The Snooper

"You're a depraved fucking bitch," my mother spat. It came out of her on a rush of venom. My mother stared at my gran with such spite in her eyes I thought she was about to jump forward and claw at her face. "You nasty, dirty, filthy fucking cunt, my other added a second before she looked over to me. "What are you doing? What are you thinking, you mental old cow? Your grandson? Do you know how fucking sick that is?"

"Tara," my grandmother said on a croak. "It isn't like that," she added, shaking her head. "It ... it isn't nasty or dirty."

My mother barked a laugh.

"Oh, trust me, it so fucking-well is. Want to put it to the test, mother? Want to call up one of your friends and ask what they think about you bending over for your own flesh-and-blood? How many friends do you think you'd have left if they found out about what you've been doing?"

My grandmother's face sagged, her mouth hanging slack.

"God, you wouldn't," she mumbled, eyes filled with fear.

It hung there between them while I stood by and let it all happen. I suppose I could have tried to give my grandmother at least a little support. After all, to my mind it was all my fault. If I hadn't been sneaking around I wouldn't have found the dildo and porn. Then I wouldn't have laid on her bed and given rise to my grandmother's suspicions. In turn, she wouldn't have set up the camera. None of it would have happened. Our lives would have gone along a different path and we'd be doing something else on that late afternoon. If I'd been able to put my grandmother's breasts to the back of my mind, or at least just kept it all at a fantasy level, this hideous confrontation wouldn't be unfolding before my eyes and ears. I wouldn't be seeing my mother's eyes shooting bullets of hate at my gran.

The word incest would have gone unuttered between them.

"The only reason I wouldn't say anything is because of the scandal." My mother said it and then sucked in a deep breath. She let it out and most of the poison seemed to flow out with it. "But how could you do it?" she said on a sigh. "Why did it happen?"

My grandmother threw a look over to me.

"Shall I put the kettle on, Tara?" she asked. "Take a minute to calm down. At least try to get over the shock. You could go into the living room? You and Jason. I'll make some tea and bring it in."

I didn't really want to be alone with my mother. I was beginning to recover from the awful surprise and the shame was already hot in my face as it twisted my innards.

My mother had that slump-shouldered, deflated and slumped air of defeat. It was like all the fire had suddenly gone out of her when she blinked towards my gran.

"I ... I don't know if I can stand to be in the same room as either of you," she said. "Even the same fucking house," she added, with a deep sigh.

"Tara, go into the living room," my grandmother said.

I heard the steel in her tone, as did my mother because she blinked again, mouth opening in response.

"You too, Jason," my grandmother added. "Both of you go. Try to calm down. There has to be a way through this."

"You're fucking tapped in the head if you think this can be fucking fixed," my mother snapped. "But make the fucking tea. I have to hear what fucking bullshit you're going to come up with, mother. I'll at least listen to whatever fucking crap you've got to say. After that, I probably won't ever be speaking to you again."

My grandmother looked aghast.

"Tara!" she said.

"Fuck off, mother," my own mother replied. "Don't try to boss me around. Not now. Not after I've seen cum on the floor and your fucking knickers on the kitchen fucking table. Just don't, okay!"

My grandmother demurred.

"I'm sorry," she said, eyes downcast. "Oh, God, I'm so humiliated..."

My mother rolled her eyes and said, "Make the tea." Then, to me, she added a stern, "Come on, Jason. Let's get out of here."

I was surprised at the tone of her voice and threw a glance at my gran. It sounded as though my mother didn't hold me responsible for any part of the affair. It seemed like the blame was squarely set elsewhere and I was in no way accountable.

My grandmother must have noticed it too because she shrugged and pulled a face when my mother turned and went towards the door, her expression suggesting she was just as bewildered as me.

Go, my grandmother mouthed. She shooed me away with the backs of her fingers, flicking them at me while she looked towards where my mother was turning back to urge me to follow.

"Jason," my mother snapped. "I said, come on."

***

"You didn't mean it, did you?" my mother said.

We were on the sofa. I was up against one arm with two spaces between us while I tried to make sense of the situation. It seemed strange to be in such a familiar place with so many pleasant associations attached – Christmas, birthdays, happier times – while still coming to terms with the sin I'd committed. I couldn't look at my mother, my eyes instead moving over the photos of us as a family. I looked at the piano which I'd never once heard being played. I took in the big TV and the glass-topped coffee table, the bookcase, the window and the other sofa opposite the one in which we were seated.

"It was all her, wasn't it, Jason," my mother insisted.

With great reluctance, I dragged my gaze to her face.

"I ... I don't know," I said on a groan. "Mum, I'm sorry. I don't know what to say. I don't know what you're thinking. You must hate me."

"I don't hate you, Jason," she said. "You're only nineteen. You're too young to put up any resistance if a horny old tart gives you the come-on. I know what young men are like."

Regardless of how sorry I felt for myself, I still wondered just what she meant by that remark. What did my mother know about young men? What was she saying, exactly?

"I don't know why," my mother was saying. "But she must have offered it to you. I can't think of any other way you two would end up...

"Well, doing that in the kitchen," she added after a pause.

"It's my fault, mum," I said.

She twisted her ump in the seat to regard me face-on.

"I don't see how, Jason." My mother frowned at me. "No," she said, "I don't see how this can be any fault of yours."

"I did things," I told her, anxious and edgy. "I ... I snuck in here and snooped around. I found some ... personal stuff. I was bad, mum. You can't blame gran. It was me."

"She's almost sixty, Jason. You're only nineteen. She has to be the one to take the blame. No matter what the circumstances were, she's older and has a lot more experience in life. She should know better. No," my mother repeated, emphatic. "I'll keep saying it – none of it can be down to you."

"Kettle's on," my grandmother said as she entered the room. "Just give it a minute."

"I told her it was all my fault," I blurted to my grandmother.

"And I've said it doesn't matter about what happened," my mother put in with a sigh. "I blame you, mother."

My grandmother sat down on the opposite sofa. Her throat worked as she looked down at the carpet.

"Do you know what he did?" my grandmother asked, her face coming up.

My mother shrugged and pulled a face like it wasn't important or she just didn't care.

"He masturbated on my bed," my grandmother said. "He used my underwear to catch his muck."

My mother sucked in air, her gaze on my face.

"Jason!" she cried.

"Oh, shit, I'm so so sorry..." I stared at my mother and then looked at my gran. "For everything."

"How do you know what he did?" my mother asked. "Did you catch him, or something?"

My grandmother didn't reply for a second or two.

"Well, not exactly," she said.

"What the fucking hell does that mean?"

My grandmother winced in response to her daughter's tone.

"I saw him, but not because I caught him at it. When I suspected he was mucking about in my room, I set up a camera."

"You filmed it?"

My grandmother closed her eyes and, face blushing red, nodded in response.

"I just had to be sure what it was I'd be accusing him of," my grandmother said. "I mean, what if I'd been wrong? What if there'd been another explanation about why my bed wasn't made the way I do it? What if someone else had been in there?"

"You filmed it," my mother said to herself. It came out on a sigh as she slowly shook her head and looked down at the floor. "Do you still have it?" she asked.

My grandmother blinked and pulled a face.

Surprised at the question, she said, "Well, yes. It's all still on the camera's memory card."

"Show me," my mother insisted.

"No!" I cried at the same time my grandmother blurted out a refusal.

My mother stayed quiet for several long seconds.

Then she came out with, "Okay, have it your way. You can forget the tea, mum. I'm going to leave now. I never want to see or speak to you again. We're done. But I'll be passing the word around about what you two have been doing. I fucking promise you that, lady."

"But what about Jason?" my grandmother squeaked. "You'll ruin his life. Jesus, Tara, please. You can't do that."

I fucking can and I will," my mother replied. "Unless you show me proof he did that stuff."

"Why do you need to see it?" my grandmother asked. "Can't you just trust me?"

It was the wrong thing to say. It gave my mother the perfect blade to stick into my grandmother's side.

"Trust you," she scoffed. "Like I could trust you with my son? Like I could trust you not to drop your drawers and push your big floppy cunt into his face?"

The word shocked my grandmother enough for her to call out my mother's name.

"God, that's so bloody offensive," my grandmother hissed.

"So's you fucking my son," my mother shot back. "Show me the fucking video. I want to see it with my own eyes. I refuse to believe he's responsible for any part of this. But show me. And do it quick or I'm gone and my mouth will be flapping."

"Jason ... Oh, God," my grandmother said to me. "I'm sorry. I have to."

And I knew she did. What other choice was there?

Three

"Can I come in?"

I looked at the door and thought about it.

"I don't know," I called. "What are you going to do?"

The door opened. Her fingers curled around the open edge just before her head and one shoulder appeared. She looked at me. Timid. Like she was scared.

I stared right back at her and wondered what was going to happen next. Was she angry at me? Ashamed? Disappointed?

All of the above?

It went on for a time, the looking at one another.

Eventually, she spoke.

"Jason ... Shit," my mother sighed. She stepped fully into my bedroom. "What a pickle, huh?"

I thought that was a bit of an understatement, but didn't make any response. I just sat on my bed, right up near the pillows and kept a wary eye on my mother.

She took a pace forward. Came a couple of feet closer.

My mother sighed again, then said, "I saw it."

I winced and felt my insides lurch. Closed my eyes because I couldn't stand to look at her face.

"Oh," I said.

"Why did you do it?" she asked.

It was my turn to sigh. I let out a long lungful of air and shrugged.

"I don't know anymore," I said. Then I opened my eyes and stared right at her to add, "Do you hate me now?"

Her voice was subdued when she said, "No, Jason. I don't hate you. How could I hate you? You're my son."

A wave of just how hideous the situation was rolled over me. I groaned and shook my head as though I could just shake it all loose.

"But you must be ashamed of me. God, mum, I can't believe what we've been doing. It's all so incredible. It ... it feels like a dream."

"I expect it's more like a nightmare for you now, Jason."

I nodded quickly to that.

"Yeah," I said, looking down at my bed. "What are you going to do? Will you tell anyone? Do I have to move out or anything?" Then it occurred to me to ask, "Huh-how's gran?" I stammered it out, ashamed at myself for letting my grandmother slip from my mind. So much for love.

My mother asked if she could sit down. I blinked in response and tried to think of a way to refuse, but, in the end, as I scooted up closer to the head of the bed, I just nodded and shrugged.

"Thank you," she said, the bed dipping when she sat at the foot. "No, I'm not going to say anything to anybody, Jason." My mother held my stare as the relief rushed through me. That was one plus point at least, I supposed. "Why would I bring it all out into the open?" she asked.

"What you said before–"

She thrust in with, "I was angry, Jason. I wanted to hurt you and her. That was all. I would never be able to destroy my own son that way. Even if you did deserve it," she finished.

I cringed and gulped, concerned she'd changed her opinion about who was to blame after seeing what I did on my grandmother's bed.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled. It seemed to me like that was the only thing I'd been saying for the past four or five hours.

My mother waved a hand at me.

"That's by-the-by, Jason," she said. "I understand how sorry you are. But you wouldn't be sorry if you hadn't been caught. If I hadn't walked in and seen you together ... God, her underwear on the table and ... and ... and your semen on the floor..."

The knife twisted inside me again and I groaned at the reminder.

"Mum, please," I muttered, the slightest flicker of anger rising inside me.

"Shit, I never imagined I could have a conversation like this with you," she said. "And don't look at me like that, Jason. I'm not the one who's been up to no good."

Her tone and expression cooled my ire. I sighed and nodded without saying a word.

"Do I have to leave?" I asked.

"No, of course you don't."

"Okay, thanks."

"And your grandmother's at home feeling very sorry for herself. She was upset and crying, Jason. She didn't want me to see the film. She says she feels so awful. She's beside herself with worry and the guilt is eating her up."

"I should go and see her–"

My backside was already off the bed when my mother leaned in and pushed me back down.

"Don't you fucking dare," she hissed, the smoke almost billowing out of her nostrils. My mother's eyes flashed fire and ice as she said, "I want the bitch to suffer a little more yet, Jason. Don't you bloody-well dare go and see her. I'll go spare if I know you two are alone together. I couldn't stand to think of you..."

My mother stopped talking, her eyes fixed upon me while her mouth opened and closed. Then she slumped down round-shouldered, her gaze fixed on the floor at some midpoint between the bed and the door.

"Just let her be for a day or two, Jason," my mother said on a mumble. "Let me get used to this new situation. It was a hell of a shock. I'm still trying to get my head around the whole bloody mess. I need time to get things sorted inside." She tapped a forefinger at her temple and went on to add, "It's all a bit crazy."

I knew how that felt. My head was messed up as well and, regardless of my concern for my grandmother, I nodded at my mother and told her I'd do as she said.

"Good," she said, apparently both pleased and relieved.

"So, now what?" I asked.

My mother looked at me and flicked a glance to the ceiling. She let out a sigh and shook her head.

"We try to be normal," she said. "You try to get on with your uni work, I'll open the salon tomorrow, as usual. We let it settle and try to get past it. But you can't ever be with her that way again."

"And gran?" I asked, because I had to. "Will you ever talk to her again?"

"I don't know what I'm going to do about her. I can't think about her without seeing that video thing in my head. If I think about her, I keep seeing you and her together ... Doing it, Jason."

My mother left me not long after that. I stayed in my room and kept turning everything over inside my head. The awful moment kept on playing in a hideous loop: the seconds in which it seemed my grandmother had almost convinced my mother she had it wrong, the quick rush of joy which crashed and burned when my mother spotted the cum on the floor and recognised it for what it was.

It dawned on me to check my phone. I could send a message to my grandmother at least. I could find out how she was and what she was thinking and feeling.

But, when I took my phone out of my pocket, I was disappointed to see there was nothing waiting from her. Then, when I keyed in a message and sent it, I didn't receive the expected notification the message had been delivered.

"Shit," I grunted, the anxiety curdling my guts.

***

It was dark outside. Had been for hours. I was in bed, under the cover, my ears tuned for any chime from my phone. I'd picked the thing up innumerable times to check if any message had by chance come through without the beep to alert me. But, as I'd known before I picked up the phone, there was no such message waiting for me.

I lay in bed and thought about the few hours until morning would force me into getting up and moving around. I'd have to do everyday stuff. Get on with things when all I wanted to do was go and see if my grandmother was all right. I made plans and scrapped them straight away. I thought I could just go and visit my grandmother's house while my mother was at her little shop in the precinct. Then I considered I'd probably only get caught. My mother wouldn't trust me to stay at home and get on with my studies. She was bound to check up on me. She'd know and it would be awful all over again.

I was just laid there with my eyes open when I heard the subtle slide of the door opening.

"What?" I asked, puzzled and a little bit frightened.

Scenarios ran through my head in a quick and ridiculous rush. There was someone in the house; a burglar was creeping into my room; my grandmother had come because she couldn't take being apart.

A patch of shadow flitted across the room.

"Fuck! Who is it?" I cried in alarm.

"Me," she said, the bed dipping as she clambered aboard.

"Mum, what...?"

"Shush," she said, keeping her voice low and quiet. "Don't say a word, Jason. Not a single word."

"But–"

"No!" she snapped as she yanked back the cover. "I don't want to talk. I just have to..."

My mother fell silent as she climbed into bed alongside me.

Then she whispered, "Not a single word, Jason," her hand finding my cock.

I truly thought it was a dream. Being where I was, with her doing that had to be a by-product of the stress and upset. I'd drifted into slumber and now my head was mashing the events and trauma of the day and turning it into another surreal occurrence.

But it all felt so real. I could feel the heat of my mother's body, the shock when I realised she didn't have a stitch of clothing on. I could hear her soft whimpers and moans, her hand moving over my dick.

"I have to," she muttered. "God, I'm cursed..."

"Mum?" I grunted. "What?"

"Shh," she hissed. "Just let me do it. Don't say anything. I just want us to do what you did with her."

My mother moved around and climbed on top of me. My hands went to her waist of their own accord while she held my cock upright and lowered herself over the dome.

"Fuck," she groaned, taking half of my length. "it's good ... So fucking lovely."

My mother rose up and then slid back down. She took all of me in, her insides hot and wet around my girth. She paused and shifted her rump, knees on the bed while I squeezed her little tits with both of my hands.

"Oh, baby," she whimpered when she started to move.

Which is when the lust burst inside me and I gave up trying to make sense of what was happening. It felt divine to have her riding my cock. My hands moved over her body, tracing her curves, my mother's outline so different to her own mother's figure.

"Kiss me," I moaned, wanting the intimacy of my mother's tongue in my mouth.

"Oh, Jesus," she sighed. "What am I doing?"