It was 2:37 a.m. Matt was awake with a beautiful hardon. Mattie was on her back, pillow covering her face, just audibly snoring. Matt could listen to her snore all night, but had other things in mind. With deft lightness he slipped his hand up the front of Mattie's T-shirt and surrounded her left breast. She moaned grumpily and shifted, trying to turn on her side. She awoke when Matt refused to let her.

"No!" she complained. "Go to sleep!"

Matt ignored her complaint and expertly teased her nipple into grudging awareness.

"No!" she repeated, smacking his hand through the T-shirt. "Go back to sleep, Matthew! Do you know what time it is?" She pushed his hand out of her shirt but he put it down the front of her panties and all was lost.

Matt had found her selfies a few days after his sixteenth birthday. He transferred them via Airdrop to his iPhone, erased the pics from her Camera Roll and My Photo Stream to make her fret, and had savored them for two weeks while she worried over who hacked her cell phone. She was so relieved and appalled to discover it was he.

"I don't even know what to say about this," she told him the night of her twenty-ninth birthday. She extended her iPhone accusingly. Four times during the day she had received texts with some of his favorite pictures attached. She wasn't aware yet it wasn't a prank, that Matt had designs on her.

"All this time I thought someone had hacked my phone just to find those damned pictures," she said, rightfully miffed.

"Someone did," he admitted.

That brought her up short. Bad enough that he had seen her posing topless and nude like some high school girl, but...

"What?"

Grinning, he had taken her phone and returned the pictures via Airdrop, deleting all but one non-nude which he intended to keep. He had them safely backed up on Box anyway, not that he told her that.

She eyed him uneasily. "You wanted to see me nude?"

"Who wouldn't?" he answered honestly.

"My son... ?"

"Your son is sixteen years old with an incredible babe of a mom. Of course I wanted to see you nude. Who wouldn't," he repeated.

Mattie was embarrassed and flummoxed. Suddenly everything was on its head and everyday things suspect. She had gone around braless since he was a baby and thought nothing of it, even when common sense told her she should. She was not braless now, but certainly felt that way. She felt naked before him. And then she jerked as he drew her to him and cupped her breast with his right hand. Her eyes popped and her jaw dropped.

"Matthew!"

She tried to squirm away but he held on tight.

"Matthew! Let me go!" she pleaded. He did, and she stumbled away, surprised and confused, on top of embarrassed and flummoxed. Her son had just cupped her left breast. It felt like his hand was still there, holding her. Face red and hot, underarms itching like mad, she wanted to slink away, hunch-shouldered to her bedroom and hide.

"Why did you do that?" she cried.

He laughed at her perplexed expression and how she was scrunched defensively.

"Matthew it's not funny! I'm not having sex with my own son!" Even the words made her shiver icily. "Jesus ... I don't believe you just did that. It was a joke, right? A birthday prank?"

His grin was sheepish. "If that's what you want, sure."

Her jaw dropped. "Matthew!" She laughed harshly. "I am not having sex with my son!"

But that's exactly what she did, that very night. And it was good.

It was 3:43 a.m. Mattie was asleep again; butt snuggled in against Matt, pillow over her head, snoring just perceptibly. His hand rested idly on her bare hip; he fingered his spent erection with the other.

This was their third time tonight. Matt wanted a fourth, and considered waking her for another go at it, but knew he'd reached his limit. She might let him, but it would be like fucking a zombie. Mattie was not a fucking machine. Sex meant a lot to her, and was not to be taken lightly--or for granted. No plugging me just for the fun of it, she warned. Matt had to admit, though, plugging his mother was fun.

She was 5'6" tall, weighed a perfect one hundred and twenty-five pounds, and had perfect, size 34C breasts. Matt loved teasing her about this, how she was bona fide perfect. She certainly was to him, and he reveled in knowing she was his, all his. Since putting his hand on her breast that evening six months ago, neither had sought another partner. Fortunately, neither was attached at the time; no messy breakups or difficult explanations. They just went to bed every night and fucked themselves silly. Most nights, anyway. She didn't like it on her period. But they always slept together, and that was good.

Matthew had no qualms about fucking his mother. Mattie had nothing but qualms. It ate at her night and day and turned her into a crab sometimes. Then he sat her down and talked her out of breaking up, reminding her how everything was perfect now. And it was. Mattie was saved having to deal with unknowable issues brought on by dating, and Matt had his perfect girlfriend.

"Thirteen years older than you," she grumbled disconsolately one night. He brought her lips to his and she forget all about the age difference for a time.

She turned onto her back, shifted uncomfortably for ten seconds, and then went back onto her left side, all without waking. Mattie was a restless sleeper. Matt guessed he would be too, if he was twenty-nine years old and sleeping with her son.

She had conceived, carried and given birth to his worthless ass, and here he was, fucking her. She deserved better than this. Problem was, except for the quandary, it would be hard doing better than this.

She had freaked the morning after, of course. Matt feared she might actually kill herself and had first forced her into the bathroom for a good hot shower. It morphed into a bath where he held her cradled against him on their sides, until she had calmed. He had then taken her for a long hike along a local trail, which thank God had been there. The walk tired her out and let her come to grips, of a sort.

"We're never doing it again!" she vowed fiercely.

It hadn't just been sex, but a mad free-for-all. Matthew was stunned at how ferocious she was, how needy and demanding. It was of course, anger, fear and self-loathing. The second time was subdued, Mattie succumbing to tears when he came in her; there was no orgasm on her part. It surprised them both when she had initiated a third coupling two hours later, crawling into his bed naked, trembling uncontrollably and still sobbing. That had ceased as they lay and kissed. She had no problem with orgasm this time. It was long and fulfilling and wonderful for her. Then she woke up to daylight and the truth.

Matthew bent down, picked up a stone, and tossed it at the nearest tree. His back hurt, and his penis was sore from the unexpected amount of screwing. He was aware of her stiffness and physical discomfort as well. He could imagine how she felt inside.

"You know ... fuck this, Mom."

He turned, yanked her to him and planted one on her lips. She writhed and complained and tried to break free, but after ten seconds abandoned her efforts and melted against him. Her arms encircled his neck and his her slender waist.

"Why do I want you so much," she moaned. Her tears were back, flowing freely down her cheeks, salty and warm for them both.

"Maybe you don't have any choice," he told her. "Maybe it was meant to be. I certainly want you. I'd fuck you right here, in the middle of the path, if I had the balls to do it."

She laughed mirthlessly. "People go to jail for that, Matthew."

She pushed back, freeing herself unwillingly. It was, after all, a public place, weekday afternoon in early October or not. She couldn't afford to get carried away here. Unless, of course, he carried her away first.