A Love Like Ours Ch. 01

Tom seemed a little sheepish that morning and I wondered just how much he'd heard last night, or even seen. Poor boy, I did hope he wasn't too embarrassed. It didn't seem to affect his appetite, however. David shook his head ruefully at the end of the kitchen table. "You must have inherited your mother's genes Tom," he said. "To eat as much as you both do and still stay so trim." Tom grinned and I patted David on the knee sympathetically.

"It's just good metabolism darling," I said. "You were as trim as Tom in your day. Besides," I added, leaning across and kissing him on the cheek. "I like a bit of squidge on you." Tom rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. I blushed a little, thinking that he'd have just got a nice little eyeful of my pert bum as I leant over. "Sorry Tom," I smiled at him. "I just can't help myself." I smoothed down my top and sat back down with a happy smile. "I'm going into Yeovil after breakfast. I want to get some new clothes now that winter's finally over. Not much," I added hastily when David raised a sceptical eyebrow, "just a few bits and pieces that's all. Do you either of you want to come with me?"

David shook his head. "I've got a ton of little jobs to do around the house so count me out." I wasn't surprised, shopping wasn't exactly David's idea of fun. I turned my gaze to my son. He smiled back.

"Sure, why not? I could do with a new shirt for work anyway." David muttered something about white collar jobs but Tom and I ignored him. He'd never quite understood why Tom had seen the need to go to university when he could have followed him into the trade years ago. I'd championed Tom's cause, however, and David, being the good man that he is, gave way with only the occasion good-natured grumble.

So it was, therefore, that after I'd done the washing up I found myself in my little blue Ford Fiesta with Tom sat beside me in the front passenger seat. We chatted idly, easily as ever. I discovered that his date had been a bust and they'd agreed to end it early which was why he came home. We skirted the issue of what he may or may not have seen when he returned and we both seemed happy not to go there. It wasn't a long journey into Yeovil but we continued our talk, Tom telling me about his week at work and how it was going to help make wind power cheaper and more efficient. I loved listening to him, he was so passionate, so animated and charismatic. It wasn't hard to work out why, having opened the door to ideas of incest through fantasy, my fantasies had become fixed on my own son. He was handsome, smart and caring and, when he took my hand as we strolled towards Marks & Spencer in the small shopping centre, it was so sensual to me and when he looked down at me and smiled, my stomach seemed to tighten. It felt like I was a teenager again, like when David had first looked at me like that and yet something more.

We went first to the men's section to help find Tom a shirt. After browsing through a few in their cellophane wrappings, we picked a light blue shirt that I knew would fit his colouring perfectly. He smiled and squeezed my hand. "What would I do without your good taste Mum?" I smiled back and touched my hair and then placed a hand on his arm.

"It's my pleasure darling. You're easy to buy for anyway." We then headed downstairs to the ladies section and Tom took out his phone and lounged against a pillar as I perused the spring collection. I was a little disappointed by the choice, truth be told, but I found a couple of likely looking tops and took them to the changing room. Looking in the mirror I was happy with one of them but not sure about the other, a primrose yellow number that I feared might be a little too tight. I decided to ask Tom. I headed back out. "What do you think?" I asked. Tom looked up and I saw his eyes widen slightly -- it was pretty tight and low cut too. I saw Tom's eyes flash down to my cleavage. He tried to be subtle but men never are -- a woman always knows when a guy is checking her out. I felt a little flush of pleasure though I told myself he was just doing what came natural to all men when presented with a woman in a low cut top.

"I, er, I like it Mum. It's...um...nice." He managed. I shook my head patiently.

"Really? Is that all you can say. You're as much use as a chocolate fireguard or...or...your father!" I said with a grin. He opened his palms in a gesture of apology and matched my grin with a guilty one of his own.

"Sorry Mum," he added.

"Never mind. You can be some use and take some pictures of me with your phone and then I can make my mind up that way."

"Oh, er, ok. Why not use your own, then I won't have to send it to you," he said.

"Because yours is right there and mine is in my bag in the changing rooms. Just get on with it darling," I said with a hint of impatience. Tom duly raised his iPhone and took a few photos from different angles. When he finished, I held out my hand.

"Ok, let me see," I said. He shook his head.

"I'll What's App them to you," he said.

"Don't be silly, my 4G isn't on, just let me have a look." I said and beckoned my fingers in a gesture which demanded he handed me the phone. Reluctantly he passed it to me and I opened his photos. Though the top was nice, I decided against it as I flicked back through the photos he had taken. As is not uncommon, I flicked back too far into the previous photo before these that he had taken and my blood froze. I felt my cheeks go crimson and then I think I must have gone as pale as a sheet.

"Mum?" Tom asked, his voice a little unsteady, "Are you ok?" I closed the photo section and then handed the phone back to my son.

"Yes, I'm fine, " I managed to say in a strained tone, surprised that I'd managed to say anything as my throat felt like it had closed completely. "I just don't like the top I've decided. I'll just go and change back and then we'll just get your shirt and the other top and we'll go."

"Ok Mum," he said to my retreating back as I hurried away. When I reached the relative sanctuary of the dressing room I sat down and pressed my head back against the fluorescent orange wall my eyes turned up to the ceiling. The photo, the one before the first one of me in the yellow top was a different one of me. From last night. Bent over David's knee, my ass exposed a look of pure pleasure on my face. Oh God, oh God, oh God, what did this mean?

* * * * *

"Mum? Mum!" Tom's voice cut through my thoughts and dragged me back to reality. I looked across to him as we sat in Café Nero, my eyes focusing on his. He looked concerned, as well he might, given what I'd just seen on his phone. Did he know? Had he guessed? I wasn't sure. Suddenly he seemed opaque to me -- me, who'd known his moods, his truths and untruths since I'd first held him at my breast as a new born.

"Yes darling?" I managed to say. "Sorry I was miles away."

"I could see that Mum." He leant back and brushed his hand through his light brown hair, a gesture that mirrored a common one of my own. He took a sip of his cappuccino and then began. "And I think I know why."

"Oh?" I said defensively, uncertain as to whether I wanted to open this door. Surely it was better to pretend that I'd seen nothing.

"I know you saw the photos, it was there when I opened the application again," he told me. He seemed surprisingly calm given to what he was confessing.

"I did, yes," I admitted, embarrassed as if I were the one who had done something wrong. "Wait. You said photos. Plural. You mean that there was more than just one? Oh Tom, how could you?" I asked in a hushed tone halfway between shock and anger, looking around and grateful that the coffee shop was not very busy.

"Photos and a video, yes," he said quite matter of factly. He was so calm, I could scarcely credit it. A million thoughts were rushing through my brain but one which comes back to me now was a vain, somewhat incongruous one about how I might look in a video and whether it excited Tom to see me in it. "I'm sorry that I invaded your privacy Mum," he said, "that was wrong of me. I couldn't help it when I got back last night and saw, and heard, you and Dad together. I'm not sorry, however, about why I did it." He pauses for a moment before continuing. "And...I think that you feel the same way." He leaned forward a little and fixed me with a significant look. "Don't you Mum?" I gaped, mouth opening and closing for a moment while I felt the heat of shame creeping up the side of my neck and towards my cheek. I couldn't hold his piercing gaze. I looked down at my hands which were playing with my half full cup. There, looking up at me accusingly, were my engagement ring and wedding band.

"I don't think this is the right place to be discussing this Tom," I said. "Let's go back to the car. We can...can...talk there." Tom nodded and stood up. He offered me his hand. I was angry with him but unconsciously I took it and allowed him to help me to my feet. I took his proffered arm, feeling slightly unsteady on my feet and allowed him to lead me back to the car. I don't remember anything about that relatively short journey except the feel of his strong bicep which my hand clutched.

Tom took the keys from my handbag and opened the door on the passenger side for me. I ducked into the car, sensing his eyes on me as I swung my legs in in as ladylike a manner as I could manage. "I'd better drive, I think," he said, taking welcome control of the situation. I'm not sure I could have found the way home, so overwhelmed was I by the morning's events. He manoeuvred the car out of the car park and onto the road back home. It is only about 20 minutes to get home but Tom turned off into a side road on the outskirts of our village. I opened my mouth to object but then closed it again. There were things that we obviously needed to talk about more.

Some way down the track was a lay-by and Tom turned into and switched off the ignition. With the hum of the engine silenced and the road deserted, the quiet was palpable and we both stared ahead into the yellow field of oil seed rape ahead of us for a few moments before I heard Tom's voice.

"I know about the stories you read Mum." I thought about protesting innocence, feigning ignorance but I just closed my eyes, partly from shame but also from a strange sense of relief that my darkest secret was now no longer just my burden to bear. "I found them on the computer by accident, he added. "About a year ago. Don't worry, it's very unlikely that Dad will come across them. I was looking at cookies and found several for certain websites. I looked them up and, well, you will know what I found there."

My gaze remained fixed on my hands in my lap. I couldn't bring myself to look up at Tom, such was the shame I was feeling. He must hate me, I imagined, such a shock for the poor it to discover how sick his mother was. And yet, no, he was the one with photos, even a video of me on his phone and how many more might there be? God, I was so confused. I didn't know what to think, what to feel, but I knew I had to say something.

"I'm sorry Tom. I never meant for you to know. It's just a kink, a harmless fantasy. You must know I'd never...never..." my voice trailed off. Tom reached out his hand and touched mine. I flinched as if his hand were red hot but I didn't move away. How could I reject my boy's touch? I loved him more than anything, after all.

"Don't be sorry Mum," he told me gently but definitely. "I'm not. Not remotely. Finding them, it was a relief to me, to know that you felt it too. I thought it was just me." I looked up at him now, shock on my face.

"No Tom, no," I whispered. "You can't. We can't," I managed to say. He put up a hand to stop me and I meekly obeyed. We were now looking at each other for the first time since we'd left Yeovil and my tummy betrayed me by doing a flip-flop. I pressed my thighs together in response to try to stop my body reacting to his nearness.

He smiled, a smile of satisfaction and relief. "I didn't know until now whether you just liked the idea of incest or whether you wanted me. Now I know." He paused. "We both know. I want the same. No one is more precious to me than you. No one cares for me more than you. No one is more beautiful to me than you. No one is sexier than you. I know all the arguments against what I, what we, feel but I feel it anyway and it doesn't feel wrong to me. Or, if it does, than only seems to make it more right as contrary as that sounds."

I didn't say anything. I couldn't contradict him. What he said encompassed my own reasoning better I could myself. Encouraged, perhaps, by my silence Tom reached out and brushed my cheek with his fingers. His touch was smooth, delicate compared to the rough fingers of his father but I could sense the power and control in his touch. I wanted to melt into it but I knew I had to resist. I was the grown up. He was 22, yes, but that was still only a boy wasn't it? My boy, mine...no, I must be strong. I looked at him with tears pricking my eyes.

"It's ok Mum," he said before I could speak. He knew what I was going to say. "I know you aren't ready yet. You've had less time to think about this than me. I'm not going to say anymore now. Just this." He moved his hand from my cheek to the back of my head, running through my hair and pulling me forward a little. As he did so, he leant towards me and I felt his lips on mine. His kiss was firm but not rough. It lingered and I wondered if he might part my lips with his tongue but he didn't, leaving me wanting more despite my confused state of mind. Instead, he pulled back, smiled, stroked my cheek again and turned the key. The engine came to life and I sensed that my body had done the same with that kiss. What was I going to do? Tom turned the car around and before setting off he turned back to me.

"We'll talk more again soon Mum. In the meantime, let's go home."

* * * * *

We parked in the drive and there was David, out the front of the house, up a ladder cleaning the gutters. What had I just allowed to happen? I'd just been kissed by another man for the first time in more than 25 years. And there was my man looking after me and my family, just as he always had. A wave of guilt rushed over me. And yet...and yet, there was Tom, the one person more precious to me even than my husband. Like him and yet different, would it greedy to want them both, to love them both? Tom reached over and took my hand in his. He raised it to his lips and pressed it against them. His hazel eyes stared into mine penetratingly, like he could see right into my soul, like we had a connection that no one else could approach.

"Don't worry Mum, I don't want to replace Dad...yet. We both love him too much for that but I own a part of you that he can't reach. That's why you carried on reading those stories about mothers and sons for all these years." He opened his door, got out and moved around to open mine and to offer me his hand. I should have refused, shown him that what he'd said and done was unacceptable. But I didn't refuse him. I gave him my hand and he closed the door behind me and then just rested his hand on my lower back, just above the curve of my bottom. It wasn't there for long but long enough for us both to know that it had been and why it had been. When he let go, it was as if the spell was broken and I was back to my normal life, waving up at David and answering his uninterested question about whether we'd had a successful trip.

As the day progressed the nagging sense that I didn't want that dream to end, for reality to begin once again persisted. How could I go back? How could we? We couldn't, surely. Tom knew that, of course. He seemed to be a step ahead of me, somehow to be leading me down this path, a path I'd wanted to tread for years but had been too frightened to start or perhaps I hadn't even realised that it really existed rather than simply being some fantasy world. And what had he meant by saying he knew why I'd kept on reading the stories? I had to know, had to ask him.

David was tired by all his exertions around the house and went to bed around 9.45 that evening, leaving me and Tom alone together in front of some old James Bond movie, one with Roger Moore in I think. "You're not going to join him?" He asked with just the hint of a smile playing around his lips. I shook my head.

"Not yet." He tilted his head and smiled again.

"You've something you want to ask me?" He said. Damnit, how could he read me so easily? Because he knew me so well, as well, even better perhaps than David -- certainly now that he had knowledge of my intimate, darkest desires. I paused, not sure whether I wanted to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was right. I couldn't deny him, though, I never could and, besides, my curiosity was too great to be ignored.

"Why do you think I carried on reading the stories? In the car you said..."

Gently he interrupted me by standing up from the sofa and coming over to my armchair. He sat down on the arm and stroked my hair, an affection but possessive gesture that normally no one but David would do to me. "Tom, you shouldn't..." I said meekly.

"Shouldn't what? Show you affection, desire even? Why, if it's what I feel towards you and I know you feel the same Mum? You carried on reading the stories because they touch you in a place that Dad can't. He can't because even if he knew and wanted to fulfil those fantasies, he can't because he isn't me. That part of you that loves those stories, that reads them again and again, that part of you is mine. I know that because if it wasn't, then you'd have stopped reading them when I was old enough for it to become awkward for you to read about mothers and sons. At some point, you must have been conscious that I was a man, that now those boys you read about falling in love with their mothers could have been me. You will have known that and had to have decided that it was ok in your mind to carry on and the only way you'd have been able to do that was if, gradually perhaps, your fantasies became more than just fantasies and became desires."

He was right, of course, that was exactly what happened. I had slowly given in to the admission that the sons in the stories I read, in the videos I watched, were Tom. His hand had never left my head, slowly stroking my hair throughout it. I looked up at him. "That was a big speech Tom," I said, trying to be sarcastic, trying my best to put up some sort of defensive barrier between us to stop myself. "You seem to have all this figured out. Am I supposed just to fall into your arms?" I asked, half wanting to do exactly that.

"No Mum, you're not ready for that yet. You're not ready to admit to yourself that now the opportunity that deep down you've wanted for so long is truly here that you're ready to take the plunge," he told me, again spookily accurate as to my true feelings. "It took me a long time to come to terms with the idea of falling in love with my own Mum. It's not something that just happens to anybody. I had to know I wasn't crazy, that I wasn't sick but the more I looked at it, the more I thought about it, the more sense it made." Subconsciously, I found myself nodding to that and tom smiled and his hand moved down to cup my chin, tilting it up. For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me again. I wanted him to but he didn't.

"You see? You do understand. We're not bad people, you and I. Who loves me more than you? You've made me who I am, what woman could compare with you? You're beautiful and so sexy," I blushed at this but he continued. "No, you are, I mean properly sexy Mum. I've always thought so, but seeing you last night, it just brought it all home, seeing you like that with Dad, imagining it was me holding you like that, taking you like that." My mind drifted back to the events of the previous evening and I remembered that it had been Tom who had taken me over the edge, thoughts of him not David which had brought me to a climax.