I All But Fuck My Son Pt. 01

"You bastard, you dirty, rotten bastard, fuck off," I screamed down the phone to my husband who had just admitted yet another 'casual fling', this time with a twenty-four-year-old receptionist in his company. It was the third time I had caught him and like Bill Clinton said many years ago it was three strikes and out. I had told him not to come back to the house and asked where he would like his clothes sent.

Throwing my mobile down onto the settee I put my head in my hands and started to cry.

"What is it mum?" Peter, my son asked as he came and sat beside me.

Sobbing I asked. "Where did you come from, I thought you were out."

"I was but plans fell through so I just came back and it seems that was lucky."

"Nothing, don't worry," I said rather ridiculously as I had tears streaming down my face.

He put his arm around me and said. "It's dad again isn't it?"

I started to deny it but thought what the hell and replied.

"Yes love it is."

"What is it this time another bimbo?"

"Oh Peter don't get involved."

"Not Carla in the office is it?"

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I saw how they were when I worked there in the holidays, it was sickening."

"Do the staff all know?"

"No one said anything to me but they wouldn't would they, but I think most know there's something going on between them?"

"Even more of a bastard then doing it so they'll all know and making me look like a right tit."

"Well not sure about just a right tit mum," he said smiling and trying to lighten the situation although I didn't get it.

"What do you mean Peter?"

"Well people don't just look at the right one mum."

"Oh shut up," I said nearly smiling as he joked about my 36 inch D cup boobs, something that he'd started doing over the past few years.

My family, John, my soon to be ex, Sara my eighteen-year-old daughter and Peter, my twenty-two-year-old son and I had a very open relationship and from when the kids were quite young we had broached subjects that many other parents shied away from. Thus, making a joke about my boobs was nothing unusual.

"And you're right mum he is a bastard, a right one too, I've known it for years."

"You don't have to side with me love after all he is your dad."

"I'm not siding mum, it's true he's always treated you badly, I've known and seen that for so long."

Nothing was said for some time but suddenly I realised he still had his arm around my shoulders and his hand was holding me just above my elbow. My head was resting against his upper chest and shoulder and my left boob against his lower chest. It felt nice and I felt secure, comforted and consoled. Another feature of our family was that we had always been quite 'touchy feely' so him hugging me was not that unusual.

"Ah well," I muttered, starting to move, but he held me.

"Don't move, mum just calm down and stay like this for a while."

It did feel nice being held and consoled after the shock of finding out about John yet again cheating on me. And I realised it also felt nice that it was Peter, my son, holding me so I stayed exactly where I was and without thinking rested my hand on his leg just above his knee.

Peter and I had become much closer over the past few years. I realised that this corresponded with the decline in my marriage and that it was almost as if my son was replacing his father in my affections and my life, well most of it.

During his time at university and the first year at work with the investment bank I saw quite a lot of Peter. He came home fairly frequently from uni, mainly for friends' and family parties and for football and cricket club events and lived with us when he first went out to work. Having him 'on tap' as it were gave me a range of feelings and emotions. A straightforward mother's pleasure at seeing a lot of her son which was natural and pure. But then there was the unnatural and somewhat impure thoughts when I imagined us together in situations that mothers and sons most definitely should not be in. However, most of the time I was able to cope ok, but then something would trigger me off, perhaps when I was ironing his clothes or tidying his room or when I saw an attractive young man when I was shopping or at the gym. Then I would have lurid thoughts that worried me and made me feel guilty. Looking back, I had worked out that I had those mostly when John and I were at war, which was becoming more frequent. And of course, other events from the past regularly came into my mind.

The time when I was celebrating my fortieth where John had let me down about going to the Ritz to dinner. When I took the phone call that he could not make it Peter had consoled me to the point that I thought we were going to kiss and as we had travelled home in the chauffeur driven car with his arm around me I thought he would do something when Sara dozed off. When we danced at my wedding anniversary and he held me in a completely, non-son/motherly way squashing my breasts against his chest and I felt the movement of an erection; the afternoon he came home unexpectedly and I was lying topless on my back in the garden. I looked up and our eyes caught. We both smiled. His eyes zeroed in on my breasts. I froze. I didn't know what to do. I half wanted to sit up and flaunt them at him and then I thought for a moment he was going to sit on my sun bed but he said rather croakily.

"Sorry mum," and went inside.

There were other smaller incidents. Little touches, brushing against each other, lingering smiles, catching him looking down my top, at my legs or breasts, frequent flirtatious remarks and double entendres.

Several times I was tempted to make an advance or more really indicate that I would not reject one from him but I was scared of rejection and what he would think of me if I had got it all wrong. In addition to the times when I thought he might kiss me or do something there were stares and holding each other's gazes that led to nothing, but must have meant something and, I concluded possibly meant he was feeling the same as me; scared, worried about rejection and wondering how I was feeling. At other times and this was the majority I put all such thoughts from my mind and concluded that I was just being silly. Things like that rarely happen in real life, I concluded. But then, I started researching the issue of mothers and sons and what I found online amazed me. It seems that a slight majority of mothers in the UK do have sexual thoughts and feelings about their sons and around 10% of them have some form of intimacy. That might simply be anything from an overeager kiss or caress to having penetrative sex. There was little data available on what proportion did actually go all the way, as it were, largely because it's a crime but it was thought that it was probably between 0.1 and 0.2% meaning around a 1000 each year.

"So what are you going to do mum?" he asked out of the blue.

At first I didn't know what he meant. I was confused by what had happened on the phone with John and what was happening now with him. But what was happening, indeed was anything happening? Then the penny dropped.

"It's the last straw, he's insulted me enough and made me look foolish in front of the whole company."

"So what's that mean?" he asked, squeezing me tighter as his fingers slid further round the front of my arm so that the ends of them were grazing on the outside of my breast. That sent a shudder through me.

"I'm kicking him out and I'll get a divorce."

"Great, good for you mum," he said, sounding joyful and kissing the top of my head."We thought you should have done it ages ago."

"We?"

"Yes S and me, we do talk you know and we do care for you?"

I looked up and into his eyes.

"I'll help you mum, make sure you get everything you're entitled to."

"Thanks love."

"And make sure you don't get screwed."

"Good."

"Well by him at least," he smiled, making me wonder what was going through his mind as at the same time the outside of his fingers were pressing more obviously into the outside of my breast.

"Now, now, I'm not like him with bits on the side."

"Perhaps that's what you need mum."

"What?"

"Someone on the side to er, um..." he said leaving the punch line hanging.

"I don't think so, I might give up on men."

"Going the other way are you?" he smiled.

"No, of course not."

"Anyway you've always got me haven't you?" he said quietly.

"Yes, love," I murmured, feeling a surge of arousal tear through me and wondering if that was a double entendre or something more provocative.

It was stronger than usual, much stronger, but then I rationalised I was in his arms and cuddled up against him with my left breast squashed against his chest and his fingers on his right hand squashed between my arm and the outside of my right breast. Although we had cuddled and he had held me like this before never, or so it seemed to me at that moment, had it been as intimate and, maybe, as provocative as this. Or was it provocative? Was there anything in it at all, anything more to it than him consoling and comforting me? Was he feeling anything like I was? I had no idea.

I managed to shake myself out of the trance-like state I was in.

"Let's have a drink Peter."

"Sure what can I get you? Maybe Champagne to celebrate."

"Celebrate what?"

"Well perhaps us."

"Us, what do you mean?"

"Well we're a new team now aren't we?"

"How?" I asked, wondering what he meant but full of curiosity at what it might be.

"Fighting him, getting you sorted out mum of course, what else?" He said rather flippantly as he got up and walked out to the kitchen.

Standing up I looked at myself in the mirror, fluffed up my spiky, blonde hair and fumbled my glasses back into position. I saw that my blue, denim, rather too tight skirt had ridden up my bare legs and that one of the two inch wide straps on the blue and white hooped, sleeveless top had slid down my arm showing that clearly I was not wearing a bra, something I often did when at home by myself as I had thought I would be that evening. It's such a nice feeling to be braless when you are fairly full breasted and your weight fluctuates a little as mine does meaning that some of the time at least most bras are on the small side and the strap and underwiring digs into me.

"Here drink this," he said, handing me a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and putting the bottle into a cooler on the low, glass table in front of the sofa. He sat down beside me, very close sipping his Peroni from the bottle. "Feeling any better?" he asked.

"Oh I don't know," I muttered.

"Look at it this way, it's been bound to happen for some time hasn't it?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Things haven't been right between you or not like they used to be for ages,not since Sara and I were kids have they, be honest mum?"

"No I guess you're right and no they haven't."

"It's happened before hasn't it?"

"What other women?"

"Yes."

"Yes several times."

"Why have you put up with it?"

"Well in part that's just how he is and was a reason I fell for him, he's very charismatic and charming."

"Fucking bullshitter," he replied.

"Peter, don't swear," my motherly instincts caused me to utter at his use of the f word.

"Well he is, I sussed that ages ago, he's full of shit and has been on lots of things for years mum, surely you see that now don't you?" he asked as I started to cry again.

Putting his arm around me again this time his hand didn't go around my arm but instead went between it and my body so that the length of his fingers were pressed against the outside of my breast.

"Don't worry mum we'll beat him and sort this out."

I looked up and our faces were so close.

"We'll do it together, I'll look after you mum," he whispered as our faces started moving towards each other. Just as our lips nearly met my phone rang. I reached out to get it but he held onto me and said. "Let it ring, leave it."

I was tempted but knew that was wrong.

"No it might be Sara, she's at Fern's for the night and there might be a problem," I said looking at the phone. "Oh no, it's him."

"Dad."

"Yes."

"Don't answer, ignore it."

I did as he said but seconds later the house phone rang.

"That's bound to be him as well."

"I'll get it," he said standing up and picking up the phone.

I listened warily to the one sided conversation.

"Yes, I know...mum told me...not possible...I have to help her...you've been a right bastard... "Ok when?...no that's not fair...ok if you insist...yes half hour...what do you want?...I'll get it ready for you...that's not your business... you can't see nor speak with her...no she's not here...that's not your business... ok fine half hour...ring when you're outside...ok bye."

Putting the phone down he came and sat beside me again. He held both my hands in his with the back of one of his resting on my leg just above my knee. I was sobbing.

"What's he want?"

"Some clothes and stuff, his laptop and golf clubs."

"I don't want to see him."

"You won't have to, I'll pack his clothes and get everything ready."

"You said I wasn't here," I said as he squeezed my hands and rubbed the back of them with one of his fingers.

"Thought that was best. Come on help me find what he wants."

We got his golf clubs and shoes from the garage and his laptop and tablet from the study and then went up stairs. I was acutely aware that Peter's face was just a few feet from my bottom in the short, tight shirt and that his eyes would be seeing my legs almost up to my panties. That excited me.

I pulled out John's clothes, some shirts, chinos, golf stuff, a couple of suits and a pile of underwear, socks and casual shirts and his business and casual shoes while Peter packed them into two suitcases.

Hearing his car pull up we expected him to ring but instead he opened the front door with his keys.

"Oh Christ what now you said I wasn't here?"

"Go in my bedroom, he'll never go in there."

I went in there, sat on Peter's bed and waited. I heard the muffled sounds of you and him talking and there was some raised voices as you and or he went up and down the stairs a few times presumably getting more than what we had thought he wanted. All went quiet and then I heard his car start and drive off. I felt such relief.

That was, though, accompanied by a range of feelings about Peter. I loved how he had handled the situation both on the phone and when he was here and how he had the emotional strength to take his father on and the affection and consideration he showed to protect me.

The door opened and I stood up the backs of my legs against the bed.

"He's gone," Peter said as we moved towards each other and as natural as anything can be we fell into each other's arms. He pulled me to him and cuddled me.

"Thank you darling," I whispered almost into his ear as my breasts squashed against his

chest.

"Not at all mum."

"You were very brave and did so well."

"Not really, dad's a bully and I can handle those."

"Well thanks for protecting me, I couldn't bear seeing him."

"I liked it mum," he said stroking my hair as neither of us did anything or showed any intention of breaking the clinch. "I want to protect you," he went on, taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifting my face so that our eyes met. "I always have wanted to and always will."

"Oh Peter," I sighed as I felt stirring in his jeans.

"What mum?"

"I don't know."

"Don't know what?" he asked, moving his stomach slightly away from me and saying.

"Sorry mum."

"About what."

"This," he replied, moving it against me again. It had grown and he was now fully erect.

"Oh my god Peter."

"I am sorry but I can't help it."

"What?"

"Thinking of you like that."

"Like what?"

"Loving you Jayne, making love to you."

"No darling, no please don't."

"Oh Jayne, I'm sorry I'm so sorry," he groaned breaking the clinch. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I shouldn't have said anything."

It was terrible seeing him so upset and suffering about something so loving and intimate. I couldn't stop myself from putting my arms round him and cuddling him. Stroking his head I whispered.

"Oh baby, my baby, it's alright, everything's ok," as I stroked his head.

His arms went round me and he pulled me against him again, his erection now quite unashamedly pressing into my stomach and seeming to fill the gap between my pubic mound and navel. That made me gasp partly with surprise and partly with desire.

"Oh Jay are you sure?"

"Yes darling I am, I am really."

Moving his body so his face was close to mine he asked.

"Can I kiss you mum, please?"

I didn't answer but instead closed the gap between us and I kissed him full on the lips.

We were standing in the middle of his bedroom right next to his double bed. It's a fair sized room about fifteen feet square and it's bright and tastefully decorated in pale beige and cream with some touches of grey and charcoal. I was in his arms and we were kissing. It was a long, deep and passionate kiss and as it was our first it was meaningful and certainly memorable. We had both nibbled and sucked on the other's lips and had reached the stage where our tongues came into play and each had probed into the other's mouth. It was a kiss that included more parts of the body than merely our mouths. My hands had run up and down his youthful, broad back, had stroked his rower's arms and ruffled his hair. His had slid up and down my sides brushing the edges of my full breasts, caressed around my waist and hips and had then slipped down and squeezed my buttocks in the tight, short for a forty-something-year-old, blue, denim skirt. My breasts were squashed against his firm chest and his full erection nuzzled into the softness of my modest mumtum.

It had been ages since I had kissed or been kissed like this and I was reaching that stage in a kiss where rational thought leaves you and all that matters is the other person, their mouth and body and yourself.

But it couldn't go on, could it? Surely no, surely this had to be the end and not the start of something. Surely a mother and son could not go any further could they? No they couldn't but how I wanted to and judging by what was pressed into my stomach so he did as well.

Before today nothing overt had happened between us. Looking back a couple of years I could see how today had been coming and looking back on today I could see how the kiss had come about. But it had to stop, we could not go further or do anything else. No this kiss was it, all there was and all there was going to be.

Calling on my very last reserves of willpower I broke away groaning.

"Peter no please stop."

"Oh mum no, no I can't," he sighed as I moved away towards the open window.

"We must," I sighed, putting my hands to my head."

"Jay please, please?" he said coming up behind me and placing his hands on my shoulders. "You can't stop now, it was beautiful, the most beautiful thing ever in my life."

"We have to, it's wrong, we mustn't," I muttered, shaking his hands off my shoulders.

"Where did I go wrong, what did I do to upset you?"

"Nothing darling, it was just the circumstances, the emotions, dad leaving."

"No, no mum it was more than those, more, much much more and you know that."

"It wasn't' Peter," I lied desperately trying to think of a way out of this without admitting anything or hurting him too much.

"It was, you were into it as much as I was and still am," he said walking round me and making no attempt to hide his erection so we stood face to face. He took hold of my face in both of his hands, looked right into my eyes and said. "Now tell me it was just the circumstances mum."

"Oh darling I can't no I can't"

"Oh mum, Jay that's fantastic," he cried, gathering me up in his arms again, pulling me against him and kissing me again.