Glass wool and gypsum plasterboard defiantly stood in the gap between our auditory perception and her raucous moans, the rhythmic knocking of their headboard against our shared bedroom wall divulging a battle of wills being fought, of which my son was rightfully losing.

There was a war waging in the dead of night as my wife and I pretended to sleep in a California king bed that had become little more than a souvenir of antiquated reminiscence.

Filthy memories of a stained headliner encompassing a sunroof that wouldn't stay closed paraded across my vision in the darkness.

I lost myself in the flashbacks of oversized flannels and Levi's in a crumpled heap in the front seat, safe from the puddle of sex that dripped from Amelia's fingers as they ploughed through the slick folds of her slit, a seat slippery with the spit from my cum-heavy balls as she hungrily feasted on my cock.

The squeaking of Jack and Allyson's marriage bed mimicked the creaking of my shitty '79 Corolla, filled with the smoke of even shittier weed as Amelia rode me to completion. Her pillowy tits dancing to the tinny sound of Belinda Carlisle on the broken radio drowned out the whooping and knowing laughter from other teenagers strolling past the rocking rust bucket parked on the side of Lover's Lane.

My cock twitched remembering the way we writhed in orgasm, how my cum dribbled out of her sopping pussy and joined the saliva that had pooled under my ass, staining the foam exposed by the cracked leather seats.

But it was that all-too-familiar scent that commandeered my attention and ripped me from my reveries. Whether it wafted in from the air conditioning vent that connected the two rooms, or surreptitiously slunk underneath the bedroom door, it nestled itself into the confines of my nostrils and made my manhood stir with life.

"Did you hear her swearing last night? It was disgusting," my wife vehemently expressed over the dishes after breakfast earlier that day.

My son, Jack, and his wife, Allyson, were paying us a visit a few weeks after their honeymoon in Europe. The kids were inseparable, even at the breakfast table.

They sat shoulder to shoulder, legs intertwined, playfully stealing food off of each other's plates in between bites and quick kisses. The chemistry they shared was undeniable, just like the obvious bubble of morning sex that encapsulated them. Amelia stared daggers at Allyson, hoping that it would rupture.

"She's a witch, Henry." Amelia glowered while scrubbing an egg-caked pan.

She bit down on each word while discussing our daughter-in-law, speaking of Allyson as if her tongue were probing through a bolus of breakfast food, searching for the unwelcome eggshell in the mix.

"Does she remind you of anyone?" I mused while nursing a cup of coffee.

"Don't you start with me."

"I remember someone being just as expressive back in her day."

Amelia threw the sponge down in exasperation and turned to face me, sassily placing one of her hands on her hips.

"I was a child, Henry! And I wouldn't have dared try any of that in the company of Mama Johnson. God, rest her soul."

I finished my coffee and crossed the kitchen to place the empty mug in the sink, kissing the crook of her shoulder as she turned back to the dishes.

"I also remember someone wishing she'd drop dead as well," I teased.

"Out! Out! Out!" she reprimanded as I laughed my way out of the kitchen.

Jack sheepishly rubbed the back of his head as I later voiced his mother's concern with their marital activity, a playfully proud smile tugging at the corners of my lips as I attempted to appear stern.

Allyson's moans were getting me hard as I pervertedly listened to my son fucking his newlywed wife. I flinched in surprise at the touch of Amelia's slender fingers reaching back to grab my growing member.

"Did I really used to sound like that?" she sleepily questioned while languidly rubbing my cock to life.

The scent grew even stronger as my purple head leaked with pre-cum, her thumb unhurriedly massaging it into my frenulum.

"Better, even," I conceded.

"Remind me, will you?"

Amelia shuffled in the cover of darkness as she stripped herself of her pajamas and straddled me, the glow of the skylight reminiscent of that broken sunroof we both knew all too well.

Lifting her thighs, I felt the dampness of her pussy lips as they capitulated to the whims of my throbbing cock. With every inch, the soul-gripping tightness of her awakened honey pot struggled to hide the true avarice of its nature.

Warm, wet.

Aromatic.

Amelia mewled in measured ecstasy as she hungrily squeezed the caps of her breasts and rocked back and forth on her haunches. Gone were the contrived parameters of familial etiquette; she was at the complete mercy of the moment. I knowingly transversed her folds and zeroed in on her nub, a sharp gasp and protracted expletive were my rewards for circling her clit with my thumb.

"Oh, fuck, honey," Amelia rang out, pressing her palms against the headboard for leverage.

Each knock of Jack and Allyson's headboard was promptly met with a knock of our own, the glass wool and plasterboard rendered ineffective in a besiegement from both sides.

The soggy clutch of her snatch was more than enough to bring me to the edge in a matter of minutes, and with a few emphatic thrusts, I erupted, unloading into her as she cried out in the raptures of her own orgasm.

Reminiscent of years past, the fragrant scent of spontaneity made its provenance known as my cum seeped from her pulsating pussy and glued us together.

Quivering, Amelia settled into my arms, and we both drifted off to the sounds of youthful virility that were long behind us, but would never be forgotten.