Really spent. He came so hard that it drained his mind of all thoughts and worldly cares for at least several minutes afterwards. He was barely aware that his mother was even still in the car beside him. He didn't notice as she reached down, picked up her purse, pulled out the only tissue in it, and calmly cleaned her son's goo from her hand. Then, while her son's head was still lolling about in cumshock, she flipped the now soggy tissue onto his now shrinking penis and opened her door to get out. "Oh, and darling," she said with a smirk before she left, "please straighten up around the house when you get home, won't you? No need to hire a maid so long as I have such a wonderful and considerate son." Then, with a little laugh, Evelyn closed her son's car door, got into her big black Lexus, and drove off with a squeal of her tires. It always amused Evelyn just how easy it was to get men to do whatever she wished. The were putty in her hands. Jake was not a bad looking guy. Fucking professional.“You know I’m not driving.” I lived a block away.“I do,” he said. “I’m worried about you walking at this point.”There was a tear fighting to escape my left eye. “I just… I’m not ready to go home.”“One more,” he conceded. “One more, but one of us walks you home.” I gave a sniffle and a nod. No one was sitting within two barstools of me. No one would. The kids googling to the right of me left three innings ago and were probably showering off by this point. I was wasted. I was miserable. Joey set my last Scotch of the evening in front of me. I shifted the glass between my hands and noted the cold. The Braves hit into a double play.“Hey,” said a voice to my left.“Evening sir,” said Joey. “What can I get for you?”“Jameson’s or something else Irish with a splash of soda, if you don’t mind.”“Not a problem.” And Joey went about his business.I glanced at him in the mirror behind the bar and was horrified. The Jameson didn’t recognize me yet. Please don’t recognize me, I.
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