Holidaying on Samos with my Mother

At dinner the manager again escorted us to a private table. I was in chinos and a shirt and Mum was wearing another floor-length sheath, this one black, which went well with her wild, grey-streaked hair. She looked even more breathtakingly desirable.

That second evening we walked into town after dinner, stopping at market stalls and tavernas and ending up, mildly drunk, on the beach. There's not much tide in the Aegean but the waves made a satisfying crash as they broke on the beach and sucked back across the fine white sand, luminescent in the dark, Greek night. We took our sandals off and walked barefoot and again I took my mother's hand as we walked along the line of the surf and she seemed quite happy with the physical contact.

I was so aware of her presence, of her femininity, that it was almost too much to bear. I felt her hand in mine and I imagined kissing her in the darkness of the beach. As we walked the moon rose and bathed us in a silver light. Lightheaded with desire, I released my mother's hand and slipped an arm around her waist and again she didn't demur. She felt warm and soft against me and I could feel her hip against mine.

We stopped for more drinks on the way back and by the time we got back to our room we were both rather drunk and giggly. The back of my mind told me that now might be a good time to make a pass at my mother, but the front prevailed and told me not to be silly.

We dressed for bed as before and slipped under the duvet. Mum switched her light off straightaway and was asleep in seconds, her breathing louder than the night before. I looked at her for long moments then I switched out my light and fell asleep.

I've no idea what time I woke in the night. It was deathly quiet in the room apart from a faint noise from the other side of the bed. My senses went on high alert as I strained to hear sounds and detect movement like a finely tuned seismograph. Yes, there were the noises of tiny movements. I froze and listened. They went on for what seemed like a long time and then, suddenly, mum gave a muffled gasp and all was still again.

I lay in partial shock. Could my mother have been masturbating? My cock certainly thought so. It grew to fighting strength and I put my hand in my shorts and caressed and stroked it. Next to me, mum had started snoring faintly indicating that she'd gone back to sleep. Should I relieve myself? I'd already wanked myself off once that day and besides, I'd nothing to clean the mess up with.

No, I told myself, I would wait until tomorrow night.

The next day was a long one. After breakfast we drove our hire car to the far west of the island and walked up Vigla, the highest peak on Samos and the second highest in the Aegean. It wasn't hard, but it was long and stony and the weather was hot and dry. Halfway up we stopped at a monastery where a wizened nun gave us bread and water. We reached the summit at one o'clock and I had to admit that the view was worth the climb. Mum was thrilled at her achievement and she gave me a big hug and I kissed her on the lips and hugged her back and then we stood, side by side, and looked at the blue Aegean and the islands dotted in it and the tracks of little boats and freighters pottering about miles from us.

The walk down seemed endless and by the time we got back to the hotel and ate an early dinner we were both ready for bed. We followed what was now our ritual except that I secreted a wad of toilet tissue under my pillow.

When I woke up all was still and pitch black in the room; I could hear no noise from my mother. My mobile phone said it was 3:21. I lifted my hips and pulled my shorts down to my knees, my cock was already rigid as I took it in my hand and began a gentle stroking, imagining my mother's hand on my cock instead, imagining her finger strumming her clit. I gave a tiny groan and stroked faster, listening for a response from the other side of the bed, but there was none. I contemplated stopping but it felt too good. I slid my fingers over my glans, relishing the touch on the sensitive skin. I tried to visualise what it would be like to penetrate Hannah, to thrust in and out of her. I wanked harder and faster and gave another little groan, then a gasp as my orgasm welled and blossomed and expanded up my spine to my brain and I pumped hot spunk over my abdomen.

When I was done I cleaned myself up and hid the messy tissue under the bed. Seconds later I was asleep. There had been no sign of life from my mother.

The third day was largely a repeat of the first. We breakfasted early and then spent the morning round the biggest of the pools, swimming, sunbathing, reading and chatting. Mum was wearing a red two-piece costume which showed rather more of her buttocks than the one-piece had. As she lay reading or dozing on her sun lounger I couldn't keep my eyes off her pubic mound, obscured only by a skimpy piece of material. And when I wasn't looking at her mound, my eyes were on her breasts. I hardly read any of my book.

'Aren't you enjoying that book, Will?' my mother asked as one point. 'You don't seem to be making much progress with it.' Did she realise why? Was she gently chiding me for ogling her? I'd been wearing sunglasses but perhaps she had subtler ways of knowing.

'It's not my cup of tea,' I replied. 'I think I'll go up and get my Kindle.'

'Ok,' she smiled at me. 'Bring a cold drink back with you.'

I felt her eyes on me as I walked into the hotel. Up in our room I masturbated quickly and climaxed in under two minutes, spurting my seed into the bathroom sink again.

After lunch we decamped to the beach and swam in the warm Aegean and lay in the sand. About four o'clock we went back to our room and took it in turns to shower. Then we sat nursing cold beers on the patio until it was time to dress for dinner.

That evening my mother wore another sleeveless, floor-length sheath, this one in a striking black and white pattern. Again she had made up carefully with plenty of eye shadow and mascara and red gloss lipstick. And again I shuddered inwardly at how attractive she was to me and how much I wanted her.

As we exited the lift in the Reception area I took her hand and we walked together to the desk at the entrance to the restaurant where the manager was acting as front of house again.

'Mr and Mrs Marshall,' he beamed. 'I hope you are having a wonderful holiday! Let me show you to your table. Have you had a nice day?'

Mum told him about going up Vigla the day before and he sighed. 'I have not been to the top since I was a boy.' He patted his ample stomach. 'Probably I would struggle now, no? But a young couple like you? No problem!' He laughed and, taking a drinks order, moved away to greet some newcomers.

I looked at mum and she looked at me and snorted. 'Young couple? Who's he kidding.'

'Well one of us is,' I said and mum grimaced and put her tongue out at me.

We lingered over dinner and drank a cocktail on top of the aperitif and wine. After dinner we walked the half-mile or so to the town of Pythagorion and spent time wandering around the tourist shops, still open at this late hour. Later we sat outside a taverna in the soupy air and drank a carafe of the local red wine.

Feeling pleasantly tipsy we found the harbour and sat on a bench looking out over the rows of fishing vessels, moored for the night. The sky was cloudless and myriad stars twinkled in the warm air currents. I reached my hand out in invitation and after a microsecond of hesitation my mother took it and I squeezed her hand and we sat in companionable silence.

A few minutes later the horizon, beyond the harbour, started to glow orange and mum and I looked on curiously. Eventually the moon rose, almost blood red, a magnificent sight. We stood up to see it rise above the line of the sea and on an impulse I put my arm around my mum's waist and drew her gently to me.

'Make a wish,' I said softly. 'It's a harvest moon.'

We stood silently for long minutes as this celestial display unfolded before us.

'What did you wish for?' I asked.

'I'm not telling you,' mum said. 'It wouldn't come true.'

'I won't tell you what I wished for, then,' I replied. 'You'd be shocked anyway.'

'Why? What was your wish?'

'I wished that I could kiss you,' I said, quietly.

Mum said nothing for a long time and I thought she was just going to ignore me. 'You mean a Mr and Mrs Marshall kiss, not a mother and son kiss, I presume,' she said, eventually.

'Yes,' I whispered, turning to face her and putting my hands on her hips. She stood perfectly still as I lowered my head to hers and brushed my lips against hers once, twice, three times. I was gasping with desire, short-breathed, heart thudding. Mum did nothing to stop me so I kissed her, properly, pressing my lips to hers, opening my mouth to encourage her to open hers, tasting her lipstick and smelling her scent. And for about five glorious seconds her mouth did open and I mashed my lips against hers.

At that point she disengaged my hands and took a half pace backwards. Her expression blank in the moonlight.

'So you did get your wish,' she said quietly. 'Even though you told me what it was.'

I held her hand as we walked back through the town to the hotel, but I didn't try to kiss her again and she seemed happy with the mildly intimate contact. Up on our balcony we leaned on the rail and watched the moon as it continued to its zenith, I slid my arm around my mother's waist, feeling her warmth and her hip against me. It was a magical moment. I looked at her and bent to kiss her again and she raised her face to mine and we kissed gently and I started to pull her slowly into an embrace but at that moment her mobile phone went off in the bedroom and she hurried in to answer it. Damn!

Mum was on her phone for quite a long time and at one point she raised her voice, which was very unusual for her. I couldn't hear what was being said because she'd closed the balcony sliding door as soon as she saw who the caller was.

Eventually the sliding door opened and she came out onto the balcony, her face set and angry. She was holding two miniature whisky bottles from the minibar.

'Here,' she said, handing me one and sitting down, 'you might want this.'

'Who was that?' I asked.

'Your father, of course,' she replied.

'What's wrong, Mum?'

She uncapped the little whisky bottle, took a swig and grimaced. 'I never did like whisky much. So, what's wrong? Well your father has informed me that there are complications with his sister's health. He won't be coming home in five weeks, in fact he might never be coming home at all.'

'Is that what he said,' I asked, stunned.

'Those were his exact words.' She took another pull at the bottle. 'I don't know whether to be pleased or furious. I'm certainly angry that he couldn't tell me face to face that our marriage is over.'

'Is it? Over I mean.'

'Well what sort of a marriage has the husband living with his sister five-hundred miles from his wife? There are things you don't know, Will,' she added enigmatically.

'What things?' I asked as she drained the bottle and put the cap back on.

'Things that I'm not going to discuss tonight,' she replied. 'I'm too tired, too drunk and too angry and I'm going to bed.' She got up and went in and left me sitting on the balcony wondering what the hell she had meant and what the implications might be for my mother and me. It hadn't escaped my notice that if my mother's marriage was really over, she might just be more amenable to my advances. A very selfish point of view, I know, but I had reached a point where having my mother was all I could think about. My relationship with my father had never been particularly strong, so on a more rational level I still didn't have much of a problem with my parents splitting up.

I sat and watched the moon and sipped my whisky and a few minutes later mum stuck her head through the doorway. 'Bathroom's free.' Then she disappeared back inside and when I went in and closed the door. She was already in bed, a lump under the duvet.

I drew the curtains and switched on my bedside light then I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth and stripped off to shorts and T shirt. I slipped into bed beside my mother, wondering whether to kiss the top of her head, which was all I could see of her. I decided it was a bad idea and switched out my light.

Sleep came quickly, assisted by alcohol, and when I woke and looked at my phone it was just before 4am. It was still full dark and still, except that there were those tiny noises coming from my mother's side of the bed again and tiny movements, which I could feel through the mattress. Was it possible that those minute noises and movements had woken me? I froze and tuned my senses to pick up sounds and vibrations. Yes, there was a pattern! A regular rustling noise and I thought I could hear my mother breathing more heavily. She was certainly masturbating herself.

What should I do, I wondered? Ask if I could help? Start wanking myself? I was hard enough and the kisses we'd had earlier hinted that mum might not be totally averse to my advances. And here she was a few feet from me, practically masturbating in front of me.

Before I could muster the courage to do anything there was a muffled gasp and a sudden movement as, I think, mum tensed her legs. Then she turned on her side and it all went still and quiet and she started to gently snore.

The next morning mum was up early as usual and I heard her in the bathroom as I came to. She came out wearing one of the complementary bathrobes and started to make the tea. The room was in full daylight; she had opened the curtains and the sliding door to the balcony.

'It's overcast today,' she said, putting a mug on my bedside table, 'and quite cool. How about going for a walk? I know a lovely circular route which goes through a mountain village with a taverna. What do you think, Will? And we can have a talk as we walk,' she added, cryptically.

So after breakfast we bundled into the car with our walking shoes and plenty of water and snacks and mum drove into the centre of the island and parked at the end of a dusty lane as it petered out into a cart track. We put our walking shoes on and I shouldered the knapsack and we set off, side by side, across the arid countryside towards some distant hills.

Mum didn't say anything for the first hour or so as we climbed gently to a ridge and I said nothing too, waiting for her to be ready to talk to me. At length we stopped in the shade of some fig trees and had a drink of water.

'I'm sorry to be so quiet this morning, Will,' she began. 'I've been mustering my thoughts. Wondering what to tell you and how to tell it.'

'That's fine Mum,' I said, 'take your time.' We started walking again and mum started talking.

'I think,' she began, 'that it would be best if I told you the whole lot and let you make sense of it as best you can. As you know,' she went on, 'I've always had a bit of a difficult relationship with your dad's sister. I always thought their relationship was unnaturally close, for a brother and sister.'

I listened, fascinated.

'I did wonder if they actually had a physical relationship; certainly your father didn't seem to be particularly interested in me, not in any sexual sense. You won't be aware of this, Will, but your father and I no longer sleep together. That's one of the reasons we booked a suite at the hotel, because it had two bedrooms. Ironic that I ended up sharing a room with my son! But I'm getting ahead of myself.

'As you know, your dad spent a lot of time up north with Victoria. He always seemed to be in a state of, how can I put it, excessive anticipation, before he went. He talked about what they'd do and the places they'd visit. And then when he came home he seemed like a different person, as though he'd spent a few weeks in a health spa.

'About two years ago Victoria came down to stay. You probably remember it, it was your dad's fifty-sixth birthday.'

'I remember,' I said.

'Well Victoria stayed for three weeks, if you remember. Your dad had just retired so they could go and do things together while I was at work, which suited me. Well, one afternoon, it was a Thursday, I came over a bit funny at work. I was still having periods then.' She looked around at me a gave me a small smile. 'Sorry if this is too much information.'

'No,' I protested, 'that's fine Mum.' I was entranced by her tale, forgetting to call her Hannah.

'To cut a long story short I came home a couple of hours early and let myself in to the house. I knew they were in because your dad's car was in the drive, but they weren't downstairs. I went to go upstairs and that's when I heard them. They were having it off in our bedroom, in our bloody bed! I could hear them! Well, hear her; she was squealing like a stuck pig and the headboard of the bed was thumping against the wall. There was no question what they were doing.'

'Bloody hell!' I said. 'What did you do? Did you confront them?'

'No. Maybe I should have done but I didn't have the courage. Instead I sneaked out and drove into town and sat in a coffee shop until it was time to go home. I was very confused, and angry. Angry that he found any excuse not to make love with me but was quite happy, by the sound of it, to screw his sister.

'So soon after that I made some excuses about not sleeping well with someone else in the bed and we started sleeping separately. Your dad seemed rather relieved, which made me feel pretty low.'

'I had no idea,' I said.

'Well, it's not the sort of thing you discuss with your son, is it?'

'Are you pleased it's over then?'

'The marriage? I don't know, Will, I'm still processing it. On one level yes, I'm relieved that the whole sham is over. On another level there's the issue of security and companionship and the uncertainty of change.'

By now we had reached the little mountain village, a charming step back in time. The taverna was in the main square and the outdoor seating was beneath the spreading branches of an enormous and stately tree. It was charming.

We ate lamb skewers and drank local wine and afterwards we walked back to the car, largely in silence, both consumed with our own thoughts.

I was thinking about what effect mum's revelations had on my relationship with her. For one thing, she had, to some degree, accepted that her own husband was in an incestuous relationship with his sister. Did that mean she wasn't totally averse to the notion? And there was the kissing that we'd done last night. Although limited, it had been pretty hot, although I hadn't tried to put my tongue in her mouth.

I was driving and mum got me to stop at a little supermarket on the way back to the hotel. She went in and came out with two bottles of red wine. 'I don't want to go into town tonight or sit in a bar in the hotel, but I do want to get a bit drunk.'

I concentrated on driving, my cock twitching. So Mr and Mrs Marshall would get a little bit drunk on the balcony tonight, would they? That would be the time for a properly intimate conversation.

We swam when we got back to the hotel. Then we showered and dressed for dinner, which we ate with a half-bottle of local white wine at our usual table. Mum wore the black sheath dress again and my cock strained against my trousers as I looked at her across the table and she looked back at me.

After the meal I asked mum if she wanted a cocktail.

'No,' she replied, 'let's go up to our room. We've got plenty to drink up there.'

We leaned on the rail of the balcony, a bottle and glasses on the table behind us, looking out over the darkened sea and the twinkling lights of Turkey. The cloud cover had passed and the heavens were glittering with pin-pricks of light.

'A bit of a roller-coaster day today, Will,' smiled my mother in the gloom.