I was everything I'd told Paul I was and worse. I kept referring to myself as a whore and a porn star slut, well porn stars and even whores and sluts didn't have sex with their sons. Worse was the fact I'd forced him.

I had sexually assaulted my son and there was no excuse for that. I could blame rage and stress and guilt. The fact I now felt betrayed in a sense by James and the way Paul had played me , knowing who I was and setting me up.

None of that justified what I'd done, In the time I'd had to lay here and berate myself the irony of the other night wasn't lost upon me, Paul and I'd been seconds away from sex and the way it had been going it would have been a slow sensual enjoyable experience.

I'd stopped him and rightly so, but tonight I had taken him, forced him to fuck me. Used my mouth and pussy to keep him hard even when he didn't really want me, I'd taken an already perverted situation and made it far worse than what could have transpired when Paul came onto me last week.

I was still hard pressed to explain how I'd let him get that close, why I'd responded so well to him. Then tonight ...since when the hell was sex with your son the answer to a problem? In my twisted rage I'd wanted to show him who he wanted and it was Molly and then show him how disgusting Molly really was.

“You're Molly, you stupid bitch." I muttered

My own words were daggers in my heart, but were true. Over the years I had somehow convinced myself Molly was a separate entity, one that was responsible for all of my previous shameless degradation on film.

When I returned she came back, but ‘she’ had never left because I was her and had proved it in spades tonight. Somehow a few new tears sprang into my eyes when I struck by the thought I had molested my son just as my father had hurt me.

I closed my burning eyes, squeezing the tears out, then stared at the flickering flames of the scented candles burning on the night stand. I'd lit then to avoid being in total darkness which would have added to my depressed state and to possibly sooth my rattled nerves. Not that anything could do that right now, at least not anything other than knowing where Paul was and if were okay.

I'd stayed in the shower, sitting on the floor a crying trembling mess. As quickly as my rage had driven me to the unspeakable act I'd committed with my son, it had left me and now the consequences crashed through my mind.

Paul had said he hated me and I didn't think it was a pain driven remark, but the truth. Why wouldn't he? What I had done to him was beyond disgusting. I had taken his misplaced love for me and perverted it, I'd teased him and mocked his feelings, especially when I'd made my sarcastic comment about loving him.

When the hot water ran out and the ice cold spray hitting my body snapped me out of my emotional stupor, I'd gotten shakily to my feet and after drying off realized I had nothing to put on. I'd walked in here naked and the robe usually hanging behind the door was probably still in the laundry.

I wrapped a towel around me and trying to figure out what I could possibly say to Paul other then I'm sorry and to beg him not to hate me, I left the bathroom. The light was still on in the living room and I thought about quickly going into my room to put something one.

I then decided that at this point did what I was wearing or not wearing really matter, I slowly made my way down the hall. The living room was as I'd left it, clothes strewn everywhere. I looked down at my panties in the middle of the room, my bra on the end table and my shoes on the floor by the couch.

It looked like the scene of a great night rather than that of the crime it was. I turned and around and steeling myself for the angry reaction I would receive, headed down to Paul's room. I knocked twice, then let myself in. Paul wasn't in there and panicked, I ran over to his window and peered out into the driveway.

His car was gone.

I'd raced back into the living room, digging my phone out of my purse and pulled his number up. I hesitated with my finger on call. Why the hell would he answer me? What would I say if he did? I made myself lower the phone. Paul was hurt and angry, but he wasn't stupid.

He'd probably go to Jack's hang around there, maybe spend the night. He'd cool off and come back in the morning. That's what I'd told myself and continued to tell myself the four hours I'd lain here.

I wouldn't chase him down tonight, but if I didn't see or hear from him by morning I'd call Jack's house, no I'd go by there and look for Paul's car in case he had told Jack to lie for him. Once I knew he was okay, I'd leave him be, but I would at least find out where he was.

If I couldn't find him I wasn't sure what to do.

“Hello, officer my son ran away last night"

“any idea why he would run away, ma'am?"

“I think he's mad because I made him have sex with me.”

On that note I decided to actually try to sleep. I was still in the towel I'd worn into the room, having simply tossed myself onto the bed like a drama queen teenage girl. Sitting up, I unwrapped it and flipped it into the pile of laundry in the corner.

Too tired to get up and find something to sleep in I slipped naked under the sheets, It wasn't as if Paul was home to worry about and sad to say, it wasn't like he hadn't seen everything I had to offer both on screen and now in person.