I didn't care. As far as I was concerned, Kevin's status as my good friend was over. During the day, I watched my mother like a hawk trying to see if ...nything was amiss. She didn't appear to be anything but her cheerful, old self. Well, not exactly cheerful since she had a doozy of a hangover.Later that night, I jerked-off to the images of my mother having her pussy hammered by Kevin. I knew it was wrong because a son should never think of his mother in that way, but I couldn't stop the arousal. He’d had a Coors Lite with the meal already.“Muslims don’t drink,” said Mo. He’d said so at the restaurant and again here.“Some Muslims do,” argued Mia, “and I’m not saying drink a lot. Just have a lager like everyone else.”“Okay I guess so, thanks.” Paul went with the flow, as usual. It wasn’t worth arguing about, and he was in a club, for the first time. In clubs you drank. Maybe it would loosen up his dancing.“Proper Muslims don’t drink at all,” said Mo. “I’ll just have an orange juice.. More

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