Chapter 4: Lessons Learned

Mark

When I woke up it was already a bright sunny day. Mom's head was resting in the crook of my shoulder, her arm slung around my waist. It was a bit of work, but she didn't even stir when I disentangled myself from her embrace. She needed the sleep after running herself ragged for seven months, so I started my day a bit earlier without her.

I had made breakfast for myself and prepared some things for mom to use once she'd wake up.

And waking up took her quite some time. I was lying on one of the many deck chairs getting rid of my own tan line. I could hardly expect mom to do so and then have some of my own. Although mine weren't that ridiculously obvious as I wasn't an outdoor athlete. As someone interested in arts I spent much time indoors, which meant my tan wasn't awfully healthy to begin with. Well, I had two weeks in the Caribbean to correct that.

At around half past ten I heard some rummaging in the kitchen and half an hour later my naked goddess appeared before my eyes. She had a towel with her and her own sun tan oil and a drink of some kind in a Martini glass. The white pattern of her track suite-induced tan lines was almost blinding in the bright sun.

"You should be careful with that," I quipped and pointed at her glass. "You get half-wasted from four glasses of wine."

"Don't worry she said, I went very economical on the Vodka," she replied with a beaming smile, and put her towel on the chair next to me. Before lying down she kissed me and then she saw it.

"Oh my god, Mark!" she squealed and looked dumbfounded at my crotch. "Forget waiting till your eighteenth birthday. We'll have to wait until I'm sixty and worn out enough to take that!"

"I'm not even fully hard, mom," I replied somewhat abashed. "But finally getting to look at you again will rectify that soon. By the way you really haven't taken good care about yourself lately, have you?"

To deflect her attention from my crotch I pointed at hers. It looked as if she had missed at least one waxing appointment as her pussy was covered with a sparse layer of fluff.

"You like your mom all clean?" she asked with a provocative grin and I just nodded, ogling her like the village idiot. Oh dear, this was going to be a long nine months.

"What's with the booze though?" I asked and pointed at the glass when she was sipping from it. "You rarely drink to begin with, and now even before lunch?"

"I need to build up at least some resistance," Mom explained. "I get invited to sponsor events and charity receptions and whatnot. It's embarrassing to be the one who starts staggering and babbling after two glasses of Champagne. And you said yourself I talk too much when I have some stuff in my system.

"If it was for me I could well do without, but it's a bit silly to play teetotaler when you're sponsored by Moet & Chandon."

I didn't answer immediately as I was momentarily hypnotized by the sight of mom spreading the sun tan cream over her perfect boobs. She noticed my staring and just smiled. I shook my head, grinning like an idiot and trying not to drool.

"Anyway mom, I hope you don't plan to go on a two-week bender."

She just laughed. "I'd be sick as a dog after three days. Don't worry honey. I'll just try to drink a bit every two or three days until I can withstand at least three or four glasses without embarrassing myself. I have no plans to become a battle drinker."

We both lay back, closing our eyes and occasionally exchanged a few sentences. About an hour later Mom was on her second drink and still reasonably okay and she even had brought me a cool beer from the fridge.

"Mom, can I ask you a personal question?" I inquired as we both lay on our backs, eyes closed and roasting our fronts. First I only got a giggle for an answer.

"Honey, if I recall correctly from before I was too tipsy to remember, we both declared our undying love for each other yesterday. You can ask me anything you want."

"What's with that submissive streak you have? I ordered you to take off your shirt and you just did. I'm a bit worried."

"You are worried that someone else makes me do things I don't want?"

"More or less. It certainly worked for my father."

"Mark, it doesn't work that way," mom explained in a soft voice. "I'm not stupid or mind-controllable. First of all, I'm a competitive athlete. Total submission wouldn't really work in that business. Remember the three Africans in Vienna? Was I submissive?"

I chuckled and sat up, taking a swig from my beer. Mom sat up too and smiled at me.

"I can't tell you much about your father. But I can tell you, he wasn't a bad person. I think he really liked me. Remember I was thirteen and at that age I didn't even have boobs. I barely had enough to stick in your mouth a year later. He certainly wasn't after me for my body or my looks."

"But he still got you to give up your virginity," I reminded her.

"That he did, and it was because I let him. Of course back then I thought I was in love, even though I was barely old enough to comprehend the concept. But the bottom line is, submission is part of my sexuality, but not my normal character. And I practice my sexuality only with people, who I'm very close to."

"But he still just ran away leaving you with a baby while you were still a kid yourself," I insisted.

"And so was he. He wasn't much older than I, fourteen and a half. We were both stupid kids. After we'd done it, and we were so clumsy I'm amazed we managed to make you at all, he realized he could have gotten me pregnant. What would you have done at that age if you had to come to me and 'fess up that you might have knocked up a little girl?"

I realized that all these years I might have been utterly unfair to the one who was my father, realizing I would have run screaming as well. I buried my face in the palms of my hands. I felt mom's hand rubbing my arm.

"Mark, I forgave Frank a long time ago," she said softly. "Maybe it's time you did as well. After all, he helped to make you and I think despite our inexperience we did a hell of a good job."

I couldn't help, but chuckle. "There's no chance to find him is there?"

"Perhaps with time," mom said and downed the rest of her cocktail. "Now that my lovely son is kicking my ass back in line, I'll not bonk again. My next marathon is the Olympic trial. Who knows maybe I'll even qualify for the 10.000 meters. If he watches the Olympics, maybe he'll remember me. One thing is definitely clear - if I win any medal, I'm gonna take a victory lap with you, and then he'll definitely know who I am. If you want to know what your father almost certainly looked like at age seventeen - there's a mirror in the bathroom."

I just shook my head, momentarily overwhelmed by the new information.

"To get back to that other topic, Mark; this is the reason why I also want to wait until you're eighteen before we make love to each other. There's no law against a mother kissing her son, or a son making fantastic drawings of his naked mom. But there is a law against a mother having sex with her son, and I want both of us to be old enough and responsible for our own decisions when we cross that line together."

"You are afraid I'll turn my back on you and claim I was a teenager and didn't know what I'm doing?" I asked and some of my hurt seeped into my voice.

"No, honey, I know you wouldn't do that. After all it was you who fought so hard for our love, remember? But your next birthday is one of the most important days of your life. From that day on, you'll be accountable for every little thing you do, before the letter of the law. Making such a monumental decision in that moment will be a good reminder of that."

"My decision will be the same as it would be now," I said with conviction.

"I sure hope so, honey; because I'm going to run you ragged that day."

I chuckled with her. "What happened to waiting until you're sixty and all lose and worn out?"

Suddenly mom blushed a massive shade of crimson.

"Well it was a bit hard to miss that your father left you an ... um ... large gene."

I nodded with a mischievous grin.

"Two years ago I made a bee-line for the sex shop and bought two new dildos. The poor girl behind the counter nearly fainted seeing the two big ones I bought. Now it will certainly require some finesse from you, but I will be ready for you honey."

"That's how long you wanted..."

Mom nodded, and I blushed.

Lydia

Frankly, I had no idea who of us was having a harder time waiting for Mark's eighteenth birthday. God almighty, Frank must be the brainy elephant man. Of course I didn't measure but Mark must be at least eight inches when he was hard, and he was hard most of the day, what with me prancing around naked in front of him all day. Too bad I couldn't do naked training in Pasadena; it was a really great feeling of liberty. It reminded me just how much I'd missed going naked since I had stopped doing so after discovering Mark's feelings for me.

I couldn't believe how much he had changed over the last few months. My running away had been an act of cowardice, but at least something good had come out of it. My baby had become a man, and that went beyond his more than manly build. He was a mean little bugger, too. He knew all too well that I got aroused when he was watching me training naked. The beach was about one kilometer in width, so I had to run back and forth and every time I passed by him he'd look at me and once in a while he would stroke his towering erection. More than once I had to run straight back to the house to 'help myself' when the arousal got too much.

Not that he was any better. I didn't count, but I think he hid in the bathroom to visit Mrs. Fist, Finger Avenue, number 5 at least twice a day. But at night he was the perfect gentlemen, never threatening to break his promise to wait for his eighteenth birthday before trying anything funny with mom. I was so confident in his trustworthiness, we didn't need to wear more than a pair of pants in bed and whenever we woke up with Mark cupping one of my boobs, it was because I had gently put his hand there before he woke up.

Apart from that I continued my 'drinking practice' every few days, but progress was slow. It still took no more than four or five glasses of wine before I'd be so wobbly on my feet that I would not make it up the stairs without my baby steadying me. Perhaps it'd be better to look for a different sponsor and get back to not drinking at all.

Mark

The last three days of our two-week vacation were spent in relative quiet. Mom continued to ramp up her training, still gloriously nude, but I refrained from trying to make her horny. When the time had come to pack our stuff mom still had some tan lines but considerably less pronounced. The rest could be taken care of at home, now that she didn't need to hide from me anymore.

On the morning of the fifteenth day the owner, Mr. Handworth, arrived with his wife. We greeted them at the door and he immediately congratulated mom on how much better she was looking. Then he turned to me.

"Have you two worked things out, young man?"

I nodded with a wide grin.

"Should we tell your mother the secret?"

"I think that would help Mr. Hand ... um ... John," I quickly corrected myself and mom looked somewhat surprised, first at John then at me.

"Lydia, I had worked out pretty quickly what was up between you and Mark," he explained indicating we should take a seat in the living room. We did so and mom took my hand between hers and put them in her lap.

"When Mark came to my office to read me the riot act and told me what you had NOT told me. It reminded me of the fact that my wife once tried to run away from me the same way you were running from Mark."

"Your wife is... ?"

"Not my mother," he answered mom's unfinished question, shaking his head. "Rhonda is my sister."

Mom looked at him, and smiled, realizing she wouldn't be alone in her crossing that taboo-line and that doing so wouldn't make her a monster. Obviously John and Rhonda looked like very decent people.

"How did you manage to marry?" I asked. "I know a few countries were mom and I could have sex legally, but marrying?"

Mom blushed slightly at the use of the S word, but John just smiled.

"It's easy, but also tricky at the same time," he explained. "Your mother is a well-known athlete. As such, spouses, siblings, children and even grand-children can assume a different identity for privacy reasons.

"Live a few years with the new identity and then go to a country that doesn't go overboard with the paper work - Denmark is a good place to marry."

"And what's the tricky part?" I asked.

"You'll have to be careful that neither of you ever gets caught up in a criminal investigation. And it will throw a bit of a wrench in your education plans."

That spiked mom's attention. "What sort of ... wrench?"

"You're just finishing high school aren't you?" he asked me.

I nodded. "Finals start in two weeks."

"It would be best to finish high school under your own name, and then sit out a year to change your identity. Then have your high school papers retro-actively changed to the new identity."

"Doesn't sound too tricky to me," I said.

"There's more. We will have to throw the yellow press rags off the trail. That means you must stay in the shadows. You can't be seen at any sporting events with your mother. No more stunts like Vienna."

"Deal," I said before mom could even offer any response.

"And here's the big one. The tabloids are already falling over themselves why America's big marathon star doesn't have a man at her side. If they don't get a story soon, they'll start to dig deeper than any of us wants. We'll have to have your mom being seen at events with a dashing young man. And that man can't be you."