I Wish I Wore a Condom Because the Hooker Ended Up Being My Mom Chapter 13: Let’s Taco Bout It

It's fucked up how love and fear can occupy the sa space in your heart. Standing on my own front porch, takeout bag gripped in my sweaty palm, I feel like I'm about to face a firing squad instead of my own mother.

The weight of the day sits heavy on my shoulders. Getting a job at QuickMart. Becoming Sabrina's boyfriend.

Today's her first day as a professor at the university, and despite everything, I'm proud of her. Proud enough to brave this twisted tension between us.

"You got this," I mutter to myself, fishing my keys from my pocket. "Just be normal. Talk about her first day. Don't think about her hand on your dick."

I cut that thought off real quick, taking a deep breath before sliding the key into the lock. The door swings open with a familiar creak, and I step inside, the sll of ho hitting like a physical force.

"Mom?" I call out, my voice steadier than I expected.

I follow the soft rustling of papers to the living room and freeze in the doorway, the sight before temporarily short-circuiting my brain.

Mom sits cross-legged on the couch, surrounded by stacks of papers. But it's not the papers that make my heart stutter, it's her. She's wearing slim glasses I've never seen before, perched delicately on her nose as she reads. Her white hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, a few stray strands framing her face. She's dressed in a crisp white blouse and pencil skirt, looking every bit the professor she now is.

She glances up, those blue eyes magnified slightly behind the lenses and smiles. "Hello, sweety."

My heart lts in my chest like ice cream on hot pavent. This new look, professional, sophisticated, yet sohow still her, hits in ways I wasn't prepared for. The glasses make her look smarter, the ponytail younger. The combination is devastating.

"Hey, Mom," I manage, lifting the paper bag. "I brought ho dinner."

She sets down her papers, removing her glasses with one fluid motion. "Tacos? From Rosita's?" Her smile widens, genuine warmth flooding her expression. "My favorite."

"Yeah, I thought we should celebrate your first day," I say, moving toward the kitchen to set down the food. "How did it go?"

Mom rises from the couch in one fluid motion, papers sliding off her lap onto the cushions. She crosses the room with purposeful strides, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

"Let take that," she says, gently removing the bag from my grip. She places it on the coffee table, the paper crinkling as she sets it down.

Before I can step back, her hands find my waist, fingers pressing into my sides with gentle possession. My face imdiately flushes hot, blood rushing to my cheeks as she steps closer, closing the distance between us.

"It's been such a hard day, my baby boy," she murmurs, her blue eyes searching mine. Her voice drops to a sultry whisper. "But I think a kiss would make it all better, don't you?"

My heart hamrs against my ribs as I try to step backward, but her grip tightens, holding in place.

"Mom, I told you, this isn't normal," I protest, my voice embarrassingly weak. "I got a job today. I have a girlfriend now."

Her eyes widen, the warmth vanishing like a candle snuffed out. "A what?" The word 'girlfriend' hangs between us like a live grenade.

"A girlfriend," I repeat, my voice steadier now despite the sudden chill in the room. "Her na is Sabrina. We t during orientation."

Mom's fingers dig into my sides, her manicured nails pressing through my shirt until I feel them against my skin. Her face transforms, beautiful features contorting with rage as her pupils contract to pinpoints.

"You ungrateful little shit," she hisses, her voice barely recognizable. "After everything I've done for you? After everything we've shared?"

Her grip tightens further, pulling closer until I can feel her breath hot against my face. I could break her hold easily with my strength, but I don't want to hurt her. Even now, with her practically vibrating with fury, I can't bring myself to push her away.

"Mom, let go. Please," I whisper.

"Let go?" She laughs, a sharp, broken sound that raises goosebumps on my arms. "I've sacrificed my body for eighteen years so you could have everything and this is how you repay ?"

Her blue eyes swim with tears that don't fall, the moisture making them glitter dangerously in the living room light. One hand releases my waist only to grab my chin, forcing to look directly at her.

"Tell about her," she demands, voice trembling with barely controlled rage. "This Sabrina. Is she pretty? Does she make you hard like I do? Did you fuck her already?"

"Mom, stop," I plead, sha burning through . "It's not like that. She's just nice and normal and..."

"Normal?" she spits the word like poison. "You think she can give you normal? You think she can erase what's between us?"

Her fingers slide from my chin to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there like a promise. A threat. Her other arm snakes around my back, pulling flush against her body again.

"I was going to take it slow for you, Gabriel," she whispers, her lips brushing against my ear. "I was going to be patient. But I see now that was a mistake."

Her hand on my throat feels like it belongs there like so twisted part of was always ant to be held this way by her. The pressure isn't painful, it's implied ownership. My pulse beats against her palm and I hate how my body responds to her touch, how sothing deep inside recognizes it as right even while my mind screams it's wrong.

I swallow hard, feeling the movent against her fingers.

"Mom," I say, my voice surprisingly steady despite everything. "The tacos are going to get cold."

Mom's eyes flash with sothing dangerous, her fingers still pressed against my throat. For a mont, I think she might actually squeeze, but then sothing shifts in her expression. The fury doesn't disappear, but it transforms, cooling from volcanic rage to glacial contempt.

"Fine," she snaps, releasing so suddenly I almost stumble backward. "You're hungry? I'm still your mother, after all. Let's eat."

She turns on her heel and marches to the dining table, dropping into her chair with regal posture despite her obvious anger. She sits there, back straight, eyes boring into , waiting like a queen who expects to be served.

I quickly grab the takeout bag and bustle around the kitchen, gathering plates, napkins, and silverware. My hands are still shaking as I set the table, arranging everything perfectly the way she likes it. I unwrap her favorite, the chicken tacos with extra li, and place them carefully on her plate before setting it in front of her.

As I hand her the food, sothing flickers across her face, a flash of sorrow, perhaps even regret, as she watches making such an effort to please her. It's gone in an instant, that montary vulnerability vanishing like morning mist when I finally sit down across from her.

She doesn't touch her food, just stares at with those piercing blue eyes, her head tilted slightly.

"So," she says, her voice deceptively casual, "your girlfriend... is she better than ?"

The question hangs in the air between us, loaded with anings I don't want to unpack. I focus on unwrapping my own taco, desperate for sothing to do with my hands.

"It's not a competition, Mom," I say quietly, not eting her gaze. "Sabrina is just... different."

"Different how?" She picks up her taco but doesn't bite into it, just holds it suspended halfway to her mouth. "Is she more experienced? More beautiful? What exactly does this girl have that I don't?"

I take a bite of my food to buy ti, chewing slowly. The flavors I normally love taste like cardboard in my mouth.

"She's my age," I finally say, setting my taco down. "She's at the sa place in life that I am. It's not illegal to date her. And we haven't had sex yet. We barely know each other."

Mom's eyes flash dangerously as she slams her taco down on her plate, sauce splattering across the pristine tablecloth.

"Oh, pardon for not being young and good-looking enough for you," she hisses, her voice dripping with venom. "I didn't realize my advanced age of forty-one made so repulsive to you."

"Mom, you're the most attractive woman in the world," I blurt out before I can stop myself.

The words hang in the air between us, and I imdiately want to snatch them back. Mom's expression transforms, anger lting into triumphant satisfaction as a slow, predatory smile spreads across her face.

I groan out loud, dropping my head into my hands. "That's not what I ant. It's not about looks, Mom. I said I want to be normal. I want a normal life, normal relationships."

"Normal?" she echoes, leaning forward across the table. "You think what you feel for is sothing you can just switch off? You think this girl can erase eighteen years of connection?"

"I'm trying," I whisper, my voice cracking. "I'm really trying to do the right thing here."

Mom shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. She pushes her plate away and fixes with those piercing blue eyes, suddenly cold and calculating.

"And what if I said I'd go back to being an escort if you're just going to date soone else?"

The words hit like a physical blow. My fork clatters against my plate as my hand goes slack.

"What? You can't be serious." My voice cos out strangled, barely above a whisper.

She leans forward, her expression deadly serious. "Oh, I am. If you're going to reject what we have, reject everything I've offered you, then why should I bother with this professor charade? The money was better. The hours were better." Her lips curl into a cruel smile. "And at least my clients appreciated what I gave them."

My vision blurs as hot tears well up in my eyes. Sothing inside cracks, like ice breaking on a frozen lake. I push my chair back and stand, the legs scraping against the floor with an ugly sound.

"You know what, Mom?" My voice cos out thick and raw, each word catching in my throat. "I got that job today, so you wouldn't have to sell yourself anymore. I'm will do to anything I possibly can to help you stop being an escort. I'd happily quit college to find a job to support us."

I back away from the table, desperate to escape, before she sees completely fall apart. My feet find the hallway that leads to the stairs, my only path to sanctuary.

"But if you want to be a prostitute again so badly, you're an adult," I continue, unable to keep the pain from my voice. "At the end of the day, I can't stop you. I really hope you don't go back to it, but it's your life, Mom."

Mom's face transforms like she's been slapped. The cold fury in her eyes dissolves into sothing raw and vulnerable. For a mont, she looks genuinely shocked, like my words cut deeper than she expected.

"Gabriel..." she whispers, her voice suddenly small.

Before I can retreat up the stairs, she's on her feet and closing the distance between us with startling speed. Her arms wrap around with desperate strength, pulling against her so forcefully I nearly lose my balance. She buries my face in the crook of her neck, her familiar scent enveloping completely.

"I'm so sorry, baby," she breathes into my hair, her voice breaking. "I didn't an any of that. I was just angry and scared of losing you."

I stand frozen in her embrace, fighting the tears that threaten to spill over. Her hand strokes the back of my head with trembling fingers, her touch achingly gentle.

"I promise I'll never go back to that life for you," she whispers fiercely. "Not ever."

Sothing inside fractures at her words. The dam breaks, and I'm suddenly clutching her back just as tightly, hot tears soaking into the collar of her blouse.

"Shhh, it's okay," she murmurs, rocking slightly like she did when I was small. "You've been through so much because of . Let's go upstairs and lie down, okay? Let Mommy hold you for a while."

I should say no. I should pull away. But I feel like I'm so close to losing her, like she might slip away.

"Okay," I whisper.

She takes my hand, leading up the stairs like I'm a child again.

—

[Angela's POV]

I guide Gabriel into my room, my heart aching at the sight of those beautiful eyes rimd with tears. My perfect boy, so sensitive, so easily wounded by my words. I draw back the covers and gently guide him onto my bed, his body yielding to my touch like it always has, ever since he was small.

"Co here, baby," I whisper, sliding in beside him.

He curls against instantly, his face pressing into my chest as I wrap my arms around him. His tears soak through my blouse, warm and wet against my skin. I stroke his hair, those soft brown waves I've loved since they first grew on his tiny head.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles against , his voice muffled and broken. "I didn't an to upset you."

"Shhh," I soothe, my fingers working through his hair in slow, rhythmic motions. "You have nothing to apologize for."

His body trembles against mine, each sob tearing through him like he's being ripped apart from the inside. My beautiful, fragile boy. I haven't seen him cry like this in years.

Sothing shifts inside , a tightness in my chest I wasn't expecting. This wasn't supposed to affect this way. The threat was calculated, a perfect manipulation to keep him close, to remind him of his responsibility to . I'd anticipated anger, perhaps guilt, but not this raw, unbridled pain.

I press my lips to the top of his head, breathing in the scent of his shampoo. "I would never go back to that life, Gabriel. Never. I didn't an to hurt you so deeply. I'm sorry."

He clutches at my blouse, fingers curling into the fabric like he's afraid I'll disappear. The desperation in his touch makes my heart constrict further. I did this to him. I broke sothing precious in my beautiful boy.

"I just want you to be happy, Mom," he whispers. "I'd do anything for you. Anything."

His words pierce through , those simple words laced with such devastating sincerity. I'd planned to push harder, to force him to choose between this girl and , to make him understand that his place is by my side, in my bed, in my life completely.

My original strategy would have worked eventually, I'm certain of it. If I'd continued threatening to return to escorting, his protective instincts would have overridden everything else. He would have abandoned this Sabrina girl, focused entirely on saving from myself.

But at what cost? Looking at him now, so fragile in my arms, I can't bear to be the source of such profound suffering. Not when there are other ways to reclaim what's mine.

This Sabrina. This interloper. This is a temporary distraction.

I smile as Gabriel's tears begin to subside, his breathing evening out against my chest. This mont of vulnerability is perfect, he's completely in my arms again, seeking comfort from the only woman who truly understands him. As I play with his hair, a delicious thought blooms in my mind like a poisonous flower.

Why am I working so hard when there's a much simpler solution?

I almost laugh at my own oversight. This Sabrina girl isn't an obstacle, she's an opportunity. College relationships are fragile things, held together by hormones and proximity rather than genuine connection. All it would take is one small push to send it all crashing down.

If I play this right, I won't need to threaten or manipulate my sweet boy at all. I can simply engineer a situation where this girl destroys his heart herself. And when she does... who will he run to? Whose arms will cradle him as he falls apart? Who will piece him back together?

. Always .

The corners of my mouth curl upward as I visualize how perfectly it will unfold. I could befriend her, be a supportive, understanding mother figure. Learn her weaknesses, her insecurities. Perhaps introduce her to soone rich, soone who'll turn her head. Or maybe I'll simply help her reveal the ugliness that surely lurks beneath her surface.

These naive little college girls are all the sa, selfish, immature, incapable of truly loving soone as complex as my Gabriel. All I need to do is create the right circumstances, and she'll show her true colors.

And when she breaks his heart, I'll be here. Patient. Loving.

I feel Gabriel's weight shift against , his breathing deeper now, the steady rise and fall of his chest signaling he's drifted off. My sweet boy, exhausted from his emotional outburst, has surrendered to sleep in my arms, exactly where he belongs.

I glance down at his face, so peaceful in slumber, all the worry lines smoothed away. A small puddle of drool darkens the silk of my blouse where his open mouth presses against . Most won would find this disgusting, but I feel only tenderness watching my beautiful boy mark with any part of his essence, even unconsciously.

"Sleep well, Gabriel. Mommy loves you," I whisper, pressing my lips to his