0 comments/ 268435 views/ 42 favorites The Long Vacation By: Starlight I had come home for the university long vacation. This covered the period November, December, January and February, and therefore included Christmas, which in our southern clime comes in the middle of summer. I did not want to come home. Instead, I would much preferred to have gone backpacking round the country and doing a bit of fruit picking, and perhaps pick up a girl or two to have sex with, since my university regulars were no longer available. The reason for my going home was my mother. She was alone so much of the time, and by that I mean, my father might be around, but to be with him was really to be alone. He led a life of his own and had almost nothing in common with mother. At times, he would be away for weeks on end, claiming either work or some leisure activity with “the boys,” as the reason for his absence. He is a barrister mainly working mainly for large corporations; his task being to bully little people in courtrooms who could not afford to hire a loud mouthed, cynical intimidator of their own to defend them. For this he received fees that stagger the imagination and he knew how to string a case out so as to receive the maximum amount of money, and wear out those with limited means. One of the results was that we lived, as they say, “High on the hog.” The one virtue I can claim for him is that he did not keep my sister and I short of money, or at least, my sister had been included in his beneficence until she departed from home, apparently for good. Why she left home permanently has never been properly explained to me. I have my suspicions but have never been able to bring myself to ask mother. I have a further suspicion that my mother sent Barbara money until a few years after her departure, when she married. Mother and I went to her wedding, but father did not. He declared that he would have nothing to do with “that ungrateful slut.” My sister, Barbara, on the other hand, swore she would never come near our house as long as that “lecherous pig” was there. When I was about seventeen, and my father had been more than usually obnoxious both to mother and I, I was bold enough to ask her why she had ever married him. It was after all, a question I had asked myself ever since I was about six. In those childhood days, my way of approaching the matter was to inform my mother that when I grew up I would marry her. She would reply with something like, “That will be lovely, darling,” clearly not wishing to delve into the intricacies of such a union with one so young. Perhaps some description of my mother and father is in order. Mother’s name is Cleo. Cleopatra really, but she finds that embarrassing. She is tall – about five feet ten inches – slim with long slender legs. She is, perhaps, a little top heavy in the sense that she has a very full bosom. I can recall as a very small chap, snuggling into her cleavage, perhaps as an expression of regret at being weaned from those fountains of nourishment. Facially she has ageless classical features, with clear creamy skin. Her neck is long and slender, and her hair is a sort of red-gold colour, worn at shoulder length. I have heard people describe her as “a beauty,” and when, during my high school years I happened to bring some friends home, I noticed how struck they were by her, and one or two became positively horny over her. I made sure that these more enamoured boys were not invited home again. Mother is a very dignified person; some might call her austere or remote. This was never the case with my sister and I, and we could not have wished for a more loving mother. With others, it was as if she wanted to maintain a wide private space. Her interests included music, theatre, books and a number of charities to which she not only gave money, but also worked for in a volunteer capacity. All of these, when mentioned in my father’s presence, provoked jeers and sneers on his part. This brings me to a description of my father. I have already mentioned his profession and his manner of conducting himself in it. This leaves his physical appearance and leisure interests. Father’s name is Dennis. He is about two inches shorter than mother. He is also ten years older than she is. At one time, so I am told, he presented a fine, athletic figure. Now he has a paunch, and a face flushed and blotched with over indulgence in red wine. He has a receding hairline, and always seems to have a sheen of perspiration over his face. His general manner is one of cynical disregard of other people’s feelings, and he always strives to put others down, except when he is with “the boys,” in other words, colleagues of similar disposition. When they are together, they engage in a general denigration of all apart from themselves. As for his interests outside work; he is president of a football club; he has an expensive cabin cruiser in which he and the boys frequently go “fishing”. I put the word fishing in quotations because we never see any fish when he returns from one of these trips, often lasting up to a month. Clearly, he also has had a longstanding love affair with money. I have my own idea about what “fishing” means in the father’s vocabulary. He also has a serious interest in wine – mainly the consumption of it. To my youthful question as to why my mother had married my father, she gave in substance the following reply. Father had indeed been a dashing figure when she first met him. He had come to work in her father’s legal practice. In those days he was described as “a brilliant up coming young fellow.” Mother was in her late teens at the time and he in his late twenties. She became completely captivated by him, and apparently, this lovely young girl enraptured him in turn. Mother did not use the term “lovely” of herself, that is my interpretation. He quickly asked her to marry him and she accepted just as quickly. What they did not take account of, was the opposition of my late grandparents. They were adamant that their young daughter would not marry my father. Perhaps they saw more deeply and further than my love mesmerized mother. Grandfather had the whip hand in the sense that my father was then his employee and only in the early stages of his climb to “fame.” To be dismissed from the practice would be a serious set back. Father, as crafty then as he is now, saw a way round the problem. Being totally enchanted by him, my mother fell in with his plan. She became pregnant with my sister. Mother was eighteen that meant that they could get married without parental approval. This they did, thus presenting my grandparents with a fait accompli. Grandfather was trapped. If he dismissed father, he put at risk his daughter’s future life, and that of his unborn grandchild. So, he and my grandmother had to accept the situation. That explained how mother had come to marry father, but there were other questions I longed to ask like, why did my mother and father sleep in separate rooms? That had been the situation ever since I could remember. Why did mother continue to be married to father, especially after the death of her parents that gave her a large amount of money of her own? Did mother and father still make love? Why was father so often away from home? Above all, why was he so nasty to mother? What had happened between father and my sister to provoke such animosity? Answers to these questions had to wait for several years, and even then, I didn’t get, and don’t think I ever will get, all the answers. During my rather gross teenage years, I used to think, “If I had a wife like mother, I wouldn’t sleep apart from her, and I’d make love with her all the time (I did not actually think the words, “make love,” but something less delicate). So there I was, home for the sake of my beloved mother, and as dearly as I loved her, I anticipated a rather boring, and with my father present, unpleasant time. It was on Christmas Day that father announced that he would be off on a fishing trip with the boys. “Could be away as much as a month.” Neither mother nor I commented. This was partly because any comment was likely to give rise to a scene, and also because we would be glad to see the back of him. Saying that, I feel one tiny corner of pity for him. I think he is going to be a very lonely old man who had destroyed the love of a beautiful woman, and failed to enjoy his children. Almost as soon as he had left the next day, mother became more animated. “What shall we do, Alex?” Not understanding the full implication of her question, I made a desultory reply. “We could go for a walk.” “No, no, darling. I mean, let’s pack up and go away somewhere.” “Where?” “I haven’t been to The Peninsular for years, let’s go there.” The Peninsular begins about four hundred kilometres from where we live. It’s coast runs for about three hundred kilometres and then melts into the enormous arid central plain stretching for over a thousand kilometres across the Island Continent. There are industrial centres, a fishing and oyster industry. Wheat and barley are grown there and the coast has huge sand dunes, craggy cliffs, seal colonies, penguin rookeries and a very welcoming population. I had not been there since childhood and responded enthusiastically to mother’s suggestion, but pointed out that being summer, every bit of accommodation would probably be taken up. “Don’t be so pessimistic,” she laughed, “I’ll get on with telephoning around and see what I can find.” “How long are we going for?” “Your father said he’d be away for a month, so let’s also be away for a month. Now, you get the car serviced and I’ll start telephoning.” Father had gone off in his fancy Land Rover, leaving behind a Mercedes Benz and an all wheel drive Subaru. I chose the latter as the better option for our purpose because of its four-wheel drive, and also because if we took the Mercedes and got a scratch on it, we should never hear the last of it. Mother seemed to break out of her quiet reserve. It was like a personality change, becoming almost like a young girl in her excitement. This seemed strange for one who had traveled quite extensively around the world at one time. There was a frenzy of packing and telephoning, and finally mother, commenting on accommodation said, “I’ve got us fixed up for the first ten days. It’s arranged so that we have stopovers of two or three days. I think we should take our chances after that, and just telephone ahead when we decide where we want to go next. It’s a risk, but if worst comes to worst, we can always head back home.” I accepted this, and after all, it would be better than mooching around home. The next day was spent trying to think of all the things that we might have forgotten to pack. Mother continued in her enthusiastic mood, constantly assuring me that we would have “a wonderful time, darling”. I couldn’t recall ever seeing her so excited before. The car was ready and the gear stowed, and we set off, driving first through the city suburban traffic then out onto the highway busy with trucks going back and forth to and from The Peninsular industrial cities. After four hours driving we reached the first of these cities, stopped, bought a couple of pies and wandered around eating them like a couple of kids. On the road again, we headed for our first stopover, a small fishing and oyster-farming town. The motel was reasonable, and mother had been able to book one unit that had one room with a double bed, and another with a single bed. I believe it was what they called, “A family unit.” By the time we arrived it was evening, so we had a meal in the motel restaurant, then retired to our unit, put our feet up, and watched television until bed time. After that we showered, and I retired to the single bedroom, leaving mother to luxuriate on the double bed. I was tired, but not so tired that I didn’t get an erection. I had not had sex for some weeks, having failed to pick up any of the girls around our home area. I resorted to my only option, and masturbated. Next day, in the morning, we wandered around the town, then had a look at some of the oyster farms. The afternoon found us out walking across some of the huge sand dunes, and watching the sea crashing in from the Southern Ocean. We were in no hurry to get anywhere, and we wandered along, happy in each other’s company, admiring the beauty of the scene and talking about whatever came into our heads. We had our evening meal in the motel restaurant again, and this time mother ordered a bottle of excellent Shiraz. The alcohol put me in a very convivial mood. When we finished eating mother said, “Alex, I fancy some Scotch, get a bottle from the bar, would you?” I was somewhat surprised at this request because mother was a very moderate drinker, and I had never known her to drink Scotch. Not for me to reason why, I obeyed her request. Mother had gone ahead to the unit, and when I arrived, she was putting a cassette into the video machine. “Something I brought with me that I thought would be nice to watch,” she commented. “Let’s get our showers over with and we can relax and make an evening of it.” I was happy about that because I dislike bothering with a shower just before going to bed, I like to get it out of the way early. Mother went first, and after about twenty minutes emerged wearing her bathrobe, and carrying the clothes she had been wearing. I took my shower, had a shave and following mother’s example put on my bathrobe. “Might as well be comfortable,” I thought. I went into the main room and found mother had poured two liberal glasses of whisky. Like mother, I am not really a whisky drinker, but still feeling the effects of the Shiraz I was ready for a follow up. We settled side by side on the couch, and mother clicked on the video with the remote. If I had been surprised at mother’s request for whisky, I was even more astonished and perplexed by her choice of film. It proved to be very sexually explicit, not mother’s sort of thing at all, and I found myself responding to it by getting an erection. I kept sipping the whisky and I found myself in the situation where, knowing you are inebriated, you make efforts to not show it. Speech and movements become very deliberate, and it seems that you are somehow outside yourself watching yourself. Although I kept sipping the whisky, my glass did not seem to get any emptier. The film, the room and mother became somehow remote, out there but distant. Then it was as if I were drawn into the film, the salacious content not only gave me an erection, I felt as if I was part of the action we were viewing. Precisely what happened next I have never been sure of. I felt someone snuggling up to me, and slowly turning my head, and making a desperate effort to focus, I saw it was mother. I shook my head, because it was not mother as I had seen her just a little while ago, but a naked mother; a mother with large, firm beautiful breasts. It was a mother whose hand had crept under my bathrobe to gently stroke my penis. She was saying something but I couldn’t distinguish the words. I struggled to concentrate on what she was saying but it was all jumbled. I was lying back on the couch and mother was sitting over me. Something warm and moist engulfed my penis. I felt myself ejaculate, but it was as if it was someone else doing it. I can recall no more. What I do know is, that I woke up next morning in the double bed with a naked mother and a splitting headache. As far as I could see mother looked fine, even happy. “How do you feel, darling?” “Bloody awful. My head’s thumping and my mouth feels like the bottom of a parrot’s cage.” She gave a soft laugh and said, “I’ll get you some aspirin, darling.” She got out of bed and through the haze of my hangover, I saw her walk to a small case and open it. She took out some aspirin and then went to the tap over a small hand basin and filled a glass of water. As she came back to me I could see the sensual movement of her breasts, and the little vee of pubic hair and above it her slightly swelling mons, and below that the firm cleft of her vulva. I saw, but felt to ill to process that I was looking at mother and seeing a beautiful, sensuous woman. I took the aspirins and swallowed them, drinking the whole glass of water in one great gulp. “Just lie there for a while, darling. You’ll feel better soon. I’ve ordered some breakfast to be brought to us, and we do have to leave no later than ten o’clock.” The mention of breakfast made my stomach churn, and with a groan I lay back and slipped into a doze. Someone knocking at the door awakened me. Mother had not returned to the bed and I heard her thanking someone and bringing a tray to the table. As I watched her put the tray down, I noticed with no special interest that there was a near empty bottle of Scotch, one empty glass, and one with whisky still in it. I smelt bacon and eggs, and had to rush to the bathroom to be sick. Finishing my unpleasant emission, I went to the basin to wash my face and in the mirror above it saw a white apparition that was me. I washed and went back to the main room, still naked. Mother was seated once more wrapped in her bathrobe, eating egg and bacon. “I don’t want any breakfast I moaned.” “Darling, you must have something.” I managed a single slice of toast and a cup of strong coffee. Mother laughed and said, “I think I’d better drive today, sweetheart.” After my meagre repast I managed to get dressed, then flopped back onto the bed and went to sleep. I came to with mother shaking me. She stood beside the bed with another glass of water and aspirin. I obediently swallowed, and she said, “Time to go, darling. You can sleep in the car if you want to.” She had packed and loaded the car while I slept, and once on the road I followed her suggestion and went to sleep again. I must have been asleep for a couple of hours when the cessation of the car’s motion woke me. We had stopped for petrol and as the garage had a restaurant, mother decided we should have lunch. I had recovered from the worst of my hangover and was actually very hungry. I made short work of steak and vegetables and felt a whole lot better. I informed mother I was ready to take over the driving, if she wished me to. “No, darling, we’ve only got about another hour and a half to go, so you relax and talk to me while I drive.” I had a strong feeling there was something needing to be talked about, but could not workout what it was. We set off, and it was mother who set the ball rolling. “Do you remember what happened last night, Alex?” “Not clearly. I know I must have been very drunk, and I’ve been trying to work out why. You know I don’t drink much, so why did I take so much on board last night?” She gave another of her contralto laughs; “Perhaps you were tricked into it, sweetheart.” “That’s silly. Who would want to do that? And anyway, who was there to do it? There was only you and…” I paused. Things were starting to click into place. I recalled the glass that always seemed to be full, and mother naked, and how I had waked that morning in mother’s bed. “Mother, how did I get into bed with you?” “With difficulty, my love. I almost had to carry you.” “But why your bed and not…” “I thought I’d like to have you with me, darling.” I knew but didn’t want to admit I knew. The distant memory of mother sitting over me as I lay on the couch. The warm moist feeling as something…”Oh my God”. This last had come out aloud. “What’s the matter, Alex?” “Mother…last night…did we…did I have…?” “Have sex? Yes, just a little bit, darling.” “But mother you couldn’t…you wouldn’t…It’s er…er…” “Incest? Yes I know, my love.” The Long Vacation “But why? I don’t understand.” Mother slowed the car and pulled into a lay by. She lay back in the seat looking at me. “Are you so shocked, Alex? Do you find it repugnant? Do you think I’m an evil woman?” “Well, no…but…” “Let me ask you this, Alex; if I were anyone but your mother, wouldn’t you jump and the chance of having sex with me?” I remembered the couple of older women I had engaged in sex with, both of them old enough to be my mother, and one of them actually older than my real mother. Neither of them had been as attractive as mother. “Well, yes, I suppose I would, but…” “And they wouldn’t have to get you drunk to do it, would they?” “Do you mean you really did set out to get me drunk?” “Yes. Disgusting isn’t it?” I heard a sob in her voice. In all the domestic difficulties she had faced, I could not remember my mother crying. “Mother…I…” “How do you think its been for me all these years, Alex? You must have known. I could have had men but I held back.” “But why? Barbara and I wouldn’t have blamed you, knowing how it was.” “All right, Alex, I’ll tell you why. If I was going to have sex with someone again, it was going to be with someone I loved and who loved me. I’m not blind or stupid, Alex. Soon after you entered puberty, I could see how you felt about me. You wanted me, Alex…don’t try to deny it…You did, didn’t you?” I remembered the boys I had brought home, and how I had sent any of them who got horny over mother, packing. It was jealousy, fear they might get what I so badly wanted.” “Yes, mother, I wanted you, but I would never…” “I knew you wouldn’t. I suppose we could say, ‘You wouldn’t have defiled me?’ Is that it?” “I suppose…something like that…” “I don’t suppose it ever occurred to you to wonder what I might want? I have sexual feeling too, you know. I love as well and want to fulfil my love. I knew you’d never make a move, and I didn’t know what to do until the opportunity for this trip came along. Then I thought out my wicked little plan of getting you drunk while hardly drinking myself.” Ah,” I thought, “The glass with whisky still in it.” She went on, “I said to myself, ‘Just once. Just one time to feel him inside me, to have his sperm.’” I felt a wave of gratitude sweep over me. Gratitude that she had not held back the truth from me, and for the privilege of having been given entry into her, even if I could barely recall it. She had taken full responsibility for what had happened and therefore released me from any guilt. “Now you know, Alex, what do you want to do.” “What do you mean, mother?” “We can turn round and go home or we can go on with the trip. I’m the one who has offended, so I leave the choice to you. All I can add is, if we go on, I shan’t abuse you again.” I looked across at her. She was shrunk back into her seat, a picture of misery. She was so unlike the strong mother I had known, and the young girl image she had begun our trip with, had also faded. Was this loss of dignity the price she had to pay for loving me? I leaned across to her, and kissed her softly on the lips. “I love you mother, let’s go on with the trip. And I don’t feel abused, I feel privileged.” She smiled wanly. “Thank you, darling.” She started the motor and we continued on our way to the beautiful city at the bottom of The Peninsular. Having got our feelings out into the open and having spoken about the events of the previous night, the air seem to be cleared. Mother began to rally and become the cheerful person she had been when we began our trip. I felt at ease and, I must admit, felt rather smug that I was so loved by such beautiful a woman, even though my mother. Arriving in the city, we found our motel. This time it was a much more splendid affair. It was really a Hotel-Motel, and considerably more expensive that our previous accommodation. Having parked the car, we headed for the reception desk. The receptionist looked up and smiled. “You have a booking?” “Yes,” I replied, “Berkley.” The girl looked up something on her computer, the said, “Ah yes, Mr. and Mrs. Berkley.” I saw mother was about to contradict her, so I nudged her leg with my knee to stop her. She lapsed into silence. The girl was about to give us our room numbers when she said, “May I ask, did you book separate rooms, or has there been an error?” I took the lead and said in my best-devoted husband voice, “I think there may have been an error. Cleo, darling, you made the booking, did you book separate rooms?” Mother took up the theme: “No darling, I booked a double room for us.” The poor girl looked abashed. “I’m so sorry, there seems to have been a dreadful mistake. We have you down for separate rooms, and we’re full right up. There’s not a double room left.” I looked severe and addressed mother: “Darling, what are we going to do?” I turned back to the receptionist and said shyly, “We’ve only just got married and…well, you understand.” The girl smiled and blushed, then said, “If you could wait for a moment I’ll have a word with the manager.” She left and mother turned to me, “Alex, what are you up to. You know very well that we booked separate rooms. That poor girl…” “Well, she took us to be man and wife, so I thought I might as well go along with it. Wouldn’t you like to…” The receptionist returned with the manager who was all apologies and a suggestion. “We had a mother and daughter arrive earlier without a booking wanting separate rooms, but all we had was a double. If you would care to exchange with them, I’m sure they would be happy.” “Of course,” I replied. The manager went into action with the house telephone, then smiling, informed us that the ladies would be pleased to change and, “May I congratulate you on your marriage?” “Thank you,” I replied, and out of the corner of my eye, noted mother trying to look like a self-consciousness new bride. “We have only been married a short time.” “Only since the receptionist took us to be married,” I thought, trying not to laugh. I looked at mother and saw she was turning red faced as she tried to suppress her own laughter. We had to wait while the room was tidied, and then was conducted to it by a still smiling and apologetic manager. Once alone mother turned on me shaking with laughter. “Alex, what are you playing it? You’ve got those two thinking we’re a honeymoon couple. And just look at this room, it’s obviously the honeymoon suite.” She was right. There was a huge double bed with silk sheets in black and red, with pillows embroidered with red and white hearts. Above the bed was a picture of a rather erotic nymph being pursued by a satyr. I noted that a dressing table with a huge mirror was so placed that a couple on the bed could see what they were doing. I collapsed into an armchair and joined in mother’s laughter. As we began to recover I said, “I thought we might as well play along with it, after all, it is what we both want, isn’t it?” Mother turned hastily to a suitcase and began to unpack things from it. I could see she was agitated, so I went across to her, and standing behind her as she bent over to the case, I cupped her breasts with my hands and drew her upright. “You wouldn’t want me forever wondering whether I enjoyed you last night, or not, would you?” “Alex, I…” I turned her round to face me, and began unbuttoning her shirt. “I think you’ve got to play fair,” I whispered. “You had your wicked way with me last night, it’s my turn today, and no booze and sexy video.” Her shirt fell open to reveal large breasts with long pink nipples. They were without the support of a bra, and clearly needed none. I began to caress them, drawing her close and kissing her. She opened her lips to receive my tongue, and I began to explore her mouth. I felt her yielding to me, her hips rotating, grinding her pelvis against me. Suddenly she stiffened and pushed me away. “Alex, are you sure…are you sure this is what you want?” “You know it is.” “Alex, once something like this starts it’s not so easy to stop. I know I began it yesterday, and perhaps I shouldn’t have, but for your own sake, think carefully my darling. Be very sure you want this, because there could be serious consequences, for both of us.” “I know, and I’m prepared to face them when they come. Now, what do I have to do, rape you, because I’m going to have you one way or the other.” I drew her to the bed and lay her on it. She was gasping with passion and no longer resisting or protesting. Instead, she was whimpering her desire: “Oh God yes… take me Alex…Take me darling…as much as you want…” I finished divesting her of the shirt, then took off her jeans and her panties. I undressed myself, and then spread her legs wide to reveal her genitals. Her vulva was like a soft pink rose. I parted the lips to reveal the inner red, bud-like lips, and opening these, I saw the entrance to her vagina, glistening moistly with her lubricant. I licked her, tasting her femaleness and breathing in her woman fragrance. Mother was making little squealing sounds and I transferred my attention to her clitoris, running my tongue round it. I heard her saying repeatedly, “Oh Alex, darling…darling…Oh my darling…” I felt her begin to shake with ever increasing violence, and her squeals turned into screams and cries, begging me not to stop. I had to put my arms round her thighs to hold her in contact, and her hands were behind my head, dragging me tight against her. Her tumult reached a crescendo, and as I felt her slowly subside, I came over her, thrusting in deep to release my pent up sexual need for her. I felt the first release of my sperm from my testes, pumping up my shaft to cannon into her. Her legs wound round me and I had my hands under her buttocks as I thrust burst after burst of semen into her, deeper and deeper. Then we were released from the anguish of our lust for each other, and lay gasping in each other’s arms. No longer urgent in our hunger, we subsided into the warmth of tender love, whispering our devotion, promising faithfulness and uncaring of what might come of our deeds. I thought, “We have come to the right suite, this is just like I imagined a honeymoon to be.” As I lay softly handling mother’s breasts, a dark shadow thought crossed my mind. With all this beauty at he disposal, why did my father not enjoy it? It seemed madness that having what many men would kill for, he apparently rejected it. I wanted to ask mother, but realised this was not the moment, and pushing the thought aside, I returned to losing myself in her body and her love. I think we must have dozed for a while, and it was mother who came to and shaking me said: “Come on Alex, a shower then dinner. The weather is beautiful so let’s eat alfresco.” We showered together, and if it had not been for mother’s firmness, I don’t think we would have gone out to eat that night. I promised myself more joy of her body when we got back. About to leave, mother said, “You started this married couple business, so I think you’d better carry on with it properly.” “What do you mean?” “I’d better be Cleo from now on, instead of mother.” “Ah, yes. I hadn’t thought of that…Cleo.” “And you’d better put on your ‘adoring husband with new wife’ look.” “That won’t be difficult, darling.” “Come on, let’s go and eat before you start getting too potent again.” “I hope the feeling is mutual?” “Yes, so let’s go before I rape you.” Laughing, hand in hand, we left the hotel and made our way to the outdoor restaurant. I don’t think I had ever been so happy in Cleo’s company, or any body else’s for that matter. She was looking absolutely radiant, and I saw the eyes of the men taking her in, whether they were with a partner or not. I began to feel a trifle jealous. I didn’t want other men to even look at her, I wanted her all to myself. We were sitting close to the footpath, and had just finished our second course, when I saw a group of men and women, obviously a bit inebriated, approaching. I pointed them out to mother, and we had a bit of a chuckle at their weaving antics. As they drew closer I saw they were made up of older men – in their fifties I guessed - and young girls. They were about to pass, when I froze. Mother called out, “Hello, Dennis, having a nice time with ‘The Boys’?” It was my father with his “Boys.” He had his arm round a heavily made up, giggling girl who could have been anywhere between sixteen and twenty. The group stopped. Most of the men had met Cleo and, sizing up the situation, they decided to leave father to his fate, and disappeared along the street hustling their girls with them, except for the one father was with. Father paled under the tan that extended over his baldhead. “What, the hell are you doing here?” he spluttered. “Like you, I’m enjoying myself, Dennis – at least, I hope your enjoying yourself.” The girl, still clinging to him, and clearly well under the influence, stared fishily at Cleo and slurred out, “Who is she, Den, one of your old flames? Aren’t you going to introduce us?” “Clear off Ada, go with the others?” “Oh, but daddy said he’d buy his little girl something nice.” “Piss off,” he snarled. The girl backed off, startled. “Don’t be like that, Dennis,” Cleo said, “Be nice to her or you might miss out on something.” “Shut up, you cow,” he growled. I stood up and stepped over to him, and said very quietly: “Father, if you speak to mother like that again, I’ll break your bloody neck.” He stared at me blearily for a moment, then sneered, “Little boy protecting mummy, is he?” I gently took him by his shirtfront: “Yes daddy, little boy is protecting mummy now, and in the future. So you piss off, daddy, and buy your little girl her “something nice.” I gave him a little push and he staggered back a couple of paces. “I’ll have you in court, you bastard he yelled.” “Good, I’m sure the court would be highly amused at some of the things that will come out about you. Goodbye, ‘daddy’.” He grabbed the girl and together they continued their erratic perambulation in the direction the others had gone in. I expected to see Cleo badly upset, but instead she was smiling. “There was no need to be rough Alex, the poor man was just embarrassed and upset.” Catching her amused mood, I followed up on it. “If a lover can’t defend his beloved, then what use is he, darling? And why aren’t you upset? I mean…” “You mean because I saw him drunk and with a girl who could almost be his granddaughter?” “Well, yes.” “Darling, I’ve known about his predilection for young girls for ages.” The moment had come. I felt I could ask the question that had been puzzling me. “Cleo, you’re a beautiful woman…it’s not just me talking…there are plenty of people who say that. So why…why did he stop…you know? I mean, look at the girl he was with…she was a…a trollop…a…” “Alex, we don’t really know what she is and I don’t see any point in abusing her, but to answer your question; your father is like a lot of people. They see something they think they want, and soon after they get it, they no longer appreciate it, or it gets left behind as they see something else they think they want.” “That’s how it was with your father and I. He wanted me badly enough at first, and he also saw me as a way to the partnership in daddy’s legal firm he so coveted. He got me, and eventually got the partnership.” “In fairness to him…” “Damn fairness…” She overrode me. “In fairness to your father, ask yourself a question. You are elated at the moment over the sexual relationship we’ve started. You have wanted me for years, as I’ve wanted you, and at last, it’s happened. Will you still want me six months, a year, two years from now? Or will you become tired of me. Will you want someone younger?” “I don’t expect you to give me an answer, but just ask yourself the question, and give yourself an honest answer.” “But I want to answer…” “No, please Alex. If you say what I think you want to say, you may have to live by your words some time in the future, so let’s just enjoy what we have now.” “If it’s any help to you, I shall be finishing with your father when we get back home. I hung on with him first because of you and Barbara, and then when he…when Barbara left home, I stayed on for you. Perhaps I should have done things differently, but I didn’t, and it’s no use regretting it now.” “For now, Alex, I’m going to enjoy you and our trip, so come on, my lover, take me back to our room and make love with me.” We rose, and once more hand in hand, we made our way back to our room. Cleo made no pretence at modesty. As soon as we entered the room, she began to strip off her clothing, to stand naked before me. “If you see something you like, darling, then help yourself.” I ripped off my own clothes and together we subsided onto the bed. “You know I love you very dearly, don’t you, Alex?” “Yes, I know.” I wanted to explore her from head to toe. I wanted to know ever nook and cranny of her body, to possess it and consume it. I had a raging hunger for her and wanted to do all things to her at once. I wished I had the eight arms of an octopus to explore and caress her with, and multiple mouths to suck and nibble. Always aware of her beauty, I was now overwhelmed by it. I suppose I was in a state of adoration, worshipping at the shrine of her loveliness. I began at the top of her head, pressing kisses onto her red-gold sweet smelling hair. I kissed my way over her forehead, her eyes, nose, and her soft sensuous mouth. I traced her chin and neck, her exquisite breasts and on down her body to that sacred place, the vulva, lingering to press my tongue into her entrance, that opening to paradise. I kissed down to her feet and back to her buttocks and anus, then up her back to finish once more with her hair. I knew I loved and desired her more than any women I had ever been with. I wanted to melt into her, be inseparable from her. It was even a little frightening to be so captivated by her. I bent over her, taking a long pink nipple into my mouth as if it were some hallowed object. She was my goddess, the Earth Mother, the Giver of life and love, the symbol of all that is most wonderful and mysterious in woman. I had wanted to possess her, but in truth, she had possessed me. I was her worshipping bondman. I felt her hand on my penis, gently stroking it with her soft warm fingers. First in a rapid little jiggle, then with increasing pressure snapping back my foreskin to produce a delicious pain. She pushed me on to my back and continued the treatment until she felt my orgasm approaching, then she slowed down, making me hang on the verge of ejaculation, and on feeling my orgasm retreat she began again, slowly working me to the very edge once more. I lost count of how many times she performed this delightful torture, but finally, bringing me to the edge once more, she bent over, and taking my shaft into her mouth she licked my crown and then began to plunge up and down my length. I discharged into her mouth like a cannon, squirting out masses of sperm and striving to find the words of love and adoration I so longed to express, but words seemed to tame, too ineffectual to convey my obsession with her. Entering into a sexual relationship with someone changes your perception of him or her. That change in perception, once having taken place, you can never go back to the old relationship. For twenty years of my life, mother had been mother, even in my teenage years when I had sexually desired her. No doubt for the same number of years I had been simply her son to her. When I thought of mother engaging in the sexual act, I visualised her performing it with the same dignity and restraint I saw in the rest of her life. The Long Vacation Now we had become lovers, I found I was relating to a woman who, when we made love, was very different. She was passionate, open to every sexual act and abandoned. At times she seemed insatiable and in her sexual frenzy could become violent, tearing my back with her fingernails. It was as if that which had restrained her for so many years, had suddenly broken down, igniting a blistering sensual conflagration. As well as her unexpected tempestuousness, and while she had always looked younger than her years, she seemed to lose the air of strain that had so often been part of her, making her look even younger. On my side, I could now see that all the girls, and most especially the two older women I had engaged in sex with, had been substitutes for mother. I had been seeking her in them. Both of us now had to relearn our relationship. We could not go back to being simply mother and son. A powerful new energy had entered into our lives and would now lead us into the unknown. That night, and in the following weeks of our trip, we made love at every opportunity. In our hotel or motel rooms, on isolated beaches where we swam naked. Once, just for the fun of it, we had sex on the back seat of our car. Not caring much for the discomfort, we did not repeat that experiment. As our trip drew to an end, our lovemaking became increasingly intense, even desperate. We had to decide what the future would be for us. The decision was made a little easier because money was not a problem, but something happened that finally determined the matter. At breakfast one morning during our last week, Cleo looked very solemn, more like mother than the Cleo of the past three weeks. “Alex, I have to tell you something.” “Mmm?” “I was due to menstruate over a week ago, but I haven’t. I think I’m pregnant.” “Ah!” I stopped chewing on a piece of bacon and stared at her across the table. I was stunned. Looking back now I can see how ridiculous this shock on my part was. I had taken no precautions by using a condom, and if I’d thought about it at all, I suppose I assumed mother was on the pill, or she was beyond getting pregnant. I had not even bothered to ask. As I sat looking at her, I felt a sense of shame and guilt. I had just taken what I wanted without thought of what might happen to mother. I began to stutter out a ridiculous apology. “Mother, I’m so sorry…I…didn’t think…what…” I had reverted to calling her “mother” in this crisis. “What am I going to do?” she asked, completing my sentence. “What…what are…are we going to do, you mean, mother.” She gave a slow smile and said, “I may still be mistaken, Alex, and of course there will need to be medical confirmation, but I hope I’m right.” “You mean, you don’t mind being pregnant?” “Of course not, darling, I counted on it.” “You what?” “Alex, if you’d tried to use a condom I would have torn it off you. I wanted you make me pregnant.” “I don’t understand. Why?” “Darling, can’t you understand that women often want to have a child with the man they love.” She laughed aloud, then went on, “We couldn’t waste all of that lovely semen you’ve pumped into me, could we? At least one little spermatozoa had to reach its goal, and that is just what it seems has happened.” She appeared to be treating her potential pregnancy almost blithely. I had avoided getting my past sex partners pregnant, but on a couple of occasions there had been what turned out to be false alarms. On those occasions, the women were far from happy about the situation. Yet, here was my current partner, my own mother, happy because I had impregnated her. I just did not know what to make of her. “Mother, please, tell me plainly, do you really want this baby?” “Of course I do.” “But what about…what… about your health? I mean, you are, well…” “So you’ve now noticed I’m somewhat older than you, have you?” “It’s not that…I mean…you could…could have a bad time…” “Alex, do stop stuttering and stammering. I want to have the baby, and I’m a strong girl, and I’m not asking you to accept any responsibility. I told you what I suspect because if I were pregnant, you would have to know some time, and better sooner than later. All right, darling?” “No…no, its not all right,” I yelled. “Don’t shout, darling it makes you sound like your father.” That brought my volume down quickly. “Mother, didn’t you always teach me to be responsible for my actions?” I said in a modified tone. “Yes.” “So if I’m the father, I’ll act responsibly.” “What do you mean, ‘if’ you’re the father. Are you suggesting I’ve been having sex with someone else over the past two or three weeks?” “No of course not. All I’m trying to say is, if…er…as the child is mine…” There was a fierce feminist glance from mother. “As the child is ours…I’m the father…you’re the…Oh hell, I don’t know what I mean…Yes I do. I shall be responsible,” I said somewhat smugly. “Alex, please don’t get pompous, it makes you sound like your father, again. I do understand what you are trying to say, and I love you even more for it, but you don’t have to be ‘responsible’. I can take care of myself.” “Damn it, Cleo, I don’t want you to take care of yourself. If you think I’d just go off as if nothing had happened, like you getting pregnant, then you must have a poor opinion of me. I don’t understand why you wanted me as a lover if that’s how you think of me.” She was laughing again, between gasping breaths she said, “All right, all right, Alex. Of course I don’t think of you like that, but I wanted you to have every chance to be free from the responsibility. If you were going to take me and the baby on, I wanted it to be a completely free choice.” Mollified, I calmed down a bit. “You’re not absolutely sure your are pregnant?” “No. I can’t be sure until the doctor confirms it, and we’ll need to wait a bit for that. But we might make some preliminary plans.” “Ah, yes.” I would have liked to act the strong male, making decisions, setting something in motion, but I hadn’t any idea what to do, and I told Cleo so. “No, you men usually don’t know what to do. Well, I won’t beat about the bush. Pregnant or not, I had plans for you and I. As I said the time we saw your father with that girl, I’ve had enough of him. That being so, I think I shall set up house near the university and take a live in lover, namely, you. “Mother will keep house for her bachelor son. It’s a pity her marriage broke up just as she got pregnant, but that’s life for you.” She laughed again, then went on, “I’ve got my man, I’ve got money, and above all, I’ve hopefully got the pregnancy I wanted with my man. Now what do you think of that for a plan." She had rattled all this off with great aplomb, leaving me mentally breathless. I struggled to find an appropriate response. She was so happy and self-assured and I so bewildered, words would not come. “Alex,” she almost sang, “Do you want me or not?” “Of course I bloody well want you, you silly woman,” I finally came out with. “Darling, there’s no need to swear. Can I assume it’s settled, then? We’ll live together?” “As lovers?” “How else? But we don’t have to tell those who don’t need to know, do we, darling?” I could scarcely believe my good fortune. I was being offered a beautiful woman as a lover, a caring mother, and someone with plenty of money, and all wrapped up in one parcel. I laughed, “I’d have to be a fool to refuse and offer like yours, wouldn’t I?” “Even if you’ve got to be a daddy as well?” “Even if I’ve got to be a daddy as well, Cleo.” She laughed, and I thought I detected a note of relief in her laughter. She wasn’t quite as self-assured as she had tried to pretend. I think I loved her even for that little bit of doubt in her. It was two days after we arrived home that father turned up. He was all noise and bluster, but mother was putting up with no nonsense from him. She refused to let me be present when she told him she was leaving him, but I gathered that he made no fuss - perhaps he even welcomed Cleo’s departure from his life. I learned a couple of years after Cleo and I moved in together that he had married some young girl, who was leading him a dogs life with her constant demands on his finances. By that time, Julie had been born and Neil was on his way. After the birth of Neil Cleo was unable to have any more children. Cleo and I played around with ideas about what my relationship to the children was to be. We thought about, “older bother,” but decided that it would not work, so I ended up as “daddy.” After university we had to move several times as I took up jobs as an engineer, so we were saved the embarrassment of trying to explain things to friends. If and when the children know the truth of our relationship, we shall have to deal with it at that time.