Jacqueline Ch. 04

"Oh, you little beast," she laughed, shivering, "that was cruel!"

I kept pushing her along until we both dove under and let the cool water wash the heat of the day from us. She popped up a few feet away, laughing, pushing the hair off her face.

"Oh it's lovely, isn't it? What a lovely day!"

I simply stared at her breasts, saying nothing.

"What is it, Hon?" She looked down. "Oh my!" She quickly brought her arms up and dropped down under the water. The cold had hardened her nipples and they were very obvious, very obvious. The smooth, tight bathing suit made them stand out like thimbles. "Well, that's what I deserve for buying one without any padding. Perhaps I should save it for the patio at home? In the meantime, what? What will all those mothers on the beach think if they see me like this? I'll have to warm up before things, ah, you know, settle down. Gosh, it's like the restaurant all over again."

It's funny how things sort of pop into my head sometimes. Grinning from ear to ear I said, "Well, I suppose I could warm them for you."

Surprisingly, she took me seriously. "Do you think anyone would notice? I mean, it's not like we're boyfriend and girlfriend fooling around out here." Looking around, she drifted toward me, the water up to her neck. "Ok, give it a try. Just don't get too close or people will think we're up to something out here."

There was no need to ask me twice. I was more than willing to help out a woman in distress. I dropped down into the water as well, then reached out and cupped her breasts. She pulled her shoulders back to thrust them toward me. I curled my fingers and took their weight, my palms pressing on the stiff nubs. My cock immediately started to wake up and take notice. I squeezed gently and rubbed my palms against her.

"Now Sweetheart, don't be getting any ideas. You're supposed to be helping, remember?"

"I'm doing my best, Mom. You're not making it easy." I slid my fingers down behind the fabric, catching her nipples between them. "I suppose this isn't helping either?"

"Bradley! We're out in front of the whole beach! Don't you dare!"

I pulled my hands back. "Sorry, Mom. It's awfully hard to resist. As I say, you're not making it easy, not with that suit."

"Oh, Sweetheart, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scold you. It's just that, well, we're right out in the open. We had a close call in the restaurant; imagine if someone caught us out here."

"I don't think we have to worry, Mom. Nobody's paying any attention to us. We're far enough away that no one would see."

"So, what are you suggesting, that I let you pull my top down and play with my breasts?" A little grin crossed her face.

"If you insisted, then I guess I'd have to." I grinned back at her.

"You are a little devil, my Dear." She took a quick look around. "Okay, but don't be obvious. I'm serious, if someone catches us..."

"I'll be careful. Just keep an eye out for anyone coming."

I reached out and peeled the top of her suit down, setting her breasts free, fully exposed. I cupped them in my hands, feeling their weight, the stiff nipples once again against my palms. My cock was at attention now, forming a tent my bathing suit. My eyes were locked on the scene underwater, my own mother's bare breasts in my hands. I heard her moan. Her eyes were closed, chin up. She was biting her bottom lip.

"Hey, I thought you were keeping watch."

"Yes, well, you're not making it easy. If we keep this up, there's no telling what might happen. Judging by what I can see down there," she nodded at my bathing suit, "it's quite likely something will. Let's go back to our blanket, Sweetheart." She pulled her suit back over her breasts, making sure they were well tucked in, then stood up. She looked down. "Well, obviously that didn't help matters at all. Look at me!"

"Look at you? I am, believe me."

"Oh, Sweetheart, it's not funny! It's embarrassing, Hon. I've always been self-conscious about how large my nipples get."

"Mom, for pity's sake, don't be! Holy smokes, if you only knew how sexy you are you wouldn't be embarrassed at all. C'mon, let's head for the blanket. The sun will warm you up."

In spite of my assurance, she walked quickly out of the water, hands clasped under her chin, arms pressed against her breasts, trying to hide herself from any wandering eyes. Once we were down behind the bushes, more or less out of sight, she finally relaxed and lay down on her back to soak up the warm sun.

"Are you getting hungry, Mom? I'll go get our lunch if you'd like."

"Yes, I could do with a bite, thanks Hon."

"Be back in a minute."

I hiked up to the bikes, taking my time, enjoying the hot sun on my skin. I had towel and lunch satchel in hand and was heading back when I saw him. A young guy about my age was standing there, looking down at her. She was sitting up, shielding herself with her towel. What the hell? I ran.

They were having a heated conversation in some sort of foreign language. He was staring at her, making stroking motions in front of his crotch as if he was jerking himself. Her voice was trembling. She heard me running towards them.

"Bradley, thank god!"

"What the hell? Who are you?" He looked vaguely familiar but I couldn't place him.

"Bradley, make him go! This is awful!"

He looked at me, sneering. He spoke with a heavy accent and then I knew: he was one of the busboys from the restaurant.

"No problem, gars, I only talking with your putain here (I heard her gasp when he said that) and how nice her big nénés are. Yah, man, she has nice big tits, non? I seen you from here, seen you play with them. My turn, eh? How much to stick my cock up her chatte, heh?" He turned to her. "Big beauty like you trés chere, heh? How much you charge for fuck, heh? How 'bout just play wit' your tits just like him, heh? I seen you at the restaurant, real nice. Maybe you cost too much to fuck, maybe just suck mon bite, heh?"

Her face was flaming red, eyes wide, her hand covering her mouth. She looked at him, then at me. Her eyes were filling with tears, she looked terrified.

"What the hell? Fuck off, asshole! Get out of here!" I came toward him, fists clenched, ready for a fight. He turned and ran, ducking into the woods and disappearing. I chased him for a little ways, then hurried back to her.

"Mom, what the hell? Who was he? Where'd he come from? Did he hurt you?"

She was hurriedly pulling her clothes back on, tears streaming down her face. She held her hand up to me, motioning for me to stop where I was.

"No," she sobbed, "please Brad, don't say anything. Please, I have to go home."

She gathered our things and without another word ran to the bicycles. I followed her, totally unsure of what to do. Didn't she want me to come with her? What in hell just happened? I stood there at a complete loss as she mounted her bike and rode off. She was frightened, obviously. But there was more. Was she mad at me? What the hell was going on?

There was no way I was going to let her ride home alone, not after that scene. I was afraid the little shit might show up again, make matters even worse for her. I followed her out onto the main road toward town. She didn't look back, just kept pedaling frantically for home. I stayed a little distance behind, watching her, hoping she would at least acknowledge that I was there but she just kept on straight through town, back home. It wasn't until she was getting off her bike that she looked back at me. Her eyes were red, her cheeks wet. As she saw me come up the drive, her lip quivered and she broke into tears again.

I stood there facing her, frozen, my bike between us, just a few feet apart.

She hesitated, then quickly stepped toward me. She brought her hand up. I closed my eyes and braced for the slap I thought was coming. But it didn't. There was a pause and then I felt her fingers softly touch my cheek. I looked at her.

"Mom...?"

She put a finger to my lips. "Shh. Please." she whispered, her voice quivering, "I need to be alone right now. That's all."

With that she turned and ran up into the house. I stowed the bikes in the garage and sat down on the steps of the side verandah, my chin in my hands. I replayed the whole scene over in my mind, trying to figure it all out.

Where had this guy come from? Did he see us? Yes, obviously he had, he'd seen us in the water. Shit! That was it, wasn't it? I'd talked her into letting me play with her out there in the water. Oh shit, this was all my fault! How could I have done that to her? Now what? How could I ever make things right again? There was a wrenching knot in my gut. I felt cold, a pain behind my eyes. What a supreme fuck-up this was.

Eventually I went inside. I washed up and put the picnic things away, then took our towels to the laundry room. I knew she didn't want to see me right then so I used the time to get myself back together, back into my street clothes, clean up a bit. I mounted the stairs, heading for my room. Her bedroom was dark, empty. Her clothes were scattered carelessly on the floor. I guessed she might be in the bathroom. I went to it and tapped lightly on the door.

"Mom," I whispered, "are you there?"

I heard a swirling of water. She was in the bath.

She answered softly, "Yes Sweetheart, I'm here. I'll be out in a little while. Could you... could you possibly make us some tea? I promise I'll be downstairs soon."

Well, at least I knew she was okay. And "Sweetheart" was a good sign, wasn't it?

...

When she finally came down, her hair was damp and combed straight. She was in her thick, velour bathrobe, one hand holding the collar up around her chin. She held her arms tightly against herself as if she was cold. She sat down at the breakfast table while I poured the tea and brought it to her.

"Thank you Hon, I really need this." She sighed as she sipped the hot cup, lost in thought.

I sat down across the table from her, feeling like I should probably keep my distance -- at least until I knew her thoughts. She looked up and saw me there. Instantly, she was crying again.

"Oh, Bradley! Please, no! Don't! Don't push me away!" she sobbed.

I rushed to her, knelt down and held her hands.

"Mom! I'm not! I couldn't! I - I just don't know what to do. I don't know if you want me to even be here." Now my eyes were filling up. "I love you, Mom. I could never push you away. I thought you were angry with me."

"Oh Sweetheart, no, don't ever think I don't want you here. I need you Bradley. I need you with me now more than ever." She held me tightly, kissed my forehead. "Please, sit down here beside me." She paused for a minute and then took a deep breath. She looked up at me. "It's time. It's time to tell you... everything. I have so much to explain."

...

For the next hour and more I sat there, holding her hands, listening intently as she finally revealed her past to me, the mystery she had rarely allowed even a tiny glimpse of to anyone. I always knew it was some kind of secret, something she never spoke of, not even to her own son. As she carefully revealed her true life I sat there staring at her, completely dumbfounded, my hair standing on end. To say the least, I had never expected this...

...

She was born shortly after what she called the "Great War", in England. I had been told at some point that she came from a rich family -- by her manners, her tastes, the way she carried herself, that seemed fairly obvious - but apparently they were a lot wealthier than she'd ever let on. Her parents, my grandparents, whom I had only vaguely heard about and never met, were apparently members of the English and European aristocracy.

I wasn't entirely clear on what that meant but for her as young girl it meant a very privileged life full of nannies, servants, horses, a house in a place she called Belgravia and another place, a big manor house out in the country. Her mother's side of the family had a large property in central France, Burgundy, she said. It was a life I'd only heard of in fairy tales. I couldn't imagine what it must have felt like for her to end up living in our little town.

"My mother's name is - be ready for this -" and then she rhymed off a string of names, only two of which I caught, Jacquette and Comtesse. "And my father, your grandfather, is..." and off she went again - George Francis somebody or other, Earl of something, something.

"I thought I heard your name in there somewhere, your mother's?"

"Almost. We were both named after a great, great grandfather. Actually, we're both named after a whole long line of people. My full name is Lady Alberta Huguette Jacqueline Adelaide Fairfax. And while we're on this, let me tell you a little secret. My name is actually pronounced "Jah-cleen". I changed it when I came to New York; it helped me to fit in a little better - not that it made much difference. So anyway, what I'm trying to say is... the thing is... I come from a very old family."

"So that's the accent you've been trying to hide, English? But I heard you talking to that guy. That was French wasn't it?"

"Yes, Hon, it was. I speak French. Your grandmother is French, very French. I also know German. And Italian. But I don't manage those very well anymore."

"Holy smokes, Mom, what kind of school..."

"Shh, let me finish, Hon."

She went on to tell me how, after she was born, once the novelty of being first-time parents had worn off, her mother and father went back to their own lives, leaving her in the care of nannies and servants. Her life was filled with private tutors she hated, boarding school bullies she fought, long days alone during the school holidays. Her parents would often suddenly leave her behind, her father off to yet another polo match or regatta or business trip in a faraway country, her mother to more European shopping trips and health spas, usually with her latest lover.

I could hear the resentment and anger building in her voice. She told me that in spite of (or possibly because of) the nannies and schools and all the rest, she had grown wild, rebelled against all expectations of her and began moving with the rest of the spoiled "nobs" as she called them. She learned to use her striking beauty to get whatever she wanted. By the time she was a teenager she was all but unmanageable, filling her life with every excess available to her - and there were many.

She hesitated for a moment but then continued, her voice quiet and nervous. She began to paint a picture of those wild days, a time that astonished me. She told me of her parents' attempts to control her by sending her off to schools in France, then Switzerland. She described the wild parties while she was at college, the drunken sprees, the drug-hazed sex. She spared me no details of any of it. It appeared that she had developed quite a reputation at college, a line of dons, deans and other lovers always at her door. Sex became her drug of choice.

"Is that... Mom, sometimes when we've been together you've... you've said some... some things... Is that what it's like... for you...?"

She turned deep red and looked at the floor. "Y -- Yes Hon, I -- I was like that. Sometimes it just... just comes out without thinking... I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Mom. It's only been a little... surprizing, you know?"

She nodded, squeezed my hand and went back to her story...

Her world took a dramatic turn. She was living in Vienna, the young mistress of a wealthy banker while the whole world descended into darkness for the second time. When England declared war on Germany, life for her became much more serious, even dangerous. She fled from Austria and managed to find her way to an aunt in Paris who argued that it would be best for her to return home. She swallowed her pride and was grudgingly accepted back into her parents' life. The family was willing to tolerate her but England soon found itself threatened with invasion.

They saw this as a good opportunity to get her out of the way, so they arranged for her to go to America, to stay with extended family in New York. She went under strict orders that she would do nothing more to embarrass them, that she would live the life her parents had expected of her all along.

She moved to the townhouse in Manhattan but felt so much out of her element, so disconnected that she couldn't fit in, didn't know how to. Life in America was so foreign to her. She was away from her friends, her home, everything familiar to her and possibly because of that, her behaviour began to change. Now she wanted to be free of her past and began to feel trapped by her surroundings. Before long she packed her things, took her allowance and headed out to experience a life that was outside of the world she knew.

Eventually she crossed paths with my father. The war was over and he was now working as a junior executive in a small but growing business. They met by chance at a diner in his hometown and after only a few dates she found herself strongly attracted to him. She also became attracted to the life that could be so different from what she had ever known. It was then that she decided to close the door on her past. He would never fully know what her life had once been, only letting on that she came from a well-off family in England, that she had come to America to escape the war and leave that life behind. He loved her mystery, her accent, her stunning beauty and grace. To him she was the most exotic thing he'd ever known.

She did her best to hide the relationship from her family but her father eventually found out and fiercely objected. Ever the rebel, she defied his wishes and was married in a quiet ceremony at a county courthouse. Her parents sent her a "token" dowry (that amounted to about five years of her new husband's salary) and then shut the door to their daughter's life.

"So here we are," she sighed. "They say that daughters marry their fathers. At one time I would have never believed it but it turned out to be true. As much as I have loved your father, I've watched him become that same man who always puts his own needs ahead of his family. I have done my absolute best to be the loving, dutiful wife, to fit into his life and to fit into this town but it is getting harder every day. I'm sure you've heard us argue. I love him still but he has a life all his own outside of our marriage and I feel him slipping further away every day.

"I doubt it will ever come to divorce. It's just not done and in a way I would be admitting defeat to my father. No, I've grown up enough to know it's in my own best interest to be the woman everyone expects of me. I've tried very hard to keep my past well hidden but today, today with that boy saying the things he did, calling me a whore..." She broke down and collapsed on my shoulder, sobbing as if her heart would break.

"Bradley, Sweetheart," her voice trembling, "what happened today, what he said reminded me of what I once was and what I've tried to leave behind. Bradley, Sweetheart, if after all I've told you, if you decide to end this, to have nothing more to do with me, I will understand. Just know that I love you so very, very much. I always will."

I hugged her tightly. It was clearer to me now. I understood her more. She was an incredibly complicated woman who had lived a very difficult life but she was my mother and I loved her. God, how I loved her! I brought her face to face and looked into her eyes.

"Mom...," I hesitated, "Mom, don't ever think I don't want to be with you, that I don't want this. I love you, I love everything about you. You're my mother and I am so proud to be your son."

She buried her face in my shoulder.

"Darling, I love you too. That's part of why this is so hard. I love you, you're my son but it's more than that, and has been more than that for awhile now. Bradley, Darling, I'm falling in love with you. Do you understand? You're not simply a son to me anymore. I'm in love with you."