These old appetites.

My mom was sliding her trousers back on, over that succulent ass of hers, (I'M SORRY, I CAN'T HELP BUT LOOK, LOOK ALL THE DAMN TIME) while I grabbed my book, and headed back to my room.

"Not joining us for dinner, John?" her voiced ringed through my ears.

Now that's a question I was never asked before. Not that she didn't like me having dinner with her. Just not with guests around. Typically.

Of course, that was before the whole... 'thing'. And boy have things changed.

Hadn't they?

"Uhm, should I?" I thought aloud out of instinct, more than anything.

I was already out in the hall, partway to my room. My mom's head peeked out of the gap between her door and the doorway to look at me. "Yeah, why not? Anise and the others made a surplus today, considering Katherine and Jolena had meant to come too, before, well," she ducked her head back into the room as she adjusted who-knew-what in here-or-other, "they found out about it."

Ah, yes. Katherine and... Jolena. The former was a stunning-hot brunette and effortless socialite, with a bedazzling smile and long, fresh hair that stopped several tantalizing inches above a deliciously thick ass. At the moment, she was acting Vice President of Marketing for her father's most successful media production company -- a title she had held since her turning 30. The latter, on the other hand, was about Mary's age, possibly younger, an assistant interior decorator for architectural juggernauts. Her most blatant 'profile fun fact' was how deep she seemed to be into some kind of New Age movement thing. At one point, during a ceremony of some sort, Katherine had had enough of what she termed her "inane bullshit" and threw a glass of punch at her face, and the two were instantly embroiled in a catty scuffle. The two were never quite comfortable with each other since, let's just say.

"Hm." After telling her I'd think about it, I retreated back to my room and tucked the book away for safekeeping, once again.

Planting my behind on the bed, I sat there studiously, and folded my arms.

Plit-plat-plit-plat...

"Sorry I'm late! I had some things to tend to..."

Shortly after the weaving voice of Janice Doe reverberated down the sub passage-way and into the spacious dining hall, the three waiting guests cheered her in. No, it was no problem, they assured. Please, take a seat. Now, let's get to the main course. Oh, thank you, we already opened the wine bottle, because they did. They had. So, perspicacious and smiling, Janice settled in and took her seat next to Laureen. And in the wake of Janice's arrival, finally, the four had their dinner. It, as expected, was a meal prepared with excellence. Only one noticeable shortcoming: being a morsel cool to the bite. But surely, a voracious milanesa needed no tendered flame to blanket the tongue in its melody, and in satisfaction they proceeded, for the most part, to dine. Over the course of the kniving and forking, clinking of glasses, re-consolidating of wares, the four talked and ate simultaneously and spontaneously. They chatted of trends. Of business. Of travel, acquaintances and their pressing personal affairs, the current landscape surrounding the state of stardom and Hollywood and national politics, and what to do about it all, what to do, and, when Rena's eye caught a flight of fancy in the passageway pending towards the hall, the conversation even arrived at Janice's one-and-only, the previously deemed strident offspring of the looming matron, and modern-day, enigmatic boy wonder himself, John Doe.

"John," Rena slung a strand of hair from her forehead, and beckoned for the young man. "Why. Do you want to join us at the table for dinner?"

A spring seemed ready to push at his heels, but not a budge was made. Rena frowned. Was it hesitation stopping him? Or worse: boredom? An utter absence of interest in chicken or the women in his presence with which he'd be conducting such eating of fried aviary?

"What's wrong, honey?" invitingly, Laureen smiled at the boy with her traditional sugar suave. "Afraid of us?" Giggle. "It's you who we should be afraid of. You're young, you're well off, and right now, you're the only boy in the neighborhood, you know."

A grunt of pain suddenly left her lips as she promptly migrated her hand south to tend to her leg while shooting a glare at Rena. The latter just rose a brow in her direction.

"Hiya sweetie," warmly leaned Mary, looking him in the eye as best she could from her disadvantageously removed vantage point, "I have an empty seat right by me." And like clockwork, she pulled said chair out, to her left. "You can sit here if you like, arm to arm." She wiggled her shoulder, for effect, apparently.

"You can sit on my lap, it's much softer and considerably more comfortable." Laureen ignored the other guests' disconcerted looks as she faintly spread her legs and patted them.

"Mine is available for the taking as well if you like, John," Rena cleared her throat, "please. Don't be modest. This is your house after all. You can have me, as you wish."

Whoa now. That came out a bit... er... steamier than anticipated.

"Come on, John," Mary the blonde vixen pouted playfully, "you can sit on my thighs if you want, it's true, it'll be a lot more comfortable -- way better than Laureen's or Rena's thick trunks."

This elicited another glare from Rena and Laureen and the three were quickly wrangled into another verbal slinging fest that my bangin' hot as always mom was left to disengage as I considered the situation.