All the Best Laid Plans

This bit of fictional jetsam and flotsam is a relatively short tale involving a father's voyeurism as a special relationship develops between his wife and their son.

There is nothing in this story that is based in reality other than that there are states named Utah and Colorado in the American west.

Please feel free to provide constructive criticism, both positive and negative, as you feel appropriate. I can't get better if I don't know where I'm weak.

~Love is an exploding cigar we willingly smoke.
~Lynda Barry

All the Best Laid Plans

I watched her Jeep pull out of the drive and ease into traffic. I could see the silhouette of his head in the passenger window and wondered at the wisdom of what I was allowing to happen.

I smiled inwardly and thought to myself that the chuckleheads were never going to take that leap if they never had opportunity.

Even though I was intentionally providing the opportunity I couldn't help but feel my stomach turning as the Cherokee turned east on Independence Avenue and disappeared from view. I stepped away from the window and started putting a light lunch together and mulled over whether to head up to the cabin that very night or stick to my plan and wait for an extra day or two.

_

I've long suspected my son of harboring dark urges towards his mother. It was there in the way he looked at her. It was there in the fawning attention he paid her; helping her with her daily chores, giving her foot and back massages, calling her every single night when he wasn't home. His infatuation for my wife was as plain as the nose on my face.

I once tried to talk to Sharon about Jason and his seeming unnatural obsession but she just shook her head and smiled wistfully.

"He just loves his mother." She dismissed me with an odd little look. "There is nothing unnatural or unhealthy about it and I won't have you suggesting otherwise."

To my way of thinking she was delusional and I had a couple of reasons to believe so. One, Jason was a chip off the ol' block, so to speak, and, two, I had carried my own oedipal complex for the last 40 years or so. I still carried it years after Mom died unexpectedly from a heart attack while working in her garden.

I was fairly confident my suspicions were based in reality but I had nobody I could talk to about them. My wife didn't want to listen. I couldn't very well tell my law partner – a very religious and judgmental Mormon – that I believed my only son was interested in schtupping my wife. I certainly couldn't talk about it to either of my two older sisters, and even if our Dad wasn't ensconced in a nursing home in the advancing stages of dementia, it wouldn't have been a subject I could broach with him, either.

Besides, I had no proof so in the end I did nothing and watched from a distance as Sharon and Jason grew ever closer.

And I saw enough.

-

In preparation for his senior prom Sharon taught Jason to dance. He learned well and three years later they were still dancing. They often slow danced to old love songs or classical pieces by Debussy, Gluck, or Mozart.

One evening while working late in my home office I stepped out for a bite to eat and walked past the entry to the living room and saw them swaying slowly to the too syrupy sweet sounds of The Righteous Brothers. I stood for quite awhile watching them and was struck by how natural they looked together.

The lights were dimmed and they were holding each other close; Sharon's face rested against his broad chest, her eyes closed, Jason's head was turned sideways away from me and rested on top of hers. They were completely oblivious to everything and looked lost in love.

The song ended and they slowly lifted their faces to stare at each other. Jason dipped his head and lightly and lingeringly kissed his mother's lips. Another song began playing and they resumed their gentle swaying.

A sharp pang pierced my heart as I watched two people in love for a long minute before silently retreating back to my office.

-

Another afternoon a week or so later I walked into the kitchen and interrupted them while they were laughing like they were in high school. Sharon was sitting on Jason's lap and they were both wearing only their swimsuits. Sharon's suit was a sensible one-piece, to be sure, but it was still form fitting and displayed all her best attributes. She was running her fingers through his tousled brown hair and I saw his hand lightly rested on her bare upper thigh.

Sharon jumped up when they noticed me and they both blushed as if they had been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. When Jason stood to head back out to the pool his equipment was clearly limned by his Speedo and it was evident he was at least semi-aroused.

It was also evident that he was at least as big as dear old Dad in that department and maybe larger

Sharon slipped up to our bedroom without saying a word and I watched Jason from the window.

Jason's mother looked a lot like a leggy Debbie Reynolds circa 1965 and I didn't blame my son – or any man – for finding her irresistibly attractive.

Jason was built almost exactly like me. Well, I suppose exactly as I had been, once. At 6'1" and roughly 190 pounds he cut an imposing figure in his bright blue trunks. His physique was chiseled and lean with broad shoulders, narrow hips, and finely muscled arms and legs. Jason was tanned and healthy and reminded me of myself when I was 21.

I watched with a father's pride and maybe just a little envy as his legs bent and he knifed cleanly into the aquamarine water. He was just about perfect.

I wanted to go to him and tell him I understood. To tell him it was okay. To tell him my own story.

-

Although I felt a little ashamed by doing so, a few evenings later as I arrived home late from work, I surreptitiously watched them from the other side of the very same window. Sharon was at the stove preparing the evening meal when Jason entered the kitchen and slipped up behind her. They were both certainly dressed appropriately. He said something and she laughed. I could see her face as he stepped up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her into an affectionate hug. The look on her face said more than any words ever could. She looked happy and content and when she tilted her head to the side and he began nuzzling the side of her neck with what looked like burning, open mouthed kisses, her happy look turned to excitement.

In the brightly lit kitchen I could see her nipples dent out her bra and light tee shirt as she welcomed his touch and through the darkness outside I could see her color rising on her cheeks. I was watching love growing and as Jason molded his body to hers and nibbled on her earlobe, I decided on the spot that I would give them space to find their own way.

I resolved then and there I would concoct a plan that would take me out of the picture and allow them the opportunity to be together if that's what they genuinely wanted. Knowing my own experience with my own mother, what else could I do?

That opportunity serendipitously presented itself a few short months later in the guise of our annual trip to our cabin.

-

Don't misunderstand. I loved both my wife and son dearly. I would have cheerfully given my life for their happiness but I wasn't foolish enough to stand in the way of an unstoppable force. And I knew it was unstoppable because of what happened between Mom and me the spring I turned 19.

I didn't give Sharon and Jason space because I wanted anything to happen. I gave them space because I knew that my relationship with my mom had been the most wonderful relationship I had ever had, and if my wife and my son could find that kind of joy with each other I wanted them to be able to find it without fear of me discovering them. I wanted them to feel safe to let their feelings fly free.

For all I knew Sharon and Jason may had already bedded each other before I sent them off to the cabin without me. I didn't believe that was the case, but I really didn't know for sure. How could I? I wasn't able to be at home 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

When I told them I wouldn't be able to go to Colorado with because of a sticky situation at the office Jason became almost giddy and Sharon could scarcely contain her glee when she commiserated with me and urged me to drive down when I could.

-

The next day was torturous. I went to the office to try to keep my mind occupied but wound up leaving at noon because it wasn't working. I kept wondering what Sharon and Jason were doing.

At two I gave up, packed an overnight bag and threw it into my Mercedes ML500 and headed south until I connected with Interstate 70 and pointed the SUV east toward Colorado.

It was a drive I had driven many, many times, most of them in the company of my mom. I knew the route by heart. East to Grand Junction, south and east to Montrose and then east again for eight miles to the Forest Service access road to the Rio Grande National Forest. South once more to the edge of the preserve and then west along an old logging road for three miles until it abruptly stopped at the eastern shore of a small alpine lake that Mom and I had unofficially named Cami Lake – a combination of our names, Cathy and Michael.

Officially, the lake was christened Greenstone Lake, and the cabin that sat in the shelter of a copse of aspen about 30 feet from shore had been built in the 1920s by a lumber consortium who deeded it over to the law firm Dad worked for as payment for services rendered in the 1950s when they were going through bankruptcy.

PRL&C used the place mainly as a perk for senior employees and their families until, in a cost cutting move, the firm sold the place to my father in the late sixties. Dad, coincidentally, had the year before risen to become senior partner. Whether that had anything to do with him obtaining the cabin and the land surrounding the lake I am not privy to, but it couldn't have hurt.

It was already growing dark by the time I pulled my vehicle off the road about 500 yards from the cabin and got out. For a long time I leaned against the driver's side door contemplating whether I was being inane by driving up at all. If what I suspected was happening or not I wasn't going to announce my presence. So what was I doing there? What was I hoping to prove?

I already knew that they loved each other and if Sharon and our son were already lovers I really didn't have a problem with it so why was I going to violate their privacy and spy on them?

The erection in my pants answered my questions as I reached back into the Mercedes to retrieve my dark blue hoodie and pulled it on. I just had to know.

I set out walking on the edge of the ruts that doubled as a road and made a mental note to make sure I mowed the weeds in the center later that summer. The cabin held too many precious memories for me to lose it to a fire caused by weeds coming in contact with the hot undercarriage of the rare passing vehicle.

I was ready to dive into concealment at the first sign that either Sharon or Jason was coming then decided that was just stupid. Even if they didn't see me, they'd know my vehicle without even seeing the 'Bush/Cheney '04'bumper sticker or the sizeable dent in the rear quarter panel.

As I drew closer to the lake my pace slowed until, by the time I could see the quarter moon's reflection on Cami Lake I was hardly moving at all. As I drew nearer the cabin I was trying to come up with plausible reasons why I was there were I discovered.

The 'cabin' was only a cabin in the sense that it was made of logs. In reality it was a sprawling four bedroom, two bath structure that was as elegant as it was rustic. The north side was dominated a huge stone fire place and chimney. Lights blazed from the three windows that faced out toward the lake and smoke billowed from the chimney. Sharon's Jeep was parked on an angle in front.

When Dad acquired the place he began making upgrades; indoor plumbing made the little brown shack out back obsolete and eliminated the need to carry water from the lake. A 15 kilowatt generator provided electricity and as I crept up onto the porch I could hear its muted humming coming from the shed in back.

Through two open windows and over the hum of the generator I could hear Mozart and over Mozart I could hear them laughing. My heart seized when the front door suddenly opened and they came out.

Fortunately they were too engrossed with each other to notice a shadowy figure leap from the deck and scurry around the edge of the building. 007 would have been proud of my prowess.

I held my breath and waited until my heart resumed beating and then pushed my head up just high enough to see them. My initial assessment that they were naked was incorrect – they were just going swimming.

In the rectangle of white light that sprawled from the front door and illuminated their path almost all the way to the shore I could see Jason had on his blue Speedo. My wife was wearing a skimpy white bikini I had never seen before.

I didn't blame Jason for having his arm around her waist and holding her close. If I had been in his position I would have done exactly the same thing. She was utterly gorgeous.

Sharon was 42 – ten years my junior – and easily looked ten years younger. She was slim and trim with an hourglass figure and long, shapely legs that met at a still delectable heart-shaped ass. Like her son, Sharon didn't allow fat to reside anywhere on her frame. She had been 125 pounds when I married her and two plus decades later she was still 125. At 5'6" inches tall, she was taut and perfectly proportioned.

She wore her yellow-blonde hair back in a pony tail; a style both Jason and I adored.

They paused at the water's edge and tentatively dipped their toes.

Even over Mozart's "A Little Night Music" I could hear their voices echoing in the stillness of the night.

"It's too cold!" She recoiled and tried to back away.

Jason laughed as he caught her arm and swept her up into his own muscular arms and proceeded to wade out from the small patch of white sand I had brought in by dump truck when Jason was eight. I could see the weeds encroaching on the 'beach' as well and again I made a mental note to take care of them in the near future.

Sharon yelled at Jason when he paused with the water lapping around his own waist. "You wouldn't dare, mister!" She shrieked but I could hear the happy in her voice.

He did dare and unceremoniously dropped her into the water that on its warmest day was still too chilly for my liking. I bit back a laugh as she jumped up and tried to pummel him with her balled little fists but he was already gone. She sputtered and fumed futilely as Jason leisurely swam away from his mother.

"I hate you!" She yelled at him but I could still hear her laughter.

"You know you don't," Jason called back, rolling over onto his back and idly doing the backstroke. "You love me, Mom."

She dove after him and though he undoubtedly could have escaped her faux wrath, it soon became evident he wanted to be caught.

Even from where I watched I could hear her soft response when she wrapped her arms around his neck, "I love you more than anything else in my life."

I felt a shooting pain in my heart when her words reached me.

They were standing in about four feet of water. Jason wrapped her in his arms and pulled her close. I felt like a voyeur as I watched her pull his mouth down to hers and kiss him. From the distance I was at I couldn't discern if there was tongue or not, but if I had to bet I'd bet on 'yes.'

Their kiss went on and on and I knew by the way they behaved it wasn't their first kiss of passion. I mused that it had been some time since Sharon had kissed me so enthusiastically.

When they broke apart and stood there in the water just looking at each other, panting and unsure, I fought the urge to step out and yell at them to just get on with it.

And then I heard Jason and loved him even more than I already did.

"What are we going to do about Dad?" He asked pointedly.

"What about him?" My wife responded. "You and I have nothing to do with your father."

"I love him, Mom." I wanted to cheer. "I don't want to make him a c...cuckold. I don't want him to be hurt."

The cold was making his teeth chatter.

Sharon lifted her mouth to kiss his chin. "I don't either, my darling. Despite what you may think, I do love him, also. But I love you more. I love everything about you. I want you in every way a woman can want a man and your father has nothing to do with it."

I wanted to cheer Sharon, too.

"B...But..." He stammered.

Sharon brought her left hand from around his neck and put her forefinger against his lips. "Hush, darling. Let this time be about you and me. Don't think about your f...father. This is the first time we've ever really had opportunity to be alone together without having to look over our shoulders. Tonight and tomorrow we are finally free to take our relationship...further. I promise you, your father will never know anything that happens between you and me, tonight or ever."

I bit my lip to keep from laughing, which would have been disastrous. Jason again tried to say something but his mother again cut him off.

I could hear her teeth chattering. "I don't know about you b...but my legs are numb. Why don't we take this conversation back inside? I'll make us a c...couple of drinks and we can lounge by the fireplace."

Jason nodded, "Make mine a rum and coke, Mom. You aren't alone. My legs are numb, also."

I watched them walk out of the water and stride into the rectangle of light afforded by the still open front door of the cabin. They walked with their arms comfortably around each other's waist. I noted simultaneously that the cold water had done a number on Jason's penis and that Sharon's nipples were erect and prominent. They jutted out from the tiny twin triangles of white fabric that doubled as a bikini top. Her firm breasts threatened to spill out with every step.

I wondered when she had purchased the sexy getup.

I ducked back down beneath the edge of the porch as they approached and thrilled at the sounds of their flirtatious laughter. I dared breathing again after they entered the cabin and the door closed leaving me alone in the dark.

For many long minutes I waited where I crouched. Even though there was an open window only fifteen feet from where I was, I couldn't hear their words clearly. I wrestled with the urge to just leave. I didn't need to see anymore than I already had, did I? Did I really want to see what I was sure was soon to be happening in the same room I had first bedded my own mother?

My penis answered in the affirmative and I silently crept back up onto the porch.

I crawled toward the open window and cautiously pushed up on my arms until I could see over the sill. The vantage point was perfect to watch them.

I watched as my wife walked over to where Jason was lounging back on the bear skin rug in front of the sprawling fireplace. Someone had put a down comforter down over the bristly fur and a half dozen throw pillows were strewn behind him.

My heart hurt a bit when I watched Sharon walk up to him and hand him a tumbler full of dark liquid. I had been married to her for nearly 23 years and I had never seen her look so sexy and beautiful. Her camel toe was prominent and wisps of her dark pubic hair curled around the edges of the narrow triangle that covered her groin. That she was in love leaked from her smile and eyes.

Jason drank deep and sputtered a bit, setting his drink aside. "Wow! A bit strong, Mom." He complained mildly.

She tittered and sank down onto her knees next to him. "Just trying to get you to loosen up, my love. You're so tense."

Jason wrinkled his nose at her and pushed up onto his own knees to face her. "I'm not ashamed to admit I'm more terrified than I've ever been in my life."