Flights of Fancy

His mother was blushing profusely, Elizabeth staring at her.

'As for you,' staring at his sister, 'You have been a bitch to me for most of my life, I'm sorry if I was an inconvenience, but I didn't have a lot of choice as to when I came along. I knew it was wrong, but I wanted to teach you a lesson. You were easy Lizbet. I'm sure half of the time you believed I could read your mind. I didn't have to. I grew up with you and knew everything about you; you're my big sister, and I looked up to you and adored you. And just like mum, you couldn't wait to jump my bones. So yes, I was at fault, but neither of you was innocent.'

Both women looked at each other and then back at Mark. 'That is the most ridiculous story I have ever heard,' his sister said.

'Maybe,' Mark said. 'But I remember on that first occasion, up in your room here, while mum and dad were out, you were begging me for it. And then they came back early because as a child, I hadn't felt well.'

'That was when I saw you,' his mother interjected.

'I didn't know that.' He replied, 'I tried to be incredibly careful.'

'So, Beatrice was born when?'

'Eighteen fifty-two,' a voice said, three faces swivelling to look at her. She had heard the tail end of their conversation. 'This was my home once upon a time, but now my grandfather has gone. I will have to move out when I return.' She moved into the room, sitting on the arm of Mark's chair, and taking his hand.

The tale was too fanciful, neither woman really wanting to believe it, but how did they explain that they had managed to sleep with someone who looked exactly like Mark?

Pulling his phone from his pocket, 'I have a picture here that you have never seen mum.' He held it out so she could see it, a picture of her aged eighteen, surrounded by her friends, and with Mark in the middle of the group.

'And another, look at the background.' Both women stared at the picture of a young woman wearing a dress from the mid-nineteenth century, a large house in the background as she smiled at the camera.

'That is Beatrice, standing outside a house that had not existed since before I was born.

At last, he saw a flicker of belief on the faces of his mother and sister. 'Where is it?' Elizabeth asked.

'What?'

'The machine.'

'I'm not going to tell you because, as we have all just learned, it is far too dangerous. I never meant for any of this to happen; it just did. But I have a proposition. Beatrice has the key that makes it work. I will take that key and destroy it so that the machine can never be used again, but on condition that she be allowed to stay here, with us.

Beatrice gasped, 'You would do that for me?' Mark nodded his head. 'Remember, I have an advantage. I know what happens to you without travelling to the future; it is all in the records. I want you to have a better life than what is coming.'

'And you will do that if I allow her to stay?' His mother asked, 'no more jumping about in time?'

'If you say yes, and Beatrice is happy to stay, then I will destroy it now. The machine will stay hidden, and no one will ever use it again.'

She nodded her head imperceptibly, Mark standing, and asking Beatrice for the key, Elizabeth recognising it immediately. 'You mean it was in my bedroom all the time.'

'Yeah, it took me a long time to recognise what it was.'

Together, they trouped downstairs, Mark going into the garage and returning with a hammer. He placed the crystal on a stone, raised his arm, and brought it down, shattering the prism into a hundred pieces. 'No more time travel,' he said.

Well? Could you have done the same for someone you had fallen in love with? Imagine you had a time machine; would you have given it up so easily?

No?

But then neither did Mark. What he destroyed was a piece of the past. He still had his key in the present; Beatrice's key, in a way, was a ghost. When he shattered it, her life in the past ceased as she began a new life in the here and now.

Did they remain together? Yes. Did they use the machine again? Yes. They did not use it for fame or fortune, to alter the future, or to make themselves wealthy. Neither did they use it just for fun. Mark knew that it was not of this world, and so their first trip together had been to see her grandfather one more time; after Mark had made sure that the past Beatrice was not around and explained what the future held.

They left, with the old man's blessing.

Together, they travelled further and further back in time, seeking out each pilot and whatever information they could garner, continually searching for that very first one, the pilot who had brought the machine to this world.

Did Mark sleep with his sister again? Yes, one final time. Their relationship had subtly changed; no longer was she a bitch with him, and Elizabeth had wanted to see if what she had experienced as a teenager could be recreated. It had been as good as their previous encounters, but her life had changed, and she was happy enough with what she had, not wanting to jeopardise her marriage and future.

And so, we come to Abigail. She had fallen in love with her "Mark" and if he had stayed, she would not have met Anthony, they would never have married, and Mark would never have been born. The very thought of it was a conundrum with no logical outcome.

It wasn't immediate, actually, nearly a year later. She hadn't been able to get the thought of the past out of her mind. His father was away, and Beatrice was out with his sister; the two of them had become quite close. With the nice weather, he and his mother had walked across the gardens, down the incline, and crossed over the stream and into the fields beyond. They were laughing and joking as mothers and sons do, Abigail taking his arm as they strolled.

It hadn't been a great leap for her mind to make; suddenly she was Abby, on the arm of her first love as she stopped abruptly and kissed him without thinking. Jerking away, her face was horror-stricken, what had she just done?

Mark just smiled, 'Hello Abby. Look at you, you are all grown up.'

They had kissed again, and no longer was he, her son. He was her "Mark," the one from her past, and it hadn't taken either of them long to undress. She had initially been shy; her body had aged, but he was still the same.

To Mark, her body looked no different, maybe a little more of it, as he helped her down onto the soft warm grass and then shuffled between her thighs. When his shaft penetrated her pussy, she was eighteen again, responding to his kisses and his hand exploring her now, fuller figure. They went to her breasts, cupping both as he squeezed and made them bulge, her erect nipples standing upright as his tongue swirled and licked her teats and areola, all the time his cock expanding and contracting her cunt as he fucked her.

Abigail wrapped her legs around him, her fingers, and nails digging into his buttocks as she pulled him deeper with each thrust. At that moment she could not distinguish between her son and her young lover; her arousal soaring and her body heading towards its culmination as her climax approached.

When he made her cum, she bucked beneath him, the same crudities and pleadings now coming from older lips, but still sounding just as intense and exciting to his ears.

When he pushed her over the edge and she orgasmed, his cock spewing spunk inside her fanny, she knew at that moment that she couldn't give him up, not a second time.

It wasn't often, but when the yearning took them, Mark would make love to his mother.

Throughout her life, Mark participated in two relationships, one with Beatrice, who later became his wife, and one with Abby, the girl who had grown up to become his mother.