The following story is strongly influenced by the pulp erotica of the 1950's and 1960's, an era where authors had limitations on how explicit they could be in their descriptions of scandalous sex. This story is told from the perspective of people who witnessed an incestuous relationship between a mother and son over a period of decades. The two principal characters do not tell their side of the story. For this reason the story is less explicit than most stories published on this site.
All characters in this story are over eighteen.
Mayor Michael Deitz: When the story of Rebecca Siebert and her son, Allan, went viral two years ago it brought a whole lot of unwanted attention to our small town. Incest is a sensitive topic around here. Our town was founded in the 1800's as a German speaking settlement. The language barrier and the physical distance from larger towns in the days before automobiles limited contact with people outside our community. Up until two generations ago marriage between first cousins was common. After World War II things began to change. First, a paved State Highway was completed and in the 1950's the interstate followed. A county wide high school was built which eliminated any sense of isolation. Still, the students from our town had to contend with incest jokes and innuendo from their classmates. Growing up with this stigma made people sensitive to the topic. So, when the story broke most people wished it would go away. This strong sense of denial and shame is probably what allowed the relationship between Rebecca and Allan to flourish underneath our noses. People prefer to pretend that the obvious isn't happening.
Rebecca wasn't from here. She met Robert Siebert at the state university. The Sieberts were a well off family, having owned the mill and several other businesses for generations. I know nothing about Rebecca's people. She must not have been too close to her own family because after Robert passed away --when Allan was eleven -- she elected to stay here despite never seeming to belong. She had the air of a socialite, always dressed to the nines in designer outfits she must have had tailored for her in Philadelphia or New York City. She never married again or even dated as far as any of us could tell. It wasn't for lack of suitors, not with all the money she inherited. She's not a bad looking woman either; definitely on the plump side but more voluptuous than obese. But as I said, she'd always been a strange one, spending most of her time in the Siebert house on the edge of town.
Allan was a year ahead of me in school. I can't say that we were best friends but he was part of the crowd who hung around the roller rink on weekends. It was a small town scene; a dozen or so sneaking beer in the parking lot, chatting with girls and dreaming about getting out of here. Allan would have a beer or two with the rest of us but I don't remember him getting too tipsy or being in a fight. Around eleven thirty his mother would pull up in that Cadillac of hers, beep the horn and Allan would go running.
I can only remember one incident growing up which, in retrospect, seemed telling given what happened later. It was spring of Allan's senior year. We were hanging around the roller rink on yet another Friday night. Dad and I were going fishing the next morning, so I promised I'd get home early. I asked Allan if his mother could drop me off on the way into town. He didn't think it would be a problem.
When the blue DeVille pulled up to the front of the rink, Allan said, "Let me make sure it is okay," then slipped in the passenger door. Mrs. Siebert turned towards her son, put her arm around his neck and kissed him on the lips. No, it wasn't a full blown make out session but it was no simple peck on the lips either. Allan pulled away from his mother, looked towards me and said something. Rebecca nodded. Allan unlocked the back door and motioned for me to get in the car. I climbed in back.
The musky scent of Christian Dior combined with a hint cigarette smoke was overwhelming. Mrs. Siebert had on a fur cape. I don't know what animal it was -- fox, mink, sable -- just that it was light gray, almost white. Underneath she was wearing a pink nightgown. It wasn't some flannel house dress designed for cold winter nights. No, this was full length and luxurious, like some 1950's Hollywood diva would wear as she lounged around her million dollar living room. The skirt had two layers, the inside silky and pink, the outer transparent. The lace bordered bodice lifted her creamy breasts, giving me a good look at her heavy bosom.
"Allan didn't tell me we'd be having company," Mrs. Siebert said. "Where do you live, Michael?"
I gave her my address, then for the rest of the ride it was like I wasn't even in the car. There was a slight tension in the air, as if Mrs. Siebert was annoyed with Allan. I had a feeling she was miffed about driving me home even though my house was on the way. Maybe his mother had gotten ready for bed after an evening out before she remembered she had to pick up Allan at the skating rink, so she just threw a cape on over her nightgown and got into the car. Of course she'd be annoyed about me being there. Had she known she'd be driving me home she would have put on some jeans and a sweatshirt at the very least.
In those days the front seat of a car was a single bench all the way across, room enough to seat three people when the car was crowded or allow a couple on a date to snuggle up close when it wasn't. Allan and his mother were not quite at snuggling distance but near enough to be approaching date territory. I peeked over the arm rest. Mrs. Siebert was holding her son's hand on her lap as she steered the car with her left hand. I didn't think there was anything untoward going on; it wasn't exactly a town secret that Allan and his mother were close after all they'd been through together.
About five minutes into the drive Mrs. Siebert said, "I'm dying for a cigarette, darling. Could you get one from my purse?"
Allan pulled a pack of Eve 120's from his mother's pocketbook. He put the cigarette between his lips and pressed the knob for the dashboard lighter. Allen took a small drag as he lit the cigarette then handed it to his mother. She held the cigarette between her two painted fingernails and took a deep drag. The smoke lingered around her open mouth for an instant before she inhaled it into her lungs. Then she placed the lipstick stained cigarette in the ashtray, turned towards Allen and blew a long, thin stream of white smoke at his face.
"Thank you, darling," she said. "I needed that."
"You're quite welcome, Mother."
Allan rested his hand on his mother's thigh once again. Mrs. Siebert stroked his wrist and palm with her nails -- the polish matched her lipstick -- before clasping her fingers around his . With his free hand, Allan put the lipstick stained cigarette in his mouth and inhaled. I'd never seen Allen smoke a Marlboro or Camel, let alone one of those long and slender lady's cigarettes. But the way he leaned against his mother and closed his eyes as he drew on the cigarette reminded me of a man taking a deeply satisfying breath of cool morning air on a mountain peak. His mother puckered her lips, making a smacking sound. Allen held the cigarette to her moistened lips. She inhaled deeply before Allen withdrew the cigarette and took another drag of his own. They rode like that for the rest of the way to my house, in their own little world, fingers entwined atop Mrs. Siebert's thigh as the cigarette smoldered like a fireplace ember at the end of the evening.
They dropped me off. Our Irish Setter, Maxie, greeted me at the door. I slipped the leach onto the dog's collar and took her outside for a walk around the neighborhood. The evening air had cooled off considerably. I could see my breath as I walked.
On the next street the Siebert's blue DeVille was parked in a darkened area away from any houses. For a moment I thought the car may have broken down so I approached with the intention of knocking on the window and seeing if they needed any help. But this was a side street and there was no reason Allan's mother would have gone this way. I stopped about fifty feet away from the car, afraid of what I might see if I got any closer. I turned around and headed back towards my house.
Donna Mueller: It had been almost twenty years since I'd been within five hundred miles of my hometown but when I saw the headline, "____town Mother and Son Accused of Living For Decades as Husband and Wife" I had a pretty good idea who the story was about. Not that I blame Allan at all, growing up alone with that crazy mother of his. Nor am I bitter about what happened. I figure if all that borderline psycho was able to do was ruin prom night for me I got off easy.
Allan was tall, dark haired and surprisingly awkward given his looks. I was no beauty back then, believe me and landing a gorgeous guy like Allan was no small coup for a chubby girl with bad skin and glasses. About the only thing I had going for me were my large breasts. And I let plenty of boys get their hands on them in the parking lot behind the roller rink. I'm not proud of that part of my life, back when I was a teenage nobody with hardly an ounce of self-esteem. Thank God my grades and SAT scores were enough to get me out of that hick town for good.
When Allan Siebert asked me to skate with him during the couples only skate it took me by surprise. I'd never heard of him going out to the "poking lot" with a girl. At the end of the couples skate I expected him to bring me out back like everyone else who'd ever held my hand under those rink lights. But no, all he did was offer to buy me a soda at the snack bar. At eleven thirty he told me he had to go out front and wait for his ride. He kissed me on the cheek and asked if I'd skate with him next week. My tummy tingled and I felt my face go flush . I was pretty jaded by that point in my life and it had been a few years since I'd allowed myself to get giddy over a boy.
Over the next few weeks Allan and I became an item which in those days meant eating lunch together in the school cafeteria and spending Friday nights skating arm in arm at the roller rink. The first time we went out back to my car I practically had to drag him by the shirt. I had been going behind the rink with guys since I was thirteen and, believe me, all that experience didn't amount to much. Most high school guys can't even kiss without slobbering all over you like a St. Bernard. And all those guys who claimed they lost their virginity to me? Please. By the time they dropped their drawers most of them were so damn nervous that the bishop was softer than a pot of boiled linguini.
This wasn't the ordinary hook up with some random guy in "the poking lot". It was Allan. Sweet, gentle, Allan. At the time I figured he was a natural, that he'd been born with some innate ability to please a woman the same way some musicians are born with perfect pitch. I mean, supposedly he'd never even kissed a girl and here he was, tongue darting in and out of my mouth like a serpent's as he ran his hands down my ass and on the inside of my thighs. And when he pressed his fingers against the seam of my jeans, circling around the very top of my button. Shit!!! And I hadn't even taken off my bra, something Allan was able to accomplish in a second, like he was snapping his fingers. Most guys fumble around back there for five minutes before you finally unhook it yourself for fear that they are going tear up a twenty dollar bra. But Allan masters the quadruple eyehook on his first shot ever? Then the way he caressed my breasts, slow and gentle, his fingertips tracing circles around my areoles. His touches were like a warm breeze blowing across my naked body as he kissed my neck. It would be seven years before another man would touch me as he did. Either he was some sort of sexual prodigy or somebody had schooled him in the art of pleasing a woman.
The other strange thing is that whenever Allan and I were getting it on he seemed to enter this almost trancelike state, as though he was tripping or something. I know now that it is not uncommon for people who have been sexually traumatized to enter into some kind of disassociated state when they are being intimate. But at the time I figured he was some sort of sexual Zen master.
Things started to get weird around the time we were making plans for prom night. Allan's mother would not let him use her car which meant I had to drive. Also, a whole bunch of us were going to Jeremy Buntz's lake house afterwards. Allan's mother refused to allow him to go.
"You're eighteen and going away to the university in three months," I told him a few days before the prom. "Just go anyway. What is she going to do, call the cops?"
"No, you don't understand. I spent hours arguing with her just so she'd agree to let me go to the prom. She gets very jealous."
"Jealous? My God, she's your mother not your wife."
"Tell that to her," he muttered, shaking his head as he looked down at the table. "I can't wait to get the hell out of here in August."
I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. We were both heading off to the state university at the end of the summer, free to start fresh and leave our pasts behind. I was under no illusions about the two of us, whether we would have this great love affair. As sweet as Allan was, I knew he was dealing with his own demons. Also, I was hoping for a fresh start in college and couldn't see how that would be possible arriving on campus with a high school sweetheart.
On prom night we were to meet at my house for pictures. I'd spent the afternoon at the salon and picked up my dress from the seamstress. It was one of those blue, satiny gowns with the puffy sleeves that were all the rage back in the early eighties. I was afraid I wouldn't be ready on time and that Allan would have to spend forty-five minutes in the living room making small talk with my Dad. But at 6:15 Allan still hadn't shown up. I was beginning to worry that his mother had changed her mind and was now forbidding him to go out on prom night. Finally, at around 6:40 the two of them pulled up in the Cadillac.
Allan looked striking in his black tux as he exited the car. He walked around to the passenger side, opened the door and extended his hand to his mother. Mrs. Siebert was dressed to the nines. She wore a tight fitting black gown that reached just below her knees. The skirt was scalloped and the bodice supported by a single strap that went around her neck. Her blonde hair (bottle, I'm sure) was thick, curled and swept back, displaying her gold hoop earrings. Her back was bare. She had the perfect hourglass shape which was either the result of Teutonic genetics or expert use of foundation garments. Her hips swayed as she and Allan walked arm and arm up our front sidewalk.
"Sorry we're late," Allan said. "We had dinner at The Manor and it took a little bit longer than expected."
After exchanging corsages and boutonnieres we posed for pictures on the front lawn, first individual shots followed by couples shots and, finally, a picture of Allan and I with our parents. In the presence of Mrs. Siebert I felt inadequate in my poofy prom dress and eighties high school perm. Allan kissed his mother goodbye, promised to be home early and the two of us drove off in my parent's station wagon.
The prom itself wasn't all that memorable. The cafeteria tables had been brought into the gym which had been decorated like a cruise ship in keeping with The Love Boat theme the prom committee had thought up. A caterer served up chicken cordon bleu. After dessert we danced to music provided by a deejay. Allan and I slow danced to Billy Joel and REO Speedwagon. Around eleven o'clock the dance started to break up as kids began to head out to after parties that promised to be far more exciting.
In the car on the way home I told Allan that he ought to just ride out with me to Jeremy's lake house and deal with the consequences tomorrow.
"It is tempting but God only knows what the fallout will be. I mean, what if she decides to punish me by not paying my tuition next fall."
"She'd do that?" I asked. Allan shrugged his shoulders.
"Hey, it is only nine more weeks of this shit, then freshman orientation.," Allan said.
Allan's house was dark when I pulled into the driveway.
"Do you want to come inside for a few minutes?" Allan asked
"Sure," I said.
The two of us stood on the front porch while Allan fumbled for his keys. Through the window I could see flickering lights. Once inside, I saw the source of the lights; about four scented candles on the coffee table in front of the sofa. In the middle of the table were two wine glasses, an unopened bottle of champagne and a tray of chocolate covered strawberries.
"Oh, Allan," I said, grabbing his hand in the foyer. The set up in the living room was so romantic and, for a moment, made up for my disappointment that Allan wouldn't be going to the after party.
"I see you made it home safely," Allan's mother said from the love seat across the couch.
Allan's mother was wearing a white bridal peignoir set; a full length charmeuse gown and a matching chiffon robe tied around her waist. The low cut bodice gave a good view of her cleavage, the skin surrounding her bosom pastel soft and slightly wrinkled. She sat with her feet were tucked underneath the gown which had a slit in the side of the skirt, revealing the lower half of her plump thigh. She was smoking a cigarette through a black, six inch cigarette holder.
Allan stood next to his mother, his hand resting on her shoulder. She held the cigarette holder a few inches his face, the smoke tendrils rising to his nostrils. She then took a deep drag and held it for a moment before making an "O" shape with her deep red lips and blowing the smoke in Allan's direction. He seemed to be in the same dazed, trancelike state he entered just about every time the two of us had gotten physical in the back of my car. Though his gaze was fixed upon his mother, he seemed to be looking past her as though the image of Mrs. Siebert lounging on the sofa in her sexy lingerie was only partially registering in his mind. She reached towards his arm and began tracing a trail with her fingernails from the inner part of his wrist all the way to the crook of his elbow.
"Honey, why don't you get showered and ready for bed. Then you can tell me all about it."
Without saying even a word to me, Allan nodded at his mother and left the room. Mrs. Siebert got up from the love seat and came towards me.
"I'm sorry, Donna," Mrs. Siebert said, placing her hand on my upper arm as she led me towards the front door. "Allan seems a bit tired. Thanks again for bringing him home safe and sound. I'll have him call you tomorrow?"
"Sure," I said. "Tell him I said goodnight."
"Will do," Mrs. Siebert said.
The door closed behind me and I stood alone on Allan's front porch. I felt sick to my stomach. My prom night was over without even a kiss goodnight. My eyes began to tear up but didn't want to give Mrs. Siebert the satisfaction. It was like she used me to warm up her son at the dance so she could have a nice, romantic evening by candlelight. Her own son! How twisted is that? I got in my car and headed for the after party, sure that there would be at least one guy there whose date's parents would not allow her to stay out past midnight.
Jack Dooley: I only knew Allan Siebert briefly. He was my roommate at state during the fall semester of freshman year. He was a quiet guy, studious and, judging from all the inquiries I received from the coeds who knew he was my roommate, would have been a ladies man had he spent his weekends on campus. But every Friday afternoon he'd pack up a small suitcase and wait for his mother to arrive. At the time I didn't think his leaving on the weekends was any big deal. Lots of students did, especially those who grew up on farms.