Flights of Fancy

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the crystal firmly home and closed his eyes until he felt the motion stop, not feeling nearly as sick this time. It had not been as straightforward as he had imagined. When he tried to exit the corridor, the door refused to open, and no matter what he did, it would not budge. It was dark and musty, as though something had crawled into here and died.

He eventually found a way out by opening and climbing through a window at the far end of the building, staring at the main house in amazement. The roof had collapsed along with some of the walls. Rubble lay everywhere, and the gardens at the rear were completely overgrown. Perhaps it was the collapsed walls that barred entry into the gallery which had saved that part of the house.

He headed for the treeline and down the incline to the stream. He didn't feel confident anymore, but at least from there, he could follow it down towards town. It had felt strange, his present-day home wasn't even there yet, but at least no one would see him coming and going.

Many of the features on his trek into town were still recognisable. Once there, though, the shops looked completely different, as did the vehicles that were around, and some of the housing estates that he knew were still open fields. He was not as conspicuous as he thought he may have been, his modern clothing, although different, did not stand out as much as he had dreaded.

Making his way to the recreational park, he wandered around the rides, only then realising that he had no idea what his mother looked like when she was young, other than the odd photo or two, he had found in her albums. The park was extremely busy, music blaring and competing with the sound of machinery as rides whirled around at speed and girls screamed. 'Abby, over here,' a voice shrilled. Mark turned around and noticed a group of girls heading in his direction and toward the Cyclone ride.

She was hard to miss, her eyes catching his for a second as she passed. 'Bloody hell, his mother had been stunning when she was young.' Mark had difficulty contrasting the image of her as a young woman and his middle-aged mother. She was still attractive, but in a mature way now. He watched the group as they clambered onto the ride, standing at the safety railings as it set off slowly and began to gain speed.

Strangely, each time their carriage came in his direction, he locked eyes with hers, as though there was a bond between them, which plainly there was because she was his mom. When it slowed and stopped, he turned away, deciding to melt into the background and see who this young man was that his mother had met.

Unfortunately, before he could disappear, someone tugged at his arm. 'Would you take a picture of us?' His mother asked, thrusting an old-style camera in his direction. The four girls huddled together, grinning at him as he aimed it and pressed the button, the camera making a loud click.

'I hope it turns out ok.' Mark told her, 'I've never used one of these before.' It was a stupid thing to say and do, he later thought, but it was just one of those spur-of-the-moment, instinctive actions. 'Let me just try another one and make sure.'

Without a second thought, he whipped his mobile phone out of his pocket, grouped the girls around him, and fired off several selfies. They crowded around him because they had never seen a camera like that, astonished when they could view the pictures of themselves instantaneously.

'Where did you get that?' Abby asked. Mark mumbled that he had got it abroad and it was still experimental. Better not let them see that besides being a camera, it could take videos and make phone calls, not that it would work like that at this point in time.

As much as he tried to disentangle himself from the group, it appeared he had made four new friends as they accompanied him around the fairground for the rest of the afternoon. When evening approached and they began to disperse, he found himself alone with his mother as they walked through town, Mark looking for any opportunity to get back to the house. He had chanced his luck enough for one day and still had to work out the return to his own time.

'This is me,' she said. Mark had been too engrossed in their conversation to notice; of course, it was. This had been or currently was his grandparent's house, and as a youngster, he had visited many times until they retired and decided to move and live in Spain.

He had been about to say goodbye when she suddenly closed the gap, stood on tiptoes, and kissed him. Mark was so startled that he forgot to respond. His mother stepped back and looked worried. 'Should I not have done that?' She asked.

He quickly gathered his thoughts, 'I'm sorry, you just took me by surprise.' Her face brightened; 'Well, I could try it again if you like?'

As strange as it felt, it was also tantalising. She tasted sweet, her aroma catching his nostrils and the fact that she was pressed tightly against him ignited a reaction down below which embarrassed him and made her giggle. 'Will I see you again?' She asked, 'I'm usually in town most evenings.'

Mark made a promise even though he had no idea if he would keep it. His main objective now was to get home, back to his own time. Retracing his steps, he returned to the abandoned and collapsing building, entering the way he had exited and closing and locking the window. Sitting in the chair, he rechecked the inputs, added an hour to the time he had left, and gingerly pressed the prism fully home.

It seemed like seconds only before he was opening the room door once more and thankfully staring at the steps in front of him. With the panelling closed, Mark found he was covered in sweat despite the elation he felt. He had done it; he had made his first proper journey unaided and got back in one piece. And to cap it all, and which in the circumstances felt strange; he had kissed his mother, a most unmotherly kiss, which had caused him to become partially erect much to her delight, and his dismay, it seemed.

Temptation is a terrible thing, and Mark was unable to resist. All he had to do was reset the date and time and he could visit his young mother with ease. It helped boost his confidence, going back and forth to a time fourteen years before he was born. Also, it eliminated a problem, something Mr Blandford had mentioned.

'Try and avoid travelling to your own timeline, if possible,' he advised. 'It can cause lots of problems if ever the two of you should meet.'

'Has it happened to you?' Mark had asked. Isaac shook his head. 'No. I'm simply passing on the instructions I received. I've always avoided going somewhere I could encounter myself.'

The thought of the old chap and his granddaughter tugged at Mark's heartstrings. He had been invited to return but was still to do so; they must think him rather rude. 'Tomorrow,' he promised himself. It was still several weeks before he would start college and the adventure with his mum was presently keeping him occupied.

What was happening with his mother did not feel unnatural, in a way, she was not his mother yet, and he was finding that he enjoyed her company and that of her friends. Other than the kisses she would give him when they parted, nothing had happened.

The following day he was preparing to go back to the mid-eighties again when he stopped and made a correction to his destination. He was going to visit Isaac and his granddaughter, but at a date of Mark's own choosing. He felt apprehensive as he altered the controls. 'It was June, eighteen sixty-five,' he was saying to himself. 'Let's try, three years later.' He made the necessary adjustments and inserted the prism as the chair and room began to spin. No longer did he feel sick when he travelled, his body becoming accustomed to jumping through time.

If anything, the house looked a little more dilapidated, but at least it was still there, unlike the ruins he found when he visited his young mother. This time, he worked his way to the back of the house after checking out different rooms. In what he took to be a drawing room, French windows were open; the slight breeze making the lace curtains billow from time to time. He could hear a young woman's voice calling.

'Grandfather, your tea has been poured.'

Stopping in the open doorway, he watched Beatrice for a moment, noting that she had grown since he had last seen her.

She had her back to him as he stealthily moved closer, stopping about six feet away. 'Hello Trixie, I thought it was about time I visited again.'

At first, she jumped, spinning around to stare at him, and then a huge smile broke over her face as she covered the distance and threw her arms around him. Mark getting the biggest hug ever.

When at last she released him, her grandfather was just crossing the lawn. 'You look more confident, my boy, have you been travelling?' Mark explained how he had been cautious, picking a period before he was born so as not to meet himself.

'I've been practising, nothing silly, just back and forward to the same period, advancing the input one day at a time and getting used to it. This is the furthest I've travelled back in time; there is so much I don't know yet, and I fear making a mistake with no one to advise me.'

'Very wise my boy. Better to be cautious than stranded.'

He spent the afternoon with them, and when Isaac dozed off for a while, he strolled around the grounds with Beatrice. 'Do you mind me asking, how old are you, Beatrice?'

'Sixteen. And you Mark?' He told her he was eighteen, now only two years older than she was. She was full of questions. Was the house still there? What would it be like in the future? Did everyone dress like him? It must be very strange, he thought, comparing her dress, which reached below her knees and was all frills, compared to the jeans, t-shirt, and short jacket he wore. Surely it couldn't do any damage, he thought as he asked if he could take a picture.

Taking his mobile from his pocket, he asked her to pose and clicked off several pictures, allowing Beatrice to look at the image of herself and in colour, a look of amazement on her face.

'You must be extraordinarily rich to own something like that,' she exclaimed. Mark laughed, 'No! Everyone has one of these in my time; it's how we communicate when we are out and about.'

'What? A kind of telephone? But where are the wires?'

Mark suddenly realised that he had said more than enough. It was something her grandfather had said about being careful, the past affecting the future. Subtly changing the subject, they continued with the stroll arriving back as Isaac awoke from his slumbers.

'I had better go.' Mark said, he had been going to visit his mother and he had been here longer than he anticipated.

Isaac was laughing, 'You still haven't worked this out properly, have you, Mark?' Taking a notebook and pencil from his pocket, he opened it to a blank page. 'Let's say you leave home at ten o'clock and arrive here a few minutes later. You spend the morning with us and then return home, setting the machine for five minutes past ten. Once you are there, you have some lunch, go out for a stroll, and then decide to return and spend all afternoon and evening here. When you return home once more, you set the machine for ten minutes past ten. In our time, you have been here all day. In your time, you have only been away ten minutes. You see Mark, you, and the machine, control time!'

Mark was astounded he hadn't connected the dots, of course, it was simple. He could return to his own time and then go to his mother's timeline and spend the day with her and still be back before she and Elizabeth returned from shopping. A complete day in the eighteen hundreds, and then a day in the eighties and home to find he had only been gone for five minutes.

'You can visit this exact point in time on as many occasions as you like; but on each one, you will find that we have no recollection of our conversation, because, in effect, it has not happened yet. That is why you advance the timeline; so that we remember you from the previous occasion.

There was so much that Mark did not understand, which was why he made Isaac a promise to visit regularly and learn about all the possibilities.

When he returned home, he dashed for a shower and, with Isaac's conversation in mind, went straight to the room and reset the dates and times as he travelled to meet his mother Abby, once more. It was great fun being in her company; Mark was finding his mother was a scream, and her friends, pretty much the same. Within what felt like a brief period, he had become one of their group, all of the girls drooling over him but his mother making it clear she had got there first.

As far as he was concerned, it was a bit of fun; yes, he had kissed her several times. But they were both eighteen; she would not meet his father for nearly another three years, and at the end of the day, she was a young woman, and an extremely attractive one to boot. They had spent all afternoon together and he was walking her home when she suddenly stopped in her tracks.

'I'm not trying to be presumptuous, Mark, but my parents are away. Would you like to stay for tea?'

Previously he may have panicked, thinking he needed to get back. Now he understood he could spend hours with her and still go back to five minutes after he had left his actual time.

Abby had cooked, nothing adventurous, and then they had retired to the lounge. After a brief period of watching television, viewing programs he had never heard of and others that he had seen repeated hundreds of times, they got down to what all teenagers get up to when parents are not around.

Mark found it both shocking and erotic in equal measure. His mother's hands were all over him, her mouth glued to his. When she took his hand and placed it on her breast, he nearly jumped a mile. When she unbuttoned and slid down the zip of his pants, her hand quickly disappearing inside as she teased and manhandled his erection, Mark knew he was in trouble.

He was aroused, the desire for sex overcoming any objections he should have had as his hand disappeared beneath her skirt, his fingers brushing against the front of her panties as he softly stroked her pussy.

'Do you want to go upstairs?' She asked breathlessly.

'Lead the way,' Mark told her, even though he knew where to go.

Naked, Abby was absolutely gorgeous he realised as she pulled him on top of her, his knob pressing against her pussy lips. He moved imperceptibly and teased. 'Please, Mark, fuck me,' she pleaded.

Suddenly things felt strange. This was his mom, who he was rolling around with on the bed and hearing her asking him to fuck her, shocked him for a moment. Naked, there was no denying she had a great body, slim, nice tits, great legs, and a perfectly rounded bum. His father had been a lucky man.

Arousal overcame any objections he may have raised as she opened her legs and displayed her female centre.

Abby sighed loudly when his shaft penetrated and expanded her passage, pausing for several seconds before he began moving, easing his cock in and out of her cunt. Dipping his head, his mouth found her nipples; his lips encircling first one and then the other, the tip of his tongue tracing patterns over and around her areola before nipping each bud between his teeth as she moaned continuously.

She hoisted her legs higher, wrapping them around him as his hips increased momentum, his shaft sending sensations through her pussy to her body as he fucked her a little quicker. 'God, he was a tease,' she was thinking, taking her up to the point she was sure she was going to climax and then easing her down slowly, his hands and mouth assaulting her lips and body as her arousal escalated.

When Mark was sure she was pumped enough, he speeded up, ploughing her cunt rapidly as she wailed and bucked beneath him. As much as Abbey wanted to watch him, it felt like a supreme effort to keep her eyes open as she bent her head back as far as it would go and thrust her tits towards him so that he could caress and fondle them. When he pushed her over the edge and she orgasmed, it was heaven, shooting stars in front of her eyes and a warm sense of fulfilment washing over her as nerve endings exploded.

'Wow, that, was fucking awesome,' she had told him afterwards as he wrapped his arm around her and cuddled her against his body.

At one point she had made a suggestion. 'My parents won't be back until tomorrow afternoon; why don't you stay the night?'

With limbs entangled, they lay facing each other, Mark's cock back inside his mother's cunt. It was difficult, he found, due to her age, to see Abby as his mother. She was an attractive young woman, the same age as himself and an absolute delight to fuck. He eased out and back in, watching her face as he fucked and teased her, his hand going to her breast as he cupped it and felt the weight, her nipple erect and standing proud. Their mouths came together, his finger and thumb rolling the teat and making her gasp and mumble something incoherent.

His movement got faster, hands now gripping her buttocks as he dragged her into his groin and pounded her cunt. Abby shrieked with delight, turning the air blue with her coarse language, a turn-on in itself as he listened to the crudities that his mother bombarded him with. Then she was climaxing once again, swearing loudly as she felt Mark's shaft jerk inside her pussy and then the blast of cum which filled her cunt.

Mark had spent the night with her, leaving the next morning before her parents, his grandparents, returned. As he walked toward his yet-to-be-built home, the whole episode felt surreal. He had spent hours with Isaac and Beatrice; spent the afternoon, evening, and night with Abby, and would shortly be back in his house, yesterday and before anyone had realised that he had been away. It was so convoluted that it was difficult to get his head around it.

That evening, sitting around the dinner table as they ate their evening meal, Mark was finding it difficult to look at his mother without seeing her naked. She was a mature woman now but had kept her figure, and Mark could not get out of his mind what he had been doing to her body several hours earlier.

In the time he had left before college, and with the ability to, in a way, bend time, it was surprising how much of it he spent with Beatrice and Isaac as well as with his mother. Mark was becoming exhausted; sometimes it felt as though he had been on the go for days without rest.

Even when he started college, the ability of the machine to bend time did not deter him. He could complete his assignments and then disappear into the past, spend all day there, and then return ten minutes after he had departed.

Mark had aged by two years; his mother by only one, and Beatrice by three years. When he went on one of his regular visits to the eighteen hundreds, he suddenly realised how beautiful she was. It felt strange to have met her as a young girl and to now see her as a young woman. There were differences, he realised, in the way they lived, instinctively knowing that she was attracted to him. While his mother, now of a similar age, was free to jump his bones and drag him into bed at any opportunity, Beatrice wasn't.

There were certain customs and etiquette to observe., always someone there as a chaperone, even if it were her grandfather, and he would often have a snooze. Over the times he had visited, Mark had learned a great deal. He had taken several trips, with Isaac, being shown how other programs allowed the pilot, in a way, to finesse his destination more precisely.

'The machine has been attached to the house throughout my lifetime, and that of my uncle. It can move, he told me, but you need precise coordinates because you don't want it to be seen appearing or disappearing. I've never tried that myself, and neither had he. It's just information that has been passed down over time. It is probably capable of so much more; but as one person trains another, I suppose some things have been lost.' Isaac told him.