The Cabin

Fascinated, she took the book to said chair. The woman was very pretty, about her age, with long, dark hair. Her expression radiated joy. She was wearing a dress that looked like it was from the 70s with her hands folded in her lap. The photo was attached to the page by little corner flaps, so Amy gently pulled it up to check the back. She found a handwritten note 'Me, 1970'. Whoever 'me' was.

The next page had two photos, another of the woman standing at the counter in the cabin, and one of a man. He was much younger than she was, possibly her son? They had similar faces. He was handsome, with a quirky grin, and was sitting on the bed, with the same quilt that lay there now. His hand was on the cover as if urging someone to join him. The photo had 'Josh, 1970' written on the back.

The next few pages were of scenes around the cabin, without people, and without notes on the back. The ground was clear cut, the cabin looked new in one picture, with a note on the back that said, 'Uncle's new cabin, 1970'.

The last two photos made Amy gasp. The first was of the young man, outside of the cabin, totally nude, with an erection jutting from a thatch of dark hair at his groin. He was smiling, clearly proud of his displayed manhood, but also at ease, as if he did it all the time. Amy felt her cheeks heat up as she stared at the picture, unable to keep from examining the healthy, erect penis with interest. She'd never have had the nerve to get a nude photo developed, but the 70s were different times.

The last photo was of the woman. She was sitting in the stuffed chair, but her dress was pulled down, exposing her breasts and what was obviously a pregnant belly, hands laid on top of it. She had the same bright look of love on her face. Amy examined the woman's nudity with no less interest, taking in the large, dark nipples on heavy breasts.

Next she pulled the picture of naked Josh from the page, turning it over. It said, 'A proud papa, 1971'. So, that's how it was. The couple had come here to live and start a family. To start anew, or to be away from people who might judge their relationship based on age difference?

The final photo, of the topless woman, had a note in different handwriting, 'My Mom, Peggy, 1971' on the back. Amy felt a chill go through her as she flipped it over to look at the pregnant woman again. Mom? She compared the photos of the couple, again seeing the resemblance. Could it be? An incestuous relationship had led to them fleeing to this remote place to be alone?

Heart beating quicker at the shocking find, Amy's mind went down a rabbit hole trying to understand what might have led to a mother being with her son. She looked at the photos of Peggy again, trying to read the mind of a fellow mother. What could have led her to this? What possible motivation could have let her start down that path? Amy's slippery brain snuck in an image before she could stop it, of Josh and Peggy making love in the bed that she had shared with Chris the night before. Amy slapped the album closed, face burning. The unbidden image had her tingling below.

She looked around, seeing the cabin with fresh eyes. The two chairs took on a loving veneer when she put the mother and son in them, eating together. The empty hooks on the walls displaying...art? Family photos? The bed, previously innocent, now the location of incestuous coupling.

Chris' 'morning glory' flashed before her eyes, taking on a new meaning of its own. How many times had the mother and son woken in a similar situation? How many times had they woken and made love, right there in that bed? How had that slat broken?

Filled with new purpose, Amy put the album back under the mattress and left the cabin, determined to find a suitable branch to fix the bed. Hopefully she could prevent the sagging, and give her and Chris a bit of breathing room...and erectile expansion room.

The crisp air, laden with moisture, seemed to wake her up as she exited the small room. She was being silly. Even if the photos were of a sinful couple, it didn't mean anything to the situation she found herself in now with Chris. She'd find a branch to fix the bed because it was more comfortable, not because there was anything she needed to be wary of.

She gave a call out for her son and listened, but nothing came back. He'd gone further than she asked. Determined to admonish him when he came back - what if she needed him - she went down the drive to find a likely spot to hunt for a long branch.

***

An hour later, Amy arrived back at the cabin with a branch sturdy enough to take up the slack under the mattress. She wanted to install the limb before Chris got back, so she could keep the album hidden. No need to show him that.

When she entered the cabin, she spotted the mattress rolled to one side, and a branch similar to hers in place of the broken slat. Chris was in the chair, slowly flipping through the album.

"Oh. You found it," she sighed. Oh well, at 19 he was old enough, she supposed.

"Yeah," he said. His face was red, and he quickly closed it. He'd been on the final page showing the nudity. Maybe he hadn't seen the notes on the back?

"Guess we know who used to live here," she said, dragging her branch to the bed. She added hers to the one Chris brought, and when she rolled the mattress back it was no longer sagging in the middle.

"Crazy. I wonder when they left?"

"Maybe after the baby was born? I don't see them lasting too long in this small space."

"Maybe," he agreed. "What do you think they meant by 'My Mom'?"

"I don't know...maybe he meant soon to be mom of his baby." Amy desperately hoped he would drop the subject.

"Kind of a weird way to put it. Sounds like it's literally saying that is his mom."

"I guess."

"So, what do you think the 'proud papa' bit means?"

Amy laughed, trying to ease the tension in her chest. "I don't know, Chris, it's just a few photos from decades ago. Probably an inside joke."

"Yeah, I guess so." Chris closed the album, taking one last long look at the topless woman. He put it aside and said, "I'm going for a walk. I want to try another trail, the last one just ended at a stream. Probably a deer trail."

"Okay. I think I'll read a bit. Come back when you get hungry."

Amy grabbed one of the books she brought and loaded the stove with wood before curling up in the chair. She tried her best to concentrate on the story, but found her mind wandering to the mystery of the couple. Had they been mother and son? Was her imagination going wild?

She did her best to fix it in her mind that they weren't related, and their relationship was just a normal one, full of joy and laughter. It helped, and soon she was deep into her book. She shifted on the chair a few times over the next hour, trying to get comfortable. It was like the broken slat had ended up in the chair, under her butt.

Eventually hunger drove her from her book and her attempt to get comfy, so she went to the food boxes to pull together a lunch.

Coincidentally, Chris came back with a load of wood in his arms right when she'd finished preparing some sandwiches. He stacked it on the diminishing pile and fed a few logs to the stove.

"Just in time," Amy said, handing him his plate.

"Thanks, Mom," he said, sitting down to eat.

"How was your walk?"

"The second trail goes much further than the first, but I think it's still just a game trail. I did some exploring but there's really nothing out here."

"Do you want to play some cards after lunch?" she asked.

"Sure. It's starting to rain again anyways."

Right on cue, the thunder of falling water built on the roof, making it hard to talk without raising their voices. Chris ran for some water from the well, while Amy got out the cards. It sounded like the rain was going here for a while.

The card games went on for a while, with laughter and teasing, jeers and cheers as mother and son managed to evenly split the wins. The rain didn't let up one bit the entire time, but Amy didn't mind. The warmth of the stove and company kept her content, and she forgot entirely about the photo album and what it suggested.

When they were done with cards, Chris lay on the bed, playing on a handheld game system, while she went back to the chair to read by the light coming in the windows. She allowed the electronics, as he didn't normally like books, and knew he'd run out of juice if he played very long.

Amy ended up squirming on the chair after a while. Something about it just wasn't comfortable, despite the lush padding and strong structure. She tried to fluff the cushion under her butt to get more padding and found a rigid lump on the side where she expected softness. No wonder it got to be a pain to sit in it for long. Reaching under the cushion, she thought maybe there was a piece of wood poking up, but her questing fingers found a textured surface, similar to the photo album. Taking a good grip, she lifted her butt and pulled, eventually dragging a small book from under the cushion.

Examining the small volume, it had 'Diary' on it in similar gold writing to the Memories album. Opening it to the first page, she found it covered in a tidy script with the date 'June 7, 1970' written at the top. On the inside cover of the diary was the name Peggy Grant written in the same hand.

Amy looked behind her to see if Chris had noticed, but he was still engrossed in his game. She turned back to the diary, reading the first few words.

I don't know if anyone will read these words. My name is Peggy Grant, and I'm 38 years old, and I am my son's lover. It feels funny to write the words down in permanent ink, for if anyone were to find it, we would surely be censured by the locals, if not run out of town entirely.

After such a bold statement, I would guess I should explain myself. I gave birth to my son, Josh, 19 years ago. The story of his growth into the man he is now is worth telling, but I won't place it in these pages. Instead, I will attempt to explain how we ended up where we are, and why I think our relationship should be celebrated instead of criticized. Everything I have done has been driven by my love for my son. Read on, if you would know my mind.

Curious beyond measure what the possible justification could be for incest, Amy read on.

First I have to go back to a year ago, when I first saw Josh in the full flush of manhood. He and I were washing at a stream while on a walk, and he took his shirt off. I noticed right away his impressive chest, and strong arms. What woman would not? It was as if I was seeing him for the first time with new eyes. I drank in the sight, glad that he had grown up well. He'd make a fine partner some day.

I was splashing myself with water around the neck and face, to remove the sticky sweat of our walk, and got a little too enthusiastic with my washing. I ended up drenching my shirt, which then got plastered to my chest. Josh happened to look over and smiled. I thought at first it was amusement at my appearance, but I soon saw that his appreciation was going in a different direction. I looked down first at his groin, and then at my chest, to see my nipples thrusting proudly through the thin fabric of my shirt, just as his erection was through his pants. It flustered me, and I started the next portion of our walk without saying anything to him.

Later, after the walk, we headed home and I felt Josh's eyes on me every step of the way, as if he had discovered a new fascination, which I suppose I was. Over the next few days, I would often see him examining me from afar, evidence of his pleasure obvious. I gathered the courage to ask him about it, and he admitted he couldn't help it. Even as we spoke, his erection again grew between us.

I asked if this was going to continue forever, and he claimed he didn't know. He explained that his eyes were perpetually drawn to me, and his state was the result. It was hard to meet his eyes during this explanation, for they were filled with such admiration I felt myself blush.

After a time, Josh started to complain about soreness in that same area. He claimed that he was so happy to see me that it was hurting now when he got aroused. I was surprised by his confession, but his distress seemed genuine.

I sought advice on the situation. First off, my mother.

Amy shifted in the chair, feeling a warmth growing in her pussy from the text, and read on.

I knew my mom would have advice, as she had advice for every situation. I explained what was going on with Josh, and as expected, she claimed to know exactly what to do. She told me that young men had urges which needed to be satisfied. If they were not, pain could result, but only in times of extended arousal. The only way to ease the pain was to quell their urges. Once they were 'satisfied', the pain would be gone. I asked her how he could quell his urges if self-pleasure was a sin? She told me it was a mother's duty to care for her children.

The implication was clear, and I was shocked to my core. I left almost in tears.

Confused by what seemed like poor advice, I went to my Aunt Mary. She had given me some excellent guidance on the eve of my marriage to George, and I hoped she would have some now.

Amy's eyes opened wide at the revelation that there was, or had been, a husband in the story. Josh must have come from somewhere, but where was George in 1970?

Aunt Mary just smiled when I told her of my predicament, and told me it would all sort itself out once Josh became a man and found himself a woman, but in the meantime he would have to be handled differently. I told her what my mom said, and she agreed that it was a mother's duty to do anything she could to keep her children happy. I noted the difference between what my mother and aunt thought were a mother's duties, but supposed the end result was the same.

I was getting concerned that the only advice I would receive would be incestuous, but forged on to my last visit: my grandmother.

Nanna laughed when I'd finished filling her in and asked me how I thought my father had gotten his first education in the ways of love. It was a mother's task to guide and teach their men in all ways, including love.

I was very unsure of myself by the time I got home that night. I had gotten the same advice, with three different motives. George was out, but Josh was there, watching some television. He stood up to greet me with a hug. That was when I felt it against me, pressing into my belly - his ever-present erection.

I tried to scold him again, but it failed to make an impression, as he confessed his admiration for me once again, despite the pain it caused him. Not sure at all that I was doing the right thing, I took Josh by the hand to his bedroom.

Despite my current happiness, writing out these words makes my cheeks burn with shame.

I told him that if his erection was taken care of, the pain would stop and we could go back to being mother and son. To that end, I tugged at his pants, dropping them to his ankles, and stopped my mind long enough to take hold of him...down there. He was impressively hard in my hand! I steeled my nerves and tugged at him, urging him to let go. In what felt like no time he was spending himself in my hand. I left him there, red faced and smiling, to go wash away the evidence of what I'd done. Crisis averted! At least, so I thought.

Amy was starting to have trouble reading the cursive writing, and lifted her head to see the light from the windows was dimming. She thought about getting the lantern and reading more, but realized it was time to prepare some dinner. She reluctantly stood, with the diary next to her book, and surreptitiously placed them both in her bag. No need for him to read about incest!

As she prepared a cold dinner, her mind swirled with thoughts of Peggy's confession. She had a hard time imagining a mother doing what she had done, but she'd also never been in her situation. Had Chris ever found himself in pain like Josh had?

Dinner by the lantern light was quiet. Their first full day hadn't been as dull as she feared, as the discovery of the album and diary had certainly spiced it up, but she was sure Chris was going to be bored out of his tree by the end of their 'ordeal'.

After dinner they once again kept the lantern time short, and yet neither were eager to head to bed so early. Amy wished she could read more of the diary but knew she'd get too many questions if she pulled it out. Instead, she took a chair out to the porch again, sitting and listening to the rain in the dark, watching the last of the day fade away.

The words in the diary came back to her, about what Peggy had done to help Josh, despite the situation not being of her making. It sounded so backwards, and she wondered if the reason the women gave such odd advice was generational or regional. Any new info would have to wait for the next day.

In the meantime, she felt like she might be ready for bed. She poked her head in the door. "Hey, are you ready for bed? Let me know when you're changed and we can swap."

A few minutes later, they'd swapped and Amy was dragging her bundled up PJs from her bag. She quickly changed into her bottoms, glad she'd brought full length pants for warmth. When her shirt and hoodie were stripped off she removed her bra as well, but only long enough to get some relief. Despite having worn one for over 24 hours, she didn't want to sacrifice the warmth...and a darker part of her felt it was better to wear it when sharing a bed with Chris, though she'd never have expressed it out loud. She once again took a minute to massage her breasts, noting her nipples standing up firm and proud. They echoed the lingering tingling warmth in her puss from the diary earlier.

Before putting her bra back on, she pinched her nipples firmly, breathing deeply to avoid moaning. She was horny, she realized, and firmly turned her mind from how long it had been since she'd felt it.

Once changed, she called Chris back in, and they settled in for bed. The added branches did help, meaning they weren't pressed together quite so firmly, and the lingering warmth from the stove meant they were nice and toasty.

A few minutes later, she felt Chris start to move again, like he had the night before, occasionally poking her in the butt. Amy, annoyed, did her best to not say anything but when he didn't stop after a while, she huffed and asked, "How long?"

"Sorry," he muttered from behind her.

Unlike the night before, he didn't promise to stop anytime soon. He wasn't normally a fidgeter and his behaviour had her perplexed. Why couldn't he lie still, and why wouldn't he talk about it?

"Chris, seriously. What is it?"

"It's nothing."

Amy hit her breaking point. She rolled off the bed and stood up, turning to confront her son. "You need to tell me what is going on that prevents you from lying still, or I'll kick you to the chair." It was an empty threat, as she knew it wasn't an option with his size.

Without saying a word, Chris stood up from the bed. Amy thought he was going to go to the chair, but he just stood looking at her expectantly, his face red.

"What?" she asked, exasperated.

"I'm trying to get rid of this," he said, almost yelling.

"Huh?" Amy felt her brain lock up, trying to figure out what he meant, when he gestured down. She looked, and was presented with the same view as that morning. Lit by the glow of the stove was a clear and obvious erection making itself known to the world under the cloth of his PJs.

"Oh," she said, taking a step back, frustration forgotten. "Well. Um, okay." She looked up at his face, a safe spot for her eyes. "Uhh, can I help at all?" It was an automatic thing to say, a concerned mother offering assistance to her offspring, but she realized it might not be the most appropriate.