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Our Town

By: BonnevilleFlats



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. 


Our Town Ch. 02



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 principle 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 involved in sexual situations in this story are over the age of eighteen.

*

Dr. Robert Kirkland, PhD: It is dubious to comment on a case you have no direct knowledge of, especially when the only information you have has been gleaned from reports in the media. So anything I say regarding the Siebert case must be taken with a grain of salt. I've had no contact with the couple through my practice and no access to any psychological reports. 

This appears to be the type of mother/son incest case where the son, as he matures, replaces the father -- who is usually absent or otherwise ineffective -- as his mother's significant other. The emotional bonding precedes anything sexual. In fact, there are far more cases of what is called "emotional incest" between a mother and son where there is no sexual contact whatsoever. When the relationship turns sexual it is often an attempt on the mother's part to prevent the son from leaving home and starting a family of his own. The interesting thing about the Siebert case, from a psychological standpoint, is that the couple has had a long term, ongoing sexual relationship, living as husband and wife for several decades. That is rare in these cases. Usually, the couple is intimate for a relatively brief period of time, maybe a year or two at the most. Then the overwhelming psychological pressure of an ongoing incestuous relationship between a parent and an adult child forces the couple apart, the breakup having all the emotional impact of a bitter divorce or other family estrangement. Most cases where a mother and son spend decades as "significant others" is when no physical contact has ever occurred. The son is usually perceived as a "confirmed bachelor" who appears to take care of his mother and has no apparent interest in a long term relationship with a woman.

How did Rebecca and Allan Siebert end up sharing a marriage bed for over 25 years? My best guess is that two things happened. First, something extraordinary -- far beyond the typical case of a lonely, single mother bringing up a son on her own -- happened to create this bond. The second thing that may have occurred is that the sexual contact between the two of them became ritualized. It happened in the context of something that became a part of their daily lives, something that could never be replicated with another partner. How did their intimate life turn into a ritual? That is the mystery.

Michael Anders: Aunt Becca and Allan have always been the proverbial elephant in our family's living room. My father and step-mother pretend not to see the obvious, that the two of them wear wedding rings and share a bed whenever they visit. To my children they are simply Aunt Becca and Uncle Allan, the kids not yet old enough to ask those sort of questions. As far as my sister is concerned, the matter is a bit more complicated. Aunt Becca is her surrogate mother; the one who carried her in her womb for nine months.

I know what you are thinking, that my sister's real parents are Aunt Becca and Allan and my parents agreed to raise her to avoid a scandal. That's a natural conclusion and, admittedly, the thought did cross my mind that the surrogacy story only masked a family secret. But after the story of my aunt and cousin broke my sister had her DNA checked and her biological parents are indeed my father and step-mother.

It was the early days of in vitro fertilization when my aunt agreed to carry my father and step mother's baby. I was ten years old and already had rudimentary knowledge of how babies were made. Once it was apparent that Aunt Becca was not going to miscarry my father explained in detail about zygotes, fetuses and how even though Aunt Becca was the one who was pregnant the baby in her belly would be my half sister not my cousin.

The doctors at the clinic insisted on weekly contact with my aunt while she was carrying so my father leased a condominium in Los Angeles for the duration of the pregnancy. Allan left college to stay with his mother. It was great having my cousin around. I was an only child and had secretly wished for an older brother. Allan was always taking me to the movies or Dodger games the year they were out here. On weekends I'd stay with them at the condominium. 

When I stayed over I would sleep in Allan's room while he and Aunt Becca shared the queen size bed in the master bedroom. That never struck me as strange even though Allan's room always seemed to be exactly the way I'd left it the previous weekend.

The three of us would watch television, me on the floor while the two of them snuggled up on the sofa underneath a comforter. Later on in the pregnancy, when Aunt Becca had a visible baby bump, Allan would lay across his mother's lap, his hand inside her sky blue satin robe as he stroked her belly.

"Did you feel that?" she'd ask. "Our baby just kicked."

"Yeah, she got me real good that time." 

"She's going to give her handsome daddy a black eye or a bruised cheek. We wouldn't want that." 

"No," Allan would say, raising his head. "Mama would have to kiss it and make it better. Let me put her to sleep"

Allan would kneel on the floor as his mother lay across the couch on her back. He'd untie her robe and run his hands in a counter clockwise motion around the upper perimeter of the baby bump. He'd go on like that for several minutes as Aunt Becca closed her eyes and leaned against the arm of the sofa. 

"I think she's asleep," Aunt Becca would whisper.

She would pull Allan close, caress his face with her fingertips then kiss him gently. Allan would rest his head against his mother's bosom while she ran her hands through his hair and massaged his scalp. At this point I knew it would only be a short time before Aunt Becca said, "Time for bed, kiddo," and shut off the television set. I'd go into Allan's room as the two of them walked into the room across the hall and close the door behind them.

Ann Spear, RN: I have been a nurse at the fertility clinic for almost forty years now. I am proud of the pioneering work we have done in the areas of in vitro fertilization. It has allowed many couples to start families who otherwise would not have been able to.

Rebecca Siebert's case is memorable for one reason; she was well into her forties when the implantation procedure was performed. Although today it is common for women in their fifties and even sixties to carry a child through in vitro fertilization, this was the first time our clinic worked with a woman past menopause. For this reason we monitored the pregnancy closely, seeing her twice a week for the nine months she was with us. It was a gestational surrogacy, the biological parents being her brother and sister. Other than that, it was unremarkable.

In the third trimester Ms. Siebert began childbirth classes at our clinic. She was accompanied by her son Allan who served as her coach. At that time we used the Bradley Method of natural childbirth which emphasizes the role of the baby's father in the birthing process. The couple is trained in relaxation techniques where the mother respond's to the her partner's voice and touch. 

My experience is that couples with a strong intimate bond do best in the delivery room. You would be surprised at how much you can learn about a couple's intimate life just by observing them during the pre-natal massage instruction. Couples with serious intimacy issues need special attention during this phase. Because Allan was a son instead of a husband I decided it would be best to work with the Sieberts privately. 

Just before the Sieberts arrived I set up a massage table in an examining room, turned off the lights and had several candles burning. A tape of the ocean waves was playing to create a relaxing atmosphere. I told Mrs. Siebert to go into the room and get ready while I spoke with her son in my office.

"This is an important part of preparing for labor and delivery," I explained. "We are at the point where you are going to take a more active role. If you don't think you are ready for this, please let me know. We can always arrange for a doula to take your place in the delivery room."

"We've discussed this," Allan said. "I want to be in the delivery room."

"Good. We start the preparation for childbirth today with the nightly massage. You will be doing more than just easing your mother's aches and pains. She needs to be completely comfortable with you at her side. In many ways your roles will be reversed, with you being the parent. I hope the idea of seeing your mother naked doesn't -- how do you teenagers put it -- freak you out?"

"Not at all," Allan said. "I've seen my mother with her clothes off."

"This is a whole lot more than just walking in on your mother while she's getting undressed. You will be seeing her with her hips spread as she is pushing a baby through the birth canal. She will most likely be screaming in pain. Your mother will need you to encourage her in a calm and loving voice telling her that she is doing fine. She will be depending on you in a way she never has before."

"It has been just the two of us since my father died. We depend on each other."

"Okay then. Today I will need you to talk to your mother as you are giving her the massage. You need to say things like, 'I know your back is aching from carrying the baby, let me help you relax those muscles.' It is your voice as much as your touch that will soothe her."

I used a diagram to show Allan the appropriate strokes for various parts of the body. I also showed him which areas to avoid during pregnancy. 

When we entered the examining room Allan's mother was laying on her side, a white sheet wrapped around her waist, her head and hips supported by pillows. The candles flickered, casting a shadow over her exposed breasts. I reached for Rebecca's hand and moved her arm over her head and pressed against her hips with my other hand.

"This stretches the muscles," I said to Allan. "You try it. And remember what I told you."

Allan held his mother's wrist with his right hand as he rubbed her waist gently, then pressed.

"Just relax, mother," he whispered. "I know that carrying our baby has worn you out. It's nighttime and we are on the beach, just the two of us. I'm going to make you feel so good."

I squirted some massage oil onto my palms, rubbed them together, then began to work on the area on either side of her spine. I motioned towards the bottle of massage oil so Allan could prepare his own hands and take over. The moment Allan made contact with his mother's bare skin she let out a long breath and her shoulder dropped slightly. I could see the tension leave her body as her son worked the area round her spine and then upwards to the shoulders and neck. Allan leaned towards his mother's ear and exhaled lightly.

"You are doing so well," he whispered. "Such a wonderful mama."

He kissed his mother on the neck just below her ear.

"Hmmmm," his mother moaned quietly.

I guided Allan's hand along the side of her torso, following the curve of her hips and staying away from the area around the sacrum. Allan made circular motions with his left hand as he massaged his mother's lower back and pelvic area. With the fingertips of his right hand he lovingly caressed the spot where her neck met her shoulders. I lowered the sheet from the hips, draping it across her thighs, then stepped back and watched as Allan went to work on her hips and buttocks. In the flickering candlelight Rebecca was the very image of a Rubens painting; pale white skin, flared hips and a plump, valentine shaped derriere. 

Allan squirted massage oil onto his palms and began to knead the area where her ass joined her thighs.

"I know those hips are aching from carrying our baby. Let me take care of that, mother."

Next, I had Rebecca lay on her back so Allan could massage her feet and legs. I propped her knees with a pillow and placed the sheet over her waist and baby bump. Her milky white breasts spilled to either side of her torso, the nipples protruding from the pink areoles.

Avoiding her ankles, Allan rubbed the arches of her left foot. Rebecca looked down at her son as he worked and playfully mussed his hair with her right foot. Her feet were surprisingly dainty given her size and her toenails were painted a dark shade of burgundy. There was not a whole lot of swelling which allowed her to wear a gold bracelet on around her right ankle. 

"Mama needs a foot rub because her feet ache so much."

Allan kneaded his mother's calves, working his way upwards. When he reached her knees I reminded him that the thigh area is prone to blood clots and requires a very light touch. Her thighs were pale and thick, the fat deposits gave her flesh appearance of curdled cream. Allan rested his left hand on his mother's outer thigh and began caressing the soft, pillowy flesh of her inner thighs with his fingertips. Rebecca's face went flush. She turned her head to the side and exhaled.

"Ohhh." 

"Like that, mother?"

"Oh yes," she whispered. "My baby knows how to make mommy feel good." 

Rebecca spread her legs then lifted the sheet above her pelvis, resting it on top of her pregnant belly. Her dampness made her pubic hair glisten in the candlelight. Unhurriedly, Allan continued to explore his mother's inner thighs with his fingertips, making circular motions as he traced his way upward. Rebecca clenched her jaw as she moved her head from side to side. She began to writhe slowly on the massage table, then grabbed her son by the wrist and guided his hand to the exact spot that was crying out for attention. That was my cue to leave the room for a while and afford them some privacy.

"So much for the two of them having intimacy problems," I said to myself.

That wasn't the first time I ever had cause to leave the room during a couple's massage. It happened from time to time and almost always meant that their bond was strong enough to withstand any complications during delivery. Obviously Rebecca and Allan's relationship was way too close to be healthy and if he'd been a minor I'd have been obliged to report them to the authorities. But the nature of their relationship really wasn't any of my concern. Since this was an in vitro fertilization we knew conclusively that the baby was not the result of any union between Allan and his mother. 

When I returned to the room Rebecca was lying on her side facing her son. She had her hand around his waist as he stroked her hair and massaged her scalp. I told them that the day's instruction was over and that there were some pamphlets on the countertop to guide them at home. I turned on the lights and left the room while Rebecca got dressed. Later, I watched as the two of them left the clinic, walking arm and arm like any couple about to be parents for the first time.

As Rebecca approached delivery my major concern was how she would react after relinquishing the baby. There was a major risk for postpartum depression. That she and Allan were so close was actually a good thing in this instance. She would need someone to rely on in the weeks and months after the baby was born. If Allan could fill the role of a loving husband there was much less risk of a psychological breakdown. A woman on her own in that position? Very risky. During counseling we offered Rebecca the option of bromocriptine or other medications to suppress lactation but she told us she preferred to let her milk dry up on its own. 

On the morning Rebecca's water broke Allan drove her to the hospital. The orderly wheeled her to the birthing suite where the staff began to monitor her. Our hospital was one of the pioneers in the use of birthing suites. There was no delivery room to move the mother in and out of while she gave birth. Everything was done in her own private room. There was even a sofa that converted into a bed so the father could spend the nights with his new family.

The birth itself went smoothly, a testament to Rebecca's "child bearing hips". Allan stood at his mother's side, encouraging her and applying pressure to her hips when the contractions became intense. He sponged the sweat from her brow, coached her breathing and fed her ice chips. Once the baby's head crowned it took only a three pushes for the birth to be finished. The baby was brought to the nursery to be cleaned up and meet her family for the first time.

About an hour after the delivery I went to check on Rebecca. I knocked on the door to the suite. When there was no answer I tentatively entered the room. The lights were dimmed. The curtain was drawn part way around the bad. I peeked through the space in the curtain. Rebecca was upright in the hospital bed. The rail had been lowered and Allan was seated at the side of the bed, his head resting against his mother's chest as she held him close. Rebecca didn't seem to notice that I was in the room. She was upright in the bed, cradling her son as she ran her hands through his hair and caressed his brow. 

"How sweet," I thought. 

As I got closer to the bed I could see that her pale blue robe was undone, the flap partially covering Allan's head.. Her eyes were closed. She cradled Allan with one hand as she supported her bare breast with the other. Allan's arms were inside the robe and wrapped around his mother's waist. From where I stood I could hear a suckling sound. 

"My baby, my baby," Rebecca whispered. 

Rebecca began to hum a lullaby as she fed her son from her breast. The two of them looked absolutely at peace with each other. I turned around and left the room quietly. It was a scene that, in a way, was played out everyday in the maternity ward; a new mother breast feeding her child after giving birth. 



Our Town



He did have a weird relationship with his mother. The bickering over trivial things like piles of laundry and the way Allan untucked his shirts from his jeans was a little more intense than the way most visiting parents commented on the sloppy dorm rooms. The silences and the rolling of the eyes reminded me more of an old, married couple. 

The other odd thing was that although Allan never smoked during the week he would often share a cigarette with his mother while they sat on the sofa in the dorm room. It was a strange ritual. They would sit together, their legs almost touching while Allan updated his mother about the previous week. She'd ask for a cigarette. Allan would reach into her purse, pull out a silver cigarette case and a monogrammed lighter. With his hands trembling, he'd fit the cigarette into the holder, put it into her mouth and light her cigarette for her. One time I watched as his mother took a drag, held the cigarette with her far hand and leaned towards Allan, her other hand resting on his shoulder. Their lips almost touching, Allan opened his mouth as though he was about to be on the receiving end of a kiss. His mother sent a stream of smoke into his lungs.

One Friday Allan's mother showed up when a girl from Allan's hometown was in the room. She hardly said hello to the girl before she sat on one of the chairs, legs crossed and glaring out the window as she twirled her foot.

"So she's still sniffing around?" Mrs. Siebert said after the girl left.

"God, mother, she was only saying hello."

"If she causes your grades to drop you will be spending next semester at the community college. I'm not paying for you to be playing house with the town slut."

"Whatever," Allan said, sighing.

"I've planned something special for us and don't want this weekend spoiled by you pining for her the whole time."

I assumed that Allan returned home every weekend. But one afternoon Ken, a friend of mine from the swim team, stopped by our room as Allan was heading for the library. He greeted Allan.

"Are you guys in a class together or something?" I asked after Allan left.

"No, I see him just about every weekend at Pine Mountain," Ken said. Pine Mountain Lodge was a resort and conference center about ten miles from campus where Ken worked as a lifeguard. 

"Really? I thought he went home for the weekends."

"Nope. He's having an affair with this older woman. She must be a professor or something."

I asked Ken to describe the woman. The way he described her sounded an awful lot like Mrs. Siebert.

"That's his mother," I said. "He's not having an affair."

"Sure looks like it to me the way the two of them carry on in the pool and in the hot tub," Ken said, shrugging his shoulders. 

Allan didn't return to school for spring semester. I never received any explanation why. He just sent me a letter saying it was okay for me to keep his electric typewriter and the small fridge he'd brought with him. The fridge came in handy and I got to spend the rest of the term in a private room.

Ken Day: I figured Allan and Rebecca Siebert were just another couple having a clandestine affair and didn't pay them any mind. Couples would come to Pine Mountain all the time for one secret rendezvous or another and most of them ended up in the pool or hot tub. As a lifeguard I conditioned myself to look past those things. I mean, it is pretty obvious when two people are fondling each under the water, especially when the guy steps out of the pool and is totally tenting his bathing suit. But none of that was any of my business so I pretended not to see it. And I never walked onto the hot tub deck or sauna when a couple was in there, not until I became obsessed with Allan and his mother.

Before I go any further I just want to make one thing clear; I have never engaged in incest or even fantasized about a family member, especially my own mother. But after I found out from a teammate that Allan and Rebecca were mother and son I couldn't get the images of the two of them floating in the pool, her legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck, out of my head. It was a total turn on. 

I started doing things like checking the chlorine levels when the two of them were in the water together and replenishing the towels or straightening out the chairs on the side of the pool so I could eavesdrop on their conversations when they weren't. I had to be nonchalant because the last thing I wanted to do was creep them out. Just make it seem like I was doing my job. They never seemed to notice. 

The mother wore a black one piece that always seemed to be stretched to its limits. She was a full figured woman who gave the impression that the extra weight she carried was more luxury than burden. The way she applied baby oil to her dimpled white thighs seemed like an indulgence, especially the times she lay on her tummy and let Allan oil up her legs, shoulders and back. She'd let out a slow, deep moan as Allan went to work, especially when he massaged the insides of his mother's thighs. 

The hot tub was on a deck that overlooked the patio and outdoor pool. It was accessed by a sliding glass door that had a sign prohibiting anyone under the age of eighteen from entering. There another door from the pump room to the deck that had a small window. I would stand in the pump room with the lights off and watch Allan and his mother in the Jacuzzi. 

Getting naked in the hot tub was something we tolerated at Pine Mountain provided the hanky panky was kept underwater. Allan's mother would slip the straps of her bathing suit from her shoulders, allowing her breasts to spill out and float freely just below the surface of the water. They would place their wet bathing suits on the edge of the deck. The way the two of them sat close, Allan's arm stretched across his mother's shoulders as he leaned backward with his eyes closed, moving his head from side to side suggested that there was a whole lot more going on underwater. Sometimes his mother would sit between his legs with her back against Allan's chest. He would reach around and pull his mother close, kissing her neck and nibbling on her shoulders as he explored the areas of his mother's body that were concealed by the steamy vapor that lingered like fog in the cold night air. 

One Friday evening Allan arrived at the pool without his mother. He lay back in the chaise lounge and waited alone. About fifteen minutes later his mother arrived. She made no eye contact and sat with her back to Allan as she rummaged through the contents of her beach bag. She started to apply the baby oil to her arms and legs. Allan offered to help.

"Is that what you do with Donna during the week when I'm not here?"

"Mother, I already told you she just came by the room to say hello."

"Don't lie to me," his mother snapped. 

Allan stood up.

"What did she ever do to you?"

"She's a whore. If you are going to be a whoremonger you can keep your hands to yourself. I don't want any part of it."

"You're sick," Allan said as he left the pool.

Most nights I drove back to campus after I closed up the pool at ten o'clock. But that night as I walked past the lounge I spotted Allan at a table with a group of girls from a visiting school's field hockey team. His mother was at the end of the bar smoking alone as she watched her son chat with the girls. She had on a red cocktail dress, her legs clad in black stockings that accented her plump calves. I decided to stay for a few drinks and see how this played out.

A well dressed man with salt and pepper colored hair approached Allan's mother. She smiled and motioned for him to sit in the empty stool next to her. The man signaled the bartender who mixed a round of drinks for the couple. 

Suddenly, Allan seemed to ignore the conversation at his table and watched his mother across the room. She was focusing all her attention on the man, flipping her hair and touching his chest as she laughed at his jokes. After a few minutes the man reached towards her hand and led her onto the dance floor. Allan's eyes narrowed and he glared at his mother as she and the man danced. Her arms were around the man's neck and she stared into his eyes. When the song was over she whispered into the his ear, tugging playfully at his tie. The two of them left the lounge. 

Allan brooded over his beer for about ten minutes before he, too, left the bar. I watched as he waited for the elevator. There were only two floors to the building so I had a pretty good idea which floor he was staying on. I headed for the stairway.

From the stairwell I watched Allan unlock the door to his room. There was a maid's closet next door and, in a stroke of luck, it was unlocked. I slipped inside. With my ear to the wall I was able to make out most of the conversation. 

"Excuse me," Allan's mother said. "I believe there was a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the doorknob. We'd like some privacy."

"I'm sure you would," Allan said. "But this is my bed, too. Why don't I just get on my side and pretend to be asleep while you pretend this guy has a snowball's chance in hell of getting laid."

"I beg your pardon..." the man said.

"Oh, yeah," Allan said, "I bet you thought you got lucky tonight. But let me tell you something about mother. She might let you put baby oil all over her shoulders and the back of her legs but at the end of the night you're going to have to take matters into your own hands. Isn't that right, mother?"

"Allan..."

"I don't know what kind of game you two are playing," the man said, "But this is some twisted shit. I don't want any part of it. Good night."

The door slammed.

"I hope you're satisfied," Allan's mother said. "You just humiliated me."

"Spare me the drama, mother. You'd have been in real trouble if I hadn't come in. Ten more minutes and you might have had to give that guy a blow job."

Through the wall I could hear the cracking sound of somebody's face getting slapped. There was a few seconds of silence, then Allan started laughing.

"You bastard. Get out!"

"And where do you expect me to go?"

"You can walk back to school for all I care."

"I'll tell you what, mother. I'll be in the bar. You can find me there once you get over yourself."

Back in the bar it didn't take Allan long to reunite with the field hockey girls. Most of them weren't much to write home about but there was one tall girl with long blonde hair who had a certain Amazonian allure. She and Allan started chatting and after a while the two of them went onto the dance floor. I was nursing my beer when Allan's mother came in and took a seat about two stools away from me. This time she was wearing a full length fur coat that she kept buttoned. She put a cigarette into a black holder, lit up and stared directly at Allan and the field hockey player as they slow danced. Allan spotted his mother, then whispered something into the girl's ear. They left the bar and headed towards the outdoor pool area. Allan's mother followed. 

With my key I unlocked the indoor pool and went straight to the Jacuzzi deck. In the darkness I watched Allan and the field hockey player as they stood on the patio next to the outdoor pool. Allan put his hands around the girl's head and pulled her towards him. They kissed briefly, then the girl pulled away.

"I really don't think this is a good idea," she said. "Room check is in ten minutes."

"Can I hide in the closet?" Allan asked

"That's tempting but my roommate would get upset. I've got to go."

They kissed one more time before the girl went back inside. Allan took a seat in a chaise lounge. I could hear the sound of heels clicking on the concrete. Allan's mother stepped into the light. She stood in front of Allan, her fur coat buttoned all the way to the collar.

"Looks like she left you high and dry," she said.

"No luck tonight," Allan said. "Like the song goes, 'You can't always get what you want.'"

"And you know exactly what it is that you want."

"I do."

"And what is that?"

Allan was silent.

"Come on, Allan. Mommy can't give you what you want unless you tell her."

"I think you know what I want, Mother."

Allan's mother unbuttoned the top two buttons of the fur coat and stroked the skin just above her breasts with her fingertips. She took two steps forward until she was standing at Allan's side. Allan began to run his hands through the fur.

"Do you want to see more? Do you want to see what Mommy has on underneath her fur coat?"

Allan nodded.

"Well, if you want to see you are going to have to say so. It is too dark for sign language."

"I want to see, Mommy."

Slowly, she unbuttoned the fur coat. Underneath she wore a blue baby doll nightie that reached just below her waist. The cups around her bosom were satin and lace. The skirt itself was transparent, her pale white skin visible in the moonlight. Her fleshy belly spilled out below her waist, hanging over and partially concealing the tiny g-string panty. Allan continued to run his fingers through the fur coat.

"Is Mommy's fur nice and soft?" she asked.

"Yes," Allan said.

"Mommy has another fur that needs some attention too. Would you like to touch her?"

"Yes I would, Mother."

Mrs. Siebert reached underneath the baby doll and pulled the g-string down to her ankles. She bent over, grabbed the panties and dropped them on Allan's face. She then grabbed Allan's hand and guided it to the area between her legs. Allan stroked the soft hair that covered his mother's mound and lower abdomen. His mother let out a soft moan.

"You make Mommy so wet when you touch her down there. Come on, baby, touch Mommy's special spot. You know where that is."

Allan spread his mother's labia and went to work with his finger. She leaned her head backwards and gyrated her hips like a coochie dancer. Then she grabbed Allan's hand again and pressed it hard against her sex. Her entire body began to quiver and her breasts bounced. I unzipped my jeans and began stroking my member as Allan's mother moved her head from side to side.

"Ohhhhhh, you make Mommy feel so good."

His mother then leaned over the chaise lounge and unbuttoned Allan's trousers. She ran her fingers up and down her son's shaft before straddling him.

"Mommy wants to feel you inside her."

Holding Allan's member with one hand she lowered herself onto her son. She gasped as Allan first made contact, hesitating for a moment before easing Allan's penis inside her pussy. She grabbed lapels of her fur and wrapped it around her and Allan like a blanket. Then she began to writhe her hips as she moved up and down, slowly at first but gradually picking up speed like a train leaving the station. Allan caressed his mother's breasts as she fucked him. 

"That's it," she said. "Mommy loves it when you play with her titties."

After a minute or two Allan's entire body stiffened as he inhaled through his teeth.

"My God," Allan said.

His entire body seemed to go limp. Allan's mother lowered her face to his and kissed her son gently on his cheeks and brow. They embraced each other for a few minutes before Mrs. Siebert stood up and buttoned her fur coat. Allan pulled his pants to his waist. His mother grabbed him by the hand, pulled him close to her and kissed him hard on the lips.

"Let's go back to the room," she said. "I think you have at least another round left in you tonight. And this time we can take it nice and slow."

Allan and his mother walked arm and arm across the patio. Allan's mother put her hand in the back pocket of her son's trousers and the two of them entered the hotel lobby like any other couple sharing a weekend of passion at The Pine Mountain Lodge.