To be honest, I have never thought of myself as the quintessential “Scarlet woman.”

God forbid! Brought up, the eldest of four children within a typically strict Catholic family, I had little inclination, let alone opportunity, to stray from the fold as it were.

Maybe it had something to do with my having married so young – at just eighteen, to a boy I met in my first year at the University of Toronto. Conrad had swept me off my feet – changed my entire perspective on life in fact. At the point he proposed to me that night at the theater, echoing those ultimately simple five words that every girl at some stage longs to hear, “Julia, would you marry me?” I had no need to answer with words. It was simply a case of sooner rather than later!

Trent came along within a year and difficult as it was, I managed to balance motherhood and my studies with remarkable success.

It doesn’t even seem that long ago! I am just thirty-seven now while Trent celebrated his eighteenth year a few months back. He is a strapping boy, intelligent and wise beyond his years, with very much his father’s good looks and presence. It frightens me.

I can’t be sure when exactly I started having the fantasies but once instigated, they were on-site for the duration. Nothing in our marital lives has been anything but blissful contentment and shared romantic indulgence. I love Conrad as much as ever I did and I have no reason to think his attentions and gentle courtesies are anything but evidence of a loving and happy husband.

Looming however - the clouds of dysfunctional sexual desire have been building up in the east now for some months!

If I had to nominate some particular event that catalysed this fully unaccountable emotional upheaval, then inarguably it was that weekend not so long ago.

Conrad had been down at the club with Jeremy, his best-friend since childhood and I had taken the opportunity to have a relaxing hot bath, it being mid-winter still.

Not expecting Trent back for some hours from the movies, to which he had taken his girlfriend, I suppose I had been something less than vigilant in my privacy by forgetting to lock the bathroom door.

As girls do occasionally (and lets not assume boys to be completely innocent in this regard either) I had allowed my hand license to travel to certain intimate areas that appreciate the dexterous nature of rhythmic caresses, shall we say? As far as I can recall, I had no set images in my mind right at that moment, simply allowing the pervading warmth of the bath and the physical contact to work their joint magic. It was certainly “working” ... I seem to recall the odd sound of pleasured rapture issuing from my lips.

I don’t know what made me turn around, maybe subconsciously I just ‘knew!”

Trent was standing there. As shocked as I, he was just staring, as much in disbelief I imagine as dishonorable guilt.

“Good heavens Trent,” I muttered, sliding surreptitiously lower into the bubbles so that my breasts were covered, “Have you never heard of knocking?”

“I’m so sorry mom,” he answered, “I just heard strange noises in here (at this point he began blushing dramatically) “and, er ... well, I guess I just came in.”

“Were you here...” I paused for a moment, “long?”

“Oh, no,” he quite obviously lied, “I just walked in mom!”

Fully a Mexican stand-off, Trent retreated to the hallway then, closing the door behind him. Sitting up once more, I just lay there breathing heavily and wondering why it was I felt so flushed and aroused. I noticed right at that moment how erect my nipples had become. Instinctively I rubbed the swollen teat between my thumb and forefinger...

Trent and I shared a remarkably quiet dinner that night, exchanging little more than polite conversation and forced pleasantries. I seem to recall a minimum of direct eye-contact.

In the coming days I found my mind replaying this close-encounter and each time I could not deny a pleasured reaction. Just the thought of a young a boy seeing his mother masturbate – as so surely he had, was turning me on unbearably. Perhaps because I am very slight – barely five three and with a less than matronly figure, while Trent seems far older than his years both in build and maturity – that it felt just that much more “forbidden.” Try as I might, I found myself wanting some further ‘involvement’ with him despite the knowledge that this could never be. If nothing else, it was as much a betrayal of Conrad as a corrupting influence in our family lives.

Gradually, the incident appeared to taper in relevance and my relationship with Trent took on its former stable and progressive habits. That isn’t to say though that my fantasies tapered in any way. Far from it.

Even as Conrad would make love to me some nights, it was Trent I was wanting to hold me like that and to whisper the tender words of endearment I was hearing.

I even thought of going to the Parish Priest, but who could confess such thoughts and images?

Nothing would ever have happened - but for the circumstances of last weekend!

Conrad was once again at his Club leaving Trent and I alone in the house. This had caused no emotional hardship or discomfort as things between us were apparently back on an even keel, the events of several months ago now but a distant memory one might presume.

Having finished three day’s ironing, I was carrying the basket up to the linen closet – just a few yards along the hallway past Trent’s room, when I heard sounds from within, the bedroom door only having been pushed-to.

Not surprisingly, I guessed immediately the likely cause. I just smiled to myself and walked on to the cupboard.

I can’t tell you what happened between there and the three yards back to Trent’s bedroom door ... but something did! Even as I put the basket down quietly, I suppose I knew I was taking “one small step for a woman. one giant step for womanhood.”

Guessing that Trent would be seated on the bed with his back to the door. I pushed the thing open so slowly and peered around the edge.

He must have been three-quarters there.

I couldn’t see his erection from that angle, but I could definitely see what he was doing to it. I had no need to slip a hand into my own panties, much as I felt like it – I knew how wet they would be.

If he was uttering any intelligible words I couldn’t discern them, it just sounded like an infinite range of pleasured grunts and sighs to me. To say I was fascinated would be an understatement. It was only then that I realised I had never even seen Conrad masturbating ... or him – me, come to that.

As he jerked about suddenly and I saw, to my considerable pleasure I must admit, a stream of his cum shoot upwards. I let down my guard fully unintentionally and made some audible noise. Trent spun around.

“Oh God mom,” he cried in an agony of embarrassment, trying to cover himself. “I’m soo sorry!”

My heart melted for him and I ran to the bed.

“Oh Trent,” I said, “You have nothing to apologise for. I should never have walked in.” I looked him full in the eyes before adding, “Trust me – I know the feeling.”

That brought a smile to his young face.

“Yeah ... I guess you do mom,” he replied, his hands still covering that which unaccountably I wished he wasn’t!

Realising then of course that he had condemned himself out of his own mouth, he continued, “S’pose you knew I saw everything that day too, didn’t you mom?” I nodded.

“Did you hate me for it?”

That brought tears to my eyes.

“Hate you Trent? Gosh ... how could you think that?” I sat down beside him. “No, my beautiful boy, I never loved you more. Would you like me to tell you the absolute truth?”

He nodded, subconsciously perhaps taking a hold of my hands at the same time, seemingly unaware of his limp penis now lying dormant and shrunken at the entrance to his gaping undies. It wasn’t the time for me to be looking at that particular aspect of life.

“Well Trent,” I continued, “If I was to be honest with you and I’m hoping against hope you never tell your dad this...” Now he was interested. I had to hesitate before continuing.

“This is very hard for me to say ... well, I kinda liked the fact you saw me Trent. I know that’s an awful thing to admit and I probably shouldn’t be saying it to you, but it’s the truth.” For a moment I dropped my eyes, fearful I suppose, of the effect my words might have on him.

I felt his hand beneath my chin. Raising my face, the last thing I expected was for him to kiss me – and on the lips at that. An electric shock ran through me and I felt like a helpless little girl – the one that I suspect has never really grown-up in all these years. I just looked at him.

“You want to know about the truth mom?” he was saying.