The Tailbone's Connected to the...

"Hey! Wait honey! Adam!"

I made to move off after him but was restrained by Stephie who grabbed my arm softly and whispered 'leave him be for a minute' while at the same time managing to direct a not so subtle kick into the groper's side.

Within a second or two I was being ushered to a barstool and for some weird reason being congratulated -- more than once for having such a faithful and caring son. I tried to focus on spotting my boy amid the crowd but couldn't see him, distracted anyway by watching three guys throwing the still gasping form of my former dance-partner out of the bar.

For five minutes I was surrounded with well-wishers trying to make sure that my over-zealous fan wouldn't spoil my evening, then another half an hour of well-wishers just enjoying the party. After three more hours I wasn't really looking too closely for Adam any more.

I must have arrived home after midnight and before dawn, but I wasn't exactly capable of sensible thought for a dozen or more hours after that. I noticed sometime during the morning that Adam had returned home himself but was lurking in his room -- and to be honest, I was happy for the peace while I tried to shrug off the worst of my hangover.

As my senses gradually returned to something like normal I realised that I needed to go find Adam and see what had made him run the previous night after -- rightly or wrongly -- standing up for me in such an untypical manner for him. I was just working up the courage to try standing unaided when he tried to sidle through to the front door, evidently hoping to miss my attentions.

"Adam?"

"Er, mum?"

"Come into the living room, please."

I could almost hear his feet dragging as he slumped into the room, "What?

"Charming, son of mine."

"Sorry, I mean what do you want?"

I pursed my lips and gave a small laugh, "Surely you know what I want to talk about?"

"I guess."

"You guess right. Listen, I'm not mad at you, okay?"

That got his attention raised. "You're not?"

"No. It was very gallant of you. Very unlike you, but very gallant. But you know I just have to ask the question?"

"What?"

"No, close, but wrong. It's 'why'?"

"Huh?"

"Adam," I sighed, "I could have stood up for myself, you know? And a lot more gently!"

"Mum, I just--"

I patted the sofa next to me, "Shush, and just come here and tell me why you thought you had to come bulldozing in and do that? And before you protest in any way, understand that I really was grateful however much of a surprise it was. So why do it?"

Adam sat but almost straight away tried to turn and stare out the window. I patted his shoulder, "Look at me, talk to me. Why?"

I didn't really think too much about his answer beforehand. I wasn't looking for anything other than maybe making sure he wasn't thinking that he's spoiled my evening. Finally he turned to me and surprised me all over again.

"Mum... he was touching you and leering at you and it just looked all wrong!"

"I wasn't asking for help just because he was pawing at me, you know?

"I know, but he had his hand right on your... your bottom and I know you don't know him!"

I gave a little laugh, "Adam, for someone -- you -- who had his own hands on my butt twice in the last couple of weeks, that's not a great excuse is it?"

"Oh mum! That's not the same at all!"

I was surprised by the sudden rise in pitch of his voice, and even more surprised by what seemed to be almost panic in his tone, "Hey, honey. I didn't mean you were touching me up as well!"

"Well I wasn't was I? I wasn't even going to touch you there or even look too close!"

"Okay, okay, it's fine, I know that."

"I promise I never thought I'd even be lucky enough to see you like that let alone touch....oh fuck!"

He was out of the room before I could even close my shocked jaw. Lucky?

*****

I never moved as Adam dashed out of the house and didn't even leave the sofa all the time I chatted to Stephie on the phone, finally understanding all that she'd been talking about, hinting over. I spent half an hour amid the cushions even after I hung up, trying to work out how dumb I could possibly be. I spent an hour or more on the internet, realising at last that a few sons really do think that way and that at the very least I was female and my near nudity and my close contact really might have excited him anyway.

Was I shocked? Well yes. Of course, in a way. Was I scared? No, not really at all.

But I knew I had to talk this through with him. Just knew it.

I reached for the wine bottle I'd just opened.

*****

I was still sober by the time Adam slunk into the house (I'm fairly sure), but he looked resigned as he followed me into the living room when I hijacked him on his way up to his room. He didn't even put up any resistance when I ushered him onto the sofa.

I had managed to dress in a casual skirt, a silky top and was wearing a wrap over my shoulders -- casual but smart enough to look a little serious.

"Adam... You know we need to talk, right?"

"Guess so."

"Adam, you do know it's not your place to look out for me right?"

A grunt.

"Well, Adam, it's not really your place to look at me either."

"Mum, I never--"

"I know you're a teenager and you have needs and all that and Adam?" I waved away another protest, praying I was right -- really praying, "Adam, it's all flattering. You looking out for me, unnecessarily or not, and you looking at me. Okay? I understand, honey. And I guess with my falls, I forgot just how grown up you are now, but... well, it's not really right and proper is it?"

"Mum!" It was almost a wail but I could hear the truth in my own words regardless.

"Adam, Adam, Adam! I promise you it's all okay, no harm done -- and a lot of flattery received and I promise you, appreciated. Let's just... cool it, okay?" He was looking like a pure mixture of panic and relief -- weird to see in anyone, let alone your own flesh and blood -- and I patted his hand to reinforce my words. "I really should have thought, shouldn't I? And that ride back from aunt Stephie's -- that was just plain silly of me!"

"Mum, no! It wasn't your fault. I just... I mean there you were and you really are so... I mean you're gorgeous, alright?" His words, shocking me, were coming faster and faster -- he was evidently believing that the worst was either over already or he was at the bottom of the barrel so he might as well dig on, "Gorgeous, yeah. And sure it's wrong I guess for some people, but I couldn't help getting so excited when you almost had your butt bared and then... oh jeez, mum, when you were on my lap in that little skirt, I'm like sorry I got so hard but how couldn't I, right? I mean your legs are so cute--"

"Adam!" I finally found my shocked voice and shot to my feet. "Okay, right! I get it that you got turned on and that you think I'm something fucking hot but this is going way beyond where it should be! Just get out and get yourself a girlfriend or something! Keep your hands to yourself in future. And your hard cock!"

I don't know which of us was more shocked by my outburst -- my panic, really -- but Adam shot out of the house yet again and I locked myself in my room for what seemed like a week.

*****

After a few days I reached a decision. I was a total bitch. And just because other people had reached that decision first didn't make it any less accurate or necessary. I had over-reacted so badly it wasn't even funny and I finally realised that I needed to put some balance back into mine and Adam's lives. I also realised that I had to tread very carefully now -- make sure the balance was just as it should be so that he could get back to being a decent, normal teenager with decent, normal tastes -- preferably outside the house.

My first two attempts at just speaking to Adam had him scurrying for cover faster than a rabbit finding himself in a field full of foxes. I finally managed to trap him in neutral territory when I heard him go up to the attic and crept up the steps after him.

"Honey, before you dig your way through the slates and jump off the roof, I need to talk to you, and first up, I promise you I'm not mad at you any more, okay?"

"Really?"

My relief would have registered on the Richter scale if respite vibrated, "Yes, really. I was just ... well shocked and stupid. You're a teenager and I'm an over-protective, prudish mother -- we just got the mix wrong that night, okay?"

"Well..." He peeked around a crate, "You're sure? I mean I got carried away and dumb and stuff as well, but you were... scary!"

"And I'm sorry, really. Come down and talk to me properly, okay?"

Relieved when he grunted an affirmative, I scurried down to the living room. I was sitting, hopefully looking relaxed by the time Adam came in, still a little unsure. I came straight to the point before he lost his nerve and bolted.

"Fancy a weekend away at the Viking Centre in York?"

"The..."

"Call it a 'sorry will you forgive me' present, but I think a nice, sensible, serious couple of days looking at historical artefacts might go a decent way to getting things back on an even keel around here."

Adam looked more relieved than ever, "That sounds... lovely. I mean, yeah, I'd like to do that. But are you sure we can afford it?"

Money had been a little tight, it was true, especially after our two recent birthday bashes but my relationship with my son was worth more than money could measure, "We might have to go easy in restaurants, but it'll be fine."

He finally nodded decisively, realising that a civilised weekend studying ancient civilisations was probably a very good idea, "Yeah, okay, mum -- sounds great."

So that was that, our rift was proved temporary and three days later we rattled off in my sister's borrowed Nissan (she was being very supportive of my attempt to mend things with Adam), and our moods were both positive and high.

It was a long drive to York and the roads were interminably busy but the mood in the car was relaxed and cheerful. I gave control of the CD player over to Adam and let my mind drift across the few recent history lessons I had picked up regarding that young man.

I remembered all too painfully that first accident and his twitchy response when I was begging him for help. Begging was such a funny concept really given how he was feeling -- no matter how naughty that was. And then to do it again a week later! No wonder he found it much easier to pull my skirt down a bit that time. I almost giggled aloud thinking of how he must have gawped at my poor bruised butt.

I almost giggled again when I thought of myself sliding onto his lap in the car -- this very car -- with my skirt sliding up and his poor hardness as I bounced around on the journey... I paused. Surprised that I could already look back on those things so comfortably.

Then paused again. It was easy really because it wasn't just comfort, was it?

I fought the craziest feelings, the whiteout that was going on deep in my brain somewhere. Tried to stop myself admitting it even for a second. But... but I was reacting on some level in a way that I fought so hard against, and yet my body... I had to admit that those memories were giving me the tiniest -- really tiny -- buzz.

My nipples were hard in the silky bra that constrained me. There, I admitted it. And there was a tiny, tiny tingling sensation much further down. Admitted again. Yes, further down in that most private area that had been just a few inches from Adam's hands when I made him check out...

I took a sharp, deep breath, covering my sudden panic with a cough, eliciting an 'are you okay?' smile from Adam, and making me straighten my skirt for some obscure reason. Okay, obvious reason. It wasn't exactly a long skirt and I wanted to cover the tingling area as much as possible!

I tried to deny the feeling for the next fifty miles but it had happened. Gone now for sure, but it had been there. Like I said, though, it was a long journey and by the time we arrived at the hotel I had rationalised it as just a product of everything -- a sympathy-for-my-son emotion, not an empathetic one. Adam, for his part, seemed totally oblivious to everything and had barely even glanced at my legs under the short skirt I wore, or my bust under the loose, silky blouse. For just a second I wondered what on earth had possessed me to wear such things, and for a micro-second I tried hard not to be disappointed at such a lack of reaction.

Shaking my head to clear such weird and wild thoughts, I grabbed my little bag and headed into the hotel. Or rather motel. Or possibly rat-breeding centre.

*****

"Yes, I know what I booked. Two small rooms and breakfast included."

"Well it says here," the receptionist said in her best Billericay accent, "that you booked a small room with two beds and didn't want breakfast."

"It's wrong then."

The receptionist looked back blankly, "And?"

"And change it, please." The last word was a real strain for me, but I tried to maintain my poise.

"Sorry, I can't."

"What?" I had the impression that any second the woman would give a nod to Little Britain and tell me that the computer said 'no'. "You mean you can't change the booking now it's made?"

"Oh no, I can change bookings."

"So why not change this one?"

The woman gave her best Billericay shrug, "It's just we're full up."

"This place?" I found it hard to believe that even rats would queue for a room there.

The woman leaned forward across the reception desk with a conspiratorial look, "I know what you mean, love, but it's true. We're fully booked because of all the people come up to the conference."

"Conference?"

"Yeah. The Confederation of something or other."

"So," I said slowly, "you mean it's crammed up here this weekend?"

"Yeah. Even shit-holes like ours," the receptionist fanned her inch-thick make-up, "I never worked so hard ever since I been here."

I was about to say something pithy and appropriate but Adam stepped forward and saved me making a total idiot of myself.

"So," he said, "the only room is this one with two beds?"

"A twin, yeah," the receptionist favoured my son with a lipstick-stained smile and leaned forward to the point where her breasts were in serious danger of making a guest appearance.

"Well it's only for two nights and if there's nowhere else, I'm sure mum and I can be discreet enough to make do." He turned to me, entirely resigned, "What do you think, mum?"

It was the resignation in his eyes that got me. "Oh, go on then. I'm sure we could drive a dozen miles and find somewhere but I'm too tired to keep motoring already."

And it was true. It was a twin, not a double, and it was only two nights -- and more importantly, Adam had seen the side of me that reacted very badly to his silly desires.

And it was true, as well. A twin, as we saw when the receptionist led us up to the first floor room, ensuring that Adam was following her close enough to see the manufacturer's name on her knickers as she led the way in her mini-skirt.

What wasn't quite so 'twin' was the fact that the two beds were pushed together and apparently bolted into position, the gap between them measuring in millimetres rather than metres. I looked at Adam and he looked back at me.

"I'm okay with it if you are, mum? Sounds like we haven't got much choice here unless we abandon the trip and I've wanted to come here for ages."

I couldn't see anything but that resignation again in my son's look, and besides, there were spare pillows that would form a perfect barrier if needed. And it was a heck of a drive, and he was clearly deserving of the trip, and... and I was certainly not at all intrigued by the idea of sharing such a small space with Adam -- genuinely.

"Oh, alright then. We can put up with it for a couple of nights."

Adam grinned, grabbed his bag from Miss Billericay and handed her either a five pound note and/or a scrap of paper with something hastily scribbled on it -- a phone number, perhaps. I hid my own grin and silently wished him the best of luck. Not that I thought it would take much luck to attract her into a compromising position. A real one-drink girl.

*****

That night evidently wasn't the one-drink night though, and Adam and I arrived back at the rat ranch at more or less the same time, both appearing in the tiny residents' bar just after ten. I had spent the afternoon browsing the shops, painfully constrained by my purse strings while Adam had been trawling around the Jorvik Centre painfully aware that his red hair spoke of Viking blood. We were both out on our feet and grateful for the refreshment of cold beers (very unladylike, I know, but I do adore a Budweiser from time to time).

A little before eleven Adam turned and nodded towards the stairs up to our first floor rabbit hutch, "You want to go up first, mum, or shall I?"

"First? You mean...oh, right." He meant (I finally worked out) if I went first I could change for bed and be covered up before he got there. "Good idea. Give me ten minutes to do my teeth and get... well, into bed."

He nodded and checked his watch, "See you in ten then."

I was in bed with the covers tucked under my chin within five minutes, toothpaste still smeared along my top lip. As soon as Adam arrived -- at least ten minutes later, good boy -- I switched off the light to give him privacy. A few minutes later I felt his presence in the bed next to mine and we wished each other the briefest of 'good nights'. I turned onto my side, facing away from where I knew my son must be and wondered if he snored. An odd thought to drift off to, but that was the last thing I recalled.

*****

I awoke as the first rays of dawn tried to sneak past the grime on the window. That was my first thought. Then I wondered why a motel had two floors -- after all, who would park outside this window? And then... and then I realised that there was an arm draped over my shoulder, and its fingers were perilously close to the top of my nightie where, despite being still bra-clad, my breasts were feeling suddenly rather exposed.

I froze and listened. Adam was breathing very deeply, almost snoring. There was absolutely no movement except the rise and fall of his chest, dimly felt as a soft movement of the mattress next to mine. It was an accident, then -- or rather, a natural movement in the night. Not a deliberate attempt to touch me.

His fingers suddenly flexed, the tips brushing across the very edge of my bra which suddenly felt very small for the flesh it contained. My son's fingers were resting on the naked flesh of my upper breast but... but he was asleep so there was no harm done. All I had to do was slip out from under his arm and he would never know. And I had to stop feeling those tiny sparks as well...

He didn't know, couldn't know. Of course not. And I was preparing myself carefully to make the move away, not lingering and experiencing the odd, bad sensation of his fingertips on my breast. Fingertips which now flexed again!

They slid over the material of the bra almost as low as my nipple which bulged there, rigid for some strange reason. I forced myself to listen to the deep rhythm of his sleep and I was only making sure he was really asleep before I moved, right?

I started to roll slightly away from him but realised that if I continued that way, his fingertips would brush over the hard nipple that they were already so close to. I couldn't do that, could I? But I did have to slide away, right? I wasn't being silly at all really? Huh?

And -- jeez -- I didn't freeze when the contact was actually made because I wanted to experience that feeling for a moment longer, right? Or a little longer still, yeah?

He flexed again and I nearly moaned as the pressure on my breast increased. If I moved up as well as across those fingers would almost drag the thin material right off that hard--