13 comments/ 194106 views/ 83 favorites The Tailbone's Connected to the... By: GeorgieH It's not always easy to look back and see where something started. Particularly with a stiff neck -- and boy is mine stiff just now (perhaps I am too old for nightclubs these days, even if I'm only mid-thirties). Perhaps if I write down my memories of events, then that will clarify where the true beginning was. Perhaps not, of course, but it might be kind of fun anyway. Adam had been eighteen for a little over a month and we had just about finished cleaning up after the party. It's not that he or I are particularly messy -- as a single mum I've had to learn to keep things neat here with no man around to help, especially when Adam was younger -- but that had been a hell of a party. I had stayed clear and left the house to the less than tender mercies of Adam and around eighty-five thousand of his friends. I had arrived home from the brief stay at my sister's little house to find assorted friends in assorted states of undress and a rather inebriated son trying desperately to vacuum up the worst of the mess. You might not believe it -- and he sure didn't for a fortnight at least -- but I wasn't mad at him. I wasn't even too mad at some of the more unruly and underdressed 'invitees', and even figured that the sight of so many young women baring more flesh than you would normally see in Smithfield meat market on a pre-Christmas morning wouldn't harm my often-shy offspring. Adam had attended an all-boys secondary school, mostly thanks to my mother's recommendation -- go figure, as some say -- and his (excusing the party-pun) exposure to females had been somewhat limited. No female classmates, no sisters, precious few inter-school parties, precious few visits to local clubs and societies. Which is not to say that at around fifteen my rather shy, young son had begun to display a very masculine interest in anything female. I noticed (but pretended not to) that there were all sorts of images appearing on his computer (he often left it on by accident when dashing off to school). I saw glamour models, pretty girls, less glamourous models with far fewer clothes, voyeur shots taken on beaches, shaved chimps -- anything female (although the chimp thing was probably an exaggeration -- it could have been a particularly horrid actress). I certainly wouldn't have minded in any way if he had turned out to be gay, but a tiny part of me would have wondered if I had contributed to that by sending him to the single sex school, and then I would have worried that he wasn't really gay at all, just over-influenced by his testosterone-laden surroundings. And then I would have worried that... and so it went on. In any case, he was female-mad and, to judge by the occasional 'crusty' sock found under his bed, everything was in working order. Given the apparent wildness of his eighteenth I was rather hoping he'd come out of it with a girl or two as 'special friends' but if anything happened on the night (and the soppy grin he wore for a week hinted that it might have done) then nothing continued on afterwards. It was five weeks to the day after the bacchanalian fest when I slipped on a discarded bra -- not mine, I might add -- that I had just fished out from underneath a bookcase. I landed on all fours, but not the fours one automatically thinks of. I went from standing to sitting in half a second or less, landing on both hands and both bum cheeks all at the same time. To say that I was surprised is a vast understatement and I must have let out an uncharacteristic (honest) yelp. Or possibly yell. Adam dashed in from the garage where he was busy trying to pull an old motorbike apart and saw me staring up, wide-eyed, from the floor. "Mum?" "Adam," I managed after a few seconds, "What's the name of that little bone at the bottom of your spine?" "The coccyx. It lends weight to the theory that we were all descended--" "I think I might have broken mine!" Really uncharacteristically I began to sniffle. "Oh, mum, I wondered what the noise was. Um, you'd better try to get up if you can... go rest on the sofa?" The pain was amazing and I yowled like the cat some people say I can be at times as I tried to move. I'm not a heavy individual by any means -- only just over five foot, a hundred pounds wet -- and I reached out for Adam's hand knowing that he could help me up. With infinite care Adam pulled me more or less upright and I raised my eyes to his -- mine full of tears, his full of concern -- "It really, really smarts!" "I bet. It probably isn't any more than bruised though -- it will have flexed a bit when you landed is all. You'd better rest on the sofa... maybe kneel?" I nodded, "You really think it's just... bumped?" Adam nodded, leading me one hobble at a time towards the cushions, "Like I said, it's a bit flexible and just real painful if you catch it wrong." I winced my way onto the cushions, "Feels smashed to bits... is there any sort of test I can do? Like bending a finger to see if it's broken?" Adam shrugged looking away, he mumbled something. "What? Adam please speak clearly -- this is really sore." "I said you might be able to feel if anything's out of place." I nodded and went to reach back. I was wearing a long, flowing skirt but there were a lot of layers of material wrapped around at waist level. The second I tried to probe under that a pulse of pain had me yowling again. "Mum?!" "Oh fuck... oh my god, sorry but oh that hurts!" "It's okay. Mum, is there anything I can get you? Painkillers?" I shook my head, "Just... you really sure it's not smashed up?" "Pretty sure." "Only pretty? Adam! It... it needs checking out!" He stepped back, "Shall I call aunt Stephie?" "She's twenty miles away and anyway she'll be working today! Can't you just have a quick look?" We were never very open around each other, clothes-wise, but right then I had no doubts that he needed to look even if he would have to pull my skirt down to do so. He was only Adam, my boy, anyway. That didn't mean he didn't demur at first though. "I'm not sure I would know what to look for or feel..." "Adam, it was you who told me all about the cyccox-thing anyway!" "Coccyx, but, well..." "Just... please, Adam?" I turned to face the arm of the sofa, away from my son, and felt a gentle touch just above my waistband. The hand withdrew. "Seems fine, mum." "Adam! I may not know what the f... damned thing is called, but even I know that if it's halfway up my back I have a serious problem here so either do it properly or phone an ambulance!" "Where's the phone?" "That was a joke! Oh god, Adam, this really does hurt! Please just look properly!" "Well... okay." His hands went back to my lower spine then moved onto the ruffled skirt. There was a genuine probing sensation but the skirt was so thick that I couldn't even feel much pain. "Adam? Unzip the skirt and push it down a bit, okay? I know it's probably embarrassing, but oh honey I need this checked like yesterday." He muttered and mumbled until finally the zipper slid down and my skirt was pushed maybe an inch lower. He might have been embarrassed but I was in too much pain to care. I yanked -- gingerly, if there can be such a thing -- until the skirt slid off my butt. Adam's low whistle put the fear of heck into me. "What is it? Is it obviously busted?" "No!" he took a deep breath, "I mean no, it's all... that is I think there's a bruise developing but it looks per... really just fine!" I reached back and without the tangle of the skirt I could touch the throbbing bone through my skin and my panties. "Is it supposed to be this lumpy?" "Looks good to me. I don't mean good, I mean fine! I just--" "It's alright, just chill!" My heart was slowing down now I was pretty sure that nothing was smashed up, and I even started to appreciate why my firstborn -- only-born -- was clearly in full-on embarrassment mode. Here was his mother, bum in the air, skirt round her thighs, little white panties on show and she's asking him to play look and feel with a bone that curled under her. "Just, er, have a quick check with your hands and make sure it's all fit, okay?" There wasn't much relaxation going on behind me when the clearly reluctant fingers of my son very gently brushed over my panties and the redundant tail bone beneath. I wasn't so cruel on his sensitivities to force him to be more thorough, just asked him whether it really was fit enough. "It's fine, mum." His voice barely wobbled. "Help me get the skirt back up then and we'll see if I can sit down on these cushions." With a few yelps and winces, I was covered up and sitting in record time. Poor Adam couldn't even properly look me in the eyes before he dashed off to attend to his bike once more and I can't say I was too disappointed that he left me alone so fast. The pain subsided very quickly after I was settled again and I made a mental note to thank Adam for his help later. I'm not sure if I did, as it happens. I later checked the view he must have had (from my bed looking back into the mirrored wardrobe doors), but even then, in my thin white cotton knicks, I never once thought that he would have really seen anything but his poor mother's bruised butt. **** The bruised tailbone incident was unusual at chez moi, but unusual and remarkable are entirely different things. So maybe I got the category wrong. Just a week later, though, the ball, if that's the right word, was on the same but different foot. The rug that had rested diligently and warmly at the bottom of the stairs, never moving an inch, decided to ruck itself up on one corner, and the woman who had diligently and with much sweating practised balance exercises tripped apex over butt and -- you guessed it -- landed squarely on her rump once again. Once again, Adam dashed in to find me peering up gloomily and tearfully from the floor. "You slip again mum?" "Tripped." "Is it your...? "Coccyx." I nodded, the first tear spilling down my cheek. Adam had evidently had time to come to terms with the previous incident. He offered me his hand after fist dragging the sofa close by, settling me on my knees as gently as he could. "You need me to check again?" I nodded again, "Please." "It'll be just the same you know?" The first sign of reluctance was growing so I quickly quashed it, desperate to have my coccyx checked, ""I know, I know, but it hurts like mad again and so soon after last time... jeez, it's even the same skirt!" Adam's hands moved to my zipper, "Really sure?" I gave a third, adamant nod, "I need to know!" "You're the boss," he managed, and I admired the way he was covering his embarrassment this time. Or so I thought, anyway -- and maybe he was. Who knows? This time my zipper was down in a second or two and it was Adam who eased the skirt down my thighs. My panties were a little briefer -- bikini style -- but I figured that would make it easier for him to check me. I was even grateful to feel his rather tentative touch as he didn't hesitate to make sure I was okay this time. "Well?" I asked after a few seconds. The fingers moved off me fast, "Um, all great. I mean all in order!" I breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank god. I thought I might have done even more damage." "The, er, bruising will get worse I guess, but just that." "Okay. Help me get the skirt on then and I'll rest it like before." Sure enough, Adam helped me up, leaving the skirt pulling until I was upright to make it easier, carefully holding the waistband away from my bruised bone before zipping me up and settling me down. "You might consider putting some of that witch-stuff on it for the bruise, mum." "Witch-hazel? Good idea." Adam went to say something else but stopped himself. "What is it, son?" "Nothing, seriously!" And with that he dashed off. Later that night I used the bedroom mirror to help me apply the liquid, chuckling briefly when I considered how I'd almost asked my super-embarrassed son if he would do it when the slip had happened... ***** For the next few days I was kind of glad I hadn't. My normally affectionate son was taciturn, surly even. It reached a head on the following Saturday. "Mum, I just don't want to, right?!" "Well if you want the desk you're going to have to help us!" "But--" "Forget all the buts and just face up to it. I need your help and it's you I'm helping anyway. It's as simple as that!" "That car is tiny!" "I don't care. You want the desk, your aunt Stephie needs to get rid of it and my tailbone is still too sore for us girls to do it on our own." It was a simple equation. My sister was getting rid of a desk that Adam had wanted for years and we were moving it here in her, admittedly small, car. I needed his strength to shift the old wooden unit and we had very little time. It was a remarkably quiet and surly son who helped his mother and aunt load up the old Nissan. By the time we were finished, the car looked as if it had been split in two. Both rear seats had been flattened down but the top section of the unit was still wedged upright all the way from the back of the vehicle to the front screen. "I'll stay here then," Adam suggested when it was clear that there were only two seats remaining. "On no you won't," Stephie said. "We'll need you to help us get it into the house at the other end. It's raining already so it can't be left out while I ferry you lot and in any case I haven't got time. My little sister is just that -- little -- and since we're driving there along the lanes no one is likely to see two people on the same seat so she can sit on your lap for the journey. It'll only be half an hour or so. Okay with you, Allie?" She shrugged, "Sure. No worries here and we do need Mr Muscles when we get back." "But mum--" "Shut it!" Stephie and I said it together and laughed. I pointed to the car, "Go and sit in the passenger seat and get comfortable. I'll follow when you're ready." Mr Muscles, lacking any form of sparkle, slouched over to the Nissan. Stephie turned to me, "Sure you're okay with this?" "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" She gave one of her wry smiles, "He's a growing boy is all. It's going to be squashed up in there." "Oh, there'll be room!" "That isn't quite what I meant," she shook her head and led me over towards the car, "Just make sure you're comfortable with this." I gave her a puzzled frown and walked around to where Adam had taken his place and was staring at a distant scarecrow. I crouched into the car backwards and settled on my son's lap, passing the seatbelt over my shoulder and offering it to Adam to buckle in. It clicked closed just as Stephie, hidden by the top of the unit, fired up the rattling engine. It wasn't a minute later before I realised what Stephie had meant by being squashed up against Adam. My skirt was thin cotton but had been pushed high on my thighs when I wriggled into the car. With the lack of space in the old Japanese clunker, the side of my left thigh, bare flesh now, was pressed very close to the front of Adam's soccer shorts -- which were becoming noticeably firm. Even then, it took me another minute to realise that the proximity of my bruised butt on his lap was creating an altogether natural but almost alarming reaction in his shorts. I started to chatter away about anything, trying to ignore Adam's right hand which had to rest on my back, warm through my blouse and his left which was apparently trying hard not to touch my bared knees. Every bump and pothole had me inadvertently wriggling a little on his lap and by the time we were little more than halfway home he was undoubtedly rigid. I felt for him -- by which I mean I sympathised with his plight! It was all perfectly normal and natural but must have felt so weird for him (if it felt even a tenth as weird as it felt for me) and eventually I had to dip my head and whisper that I understood what with the proximity and that I knew it was normal for a healthy young man. Even as I started to chatter away again so Stephie could hear me, I could feel Adam relax a little. His right hand began to hold me there rather than rested on my back, and his left held my knees in place. He didn't even flinch too much when we bounced over a cattle grid and I almost slid off his lap. Feeling the tension ease I no longer kept tugging my skirt as far down my thighs as it would go and didn't even pull a fraction away when that hardness of his ground against my bare thigh once or twice. I was a bit bemused at first then we arrived and he dashed off, red-faced and claiming he needed to use the toilet. "Looks like someone was more squashed than he was comfortable with," my sister remarked. "What?" "Oh, Allie, sometimes I despair of you!" Then, while we waited for Adam, she told me what she suspected. About hardness and things. I didn't really believe her. I think. ***** That 'I think' might have remained an idle consideration -- I just didn't have the nerve to raise the issue with Adam in conversation during the days that followed, and for his part my son avoided me at seemingly all costs. Might have done. Then came silly party. The silly party was actually my thirty-sixth birthday party. For reasons that still escape me (really), my sister and a work colleague of mine got together to organise a meal followed by a few drinks and an old-fashioned disco in the local pub. That almost horrified me when it was announced but as time passed I found myself really looking forward to something so retro and yet full of possible laughs. My sister had invited the few family members who still talked to the 'weird sisters', and my work colleague, Maisie, had invited a few workmates and some acquaintances who often appeared at works functions. There was a mix of ages and a substantially lower mix of genders, and even Adam and a couple of his friends were called to attend. It started out being a thoroughly lovely evening. The meal, a very unoriginal but very much appreciated Indian mix, was followed by the retro disco and seemingly gallons of free wine. In my smart little party frock (smart and sexy, Maisie and others agreed), I imbibed, danced and even joined in an impromptu and somewhat raucous karaoke session. I was grinning from ear to ear, the centre of attention but a very willing one for once. Guys I knew and barely knew asked for dances and I bopped and swayed a few times. And that was when the problem started. It was a guy I'd seen before but barely knew. He was somehow related to one of my colleagues and for the first few hours he seemed to be just fine. But then he started to get a little 'handy' during a slower dance, his fingers slipping down to my butt despite me pushing him away a few times. I walked away in the end and was almost back to the bar where Stephie was waiting with a fresh glass of something that used to be a grape or twenty when I saw her eyes widen. A fraction afterwards I felt a heavy hand on my arm and a voice saying 'Oh, come on, darling!', shortly and alarmingly followed by an equally heavy hand cupping one cheek of my butt. I was just about to turn and tell the slimeball to, rather impolitely, go away when I heard the sound of a fist hitting flesh. It wasn't like any of the silly sounds you hear in the movies, no 'smack' or 'clap' or even 'crunch'. The sound was dull but deep and accompanied by a noise something like an asthmatic dog farting. I imagine, anyway. The hands dropped away from me and I felt, rather than saw, the obnoxious handy-man slump to the floor. He was on his knees by the time I finally spun around, but I barely registered him there as I found my Adam, my son, glaring down at him, waving his hand up and down. "Adam?" He looked up at me, "I... sorry but this pig was... oh god, look I'm sorry mum, but... shit!" He spun and dashed through a clearly appreciative crowd growing around us. The Tailbone's Connected to the... "Hey! Wait honey! Adam!" I made to move off after him but was restrained by Stephie who grabbed my arm softly and whispered 'leave him be for a minute' while at the same time managing to direct a not so subtle kick into the groper's side. Within a second or two I was being ushered to a barstool and for some weird reason being congratulated -- more than once for having such a faithful and caring son. I tried to focus on spotting my boy amid the crowd but couldn't see him, distracted anyway by watching three guys throwing the still gasping form of my former dance-partner out of the bar. For five minutes I was surrounded with well-wishers trying to make sure that my over-zealous fan wouldn't spoil my evening, then another half an hour of well-wishers just enjoying the party. After three more hours I wasn't really looking too closely for Adam any more. I must have arrived home after midnight and before dawn, but I wasn't exactly capable of sensible thought for a dozen or more hours after that. I noticed sometime during the morning that Adam had returned home himself but was lurking in his room -- and to be honest, I was happy for the peace while I tried to shrug off the worst of my hangover. As my senses gradually returned to something like normal I realised that I needed to go find Adam and see what had made him run the previous night after -- rightly or wrongly -- standing up for me in such an untypical manner for him. I was just working up the courage to try standing unaided when he tried to sidle through to the front door, evidently hoping to miss my attentions. "Adam?" "Er, mum?" "Come into the living room, please." I could almost hear his feet dragging as he slumped into the room, "What? "Charming, son of mine." "Sorry, I mean what do you want?" I pursed my lips and gave a small laugh, "Surely you know what I want to talk about?" "I guess." "You guess right. Listen, I'm not mad at you, okay?" That got his attention raised. "You're not?" "No. It was very gallant of you. Very unlike you, but very gallant. But you know I just have to ask the question?" "What?" "No, close, but wrong. It's 'why'?" "Huh?" "Adam," I sighed, "I could have stood up for myself, you know? And a lot more gently!" "Mum, I just--" I patted the sofa next to me, "Shush, and just come here and tell me why you thought you had to come bulldozing in and do that? And before you protest in any way, understand that I really was grateful however much of a surprise it was. So why do it?" Adam sat but almost straight away tried to turn and stare out the window. I patted his shoulder, "Look at me, talk to me. Why?" I didn't really think too much about his answer beforehand. I wasn't looking for anything other than maybe making sure he wasn't thinking that he's spoiled my evening. Finally he turned to me and surprised me all over again. "Mum... he was touching you and leering at you and it just looked all wrong!" "I wasn't asking for help just because he was pawing at me, you know? "I know, but he had his hand right on your... your bottom and I know you don't know him!" I gave a little laugh, "Adam, for someone -- you -- who had his own hands on my butt twice in the last couple of weeks, that's not a great excuse is it?" "Oh mum! That's not the same at all!" I was surprised by the sudden rise in pitch of his voice, and even more surprised by what seemed to be almost panic in his tone, "Hey, honey. I didn't mean you were touching me up as well!" "Well I wasn't was I? I wasn't even going to touch you there or even look too close!" "Okay, okay, it's fine, I know that." "I promise I never thought I'd even be lucky enough to see you like that let alone touch....oh fuck!" He was out of the room before I could even close my shocked jaw. Lucky? ***** I never moved as Adam dashed out of the house and didn't even leave the sofa all the time I chatted to Stephie on the phone, finally understanding all that she'd been talking about, hinting over. I spent half an hour amid the cushions even after I hung up, trying to work out how dumb I could possibly be. I spent an hour or more on the internet, realising at last that a few sons really do think that way and that at the very least I was female and my near nudity and my close contact really might have excited him anyway. Was I shocked? Well yes. Of course, in a way. Was I scared? No, not really at all. But I knew I had to talk this through with him. Just knew it. I reached for the wine bottle I'd just opened. ***** I was still sober by the time Adam slunk into the house (I'm fairly sure), but he looked resigned as he followed me into the living room when I hijacked him on his way up to his room. He didn't even put up any resistance when I ushered him onto the sofa. I had managed to dress in a casual skirt, a silky top and was wearing a wrap over my shoulders -- casual but smart enough to look a little serious. "Adam... You know we need to talk, right?" "Guess so." "Adam, you do know it's not your place to look out for me right?" A grunt. "Well, Adam, it's not really your place to look at me either." "Mum, I never--" "I know you're a teenager and you have needs and all that and Adam?" I waved away another protest, praying I was right -- really praying, "Adam, it's all flattering. You looking out for me, unnecessarily or not, and you looking at me. Okay? I understand, honey. And I guess with my falls, I forgot just how grown up you are now, but... well, it's not really right and proper is it?" "Mum!" It was almost a wail but I could hear the truth in my own words regardless. "Adam, Adam, Adam! I promise you it's all okay, no harm done -- and a lot of flattery received and I promise you, appreciated. Let's just... cool it, okay?" He was looking like a pure mixture of panic and relief -- weird to see in anyone, let alone your own flesh and blood -- and I patted his hand to reinforce my words. "I really should have thought, shouldn't I? And that ride back from aunt Stephie's -- that was just plain silly of me!" "Mum, no! It wasn't your fault. I just... I mean there you were and you really are so... I mean you're gorgeous, alright?" His words, shocking me, were coming faster and faster -- he was evidently believing that the worst was either over already or he was at the bottom of the barrel so he might as well dig on, "Gorgeous, yeah. And sure it's wrong I guess for some people, but I couldn't help getting so excited when you almost had your butt bared and then... oh jeez, mum, when you were on my lap in that little skirt, I'm like sorry I got so hard but how couldn't I, right? I mean your legs are so cute--" "Adam!" I finally found my shocked voice and shot to my feet. "Okay, right! I get it that you got turned on and that you think I'm something fucking hot but this is going way beyond where it should be! Just get out and get yourself a girlfriend or something! Keep your hands to yourself in future. And your hard cock!" I don't know which of us was more shocked by my outburst -- my panic, really -- but Adam shot out of the house yet again and I locked myself in my room for what seemed like a week. ***** After a few days I reached a decision. I was a total bitch. And just because other people had reached that decision first didn't make it any less accurate or necessary. I had over-reacted so badly it wasn't even funny and I finally realised that I needed to put some balance back into mine and Adam's lives. I also realised that I had to tread very carefully now -- make sure the balance was just as it should be so that he could get back to being a decent, normal teenager with decent, normal tastes -- preferably outside the house. My first two attempts at just speaking to Adam had him scurrying for cover faster than a rabbit finding himself in a field full of foxes. I finally managed to trap him in neutral territory when I heard him go up to the attic and crept up the steps after him. "Honey, before you dig your way through the slates and jump off the roof, I need to talk to you, and first up, I promise you I'm not mad at you any more, okay?" "Really?" My relief would have registered on the Richter scale if respite vibrated, "Yes, really. I was just ... well shocked and stupid. You're a teenager and I'm an over-protective, prudish mother -- we just got the mix wrong that night, okay?" "Well..." He peeked around a crate, "You're sure? I mean I got carried away and dumb and stuff as well, but you were... scary!" "And I'm sorry, really. Come down and talk to me properly, okay?" Relieved when he grunted an affirmative, I scurried down to the living room. I was sitting, hopefully looking relaxed by the time Adam came in, still a little unsure. I came straight to the point before he lost his nerve and bolted. "Fancy a weekend away at the Viking Centre in York?" "The..." "Call it a 'sorry will you forgive me' present, but I think a nice, sensible, serious couple of days looking at historical artefacts might go a decent way to getting things back on an even keel around here." Adam looked more relieved than ever, "That sounds... lovely. I mean, yeah, I'd like to do that. But are you sure we can afford it?" Money had been a little tight, it was true, especially after our two recent birthday bashes but my relationship with my son was worth more than money could measure, "We might have to go easy in restaurants, but it'll be fine." He finally nodded decisively, realising that a civilised weekend studying ancient civilisations was probably a very good idea, "Yeah, okay, mum -- sounds great." So that was that, our rift was proved temporary and three days later we rattled off in my sister's borrowed Nissan (she was being very supportive of my attempt to mend things with Adam), and our moods were both positive and high. It was a long drive to York and the roads were interminably busy but the mood in the car was relaxed and cheerful. I gave control of the CD player over to Adam and let my mind drift across the few recent history lessons I had picked up regarding that young man. I remembered all too painfully that first accident and his twitchy response when I was begging him for help. Begging was such a funny concept really given how he was feeling -- no matter how naughty that was. And then to do it again a week later! No wonder he found it much easier to pull my skirt down a bit that time. I almost giggled aloud thinking of how he must have gawped at my poor bruised butt. I almost giggled again when I thought of myself sliding onto his lap in the car -- this very car -- with my skirt sliding up and his poor hardness as I bounced around on the journey... I paused. Surprised that I could already look back on those things so comfortably. Then paused again. It was easy really because it wasn't just comfort, was it? I fought the craziest feelings, the whiteout that was going on deep in my brain somewhere. Tried to stop myself admitting it even for a second. But... but I was reacting on some level in a way that I fought so hard against, and yet my body... I had to admit that those memories were giving me the tiniest -- really tiny -- buzz. My nipples were hard in the silky bra that constrained me. There, I admitted it. And there was a tiny, tiny tingling sensation much further down. Admitted again. Yes, further down in that most private area that had been just a few inches from Adam's hands when I made him check out... I took a sharp, deep breath, covering my sudden panic with a cough, eliciting an 'are you okay?' smile from Adam, and making me straighten my skirt for some obscure reason. Okay, obvious reason. It wasn't exactly a long skirt and I wanted to cover the tingling area as much as possible! I tried to deny the feeling for the next fifty miles but it had happened. Gone now for sure, but it had been there. Like I said, though, it was a long journey and by the time we arrived at the hotel I had rationalised it as just a product of everything -- a sympathy-for-my-son emotion, not an empathetic one. Adam, for his part, seemed totally oblivious to everything and had barely even glanced at my legs under the short skirt I wore, or my bust under the loose, silky blouse. For just a second I wondered what on earth had possessed me to wear such things, and for a micro-second I tried hard not to be disappointed at such a lack of reaction. Shaking my head to clear such weird and wild thoughts, I grabbed my little bag and headed into the hotel. Or rather motel. Or possibly rat-breeding centre. ***** "Yes, I know what I booked. Two small rooms and breakfast included." "Well it says here," the receptionist said in her best Billericay accent, "that you booked a small room with two beds and didn't want breakfast." "It's wrong then." The receptionist looked back blankly, "And?" "And change it, please." The last word was a real strain for me, but I tried to maintain my poise. "Sorry, I can't." "What?" I had the impression that any second the woman would give a nod to Little Britain and tell me that the computer said 'no'. "You mean you can't change the booking now it's made?" "Oh no, I can change bookings." "So why not change this one?" The woman gave her best Billericay shrug, "It's just we're full up." "This place?" I found it hard to believe that even rats would queue for a room there. The woman leaned forward across the reception desk with a conspiratorial look, "I know what you mean, love, but it's true. We're fully booked because of all the people come up to the conference." "Conference?" "Yeah. The Confederation of something or other." "So," I said slowly, "you mean it's crammed up here this weekend?" "Yeah. Even shit-holes like ours," the receptionist fanned her inch-thick make-up, "I never worked so hard ever since I been here." I was about to say something pithy and appropriate but Adam stepped forward and saved me making a total idiot of myself. "So," he said, "the only room is this one with two beds?" "A twin, yeah," the receptionist favoured my son with a lipstick-stained smile and leaned forward to the point where her breasts were in serious danger of making a guest appearance. "Well it's only for two nights and if there's nowhere else, I'm sure mum and I can be discreet enough to make do." He turned to me, entirely resigned, "What do you think, mum?" It was the resignation in his eyes that got me. "Oh, go on then. I'm sure we could drive a dozen miles and find somewhere but I'm too tired to keep motoring already." And it was true. It was a twin, not a double, and it was only two nights -- and more importantly, Adam had seen the side of me that reacted very badly to his silly desires. And it was true, as well. A twin, as we saw when the receptionist led us up to the first floor room, ensuring that Adam was following her close enough to see the manufacturer's name on her knickers as she led the way in her mini-skirt. What wasn't quite so 'twin' was the fact that the two beds were pushed together and apparently bolted into position, the gap between them measuring in millimetres rather than metres. I looked at Adam and he looked back at me. "I'm okay with it if you are, mum? Sounds like we haven't got much choice here unless we abandon the trip and I've wanted to come here for ages." I couldn't see anything but that resignation again in my son's look, and besides, there were spare pillows that would form a perfect barrier if needed. And it was a heck of a drive, and he was clearly deserving of the trip, and... and I was certainly not at all intrigued by the idea of sharing such a small space with Adam -- genuinely. "Oh, alright then. We can put up with it for a couple of nights." Adam grinned, grabbed his bag from Miss Billericay and handed her either a five pound note and/or a scrap of paper with something hastily scribbled on it -- a phone number, perhaps. I hid my own grin and silently wished him the best of luck. Not that I thought it would take much luck to attract her into a compromising position. A real one-drink girl. ***** That night evidently wasn't the one-drink night though, and Adam and I arrived back at the rat ranch at more or less the same time, both appearing in the tiny residents' bar just after ten. I had spent the afternoon browsing the shops, painfully constrained by my purse strings while Adam had been trawling around the Jorvik Centre painfully aware that his red hair spoke of Viking blood. We were both out on our feet and grateful for the refreshment of cold beers (very unladylike, I know, but I do adore a Budweiser from time to time). A little before eleven Adam turned and nodded towards the stairs up to our first floor rabbit hutch, "You want to go up first, mum, or shall I?" "First? You mean...oh, right." He meant (I finally worked out) if I went first I could change for bed and be covered up before he got there. "Good idea. Give me ten minutes to do my teeth and get... well, into bed." He nodded and checked his watch, "See you in ten then." I was in bed with the covers tucked under my chin within five minutes, toothpaste still smeared along my top lip. As soon as Adam arrived -- at least ten minutes later, good boy -- I switched off the light to give him privacy. A few minutes later I felt his presence in the bed next to mine and we wished each other the briefest of 'good nights'. I turned onto my side, facing away from where I knew my son must be and wondered if he snored. An odd thought to drift off to, but that was the last thing I recalled. ***** I awoke as the first rays of dawn tried to sneak past the grime on the window. That was my first thought. Then I wondered why a motel had two floors -- after all, who would park outside this window? And then... and then I realised that there was an arm draped over my shoulder, and its fingers were perilously close to the top of my nightie where, despite being still bra-clad, my breasts were feeling suddenly rather exposed. I froze and listened. Adam was breathing very deeply, almost snoring. There was absolutely no movement except the rise and fall of his chest, dimly felt as a soft movement of the mattress next to mine. It was an accident, then -- or rather, a natural movement in the night. Not a deliberate attempt to touch me. His fingers suddenly flexed, the tips brushing across the very edge of my bra which suddenly felt very small for the flesh it contained. My son's fingers were resting on the naked flesh of my upper breast but... but he was asleep so there was no harm done. All I had to do was slip out from under his arm and he would never know. And I had to stop feeling those tiny sparks as well... He didn't know, couldn't know. Of course not. And I was preparing myself carefully to make the move away, not lingering and experiencing the odd, bad sensation of his fingertips on my breast. Fingertips which now flexed again! They slid over the material of the bra almost as low as my nipple which bulged there, rigid for some strange reason. I forced myself to listen to the deep rhythm of his sleep and I was only making sure he was really asleep before I moved, right? I started to roll slightly away from him but realised that if I continued that way, his fingertips would brush over the hard nipple that they were already so close to. I couldn't do that, could I? But I did have to slide away, right? I wasn't being silly at all really? Huh? And -- jeez -- I didn't freeze when the contact was actually made because I wanted to experience that feeling for a moment longer, right? Or a little longer still, yeah? He flexed again and I nearly moaned as the pressure on my breast increased. If I moved up as well as across those fingers would almost drag the thin material right off that hard-- The Tailbone's Connected to the... I very nearly squealed as I came fully awake, slipping out from under the arm in a flash, slipping out of the bed and landing, naturally, on my tailbone. This time, though, I'd be checking for bruises on my own! I was busy mentally calling myself every synonym I could think of for 'stupid' when a quiet groan from the bed told me that Adam was stirring, probably woken by the sound of flesh hitting threadbare carpet. I yanked my blanket down over me. "You waking up, honey?" "Mgfrmp." "Yes, good morning to you as well, now can you scuttle off to the bathroom for a couple of minutes?" I might have had on bra, panties, nightie and blanket, but I wanted my privacy and a skirt and blouse as soon as I could get them. "Mgfrmp." "Thank you. I'll make the coffee as a reward, okay?" The form on the bed sat up, rubbing his eyes (no joke) and then peered at the pillow next to his, clearly wondering where I was. "Mum?" I poked my head up from my position on the floor, "Here. Now run along so I can get decent." He yawned and muttered something like 'you are' (I honestly think) before covering his mouth and slipping out of bed to make for the little en suite cockroach meeting centre. I saw him grab his jeans and I never really saw him try to cover the hardness that was so obvious inside his boxer shorts, and the way he had to press it against his belly with the denim over the cotton... Really. As soon as the door was locked behind him I called out that I would tell him when he could come back in and as soon as I got his muffled agreement I cast of the blanket and stood up. I looked down at the top of my left breast where his fingers had rested for a few seconds, my bra visible down the front of my nightie. Had I really been that... jeez. I grabbed my bag and hauled out clean underwear, grabbing also my clean blouse from its hanger and a skirt from over the back of the room's one chair. With trembling fingers I pulled off my nightie, glanced at the en suite door as if that would confirm whether it was locked or not, and then unsnapped my bra and let it fall down my arms as I pushed down my panties. I was naked with Adam just a few feet away and yet I stopped moving for a second. It wasn't as if he was never this close to me this way -- every time I bathed or showered at home when he was there in his room for instance -- but this felt weirdly different. I was naked, unmoving... his fingertips had brushed across-- "Oh stop it, moron!" I whispered. "Did you call, mum?" I very nearly squealed -- again -- and clamped a hand to my groin and another vaguely across my chest, even as I said "No, not yet!" with an air of desperation that I prayed he couldn't hear. Hear it or not I could almost hear the shrug in his voice when he just said "Ok" and I did NOT hear any disappointment in his tone. I don't know why, but I took my hands away from my body and faced the bathroom door. I touched where he had touched and stopped abruptly when I felt that tingle again, deep in my groin. With a shudder I grabbed the clean, white -- and shock-of-shocks -- matching undies and ignored how thin they were as I dragged them on, the blouse and skirt following in record time. ***** I had made a vow to use the spare pillows as a barrier that night, but other than that I had a most relaxing day while Adam was off chasing Vikings again. A light lunch, a couple of coffees and then the best bit of all: a Lottery scratch-card win. I never gamble, I say, but the Lottery is different. And that day was the perfect time to break my no gambling rule. The prize was £500. And I was waiting at the motel when Adam got back. "That's a new dress," he remarked almost straight away. I was surprised and delighted he'd even noticed, "Yes it is. You like?" It was a strappy halter-neck, ideal for a hot summer evening and Adam took a good look before nodding, "Very nice, but I thought we were broke?" "We were, but a little lottery win means a new dress and a nice dinner. You good with that?" "Wow, mum -- which means yes!" And so started a great evening in many ways. The dinner was superb -- Nepalese -- and we even managed couple of glasses of rather nice wine at a classy-feeling wine bar before heading back to the motel where we had earmarked a few Budweisers as a perfect end to a very pleasant second day. My dress had caught people's -- men's -- eyes all night long and that was pleasing, even if Adam did look a little wary at the unusual attention I was receiving. Yet another guy didn't hide his admiration as I bought the third round of beers and the alcohol was just enough to allow me to ask Adam just why he was being so protective when it was only a few looks. "I just... don't want any guys to get any ideas." "Ideas that I might still be sexy at my age?" I teased. "Oh they don't need a slinky new dress to see... mum!" he finished with a groan as I laughed at him. "So, sexy am I? No wonder you were so keen to check my tailbone!" I was getting a little light headed, of course. Adam rolled his eyes, "I said I was sorry, really." Very light-headed, "Hey, I'm not after apologies. I think it's nice -- but naughty-nice -- that you still think I'm okay." My son looked hard at me, trying to see what was truth and what was tease. Given that maybe I had veered a long way towards truth, he must have seen that in my eyes, "Well you are okay. More than okay. Okay?" We both laughed, "I guess I'll let you off," I told him, "Maybe it's right what they say about flattery." "So... it's okay to say that I think you look great?" "Maybe for one night only," I was giggling a bit now, fascinated by Adam's creeping confidence. "Well you do look great," he took a deep breath, "You still got a great figure and that dress really shows off your... you know?" "My you know?" Adam dared a nod below my chin and I feigned a little shock, hand to mouth. "You're not talking about my... bust, are you?" He didn't seem to be comforted too much by my giggle, but managed a semi-confident 'yeah'. "Although," I added -- and please remember I was a little tipsy by then, "I prefer the word 'breasts'. Is that what you mean?" "Y...yes... your..." "My breasts?" "Y... your breasts!" "Actually," I tried to stifle another laugh and the vague stirrings of that darned tingle, "the best word off all for me is..." I dropped my voice to a whisper.., no longer tipsy but obviously drunk, "tits." Adam's eyes widened, but he saw his opportunity, "Yes," he had to swallow hard and lowered his voice as well, "I really think it shows off your tits really well!" The tingle surged but alarm bells started to ring loud and clear. I hitched myself onto a barstool and laughed a little louder, "Enough of the teasing. Sorry, but it is appreciated, I promise." Adam looked confused for a moment then seemed to get my point -- it should be treated as a big tease. Then he glanced down and wasn't so sure any more. I looked down as well and saw immediately what he meant. When I had slipped up onto the stool, half of my skirt was hitched even further than its already short status dictated. Although Adam had no way of knowing, since the halter neck didn't allow for a bra, the white panties on view were part of the matching set. I jumped down with a squeak and a giggle. "Accident!" "Really, mum? Not finished teasing me yet?" Adam actually looked rather miffed. "Oh darling," I gave him a genuine hug, "I swear on all that's loved, it was a pure accident! "Oh yeah? You mean it?" "Cross my heart and all that rubbish." I hiccupped, "Anyway, now I've got your views on my tits, what about my knickers?" "Mum!" It took me twenty minutes to calm him down. ***** He did calm down in the end, and we really did just talk about neutral stuff like his plans for life after education and my dreams of opening a restaurant. The beer slid down well and we were both a little wobbly by the time we got to the room, together this time for support -- a bathroom lock-down would take care of modesty issues. I asked Adam if I could get ready for bed first when we got into the room and he agreed easily, even helping me to find the bra I wanted for underneath my nightie. He fished it out from under the bed and handed it to me, "You don't really need it, you know?" "Pardon?" "I know it was a bit of a tease," he said, lips freed by beer I guess, "But you're in great shape and don't need a bra." "Are you saying...." I giggled. Adam laughed, blushing now, "Yeah, you got great tits." I feigned shock and half-feigned annoyance, trying desperately not to feel any tingles, and trying even harder not to notice the rigidity of my nipples, "That really was a tease!" "Sorry, mum." I gave a mock sigh, "Boys will be boys, I guess, but in any case, I'm going to strap myself in tonight. And for your information, it might just be for protection more than support!" Before anything could be read into that by either of us I was off into the bathroom to change, and we both dived into bed at our respective times in utter darkness so that not even blushing cheeks could be seen. ***** Sunlight through grime, why were there two floors... and an arm over my shoulder. Yep, I was awake again, and heavy breathing behind me indicated that I was the first. But things weren't quite like yesterday morning, were they? A moment or two of thinking and I realised that the arm was lower, the hand already an inch further towards my nipple, almost half of which was surely uncovered by the featherweight bra? He was asleep for sure but how close was he to touching me there? How close might he have already come? If I turned to slip out of bed slowly this morning... would those fingertips trace.... The flex! And today the tips of two fingers must have been on the very edge of my left aureole -- and I couldn't move. Did I dare not move for fear of what might be touched? Or... or what? Or was I waiting,.. was I that naughty, that bad? Another two minutes of utter stillness. One hundred and twenty seconds of me calling myself every bad name under the sun. Then flex and oh my. I could feel the thin material of the bra slip off the rigid nipple, guided blindly by the sleeping fingers. I tried to control my breathing as I felt air pass around the finger and around my bared nipple. My left breast was exposed. My son was touching it. Another flex and it was all I could do not to moan as the fingers slid lower, covering more of my naked breast. I was bad, mad. I was awful. I was letting Adam cup my bare breast. I was letting him feel one of the breasts -- the tits -- that he had openly admired when we were so tipsy the night before. But I did NOT feel the heat at my groin. I WOULD get up real soon. Real, real soon... A mumble and groan from behind me. A squeeze of my bare breast. My son moving close, breaths still deep in sleep. I had to move before I could feel... The heat and hardness at his groin which would tell me how much he liked the feel of my breast in his sleep... Did it really affect him that way? Did I really need to know? Need to stay there and-- Another shuffle from Adam and I did know. Hardness between the cheeks of my butt, heat against my still bruised coccyx, and the feel of my hard nipple pressing into his palm just as his hardness pressed against me. I had to move but then that nipple was freed and I felt so liberated even as my breast lay bare. Liberated but... what? Wondering? Interested in what.... The hand reappeared, at my hip now. And just like the dress on the barstool last night, my nightie had ridden up so high that my panties were bared. I gasped as those fingers touched bare flesh, tried to fight the sensation of pleasure that the cotton nightie was not there to ameliorate contact. Tried so, so hard not to wonder what my boy's new interest might be, how thin the material of my panties was. He wouldn't dare, would he? Not touching there.... Did I want him to dare? Did I? Why hadn't I moved? Why did a tiny part of me feel so tingly -- overjoyed? -- because such a hard part of my boy was pressed so tightly against me now? Why was I letting that hand slip now across my hipbone? Why wasn't I stopping those fingertips from starting to glide over the thin cotton, from hip to... "No!" I grabbed the hand as fingertips met the heat of my groin through the cotton. What was I thinking? Adam stirred behind me, groggy, not awake properly yet, "M... mum?" I held the hand, frozen now. I wondered why I hadn't thrown it aside, wondered why I let my body stay where it was, the hardness -- my son's hardness -- pressed against me still. Even as he woke it stayed there. "Mum?" Real confusion now. I seriously hoped so. Make light of it? Be horrified? What? "Adam?" "Mum?" "I think you were having a dream but reckon you should roll back your way now." "I can't help it, mum." I paused, my mind a blur of white noise, "What... what do you mean?" We were still locked together, "I meant it, you know?" "I don't understand you..." "Oh, mum, I'm sorry. But you really are... I mean, I can't help myself, you're... just... I meant all that I said about how you look," His hand pulled free of mine, "You have such a beautiful figure and these breasts... tits..." The hand settled back over my bared left breast and I gasped, "Adam!" "I'm really sorry, mum, but you are just so beautiful to me. You're the sexiest woman I know and to be able to touch you like this is... is a dream!" I looked down at myself, my son's hand, in disbelief. He was still wrapped tight to me, his hardness still pressed against my barely covered flesh. But... But my nipple was rigid against his palm. Adam, my son, my boy, was cupping my bare breast. I felt heat at my groin -- and I wasn't moving an inch. What sort of depraved, awful woman was I? Why, with e very second this went on, did I feel more and more moisture and heat in my groin? I tried, I really did. "Adam! This is so wrong!" Adam pulled back and for a moment I thought I had got through to him. Then, "I know, mum, but I really, really can't help this!" The hand gently caressing my bared left breast moved across my chest and the right-hand strap of my bra was pushed down my arm. My right breast pushed free, and I was bared to my son. My penultimate attempt was to lay back, let him see. I even unclipped the bra and cast it aside. "There, does that make you happy?" "Yes, yes, yes. But does it make you happy?" Adam's question was so caring, so grown up... honesty flooded through me. "I can't believe this, but I love it!" My son's hands moved back to my bared breasts, now both hands almost worshipping them. I let out a moan which escalated to a cry as first he pulled my nightie over my head and then pressed me back down, nuzzled first my neck and then lower, lower. And then he took a nipple into his mouth. I put my fingers in his hair. I had just one chance left and I guess I knew it. "Adam, oh, Adam. You know, don't you? Know this is so very wrong?" He raised his head and looked deep into my eyes. After an eternity he nodded, my mind whirling in response -- Happy? Sad? Messed-up? Then he followed the nod with another, and said, "I know, mum. But mum? I just can't help it!" His lips dropped to my other breast and I let out a shuddering groan. A hand crossed the front of my panties to my groin and my legs scissored open, seemingly of their own accord, Adam -- my boy -- finding the heat and wetness waiting there. Other fingers scrambled at the waistband of those tiny panties and I felt them pushed off my hips, my legs closing for a moment to ease their path down to my feet. I was naked, open to the eyes of my only son, my sex, my womanhood bared to him. It was going too far I knew. I knew it more when I heard his boxers sliding down. I knew it even more when I said that it was wrong and he should stop. I knew it fully when he agreed and told me he just couldn't help himself. He lowered his hardness to my belly, then lower until the head reached my heat. He stared into my eyes again. An eternity passed. And then I knew it completely and absolutely. As his eyes said 'I love you' and his hard cock said 'I need you'... I lifted my hips a tiny fraction. My sex, my womanhood began to open. Adam began to ease down and the head of that glorious cock started to spread me. I grabbed his hips, held him suspended. "It's wrong." He nodded. And pushed at me. His hips slithered through my fingers and he entered me fully. I moaned so loud I think. When he almost withdrew and thrust again, I moaned louder. When I asked him to talk to me and he said he loved me, his mother, I was whimpering... but when he asked me whether I liked the feel of his hard cock inside me I swear I howled. I knew it was wrong, knew it, but oh god, he was inside me, staring at my nakedness, then sucking at the tits he had fed from all those years ago. It was wrong but it felt like the most heavenly fuck of all time. I told him that and he ground harder, pumped at me. He was gasping, but managed, "Wish it never had to end!" Between grunts I said something like "You keep this quiet and maybe it won't." The thrusts got harder and faster, "I meant this time but if that's the offer I accept!" I grabbed his butt, curled my legs around his and stared into his eyes, shocked. "Sorry if that's not--" "No, not that stuff!" My eyes widened. "What Mum?" That last word started it. I swear, "This can't be happening!" "What can't? Mum?" He might have been concerned but his pace never faltered, "Adam," I kissed him, I just had to, "Adam, you're going to make me... oh god... climax!" The feeling rose from so deep inside, rose fast and unstoppable. For every thrust of my son, I matched it with a buck of my own. He could feel it I guess and the thrusts and bucks got wilder and harder. Soon he was struggling and I could see it. I knew what he needed, knew what it would do to me. I kissed him first, felt his tongue against mine for a second before pulling back. "Let it go. Adam let it go." The first of his juices flooded me and I lost control, "Oh god yes cum in me, cum in mum, cum in mum's pussy. Fill mummy, fill me! Oh fuck!" Adam's hands crushed my bare tits, he was still trying to thrust just as I was trying to buck, the feel of his cock deep inside me, his cum filling me.... The orgasm hit me. Hit hard. I raised my hips as high as I could. I let out every sound I needed to as wave after wave of euphoria hit me. I felt the pull and push of a climax take control of me. And then another, and another. It didn't really end, just wave after wave. The world could have walked past and I would have carried on climaxing, staring into the lusting, loving eyes of my boy. My son who had bared me, my touched me. Fucked me. I cum again, crying his name loudly, my eyes losing focus, my ears starting to ring. I managed to gasp something about him making me cum and another surge hit me. When Adam's lips closed over a nipple I think I blacked out. ***** I came fully awake to find Adam still deep inside me, half hard there and his head buried in my hair. He realised I had stirred and leant up on straight arms, "I guess I should say sorry, mum." "Was it that bad?" "You seriously okay?" "It's a bit late for changes of plans, right?"" He looked at me quizzically, "Adam, just because it was so very wrong doesn't mean that it didn't feel so wonderful." I pulled his head to mine and licked my lips... then his as I kissed him softy, finally breaking the grip as he moved. He started to stir inside me, "So... you meant what you said about more?" "If you can make me climax like that again I might mean every day -- but let's get rid of that sugary crap I just come out with. What I mean, you naughty son of mine, is that your mum has discovered she loves the feel of your hard cock inside her and, right or wrong, she wants more, okay?"