The Relief of Troy

Chapter 1. Early Days.

I was in a dilemma. It was not so much what had happened, as my reaction to it that was troubling. It had been almost nothing in itself, but…

…But I should begin at the beginning.

My name is Troy Cummings. Married – or I was – to Doctor Tony Cummings, General Practitioner Extraordinary, or at least, he thinks he is. He works in a group practice where I first met him when I was a young, newly graduated podiatrist.

Tony was handsome with a dynamic personality. He was the popular idol of the women patients, and the bane of his colleagues. I went for him in a big way and after a painful deflowering in his flat one night, and the resultant pregnancy, we married.

The romance had been so hurried I barely got to know him. It was after we got married I began to discover that beneath the scintillating exterior, lurked a man of straw.

Despite his being a doctor, Tony lacked sensitivity when it came to female needs. He was rough in the expression of his own sexual urges, and had no interest in fulfilling mine. I believe some women like this caveman approach, and while I don't mind some vigorous coupling, I do like to end up gratified.

It took only three years before Tony's sexual interest in me began to fade. It did not happen all at once, but gradually tailed off over the next couple of years until it reached vanishing point, at which time we agreed on separate bedrooms. I was not unhappy about this because when he had coupled with me he had constantly left me unsatisfied.

The decline in sexual interest on Tony's part seemed to coincide with the time I left the group practice, and set up in partnership with Pam, a girl I had become friendly with on the podiatry course. Like me, she was married and had a son. Her husband, Ben, also a doctor, worked in the same practice as Tony.

My son, Miles, was one of the things I had reason to be grateful to Tony for. Perhaps it might have been the same with someone else, but he inherited his father's good looks, but fortunately, not his character, if one could say that Tony had any character under that bright personality.

As far as Tony was concerned, Miles was a disappointment. He tried hard to draw him into his own interests, believing that he must "make a man of him". This meant taking him off to football matches. Tony was president of the local club and at the age of four Miles was carted off clad in a beanie, scarf and socks that sported the club colours of red and black.

Miles' response to these outings was at first one of disinterest that gradually turned to dislike. Tony grew angry when Miles said he did not want to go to the match, and made pointless comments like, "The boy's a bloody sissy."

The direction of Miles' interests started to emerge when he was five.

One day when Miles was playing with a toy train on the floor, I was listening to a piece of music by Bach. I had no idea Miles was listening to the music, but when it finished he said, 'That was pretty, Mummy'."

"Did you really like it?" I asked.

"Yes."

I was both surprised and gratified that he felt that way about so complex a musical piece.

At about age seven Tony gave up trying to draw Miles into his world of sport. Saturday afternoons became my special time with Miles. The State Festival Centre began to hold a series of concerts, plays and similar entertainment's mainly for children. They were called, "The Alternative to Sport."

Miles and I went along to many of these, and in addition, I took him to places of historical and natural interest.

The bond Tony had tried to make with Miles began to loosen, and Tony became less and less interested in the boy. I, on the other hand, found myself drawing closer to Miles.

Even when he was in my womb, I felt that I loved him. In the early stages of his life I tried hard to help him bond with his father. It was not my choice to be the main influence in his life and suffocate him with mother love. Once, however, it became clear that Miles was not going to follow in father's footsteps as far as sport went, and Tony lost interest, I not unwillingly took over.

When he was seven Miles decided that he loved me, and informing me of this important decision, announced that "When I grow up, mummy, I'm going to marry you."

I'd read my share of Sigmund Freud, and although he is out of fashion these days, I think he was onto something when he wrote that little boys have an erotic attachment to their mothers, and see their father as a rival. He goes on to reassure the reader, that all turns out well, because the boy learns that father is too powerful as a rival, so he eventually turns to other females to find his soul mate.

I therefore felt safe in responding to Miles' declaration by saying, "I'm sure that will be lovely, darling."

Chapter 2. Storm Signals.

As the years went past and Tony and I became increasingly two people in the same house but living separate lives, so the attachment between Miles and I grew.

Tony and I never went out together except when we had been invited to some social gathering, and we needed to put on a bit of a show of togetherness.

It was Miles and I who accompanied each other to concerts and theatre, or what Tony called, "Effeminate time wasting."

I sometimes thought that Tony's eyesight must be defective, as he evidently failed to see that Miles was growing into a more powerful version of himself, physically. With no particular interest in team sports, Miles took to track and field activities.

Miles did seem destined to follow his father's example and become a doctor. Yet, even this did not seem to spark any interest in Tony.

When Miles entered his teen years, doctor though he was, Tony left it to me to give the boy sexual instruction. This consisted mainly of information about contraceptives, and dire warnings about sexually transmissible diseases. Fortunately, the outrageously expensive school he went to had an excellent programme on sexual development, so I was saved the task of explaining some of the more intimate details.

In his early teen years, Miles and I went out increasingly together, but our roles began to change. From me taking him out, he became more akin to my escort. He noticed what I wore, how I had done my hair and whether or not I had too much makeup on.

He was inclined to comment on these matters, saying things like, "You are looking lovely tonight, mother." At first I assumed he was merely repeating what he had read in some novel, but after a while I began to understand he was serious, and found myself deliberately trying to make myself look attractive for him.

Then when he was sixteen, he started to change. He found reasons for not accompanying me and disappointed though I was, I assumed he had entered that Freudian stage of seeking other female company.

That he was engaging in some sexual activity became clear when, putting away some handkerchiefs in his drawer, I found a packet of condoms.

"Well, at least the boy is playing it safe," I thought. At the same time, I felt a pang of regret that my "little boy" was growing up.

I became somewhat alarmed when this growing up process started to include a widow living in the next street. I would have known nothing about it but for the local gossip. She said with an ingenuous smile, "Isn't it nice that Miles visits Mrs.Vawser so much. She must have been so lonely since Mr.Vawser passed away."

Ivy Vawser might be a widow, but she was also a lusty dyed blonde who married Tom Vawser who was fifteen years older than her. She was about eight years older than I was, and, I thought, a very dangerous woman where a young fellow like Miles was concerned.

Unsure how to tackle the situation, and not wanting to have Tony involved, I resorted to my partner, friend and confidant, Pam.

Over the years, Pam and I had shared many of our woes, especially the marital miseries. I now explained the situation to her, asking what she thought about it. To my amazement, she laughed.

"My dear Troy," she spluttered through her laughter, "Just be happy that Miles is probably getting some good sex therapy and training. Boys often go for older women because they feel safe with them, and they get a far more exciting time than with the young girls. Just think, he's having his sex in a nice comfortable bed, instead of the back of his car."

"You mean, I shouldn't try to do something…try to stop it?"

"What for? It will stop of itself eventually. Ivy Vawser isn't going to get pregnant, she'll see to that, and as for a longstanding relationship, she's more likely to be on the lookout for another well-off old guy. Miles may get a bit of a bump when she drops him, but that's all part of the learning experience."

I'm not sure when what Pam called the "bump" took place, but after about six months Miles ceased his evening journeys in the direction of Ivy's house, and returned to his role of escorting me.

He now did this with even more seriousness, and took to saving up his allowance and then blowing it on taking me to a restaurant for dinner before whatever concert or theatre we were going to. These restaurant visits were truly delightful, and were invariably candlelit affairs.

It was after one such evening that the first storm warning appeared. On arriving home and driving the car into the garage, I went to get out, when Miles took my hand and said, "Hold on. We never finish these evenings off properly."

Innocently I asked, "What do you mean, darling?"

"This," he said, and leaning across to me kissed me on the lips. In itself a kiss between Miles and I was nothing unusual, but this time it was the sort of kiss that confused me.

It was not a kiss one expects from a son. It was soft and a little moist, and held on just a bit longer than I expected.

Yet it was not the kiss alone that disturbed me, but my reaction to it. I felt myself blush and my nipples began to harden, and worse still, I actually began to get wet between the legs.

I got out of the car in bewilderment, and fleeing indoors ran straight to my bedroom.

Chapter 3. Sons and Mothers.

Over the years of Tony's sexual neglect of me, I had not been a completely virtuous wife. There had been two men, both of them married, and in the end, unwilling to break up their families. Even if they had been, I was also unwilling to break up with Tony until I was sure that Miles could stand on his own two feet. Apart from these two lovers, I resorted to masturbation to relieve myself of sexual tensions.

I had to masturbate now, and as I came, it was Miles who emerged as my fantasy.

Next morning, when Miles came into the kitchen for breakfast, he came over to me where I stood preparing something, and parting the hair at the back of my neck, pressed a gentle kiss, saying, "Good morning, my lovely mother."

I tried to behave in a manner I thought "normal," but have you ever tried to be normal in an abnormal situation? My legs began to shake, and I became clumsy in what I was doing, and dropped the bowl I was using, smashing it.

Miles went to help pick up the pieces, but I irritably brushed him aside. Of course, it was not him I was irritable with, but me. Why was I reacting like this simply because my son was getting…I didn't know what to call it, so I settled for, "over-friendly?"

I wanted to confide in Pam again, but she was out that day visiting patients in their homes. That evening with Miles engaged in some studies in his room, and Tony out on one of his mysterious "calls," I dragged out dear old Freud from the bookshelf.

I read the section where he writes about incestuous feelings of a son for his mother. Once more, I was assured that the son would eventually turn from the mother to find another sexual object. But that was only to deal with one side of the equation. I found little about mothers having incestuous feeling for their son, and as far as I was concerned, that was what had happened the previous evening.

Next day Pam was working once more in our consulting rooms. I poured out my troubles to her.

"Pam, Miles kissed me almost like a…a…a lover."

"Lucky you," Pam declared. "I wish my son would kiss me like that."

"Do you mean, you wouldn't mind?"

"Why should I?" she asked. "If my Ben doesn't bother to kiss me, or do anything else with me for that matter, why should I worry if a nice looking young chap wants to, even if he is my son."

"But…Pam…you don't mean…"

"Don't fancy doing a bit of son swapping, do you," she laughed.

"Pam, you mean you'd let your son have…get…have intimate…"

"I'll tell you the truth, Troy, and it won't be much help to you, but I'm not sure what I'd do if David tried anything with me. Look, we try hard to distinguish between different sorts of loving, but as you've found out for yourself, its not always easy to draw these artificial border lines."

"What am I going to do, Pam? I'm not so much afraid of what Miles might do, it's my response to it that frightens me."

"What you're saying Troy, is that you do really fancy him, and if he puts a bit more pressure on, you're going to give in."

"I don't know, Pam, I really don't know. Perhaps it's nothing at all. He was just having a bit of fun with me."

"Troy Cummings, how long does it take for you to wake up. Miles has been practically dating you years…"

"No, no. We've just gone to things together that's all…"

"For God's sake Troy, can't you see what's been happening? He goes off fucking Ivy Vawser, and why? My guess is she was a substitute for you. That comes to an end, and what happens, he goes back to taking you out and spending his allowance on candlelit dinners. Can't you see he's been behaving like a lovelorn Romeo?"

"If you can't do anything else, at least see things as they are. He wants you, and he's not going to stop wanting you. He may or he may not do much about it in a direct way, but if you open the door to him – or more accurately, your legs, he'll be in like a flash."

"You can stop him Troy by telling him 'no' very firmly. He's a lovely boy and I know he wouldn't do anything to hurt you, and one thing is certain, he's in love with you."

"With his own mother?"

"Why not, you are his mother, but you're also a very attractive woman. Why shouldn't he be in love with you? For God's sake Troy, get objective about yourself: lovely slim figure, a bust that would make Venus seem droopy, gorgeous hair and a face that makes Helen of Troy – ha, that's a coincidence – look ugly."

"You and Miles have been like a couple of peas in a pod ever since he was a child. And let's be frank, he's had not only his share of mother love, he's also had the love that your cripple-brained husband didn't want from you transferred to him. With all you've got and all you've given him, why wouldn't he want to fuck you?"

"Pam!"

"Sorry to be crude, Troy, but here's the boy wanting you and your complaining."

"It will pass, Pam, he'll get over wanting me."

In an exasperated tone, she went on, "Yes, he may get over wanting you, but will you get over wanting him? You want to be the abstemious martyr? The secular nun renouncing this world's temptations? Then go ahead. You don't want Miles? Then send him to me, I'll take care of his love problems for him."

"Pam!"

"I'm sorry Troy," she said quietly, "It's just that it makes me feel so frustrated, so envious. You have the chance of something beautiful with a fine young man, and all you can do is gripe about it."

I had always thought of Pam as strong, not easily subject to crying, but looking at her I saw her eyes filling, and the tears beginning to run down her cheeks. I put my arms round her and held her to me.

"Oh Troy," she sobbed, "it's so hard, so very hard…I've tried and tried…but Ben doesn't want…if only someone would love me like that…If David would…"

We stayed close together for a long time, but I could find no words for her comfort. I almost wished her son David would become her lover, to bring her some solace, some release, to give her the sort love she longed to give to him.

She had given me much to think about, but neither she, nor anyone else, could decide for me, if Miles made any further moves.

Chapter 4. A Gentle Caress.

Miles and I were not due to go out together for another week. It was to be a dinner only evening at a Restaurant with nothing to follow. As fate would have it, Tony was to be away that week. Miles and I would be alone in the house, and I thought to try to find some excuse for not going with him, but as he made no further amorous moves towards me, I dropped that idea.

On the evening we were due to go out, I was determined to make no special effort with my appearance, and I would be distant and aloof during the evening. However, in making preparations to go out, I found myself being more meticulous than ever. So much for resolve!

Very self-consciously, I went to where Miles stood waiting for me. He looked at me and gasped."

"Mother, you look absolutely stunning. I've never seen you look lovelier."

I felt the blood rush to my face and there was a ticking sensation in my clitoris. So much for any ideas I had about being aloof!

At the restaurant I could hardly eat. I felt as if there was a lump in my throat. When I tried to speak my voice seemed to croak and I was quivering all over. I started to silently pray to some unidentified deity, "Help me, please help me," without knowing what help I wanted.

I tried to determine what Miles was thinking and feeling. He seemed his usual gentle, caring self, his only anxiety being my failure to eat. Before the meal was completed, he suggested we should go home, as I seemed unwell.

Trying to delay the journey home and what might follow, I said I was really quite well, but not hungry, and urged him to complete the meal.

To make matters worse, seemingly unbidden my nipples began to harden, and there was an uncomfortable wetness between my legs. I was lubricating copiously and the panties I was wearing were that type that have little more than a little shred of cloth passing over my groin. I feared the fluid I was producing would stain my dress at the back, thus making visible what I was feeling when I stood up.

At last, the meal finished and we drove home. Miles was still concerned about my welfare, and I, perhaps foolishly, continued to reassure him on that score. Perhaps I should have told him I was feeling unwell?

We drove into the garage. I made to get out, but Miles took my arm and pulled me towards him. I wanted to say, "Please, don't darling," but the words would not form because in truth I wanted him to kiss me.

His lips were very soft and warm on mine. He was not forceful, but seemed to be gauging my response. If, in that moment, as our lips clung together, I had pushed him away, I think it would have ended the matter, perhaps forever. Instead, I yielded to him.

In the awkward environment of the front seat in a car, I slipped slowly down on my seat, with Miles coming over me. Our kissing, begun very delicately, grew in fervour until it rose to a fever, our tongues searching the recesses of each other mouths, tasting each other's saliva.

Finally we broke, breathing heavily. Mile spoke in a whisper:

"Mother, you do know how much I want…need you…don't you?"

"Yes, my darling, I know."

"I've wanted you for years…"

"It's all right Miles, I understand."

His hand was sensitively exploring my breasts through the cloth of my dress – so unlike the rough squeezing used by Tony that used to hurt me.

"I know it may sound mad, mother…you know I love you?"

"Yes, darling."

"It's crazy, but I don't just love you, I'm in love with you."

"That's beautiful, Miles." My words were a combined response to what he had said, and the tender way his hand had now reached down to stroke my vulva.

"Not here darling. Take me to bed…please." There had been three other men in my life; none of them had touched me in the gentle way Miles was now caressing me.