In View of Vesuvias

"It's ok," you whispered.

"I know, but you know what I am like?"

"Yes, I do," You said as we screamed round a bend almost on the wrong side of the road seemingly out of control. Involuntarily and without thinking, I gripped your hand, you squeezed back, it felt reassuring. My hand was on top of my leg mid-way between my knee and groin. You were gripping my hand, but the back of your fingers were pressed against my leg. Were you actually pressing harder? I wondered. It felt like it, but no, surely not? It couldn't be, could it? Could it?

The cab had now left the winding road and we were on the coastal autostrada. I wasn't scared any more and I moved my hand. You didn't let go though, so I left it there. It felt good, but it excited me and made me wonder whether I was imagining things. We held hands all the way to Sorrento.

I hadn't been to this Villa for ages, not since the divorce I realised as we carried our cases inside and dumped them in the marble floored hallway.

"Let's look round first, get our bearings shall we?" I suggested.

"Sure."

We walked into the lounge and then dining room and the kitchen. They were all large, beautifully furnished and decorated. Outside there was a veranda that ran round the back of the house with steps leading down into the extensive gardens. There were great views across the valley to Vesuvius in the distance. Back inside we went upstairs. There were four bedrooms.

"Hold on, I'll get the cases," you said running back down the stairs and fetching them.

"Tough guy ay?" I smiled.

"Yes C, you've bred a budding baggage handler you know. Which is your bedroom?"

"This one I think," I replied opening a door. "Woops no, that's the small one. Your's and mine must be over the other side of the house."

"Wow C, that bed be big enough for you? You won't get lost will you?"

The fair sized room was dominated by a huge four poster, which I had completely forgotten about.

"I'll manage."

"Well if you get lonely, woops no I didn't say that."

"Well I'm sure yours will be equally nice, although if you like, you can have the four-poster."

We had left that room and were opening the door to your bedroom; you were holding the door open for me and letting me pass by. Our bodies almost touched. I wanted them to, I almost reached out, I almost touched you. Gathering myself I said.

"See its lovely and a nice size."

"Well that doesn't matter as I won't be sharing it."

"I would hope not." I said assuming a mock tone. "You just forget about such things when you're with your mother."

Peggy had arranged for the fridge and larder to be stocked with the basics. So our first night in Italy we had frozen pizza, rocket salad and a light rose wine. It was plenty warm enough for us to eat outside so we laid the table on the veranda and lit the mosquito deterrent. In fact the climate was rather humid and sticky. Thunderstorm weather I thought recalling the quite violent storms that happened last time I was here.

I popped the pizza into the oven; of course in Italy they don't have microwaves, so it was going to be twenty minutes or so before it was ready.

"I'm going to have a quick shower while it heats up." I informed you.

"Good idea, I think I will as well. Maybe we could have a swim after?"

Hardly thinking, I quipped back.

"After. After what?"

"Dinner of course."

"Fuck" I thought, "I'll have to be careful with my silly remarks and double entendres, he's not a lover or even a potential one."

In the shower, I could think of hardly anything else than my hand in yours and your fingers pressed against my leg. My fingers found the very spot as the tepid water poured over me.

I stroked it wondering and wondering if it had meant anything. I you had any feelings like mine? If, I realised with a combination of serious guilt and enormous excitement, you sexually fancied your mother as she did her son?

"You look nice C" you said as I walked into the kitchen where you were seated at the big pine table sipping a beer. "This ok?" You asked pointing the bottle at me.

"Yes of course. You can pretend to be a grown up this holiday," I smiled looking over my shoulder from where I was checking the pizza in the oven.

"I'll have one too, actually, if you'll get me one."

"What do you mean pretend? I am." You said going to the fridge, getting a beer and walking over to where I was making the salad. You stood close to me, perhaps too close, perhaps provocatively or intimately close?

I could smell your aftershave, see the slight stubble on your face and feel the heat radiating from your body. You were wearing a yellow singlet and blue shorts. You looked awesome.

You were holding the beer bottle at its base, pointing it towards me at an angle from your body, inviting me to take it by its neck. I suddenly felt that it looked so fucking phallic that I wanted to suck it.

I'm sure my hands were shaking as I took the bottle, holding it just beneath its neck, just where the "shoulders" flare out. I held your gaze as I brought the bottle to my lips, as I tipped my head back and as I let the liquid slew into my mouth. I looked at you, at my son as, in my mind, that bottle became your cock.

"Well thanks," I said feeling very confused as I served up the pizzas.

"What for?"

"Saying I look nice."

"That was ages ago."

"So, it was still nice of you."

"Well I meant it."

"As I did my thanks."

I had slipped into a thin, pale pink, sundress. It was made of voile and was fairly see-through and, in anticipation of the suggested swim after dinner, I had put on a bikini. That was white.

We sat across from each other at the candle-lit table on the veranda. It was very warm. Under the table our knees nearly touched. We both ate the slices of pizza with our hands, we sipped the wine and we looked right at each other and chatted. I can't remember what about, only that most of the time your gaze seemed to keep flittering back to my breasts.

"Bollocks," I said realising that the thin bikini and the voile dress would be insufficient; that they would not be thick enough; that they wouldn't provide the cover that the slithers of clothing covering my breasts needed to hide the womanly swelling that was, as you looked at me, taking place.

"I'll clear these away" I said getting up quickly.

"I'll check the pool," you muttered also getting up and edging sideways towards the steps down from the veranda.

I looked across at you. Can it be? Is that what it looks like it is? Is he really? Shit he is. My son has got an erection looking at his mother's tits.

Peter

I was on fire. My heart was beating faster than I had thought possible. My cheeks were burning. I was, as unattractive as this may sound, beginning to sweat.

The way you, presumably unconsciously, had handled the bottle had me thinking about sex. The intimate dinner had me feeling relaxed and intimate. The glances and the gestures and the way you leaned in as we spoke had me feeling like it was a sure thing. And the way I could see the outlines of your bikini, your breasts and your nipples through the thin dress had me feeling so horny.

In short, all I could think about was grinding my cock in and out of you, making you moan with every thrust.

But you were my mother, and you were not like that. I was a twisted pervert descending a spiral of delusion and lust over my own mother. I needed to clear my head, but all I could do was stare at your chest. I forced myself to catch your eye, smile sweetly or make some charming, witty remark, but every time my attention slipped, my eyes were drawn back to your breasts. Their soft skin, their curve, the small movement they made as you breathed, the hard outline of your nipples; it was all too much for me.

I think you realised where my eyes were, for suddenly the atmosphere changed. You made an excuse to get up and started clearing away. Embarrassed, I excused myself too, saying I'd go check the pool.

Of course, as I inched my way out, I was suddenly very aware that I had a massive hard on. My instinctive reaction was to hide it, but as you looked across at me I was suddenly filled with courage. Being a little drunk and miles from home made me feel invincible, and I stood proud, letting you notice the bulge in my trousers.

As soon as I was outside I began to wonder if I'd gone too far, but the recklessness didn't leave me.

Outside, I stripped down to my shorts and slid into the water. It wasn't long before you appeared, with a bottle of wine and two glasses. You handed me the bottle and I poured the glasses as you dropped your sundress. For a whole second you were stood over me, wearing only a white bikini. I saw all but the most intimate parts of you, and can still see them when I close my eyes now. You were truly a sight to behold.

You got into the water, coyly remarking that you didn't want to excite me too much.

You had seen my erection.

With your joke, you swam over and reached over me to get your glass. I boldly, but hiding behind a joke, put my arm around your waist and held you, asking "What if I want to be excited?"

You playfully pushed me off, innocently asking why I would want that.

"Excitement is the spice of life," I replied. I would NEVER have said that if I was sober, I swear. But you laughed and we swam around and drank wine and flirted gratuitously.

I was refilling your glass when it happened. I poured the wine in and turned round. We were both drunk and horny, that much was totally obvious. You came up out of the water and there were your breasts, dripping wet and cupped in a white bikini, the bra of which looked to be slightly too small for the fulsome, precious cargoes they were restraining . There was no use trying to look away. You had seen that I was looking, well more staring really.

Thankfully you laughed, suggesting to me that you were as tipsy as me. "Perv," you teased, and reached for your wine.

As you did, I put my arm around you again, pulling you close. For a moment your face was just above me. Neither of us spoke. It was clear that this was the moment, now or never.

Shifting my arm, I dropped you down a couple of inches and brought your face to my level. I held your gaze daringly, then leaned forward.

Our lips met. Though it was all me, you didn't move away. I put my hand on the back of your head. This may be the only chance I would ever get; I was going to make the most of it.

Your lips were soft and wet. As I moved mine over them there was no hiding that this was no ordinary kiss between a mother and a son. As if to cement that, I slid my tongue out and parted your lips with it. Your mouth opened and our tongues probed each other, feeling and tasting. It was the most intimate thing and sexually arousing thing that I had ever experienced.

Cat

My head was swimming; I was in a fog, a dream, maybe even a nightmare. I didn't know whether I was drunk, drugged, delirious or deranged. I did know though, that what we were doing was dangerous, maybe demeaning, possibly disgusting, could be disastrous, was certainly disturbing, but potentially delightful.

I was in your arms. You were holding me, you were pulling me to you, pressing your body against mine, squashing mine against yours.

We were in our swimwear, me a white bikini, you thin shorts: we might just as well have been naked. I wished we were naked, I wanted to be naked for you, I wanted to see you naked, be in your arms naked, and have you naked for me. I could feel your body, so why couldn't I see all of it, feel all of it touch all of it have all of it? Why? Because I was your fucking mother that's why?

But that was ceasing to make a difference. Our family roles and our relationship were beginning to change, rapidly and significantly and for ever. Surely there could be no going back now?

The dinner had started it. It was romantic, impossibly so. The open air, Italy, the hills behind Sorrento, candles and moonlight, the smell of jasmine and honeysuckle. Us, just us, just a mother and her son, her eighteen year old son. We were away, out of normal habitat. We had drunk too much at dinner. We had flirted; I had become alarmed that I was going too far, encouraging you, priming you, yes, I had to admit, seducing you. It became erotic, impossibly so for a mother and her son.

I pulled myself away, but not before I saw that you were erect. God did that thrill me? The realisation that you had become hard because of me, because of me as a woman, because of me, your mother, as a female, was excruciatingly arousing to me. I felt pangs of such intensity rush through me as I had gone into the house to collect myself, gather my wits, and get myself together. That couldn't have been happening, I had thought, as I fluffed around putting the plates into the dishwasher and getting another bottle of Frascati. Surely he hasn't got a hard on because of me? But you had, for I had glanced over my shoulder at you, expecting to see your back as you went towards the pool, but no, I saw your profile. You were standing up straight, you were looking towards me and yes, I had not been mistaken, you were erect. But not, as at other times when I had suspected you may have been hard, hiding it. It was as if you were exhibiting it, displaying it to me, showing me your hardness. As if you were pleased and proud that you had it.

I was panting, it was hard to breath, my breasts pounded and my clit was throbbing, my legs felt weak and I was sure my womanly juices were seeping. It was such an amalgam of emotions. Guilt and fear with lust and desire is such a powerful cocktail that I feared I might faint.

I had thought of going to bed and leaving you. Of not having the swim, of calling it a day. Yes my mind had said do that, take the conservative course, the safe option, and stay away from temptation. My body, though, told me quite the opposite. Mind versus body. Common sense versus go for it. Safety versus risk. I had tried to resist, to stop my wicked self, to make myself stay away from you. How could I do this? How could a mother have such thoughts, such feelings, such desires for her child, her son, her baby? How indeed? Fucking easily, for as well as all of those things you were also a magnificently built, beautiful and so appealing young man! I smiled as I thought, 'I would fancy him even if he wasn't my son' not that that made me feel any less guilty.

But I was undecided; I had enormous conflicts, considerable traumas. I was pulled both ways. Mind versus body, body versus mind.

My sundress flittering to the floor like an autumn leaf, indicated the winner. Standing before you in that white bikini clearly declared that; my body was the clear winner!

I was lost now. There seemed to be inevitability about the proceedings, almost as if it was scripted and we were actors in a play similar to if it had been ordained. I was almost salivating at watching your eyes roam over my body. I shivered as I had got into the pool with you, although the water was gloriously warm.

You poured me wine, we drank in the pool. Things were becoming very heady indeed. The warmth, the smells, the moonlight, our solitude and all the other things that had made dinner, firstly, so romantic and then, so erotic merged with our closeness and near nudity, the water and the wine.

You seemed to be taking over; my baby was starting to direct proceedings with his mother, my son was beginning to seduce me. Could that be possible? Was I sure? Could there be a mistake; might I be misinterpreting the signals and the mood? It had become more exciting, more thrilling, more disturbing and, of course, more worrying. It had also become more unreal, or more real, who knows?

I was in even more of a conflict. Sexually aroused beyond any level I could recall. I was scared. Scared that I was incorrect with my interpretation of events. Scared that I was letting my hopes and desires overcome my sensibilities. Scared that I was wrong about your actions. Scared that you would rebuff me and scared, maybe most of all, about where, what I was doing, would lead us.

I said no, to myself, I willed my body not to. I summoned up all my resistance, my resolve and determination. I did everything I could not to give in. Despite that, I found my mouth opening, my lips parting and my tongue finding yours as we kissed. The relief that you had, I think, initiated the kiss was enormous.

We kissed. Not the kiss of relatives, not the kiss of mother and son, not the kiss of friends, but the kiss of lovers. "Where the hell had you learned to kiss like this," I wondered, as your opened lips squirmed against mine and your tongue plundered my mouth, teeth, lips, gums and throat?

His tongue is fucking my mouth, I thought, responding far more eagerly than perhaps I should. But I could not stop, I could not hold back, I could not resist my female feelings, I could not stop my body responding to my son's sexual advances.

Involuntarily, without thinking or planning, almost without even knowing, my arms went round you. One just above your waist, the other over your shoulder and round your neck. I hugged you, as I had many men before. I pressed myself against you in the traditional way that two people who are moving towards some form of sex do; we moulded our bodies together and we kissed, and we kissed and we kissed and kissed and kissed.

I felt as though I had been transported somewhere, but all that had happened was that we had moved to the side of the pool. I was pressed back against the marble wall of the pool. Both my arms were round your neck, yours were round my body. One of your hands was in the middle of my back; on my bra strap the other was lower, on the waist band of my bikini panties. Our bodies were touching from our mouths to our feet, under the water. My breasts were squashed against your chest, our legs were intertwined, our toes and ankles touched and rubbed together and our hands roamed the others back. But most significantly; most marvellously; most enticingly; most excitingly and most scaringly was where we met in the middle of our bodies.

Nothing was hidden now for there were no hiding places. Equally, there was no shame or guilt, no ducking the issue or hiding the evidence. There was no pretence, no pretending it wasn't happening and no acting like mother and son. No, your bloated, rock hard cock was planted firmly in the middle of my stomach. Your lovely, beautifully hard erection was sunk into the softness of my tummy. Yes, the base of your massively aroused manhood was forced against my most feminine of places, my pussy and clit.

"Oh God." I sighed, breaking the kiss

"Yes," was all you could reply.

I couldn't think of anything to say, so I kissed you again, this time letting both my arms wrap round your waist. I pulled on your hips forcing you even more firmly against me. Our lips were squirming, our mouths were grinding together and our tongues were delving into the others throat.

My hands slid down, they found your bum, I squeezed it. It felt lovely, I knew what it looked like already, but of course I had not touched it since your sexual awakening. Yours found mine; they also squeezed the two cheeks and that felt lovely as well. You, of course, had not touched that in a sexual way, but on several occasions you had given it a smack in what I had thought the first few time was just a playful way. Recently, I had not been so sure that they had just been playful, particularly when a few weeks ago, I had glanced in the mirror in my room, and saw you looking in. You didn't know I had seen you looking at me when I was just wearing a blouse that ended at my waist and nothing else. So you knew too what the goods looked like that you were now testing.

I wanted to say things, so many things, tell you stuff, explain, discuss and examine, but I couldn't. I couldn't speak, couldn't think of what to say or how to say it. All I could do was make sounds; little sighs, groans and moans whimpers and intakes of breath. You were the same. You were making the same sorts of noises, but in more masculine, gruff tones.