Working My Passage

“The only catch turned out to be, that he went on with his brand of sex, but there was to be no hint of scandal where I was concerned. I mean, your mother has put a lot at risk for herself with John.”

“You know, the strange thing is, Arthur could be wide open about his sexual preference these days, and be perfectly safe in his job and social relations.”

“The other thing is I got to want a child. To do him credit Arthur did try, but he really has no sexual desire for a woman at all. He just couldn’t do anything with me. Some gay men can manage it, but he couldn’t.”

“Then you came into my life. You must have known something of how I felt?”

“I was the son you wanted?”

“I’m afraid so, darling. Obviously it became something else over time, but yes, for years you were my son. I know, because your mother told me you used to talk about me as your ‘other mother’.”

I smiled as I remembered. “Yes, that’s true.”

“So you see, my darling, you’ve got a sordid, money grubbing woman as you lover; a woman who right now would give almost anything to be with you all the time.”

“Then why not, my love? I can drop university and get a job. We can set up house together.”

“She gave a rueful smile. “And in ten years time you’d be looking at me and thinking or even saying, ‘You ruined my life’. No my love, I’ll not let you wreck your life for me. I wanted this baby with you; I shall take responsibility for it.”

She had given me my escape route, but with the fervour of youth I didn’t want to take it. I began my protest. “But it’s my baby as well, Amanda, and…”

“I know my love, and I’m glad it’s your baby as well, but you’re in no position to take responsibility. I knew that when I let my self get pregnant.”

I seemed to be getting shut out of the picture. Whichever way I turned I could find no viable way of being involved that was acceptable to Amanda.

For the moment I gave up and asked, “What will you do?”

“You’ll have to leave that with me, Adrian. Just know that only you, your mother and I will know who the father is.”

“But this leaves me right out of the situation.”

“Yes, and for now that’s where I want you to be. In time perhaps it will be different, but for now be sensible, get on with your studies, and leave me to handle the matter.”

She sounded almost cold. She was rejecting me and as if to confirm this she said that she did not want to make love with me. I left her house thoroughly depressed and with as low an opinion of myself as I think I had ever had.

I decided to speak to mother about the situation only to find she already knew of Amanda’s condition. I tried to explain how I felt cut out of things and wanted to be involved, but Amanda was opposed to this.

“Yes darling, I know, and I think she’s quite right. She knew what she was doing, it’s what she wanted. Women have a way of coping in these situations, you’ll see.”

Well, I certainly saw. I had a full round of lectures and tutorials next day, and didn’t get home until late. A serious faced mother was waiting for me.

“Amanda’s gone,” she announced without preamble. “She left a note for Arthur and went.”

“Where? Where has she gone?” I said with a note of panic in my voice.

“She didn’t say. Arthur’s been here and he has no idea where she might have gone. Oddly he doesn’t seem much bothered.”

Arthur may not have been bothered, but I was.

“Mother, you must know where she is, you two were really close.”

“As close as you?” she asked. “I’m afraid I don’t know, Adrian, and I don’t think it’s going to be much good trying to find her. I think she doesn’t want to be found, and when people don’t want to be found it’s incredibly hard to find them.”

I felt as if I was being torn apart inside. My first, and as I thought with all the simplicity of youth, my only love gone without a word. Unmanly though it might seem I broke down and wept. She had said she loved me and had gone I knew not where.

Mother tried to comfort me, but her words washed over me. I was a deserted lover. Amanda had gone carrying my…our…baby in her womb.

I said I would contact the police and tell them she was a missing person.

Mother responded that it was up to her husband to do that, and the police were not likely to take any notice of me. She was right because I did go to the police and they asked a lot of embarrassing questions, and the sergeant ended by saying, “I think it’s up to the ladies husband or a near relative to talk to us, sir, and we’ve had no contact from them reporting the lady missing.”

I felt utterly bereft, but hung on to the one hope that she would contact me, asking me to go to her. It was a vain hope.

I tried the Salvation Army who had a service for finding missing persons. They were sympathetic but because I couldn’t establish a clear relationship to her, I got the same reply as the police sergeant had given me.

I seemed to lose track of time and my days were spent in misery, longing for Amanda, desperate to find her.

My studies became a mess and I was in danger of being dismissed from the course, so I made a mighty effort and pulled myself together.

I began to tell myself that she had left me, so to hell with her. If she didn’t want me, then I would find someone else. I had a few of the one night stands that I had mentally abhorred, and found that I still loathed them in the flesh. I even settled down to one particular girl, but then found that I wasn’t the only one who had settled down with her.

I decided that as a lover I was a walking disaster area, and came to the conclusion that a lifetimes masturbation was all that lay ahead of me. I was rescued from this fate in a most unexpected way.

It must have been six months after Amanda disappeared from my life when one day my mother said, “You’re still missing Amanda, aren’t you?”

“Everyday,” I muttered.

Without any warning my mother asked straight out, “Darling, would it help if we made love?”

To say I was startled would be an understatement. The last person in the world I would have considered as a sexual partner was mother. I recognised that she was attractive, but there was father and her lover John and I knew of the abhorrence many people had for incest.

I began to make what I suppose were protests and in the process mentioned father and John, “Suppose they found out?” I asked. The fact that I was concerned about our being found out, suggests that despite my surprise at mother’s offer, somewhere in the recesses of my mind I was already considering her as a sexual partner.

“Adrian,” mother replied, “I think I’d better explain something to you about your father and I. We haven’t had sex for years. As you know, we sleep apart and have done so since you were quite small.”

“You see, when you were about six your father seemed to lose interest in me sexually. Then I found out that his conferences and other activities that took him away from home included being granted sexual favours. That was when I moved out of his bed.”

“Oh, he still wanted me around to look after you and be the pleasant hostess at his parties and dinners, and it suited me to live the lifestyle we have and to make sure you grew up in a good environment, at least, financially speaking.”

“Sexually it was a wretched time for me until I met and fell in love with John. You must realise that John and I have been faithful to each other for years. If I were unfaithful to him now, it would be because I love you and hate seeing you so unhappy and frustrated. It would take nothing away from your father that he wants from me, and it wouldn’t diminish my love for John, and providing there was no jealousy on your part and you didn’t mind sharing me, I’d like to help you.”

“I made some more vague protests, I think more as a matter of form than lack of desire to have mother, so she said; “You don’t have to come to a decision right now, Adrian. Give it some thought, and if you decide you would like to come to me, then you know I shall be very happy to be with you sexually.”

She left me to think it over.

I have found that often I would make what might be called an “instinctive decision” about something, and then proceed to mull it over only to come back to the thought I had in the first place. I am sure that my first thought was, “Yes, I want sex with mother.” Then I went through the agonising process of putting up all the arguments for and against to finally decide that I would like to make love with mother.

When she put the suggestion to me in the first place it seemed to be in a rather cold, rational manner. When I told her I would like to have sex with her she was far from cold. My father was away and John was not coming that night so I spent my first night in her bed.

I suppose I must have known that mother had some degree of sexual vitality, why else was John still her lover? I had no idea, however, just how vital she was. I had anticipated that she was merely setting out to give me comfort and sexual release. I was very wrong.

Smaller both in stature and figure than Amanda, she was never the less delightful. Her small breasts had sweet little pink nipples and the aureoles were a slightly darker shade of pink. Her pubic hair had been removed to reveal, not so much a vaginal slit as a bud that proved to be the entrance to a tight vagina and a vaginal muscle she could flex to great and thrilling effect.

Our first coupling took place very quickly as we were both so highly stimulated. I was astounded when she had three orgasms in quick succession during the one coupling. After that she wanted everything from me and gave everything to me. She didn’t seem to flag for a moment. No sooner had I finished one ejaculation than she was stirring me up for another.

During that first night we must have run the whole gamut of sexual possibilities, including anal sex, that I had not experienced before.

“My God,” I thought, no wonder John has been faithful all these years, but how does he cope with her? She must wear the poor devil out. No wonder she was so willing to take me on. She’d have no problem coping with a dozen men let alone two.”

She was wonderful, beautiful and insatiable and the last ejaculation I could manage was with my penis between her breasts.

Both of us were in a dreadful mess. Our faces and bodies were covered with each other’s fluids and the bed looked as if two dogs had been fighting in it.

I collapsed beside mother, exhausted, and even as I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep, mother’s hand was playing with my penis trying to make it rise for yet another joint effort.

Thank God the next day was Saturday and I had no lectures or tutorials to attend. I slept late and woke up aching in every limb. Mother was gone from the bed but the residue of our passion was very evident, including the after smell of our multiple sexual unions.

I rose with a groan and staggered to the shower and emerged from it somewhat revived. I went in search of mother and found her sitting in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee and mulling over the newspaper.

She looked up as I came in and gave me a beaming smile.

“Good morning my darling, what a beautiful day after such a wonderful night, and really my love, I must say Amanda has taught you well. Pity you went to sleep so soon, I could have gone on a lot longer. I did think about waking you this morning so we could have some fun, but I decided to let you sleep instead.”

“Now, about today, darling; let’s have a bit of a break this morning and then we can go to bed this afternoon. I’m afraid we can’t have the night together because John will be coming, but I’m sure I can make you happy this afternoon.”

There was no question whether or not I wanted to go to bed with her that afternoon; it was just taken for granted. I hoped my testicles were in good working order to enable me to survive the afternoon.

“What will you do this morning, darling?” she asked.

“Er…I’ll do some studying,” I replied, which being translated meant I was going to hide in my own bedroom and get some rest to be ready for the coming scrimmage.

Mother bounced off out of the kitchen singing as I had heard her do after her nights with John. She seemed to me to have undergone something of a personality change, but that was probably due to the change or extension of our relationship.

The afternoon session was hardly less strenuous than the previous night, but I had the advantage of knowing what was coming, and so was ready for it.

I found there to be a marked distinction between sex with mother and sex with Amanda. It was not just the obvious fact they were two different women with their own physical characteristics.

With Amanda our coming together had been the result of a love relationship that had evolved since my childhood to finally flower into sexual union. Our couplings were the outcome of a deep love in which we explored each other almost with reverence. Of course there was joy in our sexual performance but neither of us ever ended up feeling physically fatigued. It was as if we drew strength from each other and emerged from our couplings with a profounder love for each other.

With mother sex seemed to be simply fun. In the sexual act she was entirely ingenuous, an innocent out to gain life’s pleasures. That afternoon she said, “Did you and Amanda ever try this?” She sat across me, which of course Amanda had done many time, but instead of facing me she was turned to face down my legs.

“It’s really fun,” she went on, and I felt my penis slide into her, and have to admit it did produce a different and delightful sensation. Then before either of us had an orgasm she leaped off me and lowering her sex organ to my face said, “Do give a lovely licking darling, I think I’d like to come while your doing it, so don’t stop until I’ve finished will you.”

So it we went on for the afternoon. During our activities mother would frequently keep up a stream of joyous chatter, “Is that nice, darling?” Oh, that does feel good.” “Do that again darling.” “Do you like this sweetheart?”

Once again she drained me to the last dribble of my semen and when I had to admit I really couldn’t achieve another erection she said brightly, “Never mind darling it’ll all come back tomorrow.”

“My God,” I thought, “she’s been with me most of the night, then this afternoon, and she’s taking John tonight, and she’s looking forward to more sex with me tomorrow! The woman’s libido is frightening. How has John on his own coped with her?”

Mother never commented on her sex life with John until some years after our time of making love had ended. It was then that I realised that the relationship between mother and John was of the same quality as mine with Amanda. They were two people deeply in love and had remained so for many years. Sex between mother and John was very different from sex with me. True all the same physical things took place, but with John they carried a different meaning.

Mother’s loving act in allowing me to enjoy her body at first absorbed and even drained me physically, but like most sexual relationships after the first flowering has been and gone, things calmed down. When this happened to me I found myself contemplating Amanda again. During sex with mother I began to fantasise Amanda. I confessed this to mother, thinking she might not wish to continue having sex with me on, as it were, false pretences.

She chuckled softly. “That’s all right, darling, of course you fantasise Amanda. I know how much you love her. I’m not at all hurt. So long as we can just enjoy each other, why worry?”

It was over a year since my loss of Amanda and six months into my sexual relationship with mother, that a dramatic change came into our lives. My father was overseas dealing with some government business when we got news that he had dropped down dead during a conference.

It was heart failure and we had no idea that there was anything wrong with his heart. We learned from his doctor, however, that he had been receiving treatment for some time, but had kept it hidden from us and his department.

His body was brought home and he was cremated following a rather splendid funeral at which all sort of important people, or at least, people who thought they were important, said their farewells. I had never had much to do with my father. His life and interests always seemed to be elsewhere. At the funeral I learned how highly he had been thought of, and had the doubtful pleasure of seeing three female mourners who, my mother told me, had been numbered among his inamoratas.

It was hard for me to feel the emotions that are considered proper for a son to feel at the death of his father. This, I suppose, was because emotion had never entered into my relationship with him. I felt some sense of gratitude that he had been so well placed on the financial scale that I had not had to feel the sting of deprivation as I saw some of my fellow student suffering, but I fear that was all I felt.

Mother was clearly ambivalent about her feelings. She too had been given a better life style than she might have had without him. He had not been unkind to her, simply careless when it came to the sort of love mother had needed.

For a couple of weeks all sex between us, and I suspect with John, ceased. Mother seemed to turn in on herself, shutting out the world around her.

Financially mother was well placed as my father’s superannuation became available to her. In his will he had left me some “Blue Chip Stock” that, as I discovered, paid out enough interest to keep me above the poverty line, just. Not that I had to worry as I was still living at home at no cost, so for the time being the money from the interest was more than adequate, in fact I even ploughed some of it back into further investment.

When mother invited me to her bed again I found I had a quieter sex partner. She was no where near as demanding as she had been, which to some extent was a bit of a relief for me. Then three month after my father’s death she dropped her mini-bombshell.

It had several elements to it. First she announced that we would be moving. “I don’t want to keep living in this huge place,” she explained.

Next she pointed out that she and John would be living together with the eventual aim of getting married. In the meantime she wanted me to live with them, but sex between us would cease.

“I seem to have a penchant for losing my sex partners,” I thought wryly. Yet I understood her reasons. She would now constantly be with the man she had loved for many years, and she would want to devote herself entirely to him sexually.

I had just begun to think what I was going to do with my own sexual needs when mother thrust a piece of paper into my hand. Written on it was an address. “What’s this?” I asked, puzzled.

“It’s her address, darling.”

“Amanda’s?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’ve know, you’ve known all along!”

“No darling, but I’ve know for some time. She asked me to give it to you when I thought the moment was right. I think this is the moment.”

I felt a sense of anger and burst out, “You two women always seem to be plotting something concerning me.”

“Perhaps you should be glad we have, Adrian,” mother retorted mildly.

“Why couldn’t she have sent me her address instead of doing it through you?”

“She had her reasons, and if you decide you want to see her she’ll probably explain. By the way, it was a little girl.”

That sobered me rather quickly. A girl, a daughter, my…our daughter, “She must be six months old by now, and I haven’t even see her…wasn’t even told…”

“Go and see them, Adrian,” mother said quietly.

I needed no second telling. It was late morning and I leaped into the car and hurtled through the streets to the address.

It proved to be in a less affluent suburb than ours, and the house was really a small cottage. I knocked on the door, and there was no answer. I knocked again, louder and still no answer. I ended up hammering but got no response.