using Chloe.
Used like fuckmeat.
Sandra shook her head, and put her phone down. What was wrong with her? Her son was turning into some kind of chauvinist, and she was fantasizing about… she was fantasizing about being fuckmeat!
She needed a shower. A nice, cold shower…
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