Holidaying on Samos with my Mother

Holiday plans go awry and Will ends up sharing a hotel bed with his mother, Hannah - for three weeks!

I hope you enjoy the story and I look forward to comments.

Sylviafan

I suppose what happened between my mother and myself wouldn't have happened had it not been for a couple of unfortunate incidents, although from my selfish viewpoint I'd be less inclined to say "unfortunate", considering how things worked out. The first of these was my Aunt Victoria falling off her motorbike.

Aunt Victoria is dad's sister, younger than him by a couple of years, and dad's extremely protective towards her. Victoria lives by herself in a crofter's cottage on the north coast of Scotland, in the bleak wastelands to the west of the town of Thurso. She's fiercely independent, frankly rather odd, and has few acquaintances, let alone friends. She does craft work and knits and drinks a lot of single malt whisky and roars round the countryside on a big BMW motorbike. Dad travels up to see her twice a year and stays for a couple of weeks. Mum refuses to go. I don't think she's that keen on her sister-in-law and it's a ten-hour drive from Birmingham, where we live, although you can fly to Wick and hire a car.

Anyway, although dad's retired, mum still works full time as a pharmacist and on Saturday mornings she volunteers in a charity shop in Great Barr. She's ten years younger than dad and still has loads of energy and enthusiasm, something that dad hasn't shown much of for years.

Dad got a call from the hospital in Thurso on a Friday morning. His sister had overcooked it on a bend near her cottage and ended up in a ditch on a remote road. Luckily the bike had one of those fancy devices that can tell when it's been flipped over and it contacts the emergency services. Turns out she had a badly broken leg, six broken ribs and numerous cuts and bruises. Dad drove up the next week as soon as she was fit enough to be discharged from hospital and managed to load her in his car and drive her home. Then he phoned mum at the pharmacy and informed her that he would be staying with his sister until she could cope on her own - about five weeks.

Mum was sorry for Victoria but at the same time she was massively pissed off with her husband because of the holiday.

My parents aren't wealthy or anything, but they do like to have a decent holiday in the sun every year, usually in September. Their favourite destination is the Greek island of Samos, birthplace of Pythagoras and one of the larger of the Aegean islands, just off the coast of Turkey. They'd been there several times and loved the place. This year they'd pushed the boat out a bit and booked three weeks in a suite on the top floor of a swanky hotel near Pythagorion, with sea views, a huge balcony, two bedrooms and a lounge area. And they were due to fly out the week after dad decamped to northern Scotland.

Mum had phoned me about the accident as soon as it happened and I had expressed the usual condolences. She phoned me a week later when she found out that her husband was going to miss the holiday.

'It's bloody typical!' she hissed down the phone at me in a very rare display of temper. 'Buggering off to look after that sister of his. I hate to sound callous, I know she's had an accident, but couldn't she go into a care home? And why does she have to ride a bloody motorbike anyway?'

'Have you got travel insurance?' I asked.

'No,' my mum replied. 'I usually organise it a few days before we leave. I could probably get some money back from the airline but I don't know about the hotel.'

'What about going with one of your friends? Hilary or Caroline?'

'I've asked them both,' she said, sadly. 'You're my last chance.'

'What?'

'Are you free to come on holiday with me, Will? I know it's short notice...'

'When are the flights?'

'Leaving next Tuesday, from Birmingham and coming back on the twenty-third, a Wednesday.'

'And you want me to come?' I asked.

'Well I don't want to go by myself like some sort of Shirley Valentine,' she snorted. 'Besides, it could be fun, Will! The hotel's really posh and we've got a suite with two bedrooms and a lounge and a balcony. And Samos is so beautiful in September. And we could climb Vigla. I've always wanted to do that but I couldn't get your dad interested.'

'Vigla?' I asked.

'It's the highest mountain on Samos and the second highest in the Aegean. Come on Will, what do you say?'

'Let me think about it,' I said. 'I'll need to talk to my boss.'

Even if I hadn't known that my mum was really looking forward to this holiday, her enthusiasm over the phone would have convinced me; she would be bitterly disappointed if it had to be called off. There were a couple of other factors that influenced me, too. Firstly I love my mum very much, she's a really nice lady and she's fun to be with and interesting and I wanted her to be happy. The second reason is somewhat darker; I have always had the hots for my mother. Less so in recent years, since I moved out of the family home and into my own flat a few miles away and started having semi-serious relationships with girlfriends. But when I was in my late teens and early twenties I wanked myself stupid with visions of the two of us writhing naked on her bed and fucking on the settee in the lounge. I regret to admit that I regularly pinched her soiled underwear out of the laundry basket and held the crotch to my nose as I masturbated. Clichéd but true, I'm afraid.

That was all in the past, but the idea of being exclusively with my mother for three weeks on a Greek island definitely had its attractions. Clearly nothing would ever happen between us, but for three weeks I would be living in close proximity to her, able to surreptitiously ogle her bikini-clad figure and maybe catch a glimpse of her breasts or even her pussy.

I should say at this point that she has a very nice figure. Perhaps I should describe her:

My mother, Hannah Marshall, is forty-eight years old. She's about five feet seven inches tall and has long, shapely legs, a flat tummy and a nice, rounded bosom. She's not slender or wand-like, although you definitely wouldn't describe her as overweight. Curvy, I suppose, describes her. Which happens to be just my type. Or maybe that's my type because that's what my mother is. Freud would certainly have had an opinion on that.

Facially, she's not classically attractive but she's pleasant-looking. A round face with a high forehead and a full-lipped, rather downturned mouth, which sometimes makes her look as though she's sneering, which mum never does. She's also got a pale complexion, grey-blue eyes, a snub nose and a few age lines round the corners of her eyes and from her nose to her mouth.

Her hair is this amazing thick, dark-brown mass of curls, shot through with lots of grey. She wears it piled up on her head like some sort of old-fashioned perm, but much more untamed. I always wanted to run my fingers through it. And it used to make me wonder what her pubic hair was like.

So it was always a foregone conclusion that I would take my mother up on her offer. Getting time off work would not be a problem; my boss, Steve, owed me big time. I had covered up for him after he'd made a career-limiting decision regarding a big contract that we were bidding for. And indeed the next day when I went into his office and said that I wanted to take three weeks' leave starting next week, he was perfectly accommodating. 'This makes us quits, right?' was his parting shot.

I called mum the next evening and she squealed with delight. 'I spoke to the airline and they'll change the name on the flight,' she told me. 'It'll cost about a hundred pounds but I'll pay that as a thank you for coming with me.'

'What about the hotel?' I asked.

'Well they're expecting a Mr Marshall and a Mrs Marshall and that's what they'll be getting.'

My guts contracted as I heard this. Was my mother suggesting that I masquerade as her husband? The possibilities were very interesting. And it wasn't as absurd as it might sound. When she's all made up, my mother can pass for early forties, at a pinch. I'm only twenty-six but my hair's going prematurely grey and although I hate to admit it, I could easily pass for someone in their mid-thirties.

'I've booked airport parking,' my mother went on. 'I'll be at your flat at nine o'clock on Tuesday. Can't wait!' she added. 'It'll be lovely having you to myself for a few weeks!'

Mum arrived the following Tuesday on the dot of nine and I went down and loaded my suitcase and cabin bag into her car and got into the passenger seat. She was wearing jeans and a flowery top and she'd put more make-up on than usual. She was also wearing scent, and the odour filled the car. She chatted excitedly as we drove the short distance to Birmingham International airport and parked in our allocated bay.

Everything went smoothly with the flight and we landed safely at Samos Airport, near the town of Pythagorion, some seven hours later. A twenty-minute taxi ride took us to the hotel where we presented ourselves at the Reception.

'Marshall,' said my mother to the young lady behind the desk.

She looked at her monitor and frowned. Then she picked up her phone, pressed a button, listened for a moment then spoke rapid Greek into the mouthpiece. 'Would you please take a seat, Mrs Marshall,' she indicated some easy chairs, 'the manager will be with you straightaway.'

Mum and I looked at each other but went over and sat down. Almost immediately, a door behind the Reception desk opened and a man in his late fifties or early sixties with grizzled grey hair and a dark suit with a very white shirt came out and walked across the Reception hall to where we were sitting.

'Mr and Mrs Marshall?' We nodded. 'Would you come into my office, please?' We stood up and followed him into a cluttered office where he invited us to sit before seating himself in a swivel chair the other side of the desk.

'I am so, so sorry,' he began, 'but there has been a very unfortunate mistake with your booking. The suite is now taken. I'm so sorry! It is entirely the fault of the hotel and I apologise with all my heart.' Mum and I looked at each other, aghast. 'But I can offer you a very good double room with a lovely balcony and a view over the sea. And,' he picked up an envelope from his desk, 'I would like to refund you one thousand five hundred euros and give you a card that entitles you to free drinks at all our bars for the duration of your stay.' He looked expectantly at us.

'Can we see the room before we make any decision?' my mother asked, slowly.

'Of course!' The manager sprang up and we followed him into Reception where he gave us a key card. 'Room six-ten, on the sixth floor. Leave your suitcases here if you want to.'

Still slightly in shock we took the lift up and found room six-ten, which turned out to be a large double with a very big balcony and a perfect view over the achingly blue Aegean sea. The balcony was big enough to accommodate two recliners and an umbrella as well as a small table and chairs. The room itself was big enough to have two, two-seater settees, facing each other across a big coffee table, and a desk. There was also a fridge and a big flatscreen TV.

I looked round the room and the bed. If mum agreed to this room she and I would be sharing it for the next three weeks; it wasn't possible to sleep on the two-seater settees. We could possibly ask for a portable bed but that might raise awkward questions about the booking, which had been made in the names of a married couple.

'What do you think?' I asked.

'Mmm, well it's a nice enough room and the balcony's lovely. But...'

'The bed's huge,' I said. 'You could lose two people in that.'

She glanced at me. 'So you'd be ok with us sharing a bed?'

I swallowed. 'Yes, I think so. If you are.'

Mum stood pondering, then she opened the sliding doors and walked out onto the balcony. I followed and stood by her as she looked out over the glittering blue water, her hands on the rail.

'The refund is generous,' she began, 'and free drinks all holiday!' She smiled. 'Ok, shall we give it a go?'

So we descended to the Reception and formally booked in and a couple of page boys took our suitcases up to the room and we unpacked and then we went out onto the balcony and sat on the recliners with bottles of beer from the minibar, which was also free.

'Lucky we've got this,' said mum, looking around the balcony. 'It means that one of us can sit out here while the other showers and dresses and so forth. I think it could work, Will.'

We drank our beer and made plans for the next few days using a big map of the island that I'd picked up in Reception. 'Quiet day by the pool or on the beach tomorrow,' suggested mum. 'And Vigla the day after. How does that sound? Oh, and we'll need a hire car.'

Shortly after that she disappeared inside the room to shower and change for dinner. I finished my beer and went to the rail of the balcony and stared out over the sea at the distant shape of the Turkish coastline.

After half an hour or so mum came out onto the balcony to tell me that the bathroom was all mine. She had a half-bottle of red wine from the minibar and she had changed into a floor-length sleeveless sheath in an orange-red swirly pattern, which showed off her hips and bust. Her makeup was carefully applied; blue eye-shadow and deep red lipstick. She looked gorgeous and I did a double take which made her laugh.

'I'm in holiday mode, now,' she said. 'No more Mrs Pharmacist and dull housewife!'

I showered and dressed and we went down to the restaurant where the hotel manager was acting as the front of house.

'Ah, good evening Mr and Mrs Marshall. I've got a nice private table for you.'

Mum and I exchanged discreet glances as we followed the manager across the dining room to a secluded alcove with a single table. We ordered drinks and he disappeared.

'I think there may be other advantages to our situation,' I said looking around. 'I bet we wouldn't have got this table if they hadn't messed up the booking.'

'No, possibly not,' replied my mother, slowly. 'I presume they still think we're a married couple.'

'I guess so.'

'I'm loath to tell them we're not in case they get funny about the booking and the refund.'

'Shall we pretend to be married then?' I asked her with a grin. 'Like in a farce?' I leaned over the table and took her hand. 'You look enchanting tonight, darling.'

Mum smiled and took her hand back. 'Well if we're going to go through this pantomime for the next three weeks I suppose you'd better call me Hannah, when we're not in the room.'

'Ok, Hannah,' I replied, savouring the faint intimacy of using my mother's first name.

After we'd eaten we strolled around the grounds of the hotel, stopping at a couple of the bars for a glass of wine. Then we left the hotel grounds and walked onto the promenade that separated the hotel from the beach. It was getting dark and the beach was empty although there were a few walkers on the promenade.

Taking a deep breath, I took my mother's hand as we walked and she made no effort to disengage 'What does Mrs Marshall think of the holiday so far?' I asked.

'Well it's been an interesting day,' she admitted. But the room is very nice, really, and if we can make it work it'll be a wonderful holiday!'

We walked for half an hour and then mum said she was exhausted so we went up to the room and I went onto the balcony and looked across the darkened sea to the lights of the Turkish coast and after a while mum came out and said the bathroom was free.

She was wearing utilitarian cotton knickers and a loose-fitting T shirt that didn't fully disguise her breasts and nipples. I gawped at her.

'I haven't brought any pyjamas,' she explained, 'I didn't think I'd need them. This is what I usually sleep in. Is it alright?'

'Of course,' I said. 'I'll be wearing the same. I haven't got pyjamas either, I normally sleep in the raw,' I added with a grin.

I went in and brushed my teeth and undressed, leaving my boxer shorts on and adding a T shirt. I didn't like sleeping with clothes on but I could hardly sleep naked in the same bed as my mother.

Mum came in from the balcony and closed the sliding doors and the curtains. 'Which side do you usually sleep on,' I asked her.

'The nearest the door,' she replied and we both got into bed, rather self-consciously, picked up our books and started to read.

Although the dormant sexual attraction to my mother was reawakening, it still felt weird to me, being in bed with her, even though we were about four feet apart - the bed was truly enormous. It must have been worse for mum, but she appeared to accept the situation and she read her book quietly, reading glasses perched on her snub nose, occasionally turning pages. I tried to concentrate on my novel, a psychological thriller, but all I could think about were my mum's legs stretched out under the white duvet and the faint outline of her breasts under the baggy T shirt.

After about twenty minutes, mum put her book down on her bedside table and switched out her light. 'I'm sorry, Will, I can't keep my eyes open. You carry on reading if you want to.' She turned on her side, facing away from me and pulled the duvet up around her shoulders.

I put my book down on my table and switched out the light. The curtains were thick and it was full night outside by now and in the room it was pitch-black, except for the intermittent winking of the smoke alarm. I lay on my back, looking into the blackness, senses heightened for sounds from my mother but she lay quite still. I couldn't even hear her breathing.

My cock had been semi-hard while we were both reading but now, in the darkness, it grew rigid and I reached into my shorts and stroked the veined shaft, thinking about my mother's scantily clad body, just feet away. I was used to masturbating every night before I went to sleep. What would I do for the next three weeks? Could I do it quietly enough to not disturb her? Or should I just make an excuse to come back to the room while we were sunbathing round the pool or on the beach?

With thoughts such as these racing around my brain I fell into a deep sleep.

I was woken by the sound of a mug of tea being plonked onto my bedside table.

'Morning, Will,' said my mother. 'You slept well, it's nearly eight.' She'd obviously been up for a while, the curtains were partially drawn and the balcony doors were open and mum was dressed in shorts and a loose blouse. 'I'll drink my tea on the balcony while you use the bathroom.' She disappeared out into the blinding light of an early Greek morning and I sat up and rubbed my eyes. I had slept well but my dreams had been dark and lustful and I didn't feel very refreshed.

We spent that first full day by the big pool. Mum wore a black one-piece swimming costume which fitted her like a second skin and had me sneaking glances at her every five minutes from behind my sunglasses as we lay in the sun on loungers. I studied the curve of her breasts and the sweep of her buttocks. I stared at her pubic mound as she climbed the little ladder out of the pool after swimming. I fetched her drinks and offered to put suntan lotion on her neck and generally behaved like an attentive husband.

And somehow, I don't know how, I managed to maintain a semi-erection without it growing into an embarrassing bulge in my shorts. At least I managed until mid-afternoon when mum insisted on rubbing factor thirty into my back and I got very hard at the touch of her soft hands. Then the damned thing wouldn't go away and I had to make an excuse to go back up to the room.

'Don't be too long,' said mum, her eyes unreadable behind her darkened glasses.

I masturbated quickly and violently into the bathroom sink and was back by the pool within ten minutes, carrying a new book as my excuse.