17-01-2025, 08:32 AM
I left for college with a heavy heart, feeling guilty for being the unintentional matchmaker in Mom's tryst with Salman. As I walked the familiar path, my thoughts swirled with the events of the past few days. I was torn between the need to protect her innocence and the morbid curiosity that had led me to orchestrate the situation. By the time I reached college, the heat had dried the sweat on my body, but not the guilt that clung to my conscience.
When I returned home that evening, the house felt strangely empty without Marcus's presence. Mom met me at the door, her eyes searching mine for any sign of what had transpired. She informed me that Marcus had left for some personal matter and wouldn't be back until the next day. The tension in the air was thick, and she seemed on edge, as if she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. We spent the evening in forced normalcy, watching TV and pretending that our lives hadn't been forever changed by the secrets we now shared. But I couldn't help but wonder what would happen when Marcus returned. Would the attraction between them be as palpable as it had been the night before? And if so, would she be able to resist the allure of a man who was everything Dad wasn't?
As we sat down for dinner, the silence was deafening, each bite of food tasting like ashes in my mouth. I could feel Mom's eyes on me, but I couldn't bring myself to look at her. We ate in silence, the weight of our secret pressing down on us like an invisible force. I knew I had to make things right, to somehow find a way to undo the mess I had created. But the question was, how?
The next day, I resolved to keep my distance from Marcus and to never again put Mom in a position where she could be taken advantage of. I would be the son she deserved, the one who protected her rather than the one who unwittingly led her into temptation. And as we went about our day, with Marcus still out of the house, I watched her closely, looking for any signs of regret or longing. But all I saw was a woman who had made a decision, one that she seemed determined to stand by, no matter the cost.
Mom's resolve was unshakeable, and she went about her day as if nothing had happened. She cooked, she cleaned, she talked to the neighbors, all with a smile on her face that didn't quite reach her eyes. And as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the room, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of admiration for her strength. Despite her lack of education, she had managed to navigate a situation that would have overwhelmed a woman with more experience.
As the night grew deeper and the dinner table flickered, Marcus leaned back in his chair, his gaze lingering on Mom's face. He cleared his throat, the atmosphere in the room shifting as he spoke. "I didn't just come to India for business, Nisha," he began, his voice earnest. "My daughter Alice, she's 28, you know. She's decided to get married to an Indian boy named Sharan." His eyes searched hers, looking for a reaction, but she remained composed. "The wedding is in two days at a resort in Goa. I've kept it a secret from everyone, even my employees. He paused, a hopeful smile playing on his lips. "I'd like to invite you both to come. It would mean a great deal to Alice and me."
Mom's eyes widened in surprise, and I could see the excitement bubbling up in her. "A wedding?" she echoed, her voice a little too high. "How wonderful!"
I nodded along, trying to hide the turmoil inside me. Goa? A resort? This was going to be more than just a simple dinner. This was a whole new chapter in our lives, and I had no idea how it would unfold. But as I looked at Mom's hopeful expression, I knew that we couldn't refuse. And so, without another word, she accepted the invitation, her voice filled with the kind of excitement that only comes from the promise of something new and exciting.
And with that, the stage was set for an adventure that would take us far from the confines of our little home in Bangalore and thrust us into a world of secrets, passion, and the kind of temptation that could either destroy us or set us free.
As we arrived at the luxurious resort in Goa on Friday night, the vibrant atmosphere was a stark contrast to the quiet streets of Bangalore. The sound of waves crashing against the shore and the distant laughter of partygoers filled the air, setting the stage for an unforgettable weekend. Mom's eyes widened as she took in the sight of scantily-clad foreigners, their bare skin gleaming under the soft lights, displaying more than she was used to seeing in our conservative neighborhood. The shock of the unfamiliar was clear on her face, but she managed to keep her composure, smoothing down her own sari and adjusting her pallu with a nervous smile. Marcus, on the other hand, was positively beaming, his eyes lighting up at the thought of the fun that awaited us. As we checked into our suite, the anticipation grew palpable, and I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of excitement mingled with dread. Little did I know, this weekend would be one that would not only push the boundaries of our mother-son relationship but also reveal sides of Mom I never knew existed.
The next day, we woke up early to the sound of waves crashing outside our suite's windows. Marcus had booked two separate rooms for us - one for me and Mom, and another for him. The resort was a stunning maze of white marble and lush greenery, and as we walked towards the pool area, I couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed by the opulence surrounding us. The moment we reached the poolside, the scene unfolded like a glossy magazine spread. Alice, Marcus's daughter, emerged from the sparkling water, her brunette hair cascading down her back like a waterfall. She looked like a younger version of Ana de Armas, with the same fiery beauty and infectious smile. She was wearing a simple white bikini that accentuated her curves in all the right places, leaving little to the imagination. Marcus beamed with pride as he introduced her to Mom and me, and she greeted us warmly, her eyes lighting up as she took in the sight of the two of us.
But it was Susan, Marcus's ex-wife, who really stole the show. She strutted out of the pool like a seasoned runway model, her voluptuous figure a stark contrast to the svelte bodies of the young women lounging nearby. Her skin was tanned and flawless, her hips curving in a way that made every man's head turn. She had the kind of beauty that could make you forget your own name, with large, doe-like eyes and pouty lips that begged to be kissed. Her bikini was a daring number that left almost nothing to the imagination - a bright red that highlighted her ample bosom and a tiny bottom that barely contained her ass. She had the kind of body that screamed 'desire', and the way she moved, it was clear she knew it. Her stomach was flat, her legs long and toned, and her breasts - oh, those breasts - they were like two perfectly round globes that seemed to defy gravity. The sight of her was like a punch to the gut, and I couldn't help but feel a mix of admiration and embarrassment for my mom, who was standing right beside me, looking slightly overwhelmed.
As Susan approached us, water droplets clinging to her skin, it was as if the entire world had stopped to watch. Marcus cleared his throat, a hint of awkwardness in his voice as he introduced us. "This is my ex-wife, Susan," he said, his eyes flicking briefly towards Mom before returning to Susan's face. "And these are my good friends from Bangalore, Nisha and Shan."
Susan's gaze raked over Mom, a sneer playing on her lips as she took in the sight of the simple yet elegant sari that clung to Mom's figure. "Marcus," she purred, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "I see you've lost your taste in women. A cheap local replacement for your exotic tastes, perhaps?"
Mom's eyes narrowed, and I could see the hurt in them, but she remained silent. Marcus's face turned red, his hand tightening around his beer bottle. "Susan," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, "that's no way to talk about our host."
Susan just laughed, a sound that grated on my nerves. "Oh, come on, Marcus," she said, her eyes glinting with malice. "You can't tell me you prefer this... this," she waved a hand dismissively at Mom, "to what you had with me?"
I felt a surge of anger, but Mom's hand on my arm held me back. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Let's just enjoy the wedding."
And so, we played the charade, smiling and nodding as Susan threw barbs wrapped in sweet-sounding words. But the tension between them was as thick as the humid Goan air, and I couldn't help but feel a twisted kind of excitement. It was like watching a cat and a mouse, and I couldn't decide if Mom was the cat or the mouse. But one thing was clear: this weekend was going to be anything but simple.
That evening, the resort buzzed with the energy of an organized event, drawing a diverse crowd of mostly Europeans and Americans. The vibe was electric, filled with laughter and music that spilled out from the open-air venue. Alice's bachelor party was in full swing, and the sight of her with her friends, all dressed in skimpy outfits, was like a peek into a glossy magazine spread. They were the epitome of carefree hedonism, their laughter echoing through the night as they danced and flirted with the handsome, tuxedo-clad groomsmen.
Mom, Marcus, and I approached the festivities with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Mom had chosen to wear a modest yet elegant saree, the vibrant colors a stark contrast to Susan's barely-there party wear that showcased her toned figure. As we made our way through the crowd, Susan's drunken laughter grew louder, her eyes locking onto Mom with a predatory gleam. Staggering towards us, she slurred, "Look at you, Nisha," her voice dripping with spite. "Still playing dress-up, trying to fit in with the big leagues."
Mom's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but she held her ground, her hand tightening around the pallu of her saree. Marcus stepped in, his jaw clenched. "Susan, that's enough," he warned, his tone firm.
Susan's eyes narrowed, and she swayed precariously on her heels. "Or what, Marcus?" she taunted. "You going to replace me with this?" She gestured at Mom, who stared back with a mix of anger and resilience.
When I returned home that evening, the house felt strangely empty without Marcus's presence. Mom met me at the door, her eyes searching mine for any sign of what had transpired. She informed me that Marcus had left for some personal matter and wouldn't be back until the next day. The tension in the air was thick, and she seemed on edge, as if she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. We spent the evening in forced normalcy, watching TV and pretending that our lives hadn't been forever changed by the secrets we now shared. But I couldn't help but wonder what would happen when Marcus returned. Would the attraction between them be as palpable as it had been the night before? And if so, would she be able to resist the allure of a man who was everything Dad wasn't?
As we sat down for dinner, the silence was deafening, each bite of food tasting like ashes in my mouth. I could feel Mom's eyes on me, but I couldn't bring myself to look at her. We ate in silence, the weight of our secret pressing down on us like an invisible force. I knew I had to make things right, to somehow find a way to undo the mess I had created. But the question was, how?
The next day, I resolved to keep my distance from Marcus and to never again put Mom in a position where she could be taken advantage of. I would be the son she deserved, the one who protected her rather than the one who unwittingly led her into temptation. And as we went about our day, with Marcus still out of the house, I watched her closely, looking for any signs of regret or longing. But all I saw was a woman who had made a decision, one that she seemed determined to stand by, no matter the cost.
Mom's resolve was unshakeable, and she went about her day as if nothing had happened. She cooked, she cleaned, she talked to the neighbors, all with a smile on her face that didn't quite reach her eyes. And as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the room, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of admiration for her strength. Despite her lack of education, she had managed to navigate a situation that would have overwhelmed a woman with more experience.
As the night grew deeper and the dinner table flickered, Marcus leaned back in his chair, his gaze lingering on Mom's face. He cleared his throat, the atmosphere in the room shifting as he spoke. "I didn't just come to India for business, Nisha," he began, his voice earnest. "My daughter Alice, she's 28, you know. She's decided to get married to an Indian boy named Sharan." His eyes searched hers, looking for a reaction, but she remained composed. "The wedding is in two days at a resort in Goa. I've kept it a secret from everyone, even my employees. He paused, a hopeful smile playing on his lips. "I'd like to invite you both to come. It would mean a great deal to Alice and me."
Mom's eyes widened in surprise, and I could see the excitement bubbling up in her. "A wedding?" she echoed, her voice a little too high. "How wonderful!"
I nodded along, trying to hide the turmoil inside me. Goa? A resort? This was going to be more than just a simple dinner. This was a whole new chapter in our lives, and I had no idea how it would unfold. But as I looked at Mom's hopeful expression, I knew that we couldn't refuse. And so, without another word, she accepted the invitation, her voice filled with the kind of excitement that only comes from the promise of something new and exciting.
And with that, the stage was set for an adventure that would take us far from the confines of our little home in Bangalore and thrust us into a world of secrets, passion, and the kind of temptation that could either destroy us or set us free.
As we arrived at the luxurious resort in Goa on Friday night, the vibrant atmosphere was a stark contrast to the quiet streets of Bangalore. The sound of waves crashing against the shore and the distant laughter of partygoers filled the air, setting the stage for an unforgettable weekend. Mom's eyes widened as she took in the sight of scantily-clad foreigners, their bare skin gleaming under the soft lights, displaying more than she was used to seeing in our conservative neighborhood. The shock of the unfamiliar was clear on her face, but she managed to keep her composure, smoothing down her own sari and adjusting her pallu with a nervous smile. Marcus, on the other hand, was positively beaming, his eyes lighting up at the thought of the fun that awaited us. As we checked into our suite, the anticipation grew palpable, and I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of excitement mingled with dread. Little did I know, this weekend would be one that would not only push the boundaries of our mother-son relationship but also reveal sides of Mom I never knew existed.
The next day, we woke up early to the sound of waves crashing outside our suite's windows. Marcus had booked two separate rooms for us - one for me and Mom, and another for him. The resort was a stunning maze of white marble and lush greenery, and as we walked towards the pool area, I couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed by the opulence surrounding us. The moment we reached the poolside, the scene unfolded like a glossy magazine spread. Alice, Marcus's daughter, emerged from the sparkling water, her brunette hair cascading down her back like a waterfall. She looked like a younger version of Ana de Armas, with the same fiery beauty and infectious smile. She was wearing a simple white bikini that accentuated her curves in all the right places, leaving little to the imagination. Marcus beamed with pride as he introduced her to Mom and me, and she greeted us warmly, her eyes lighting up as she took in the sight of the two of us.
But it was Susan, Marcus's ex-wife, who really stole the show. She strutted out of the pool like a seasoned runway model, her voluptuous figure a stark contrast to the svelte bodies of the young women lounging nearby. Her skin was tanned and flawless, her hips curving in a way that made every man's head turn. She had the kind of beauty that could make you forget your own name, with large, doe-like eyes and pouty lips that begged to be kissed. Her bikini was a daring number that left almost nothing to the imagination - a bright red that highlighted her ample bosom and a tiny bottom that barely contained her ass. She had the kind of body that screamed 'desire', and the way she moved, it was clear she knew it. Her stomach was flat, her legs long and toned, and her breasts - oh, those breasts - they were like two perfectly round globes that seemed to defy gravity. The sight of her was like a punch to the gut, and I couldn't help but feel a mix of admiration and embarrassment for my mom, who was standing right beside me, looking slightly overwhelmed.
As Susan approached us, water droplets clinging to her skin, it was as if the entire world had stopped to watch. Marcus cleared his throat, a hint of awkwardness in his voice as he introduced us. "This is my ex-wife, Susan," he said, his eyes flicking briefly towards Mom before returning to Susan's face. "And these are my good friends from Bangalore, Nisha and Shan."
Susan's gaze raked over Mom, a sneer playing on her lips as she took in the sight of the simple yet elegant sari that clung to Mom's figure. "Marcus," she purred, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "I see you've lost your taste in women. A cheap local replacement for your exotic tastes, perhaps?"
Mom's eyes narrowed, and I could see the hurt in them, but she remained silent. Marcus's face turned red, his hand tightening around his beer bottle. "Susan," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, "that's no way to talk about our host."
Susan just laughed, a sound that grated on my nerves. "Oh, come on, Marcus," she said, her eyes glinting with malice. "You can't tell me you prefer this... this," she waved a hand dismissively at Mom, "to what you had with me?"
I felt a surge of anger, but Mom's hand on my arm held me back. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Let's just enjoy the wedding."
And so, we played the charade, smiling and nodding as Susan threw barbs wrapped in sweet-sounding words. But the tension between them was as thick as the humid Goan air, and I couldn't help but feel a twisted kind of excitement. It was like watching a cat and a mouse, and I couldn't decide if Mom was the cat or the mouse. But one thing was clear: this weekend was going to be anything but simple.
That evening, the resort buzzed with the energy of an organized event, drawing a diverse crowd of mostly Europeans and Americans. The vibe was electric, filled with laughter and music that spilled out from the open-air venue. Alice's bachelor party was in full swing, and the sight of her with her friends, all dressed in skimpy outfits, was like a peek into a glossy magazine spread. They were the epitome of carefree hedonism, their laughter echoing through the night as they danced and flirted with the handsome, tuxedo-clad groomsmen.
Mom, Marcus, and I approached the festivities with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Mom had chosen to wear a modest yet elegant saree, the vibrant colors a stark contrast to Susan's barely-there party wear that showcased her toned figure. As we made our way through the crowd, Susan's drunken laughter grew louder, her eyes locking onto Mom with a predatory gleam. Staggering towards us, she slurred, "Look at you, Nisha," her voice dripping with spite. "Still playing dress-up, trying to fit in with the big leagues."
Mom's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but she held her ground, her hand tightening around the pallu of her saree. Marcus stepped in, his jaw clenched. "Susan, that's enough," he warned, his tone firm.
Susan's eyes narrowed, and she swayed precariously on her heels. "Or what, Marcus?" she taunted. "You going to replace me with this?" She gestured at Mom, who stared back with a mix of anger and resilience.
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