Sons & Lovers Pt. 01

The day passed without incident or further comment on the event of the morning; but that night I lay in bed next to my sleeping husband, wrestling with a thousand impulses at once; each struggling for dominance, but in the end, as my hand found its way between my thighs and felt the warm moisture of my pussy, only one was victorious.

I won't waste time talking about my relationship with his father; at this point we were very much going through the motions, and it would be only a few more years before we admitted to what we had known much longer and ended it. Nothing Gregory or I ever did later risked his father's discovery; our schedules did not coincide, so while we still lived together, there was ample opportunity for Gregory and I without unwanted interference.

But I'm getting ahead of the story; at this point it was all just a fantasy, and as my fingers massaged my clit while I envisioned my son's gorgeous cock, I told myself that was all it was ever going to be.

I wondered what Gregory could be feeling. Was he as confused as I was? Did he feel as conflicted? I desperately wanted to know what he was thinking, but I didn't dare confront him for fear of the consequences. If something was happening between us, bringing it out in the open was just as likely to derail our budding romance as it was to move it forward, and while at this point I had no intentions of acting on my feelings, I didn't want the fantasy to end.

Fantasy or not, I craved his attention, and in the few remaining days of the summer, I found myself spending more time dressing in the morning, wearing more form-fitting clothes, styling my hair and putting on make-up. My efforts were rewarded with the his more frequent presence and the stray longing look; more than once I sensed him undressing me with his eyes. But the surest sign of deeper feelings was his sudden preference for staying in at night, watching reruns of "Marcus Welby, M.D." with me, rather than going out with his friends.

A few days before he was scheduled to leave for the Fall semester, I suggested we go for one more lunch "date" and shopping afterwards. He responded enthusiastically. Knowing most young men would normally rather do anything than shop with their mothers, I took his excitement as a sure sign of his feelings for me.

It was the day before he left for school. I was oddly nervous. I wore a pair of hip-hugging flares to show off my derrière and a loose-fitting off-the-shoulder-blouse to camouflage any flaws. By this time I knew what he liked. My thick auburn hair lay softly but strategically arranged on my bare shoulders, and a long-beaded necklace hung over my blouse and between my breasts. I had thought of going bra-less, but felt perhaps that was a bit too obvious. A pair of over-sized "Jackie-O" Ray-ban sunglasses, a pair of small-platform heels and a macrame bag with a long shoulder strap to finish off the outfit and I looked foxy, as we used to say.

I know, and knew, I was an attractive woman. I was thirty-nine, and at my physical peak. The styles of the sixties sat a bit awkwardly on me; cat-eye glasses and bee-hives made me look older than the twenty-something I was; but in the seventies I found my groove; grew my hair and got contacts. I was short and my figure was full, but the curves were in the right places. I had ample bosom and bottom, not too much, mind you, but enough to encourage a pinch at a party now and again.

Gregory dressed up for the occasion, as much as a twenty-year old would in those days. He wore a nice button-up shirt with a collar and a pair of bell-bottom jeans-with shoes, not sneakers, so he looked a bit more mature. His hair was long and in style, but not too long. He had grown his sideburns and wore plastic aviator-style glasses. And though he was short, he looked altogether a few years older than twenty. As I watched him slide confidently into the driver's seat of my car, I was proud to be escorted by this handsome young man.

As he turned the key in the ignition, he smiled at me and said "...this is on me, today. My treat."

I was just a little taken aback; "Like a date?"

Nodding, he confirmed my characterization; "...exactly..."

I giggled and hugged his arm, thrilled to think of being with him in those terms, and to say it out loud.

"Well, you are my boyfriend, after all..." I said, squeezing his arm. He smiled and we laughed as we drove away from the house.

We found a quaint little restaurant outside the village center. As we pulled in to the parking lot, an idea occurred to me; "let's have a little fun..."

'Okaaay...what do you mean?" He said as he parked the car.

"Let's pretend we actually are boyfriend and girlfriend—instead of mother and son." A smile crossed his lips and encouraged I continued; "...no one knows us here, why not? It'll be fun."

A nervous laugh escaped from his lips. " I'm not sure I know what to do..."

I smiled at his innocence. 'That's ok. Follow my lead; you'll figure it out. Just remember not to call me "mom"...."

We laughed and as he got out of the car he told me to sit still while he did the gentleman-ly thing and opened my door for me. Taking my hand he helped me out of the car. I took his arm and as we crossed the lot, I placed it around my hips. "There, that's better" I said as I pressed his hand to my thigh. "Now we look like a couple." I took off my wedding ring, and placed it my bag.

I felt my heart skip a beat as we entered the restaurant, and asked the hostess for a quiet table in a nice corner; squeezing Gregory's arm I looked at her and whispered in a conspiratorial tone, "...we'd like to be alone..."

She nodded, smiled knowingly and directed us to follow. If she thought anything of our age difference, she didn't let on; although I sensed one or two glances our way when I asked my youthful "sweetheart" if he approved of our table.

We were seated in a corner by a window, secluded but not entirely isolated; which was just as well, for our little performance required an audience of at least one or two patrons. We sat across from one another. As the busboy approached with water, I reached across the table to take Gregory's hands in mine. His hands were trembling ever so slightly. I gave him a knowing look, he smiled and nodded in return.

The busboy addressed us as he poured our water. " Good afternoon, folks. How are you today?"

Still holding Gregory's hands and without taking my eyes from him, I replied.

"We are wonderful, aren't we, love?"

Tentatively, Gregory answered; "...Yes, yes, we are...sweetheart...."

He was so nervous, I had to choke back a giggle.

Unfazed, our busboy replied; "...Terrific. Your server will be here in a moment. Enjoy your meal."

As he left, I leaned over the table and whispered; "Relax. Just be yourself. Look in my eyes and tell me how pretty, I am, things like that...."

He leaned in closer, and spoke in a normal tone of voice. "You are...beautiful. You look beautiful today."

I leaned back and smiled. He would get the hang of it. I feigned slight embarrassment and thanked him.

He went on;"... I love what you're wearing. I don't think I've ever seen you in that outfit before."

As our waitress approached the table, I spoke so that she could hear.

"You like it? I wore it especially for you. I know you like me in slacks that are tight in all the right places." I gave him a sly smile. With that I'd hit a little close to home, for he seemed a tad embarrassed at my apparent awareness of his preference for my backside.

To calm his fears, I whispered that our little performance had so far been successful, giving any of our admissions a cloak of artifice. But I felt liberated by the "charade", for through it we were given the freedom to say things to each other we may yet be too inhibited to admit to ourselves.

As the waitress went over the specials, I never took my eyes off my "date", and neither did he take his from me. She must've grown annoyed at our distraction, but that was all part of the game we were playing, real as it was behind the facade. As we looked at each other across the table, his eyes gazing deep into mine, we were both feigning and revealing our longing. Innocently enough, my foot bumped his under the table, and as the apology crossed my lips I slid my toes up his ankle and gently began to stroke his calf. As a look of surprise and embarrassment passed over his face, I giggled and ran my tongue over my lips. He laughed nervously. I felt as though some prison door deep within me had been unbolted and deeply repressed feelings were at last free to live in the open air. "You look very handsome, today..." I said, truthfully, as my foot languidly massaged his leg.

The waitress brought wine, and as we clinked our glasses, he caught he is breath and spoke, haltingly at first. After all these years, I can still remember every word, every syllable. He was nervous and his hand was shaking in mine.

"Your eyes... your eyes are so beautiful...so bright, like light on the water. I could float away in them, like a boat on a river. And your lips are so soft, like the petals of a flower...I want..."

I gasped and squeezed his hands hard, taken aback by his effusiveness. He was clearly feeling something much more than I'd imagined, much more than merely lust for my ass. I didn't know how to reply, I was startled, a bit frightened. I didn't expect him to be so...sincere. And romantic! I took a moment to collect myself and instinctively looked for a way to deflate the situation.

"Don't get carried away now..."

"Oh... I'm sorry..." he said, duly chastised."I thought..."

Two older women were sharing a table just behind Gregory. The one closest turned around, and addressing me smiled and said, " oh, Let him talk, dear! It's been forty years since anyone spoke to me like that!"

I smiled and looked at Gregory. He was blushing. Taking his hand, I reassured him, whispering; "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I just thought someone might think we were, you know,..over-doing it. It was beautiful...."

A small smile crossed his lips. As I held has hand, I decided to respond in like manner to his overtures. Yet I was as surprised by what my words expressed as I had been by his a moment before.

" I wish you didn't have to leave tomorrow. I'm going to miss you so much. Our time alone together is so special. I love being with you, more than anyone else in my life and I want to be with you, all the time..just the two of us."

I wasn't exaggerating. That summer, the barriers impeding our physical intimacy were straining at the mounting pressure of our growing emotional bond. Our emotional relationship had intensified without any of the fears or reservations restraining our physical closeness. He was my best friend and I had begun to realize our closeness was magnifying our desire. As we became closer emotionally, I wanted him closer physically even more.

He was as overwhelmed as I had been, and he responded as only a twenty-year old could; "wow".

Then he leaned over the table and whispered: "...that was a good one!"

And we both laughed off the truth-telling of the moment.

The waitress had returned to take our order; I ordered a salad, and with a naughty look in my eye, I spoke to Gregory, but so that the waitress could hear.

" I wouldn't want to feel too full this afternoon..." Still holding his hand, I brought it to my lips, gently kissed it and pressed it against my cheek.

I didn't see, but I'm guessing the waitress rolled her eyes as she retired to place our order. Gregory's eyes opened wide as he absorbed the implication, and then again, we laughed off any potential for serious consideration of the suggestion.

After the meal and another glass of wine, I excused myself and made my way to the ladies' room, wherein I encountered the woman who had made the comment earlier. As we touched up our make-up, she nodded to me.

" I had a romance with a younger man, once. Much like yours, I'd wager. It was fun, for however long it lasted. But it was by far best sex I ever had. They are animals at that age!"

We shared a small laugh.

"What happened?" I asked.

" The war. The war happened." And at the mention of it her tone became serious. "It wouldn't have lasted, I know that. But still..." her voice trailed off. "Enjoy it while you can, dear! He's a doll!"

I returned to the table with her talk of younger men on my mind, and after two glasses of wine I no longer cared to restrain my imagination. I understood her meaning; life is short. Live for the moment and take pleasure in it while you can. I took my seat, and Gregory's hand.

"This has been fun, hasn't it?"

"Absolutely, most fun all summer!" He was beaming.

"Well then, let's keep it up all afternoon, why don't we?" I don't know where I thought our game would lead, I don't know where he imagined it might go, but the fantasy was all the more intoxicating in the afterglow of the wine.

"I need to pick up some new clothes for fall, and I'd like my boyfriend's opinion on my choices." I said as I rubbed his hands in mine. "Want to come to a fashion show?"

Once I explained it wasn't a "real" fashion show, he happily said "yes". He paid our bill, just as promised, and I pointed him towards a fashion boutique in the village I had not yet frequented. They were known for their attention to current fashion trends, and for their exquisite lingerie.

It was a corner store on a busy street in the village shopping district. A smaller store, the size of a mid-size "Starbucks" with two floors; day-wear on the first and intimates on the second. It was mid-afternoon, the slowest period of the day, and there were only one or two customers on the first floor attended by two saleswomen; the owner and her employee. It was sparsely merchandised, with few fixtures and most of the clothing hanging on racks in softly-lit cubby spaces. In the back of the store, two dressing rooms were ensconced in a private mirrored viewing space, so that the customer could view herself from all angles. A small loveseat sat against a wall, so a friend or partner could appreciate the customer's fashion show in privacy and comfort.

The ambience was one of quiet elegance and the sound of soft easy-listening music wafted through the floor. It was an era when culture, retail or otherwise-didn't automatically defer to youth culture as it does today, as though there were some sin in aging or adopting more adult, sedate tastes. This was a store for women; there was no "juniors" department.

That alone made Gregory uncomfortable, as though being the only male in the shop wasn't enough. The owner greeted us as we entered, welcomed us to her boutique and asked if we'd ever been there before. I said we hadn't, and she promised us a pleasant shopping experience, and asked if we'd like a cup of tea, coffee or a glass of wine. Naturally, she asked if there was something specific we were looking for, and I replied, " I'm looking for something new for fall, as well as a few intimates...", subtlety indicating Gregory as he stood behind me.

Smiling, she assured me there would be a number of things to choose from and began to show us around the shop. Despite his relative youth and inexperience, Gregory had an eye for women's fashion and together with the owner, we chose a number of different garments for me to try.

"The gentleman has good taste", she opined, smiling at me knowingly, "...in more than just fashion."

" Thank you" I responded. "I like to think so."

Having chosen a few things, I took them to the dressing room. The owner showed me the way, and directed Gregory toward the loveseat in the sitting room; "Please make yourself comfortable. Let me bring you a cup of coffee..."

Seventies fashion tends to get a bad rap these days; all polyester, loud colors and plaids, mismatched colors and textures; but I loved flares and hip-huggers. Form-fitting stretch-knits revealed just enough, but not too much, unlike those leggings girls wear today. I don't know how they get away with those things, it's like they're wearing nothing at all. Clothes then gave you room to move, and were comfortable without giving the appearance you were just coming from the gym.

I really did need new clothes for the Fall, and so much of what I chose was practical everyday clothing.Tunic tops, button down blouses, wrap shawl sweaters weren't the stuff a young man's dreams were made of, even in those days, but Gregory sat politely as I tried a number of things on. His attention was more focused when I asked his opinion on pants, anything that showed off my greatest asset he took very seriously. I did my best modeling routine for him, and I loved to watch his eyes as I turned before him, hands on my hips, striking a mock-sexy pose.

I was beginning to get the hang of "modeling", and still feeling the buzz from the wine, I became slightly more daring with every outfit.

As a lark, I had chosen a halter-top jumpsuit from a summer sale rack; not of the disco variety which would appear around the time of "Saturday Night Fever", but a cotton-blend, something for everyday.

Still, it was backless, and low-cut, revealing of my cleavage and it hugged my rear end in the most flattering way. A large black and white chevron pattern was hypnotizing as it traversed the curves of my figure. My hair lay softly on my bare shoulders. I looked stunning, if I do say so.

Gregory had never seen me in anything quite so revealing before, and his jaw fell to the floor as I paraded before him, ensuring he took in every inch of my bare flesh. I knew what I was doing to him, and I reveled in his lustful gaze, at one point proudly leaning over him as he squirmed on the sofa, showing off my ample cleavage and asking if he approved.

My inhibitions were swiftly succumbing to the buzz from the wine and my growing arousal; I was excited by his attention and what I obviously inspired in him. I wondered if he was hard, and wished nothing more than to place my hand on his crotch. I decided it was the right time to raise the temperature a few degrees, and handing my choices to the saleswoman, I suggested we go upstairs to the intimates department.

I took Gregory's hand as we followed the owner up the stairs. "Having fun?"

The look on his face was that of a wide-eyed child in a candy-shop. " You bet!" He responded breathlessly.

"Just wait..." I teased. "...you haven't seen anything yet!" I was having the time of my life.

The second floor was quiet, and aside from the owner, we had the department to ourselves. This was long before the days of "Victoria's Secret", and for the most part, lingerie departments at that time were more reserved. The emphasis was on everyday, rather than on the bedroom, and in a boutique like this one, the garments tended to the conservative side. But there was no dearth of pretty things, bras and panties, lace and frills, and after pointing out the necessaries our saleswoman gestured toward the area where I might find an assortment of luxurious "sleepwear".

There was a private dressing room in the back, mirroring the one on the first floor, with a mirrored anteroom and loveseat for customers' lucky guests. While I browsed the merchandise and picked a number of things to try on, the saleswoman showed Gregory to the loveseat, and tried to calm his nerves with a glass of wine, and then politely left us to ourselves.

Just as I was in need of a new Fall wardrobe, I was also in need of new undergarments, and I chose a number of ordinary bras and panties for everyday wear. But for the love of it, and Gregory's entertainment, I chose a delightful array of satin and lace I hoped would ignite his imagination.

In the privacy of the dressing room, I tried on a few of the more "utilitarian" items for size and comfort and placed the ones I wanted on the small bench therein. Then I slipped into a black satin lace bra and panty set and a matching thigh-length sheer kimono, arranged my hair provocatively over my shoulders, took a deep breath and stepped out into the anteroom where Gregory was waiting.