Archaeology Mom

I played a game on my phone, got antsy, pulled off my shirt, replaced it with a slightly less dirty one, said, "I think I'll stretch my legs."

"Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all."

"Okay, one second, just let me finish this."

Knowing that meant at least five minutes I sat and watched Mom lean forward, paying close attention to what she was reading, then clicking her mouse she studied one photograph, then another, before saying, "Brad, please stop dawdling, I'm ready, let's go."

The bonfire was still going, we could hear people gathered around it, but we walked across the base camp and up the hill. She was processing something - she often went for walks when she did - and I reached for her hand, took it in mine. She turned to me, smiled, said, "Sorry, I'm not very good company."

"Mom you're not good company, you're the best company."

Mom said, "Thanks," then steered us to the trench, looked at it awhile, and then, as if coming out of a trance, looked up in the sky and said, "It's beautiful up here. With so few lights out here you can see so many stars. I'm chilly; let's find a place to sit."

We did, my back to a work bench, she between my legs leaning her body into mine, my arms wrapped around her.

She pointed out a few constellations, located Jupiter, then grew quiet once again.

Knowing, for reasons I can't explain, that she was ready to talk, I said, "What was in that last e-mail?"

She turned her head to look at me - as if she'd she momentarily forgotten I was there - and said, "It was from a friend at the University of Chicago. He's better with Celtic pictographs than I, I think the best in the world. He had a striking theory. Based on the pictographs on both boxes he suggested that the second reliquary is the chieftain's son."

"So it's not what you were looking for, it's not the consort? He's still buried around here somewhere."

Laying her hands on mine she said, "Oh no, he's confident the second box is the consort. He's suggesting that her consort was her son."

"Incest?"

"Yeah, incest. We shouldn't be surprised. There's been plenty of cultures where incest was not only tolerated, but was acceptable, even encouraged."

"I thought it was bad for you."

"Bad for you? For willing participants I bet it's a hell of a lot of fun. But yeah, there's evidence of health problems with children of incest, but it's quite small; tiny really. And in a Neolithic culture, where the death of mothers in child birth and of babies and toddlers from a host of causes was common, it would be the tiniest of blips, something you'd be unlikely to notice. Plus problems with incest run in families. In some families it never shows up. In a small stable tribal group like this one you might never see a problem."

"Sill, you seem concerned about it."

"It's the politics of the thing. The Scottish government is spending a lot of money on this project. I can see the primitives coming out of the woodwork to condemn publicly funded research on incestuous caveman. We've got an important scientific find here, but the news conference could turn into a circus, a debate on the sexual morays of Neolithic peoples. What do I say when asked my opinion of a mother who slept with her son, or a son who slept with his mother? Tell 'em (a) chill, it was 5,000 years ago or (b) sex between consenting adult cave people, even relatives, is no one's business. And yes, I know they didn't live in caves."

"Well, I have a suggestion."

"What is it?"

"Well, you lay out the statistics that show its not all that harmful, talk about different cultures and changing values and then, for a killer ending, you introduce me to the crowd and say, 'If the young man was as attractive as my son? Why yes, of course I understand.'"

She tried to cover up her smile with an, "I'm being serious," but I kissed the side of her head and said, "So am I."

"Are you flirting with your mother?"

"Maybe, a little."

* * * * *

Mom drove in alone for the opening of the second box. The bones were prepared the same way (chemical testing would show the stain came from the same stone), laid out the same way, and the find was almost as rich in artifacts as the first reliquary. What was most surprising, however, was interred along with the bones of an adult man were those of a child, at best, only a few weeks old. When she returned she shared the good news, all indications were we'd found the consort, and the bad. For reasons I can't explain, in a profession that deals solely with the long deceased, the fate of the child got to us. It seemed a pointless waste.

* * * * *

Several days later, notified that the DNA results would be ready in the morning, Mom and I got on the road early, I driving, she catching up on e-mails. At the university we bounced from meeting to meeting, from computer screen to computer screen. While much of what was said was for me an incomprehensible lingo, the discussions touched on a variety of subjects: the appearance of our two adult subjects, relatively tall, blue-eyes, dark skin; their diet, lactose intolerant but able to extract large amounts of vitamin D from their food; their ancestry, a surprisingly large amount of an Asian nomadic people; and superior teeth, a healthy oral microbiome.

And the million dollar question? Yes, the woman and man were mother and son; the new born their child.

Which is why, at dinner in the university's executive dining room with Ron Johnson, the school's public information officer, he was looking at me with eyes that said, "Who's this?'

Noticing it, Mom's tone left no doubt who I was and that I was staying. "Ron, I'd like you to meet Bradley, my son. He's part of the dig. We drove in together."

With a glance at me that said he still didn't like my being there he said, "We're issuing a press release tomorrow afternoon describing your remarkable work and findings. The original Scots, the mother and father of our people. We hope to generate enough interest for the local media to get interested, maybe you can do an interview or two. We suspect they'll be interested in you Dr. Cyriack, you're photogenic and well spoken."

In a fake flirtatious tone she said, "Are you saying I'm pretty? That's sweet."

"Wouldn't know ma'am. I'm not paid to know if people are pretty, I'm paid to know if they're photogenic.

"We are not, I repeat we are not going to announce that government funded research just established the earliest known Scottish couple, after committing incest, had a baby, or two, or three, or whatever. No disrespect intended Dr. Cyriack, but a year from now when you publish in the Journal of Archaeology - and I am sure it will be excellent - hopefully no one makes the connection. If they do I'm sure my successor will have a perfectly palatable explanation."

It was clear from the look on his face that Ron Johnson expected Mom to push back, but instead she said, "The science in your announcement isn't quite right, but it never is. As to incest? I could argue, convincingly, that its simply a cultural prejudice, that the choice made by the original Scots, as you call them, was a personal private one, that they were in love, but I won't. I understand the university's position. You'll have my support."

Looking pleased by Mom's response, he bade us a good night.

* * * * *

We got back to the house around 9:15 P.M. Mom looked tired, and who could blame her. She'd been up working since 6:00 in the morning.

"Honey, do you mind if I take the first shower, I'm pooped."

"Not at all. Mom, you're amazing. I'm exhausted and all I did was watch the meetings you've been participating in all day."

Kissing my cheek Mom said, "You underrate yourself, and thank you for your moral support. It means more to me than you give yourself credit for."

I heard her get out of the shower - she'd taken a long one - then distracted myself with my phone until I felt her kiss the top of my head. I turned to watch as she came around the couch wearing a long tee-shirt. It clung to her long lean body in several damp spots she'd missed with the towel. I don't think she was wearing anything underneath.

She saw me starring at her. "I borrowed one of your tee-shirts, I hope you don't mind."

Looking into her large hazel eyes, shaped like almonds, I said, "No, not at all. Y'know, that public relations guy was wrong, you are pretty, very pretty."

"You're sweet. Now go take your shower - I think I left some hot water - then come keep your mother company."

When I returned, wearing gym shorts, she was lying on the couch. I thought she'd fallen asleep, but at the sound of my footsteps, not bothering to open her eyes, she said, "Sit with me."

I sat on the end of the couch, placed her feet in my lap, started rubbing them, working the hard calluses with my thumb.

Eyes still closed she murmured more than said, "That feels nice."

Her breathing soon flattened out. I thought about letting her to sleep on the couch - she looked comfortable - but decided she'd sleep better in the bed. Carefully moving her feet off my lap, I scooped up her five foot ten inch frame in both arms. Her face turned towards me, her eyes drifted open, and in a sleepy voice she said, "What's going on?"

"You fell asleep; I'm taking you to bed."

"Thank you."

I lay her down and rolling onto her side so her back was to me she said, "Son, if you don't mind, would you lay with me awhile."

"Sure, what for?"

"Don't know, I feel like being held tonight."

I lay down, spooned her. She intertwined her fingers in mine, held my arm to her body, kissed my hand. "This is nice, thank you son. I love you."

Kissing the back of her heard I said, "My pleasure."

And with my arm pressed to her breast, my hips to her backside, I had thoughts I shouldn't. I slid my hips back a couple of inches and spent the night with her.

* * * * *

It was mid-afternoon. I was driving, Mom reviewing the DNA report. In a couple of hours the university would announce the discovery of the two reliquaries, playing up the female chieftain angle, giving the story a progressive feminist "First Scots Woke and Inclusive" angle.

Pecking on her computer Mom called up the terrain map of the dig site and surrounding countryside.

"Brad, let's take a hike. I have some ideas for potential sites for the village that I believe goes with our mound. We'll need to bring our gear; we may need to spend the night. We don't want to hike on unfamiliar ground in the dark."

"Won't everyone be worried if we don't show up?"

"No, I told them we might be two nights. They'll think we decided to say at the school waiting on the press announcement. It will be fun to get away for a few hours."

Thinking no one would believe Mom would give up work to attend a press conference, I said, "Sure, its been a couple of years since you and I went camping, it should be fun."

* * * * *

I backed the jeep behind a grove of trees. It should be invisible from the road, but still tucked a note under a windshield wiper explaining who we were and providing instructions on contacting the dig site.

The ground flat, the underbrush navigable, we made good times, but Mom was right, you wouldn't want to walk it in the dark. As we hiked Mom, eyes active and alert, absorbed details I didn't see, occasionally stopping to make notes and point out the evidence of the river that once ran through the area.

After two hours we came to an open spot and, taking advantage, sat, and drank from our canteens. While Mom studied her compass and map I wandered to what turned out to be an active spring at the edge of the glade.

"You were right Mom, there must be significant underground water source here."

"I usually am. It looks like another hour to the north end of the forest. If we want to get back to the truck we'll need to turn around now."

"Let's keep going. We'll camp here tonight. It's lovely."

* * * * *

I set up our small two person tent, laid a blanket on the ground. Mom got the burner going. After eating, the night closing in around us, I lay on the blanket, Mom lying perpendicular to me, her head resting on my chest. I played with her short blonde hair.

"The weather is perfect. We might not need the tent tonight."

I said, "You're right. You and I haven't been fun camping in years, it's always work camping."

"Yeah, you got to be a teenager, didn't want to hang. Mom wasn't as cool as she used to be."

"I apologize for that. My Mom never stopped being cool. Now, if you'll excuse me."

I wandered into the forest to pee, and returning to the clearing heard a splash of water. Mom was standing knee deep in the spring.

"Come on in, the temperature's fine and the bottom surface firm."

I took off my socks and hiking boots, followed her in. She was right. That was when, with a laugh, she splashed me.

I reached down to splash her back but she said, "Don't do that, no splashing your mother."

Then she splashed me again.

Advancing towards her I said, "These rules are not fair," and before she could object slipped a leg behind her and, holding her by her hips, lowered her over it and into the water.

She grabbed both of my legs behind the knees and jerked them forward, sending me sprawling onto my back.

My, "Hey Mom, be careful," was greeted by another face full of water sent in my direction.

Before I could retaliate she raised her hands in mock surrender and shouted, "Truce."

I could see her breasts through her wet shirt.

"Are you looking at my breasts?"

"Yeah, sorry."

"Don't apologize, I don't mind. I've always thought they were nice. One of the advantage of being small chested is that, even braless, they stay firm as you get older."

Standing up I said, "Old? You're a fricking dynamo. Okay you win, truce, your breasts distracted me, broke my momentum."

Taking hold of my extended hand she stood and said, "I'm old enough to welcome a hand getting up. I guess neither one of us brought a change of clothes. We'll have to hang these up and let them dry. Since you started this thing you go first."

"I started ..."

"Don't disagree with your mother. You first."

Seeing no point in arguing I walked to a near-by branch, removed my clothes, hung them up, turned back to Mom. She was stripping. She was beautiful; her active life leaving her a body whose every dimension was the same as it had been before I was born.

She tossed me her clothes and seeing my eyes on her laughed, adopted a muscle man pose, and said, "Your Mom looks pretty damn good, doesn't she? Still 34-26-36."

I stared at her, making no effort to hide the way I was drinking in her form, and said, "Yes, she does. I didn't know you knew your measurements."

"I'm vainer that you think."

"How about me, do I pass inspection?"

Resting her strong chin on a hand she said, "Turn around," and as I did said, "Very nice, you do. You must have good genes."

"The best."

I reached for her hand. We returned to the blanket, lay next to each other. I touched her foot with mine and said, "How do you think it happened?"

"How did what happen?"

"How did they become lovers, our mother and son."

"I don't know. What do you think?"

Rolling on my side to face her I lay my hand on her stomach and said, "I was pondering your sage advice, that it's best to live on the land your subjects lived on, it gives you insight into how they saw the world. Maybe something happened in their world that made them see incest in a new way, not as something that was forbidden, but as something that was possible. Maybe it happened like it happened just now. Maybe they went swimming, or skinny dipping, in the river that used to be here, or in the grandfather of this spring, and they took off their clothes and he kissed her."

I lowered my head, pressed my lips to my mother's.

"What did she do?"

"I think she was perplexed. He was her son, but he was more than that. He was her best friend, her support no matter what happened in the world, and so utterly handsome. And then he did it again."

I dragged my lips across hers.

Mom said, "And what did she do then?"

"Well, she thought the things she'd thought before, and then she asked herself a new question: Did she like it? Did she like it when he kissed her?"

"And did she?"

"I'm not sure, let's try it again." I kissed Mom, with more force, for a couple beats longer - I could feel my heart in my chest - and said, "What do you think, did she like it?"

Covering my hand with hers she said,"Yes, I'm certain she did."

Mom and I, alone in the forest, kissed. Not frenzied, but patient and sweet and deep. She was a good kisser, her lips moving on mine as if there was an extra part of her brain was devoted to that single function. After awhile she kissed my nose, my cheeks, my eyes, and I moved back and looked at her. There was a radiant smile on her face, the kind of smile that occupies your whole face, and she said, "This is nice."

"Yeah, it is. Are wee going to become lovers."

"Yes we are son."

I kissed her mouth, dropped my head to lick her breast with the flat of my tongue, blew a stream of cool air on it through pursed lips.

"Oooohhhhh."

"You have sensitive breasts."

"Always have."

Opening my mouth wide, moving it close to her breast, I exhaled, the warm air flowing over her wet nipple in a gentle warm wave.

"Uuunnnnhhhhh."

I kissed along the bottom of one breast, along the bottom of the other, brushing my lips on her warm flesh, then moved up the inside of her breasts, switching from one to the other, raised my head, kissed her mouth. Returning to her breasts I explored one of her nipples with the tip of my tongue, moving up, down and around it, tracking its shape, its contours while caressing her other breast with a single finger, using the lightest of touches. Goose bumps erupted on her flesh.

"Oh god that feels good."

Starting at the bottom, I licked up her breast with the flat of my tongue, pushing down hard as I rolled over her nipple.

"Unnhhhhh."

My lips cradling her nipple I sucked, rhythmically, harder, then harder. Her arousal spiking, Mom undulated her body, pushing her breast into my mouth

"Uuuunnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

Mom hadn't exaggerated, she had sensitive breasts, and deciding to push a little, to try something a little bit daring, I held a nipple between my teeth, sucked on it, licked it, then bit down with a bare minimum of pressure. Her reaction was immediate. "Oh god yeah, I love that."

Keeping pressure on her nipple - we'd explore these limits in the future - I rolled it back and forth between my teeth. Mom's head dropped back, her breathing deepened.

Emboldened, I moved my head down, kissed her bellybutton, and my eyes on hers captured her nipples with my thumbs and forefingers, rotated my wrists outward, tugging on her nipples. Eyes afire, she groaned and I moved my wrists in a full circle, pulling and twisting her nipples, then squeezed, forcing her nipples up and away from her breasts. I sucked and licked them.

"Oh god Brad so good, yes, but I'm ready. I need you inside me. Please be careful, go nice and slow, it's been awhile."

Sitting up on my knees between Mom's legs, my erect dick waggling in the air before me, I ran a finger on her labia, spreading her juice up and down. When I reached her clit I diddled; she squealed. Then asking, "Are you ready?" I moved my fingertip inside her with a rocking motion. Her pussy lips were swollen and hot and her vagina wet and I took my time, watching her face, making sure she was ready as I rocked my finger inside her bit by bit, sometimes stopping, giving the walls of her vagina the chance to stretch.

And when it was all the way inside I leaned forward and kissed her. Her tongue moved against my lips and, parting them, I welcomed it into my mouth, where it explored, slid and danced and curled on mine. I chased it back to her mouth where they played together.