Chapter 18

I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve distributed any new letters. Things have changed significantly in my life. As I said in my last letter, I was and still am put off by my mother’s sluttish behavior with Paul. Her original involvement, purportedly to instigate a relationship between Paul and his own mother, shifted into a seduction for her own pleasure and then sunk to a mutual exploration of depravity.

I began to avoid my mother and, since I wasn’t home much, neglected to pass out the stories I know you appreciate and I love reading. After several weeks, I succumbed to a morbid curiosity to see what Mother and Paul had now lowered themselves to. Returning to the study, I reviewed the recordings which had filled my hard drives and finally quit a week earlier.

There was still enough to see but I won’t describe it. I expected a progression along the path I had witnessed earlier but I was still unprepared for the debauchery displayed before me. Usually, I extracted the juicy bits and burned them onto DVDs for later viewing pleasure, but this time I deleted it all. To make it worse, I knew I had missed an entire week of recording that was probably even more sickening.

In the depths of my depression, watching my mother perform gross acts with Mary’s demanding, user son, it slowly dawned on me that the recordings in the basement suite were devoid of sexual activity. True, there were a few occasions when Paul tried to have it off with his mother but she rebuffed him every time. And these incidents were few and far between. Not only was Mary avoiding her son, she wasn’t allowing him to sleep in her bed either.

As I scanned through the almost two weeks of recordings I became more and more excited, realizing that Mary was giving her son the cold shoulder just as I was shunning my mother. I won’t say my spirits soared but they were certainly lifted.

Did she suspect an affair between Paul and my mother? I remembered her looking at Mom’s closed door as she passed, at her surprise when she once encountered Paul in the hallway while on her way to look after my Dad. She was aware of Paul’s appetite and she knew about me and Mom. She had to know, if only in her heart.

This was the chance to renew my pursuit of this woman for whom I had grown so fond. She had put me off because, in her own words, she couldn’t deny her son. Well, now, of her own accord, she was.

I deleted all the recordings currently stored on the computer and shut down the monitoring programs. I no longer wanted to witness my mother’s lewd behavior and the thought of invading Mary’s privacy now appalled me. Memories of my previous violations filled me with intense guilt.

Late that afternoon, just before Paul was due to arrive home, I asked Mary if she would like to accompany me to the store while I picked up a few things. She seemed to jump at the chance and I realized how much she now wanted to avoid her son as much as possible.

Our excursions to the local mall became a habit, as did mid-afternoon snacks alone with Mary. I sacrificed a course for that, skipping an afternoon class for over a month. But soon, I was able to restore our previous relationship to the point where she didn’t pull away when I held her arm to guide her to the car, or took her hand when we stopped to walk in the park, even letting me circle her waist with my arm.

We talked about anything and nothing, but eventually, one day, broached the topic of my mother and her son. She was surprised when I voiced my suspicions, not by the suspicion itself, but that I held it. She clearly hadn’t thought that I might be aware.

She confessed that she now found it difficult to be around her son and she was somewhat disgusted with his manipulative behavior. If she knew what I did, disgust would be a mild word. She was impatient for Paul to finish school and was thinking about finding another job and moving away. I was alarmed. I couldn’t lose her now. I’d follow her and leave Paul here with my mother. Jokingly, I suggested the idea, that she and I run away. Surprisingly, she didn’t laugh it off quickly, didn’t even seem to take it as a joke as first. Could it happen? Would she actually go away with me?

Before I could pursue the thought, Paul arrived and shortly after that, my mother. It was distasteful watching them pretend their distant relationship through dinner for our benefit, knowing how frenzied and soily their coupling could be. I couldn’t stop the images of my mother’s upturned face awaiting the first splash of Paul’s cum, of her panting and wailing while multiple vibrators worked away, anticipating his approach. Or Paul, having himself learned the joy of feigned captivity, strapped to the bed, craving my mother’s own delayed attack, relishing her inevitable pounce onto his face, clutching his head between her thighs while she ground her naked pelvis back and forth across his shameless grin.

Turning to look at me, a slight smile briefly shaped Mary’s beautiful mouth. When father’s alarm sounded, mother and Paul almost tripped on each other to respond to the call, insisting that Mary and I stay put, that it was their turn. As they left the kitchen I wondered if she would raise her dress to tease him on the way up the stairs, if he would manage to get inside her before she could reach the landing. Or could she hold him off until he shoved her forward onto all fours on the carpet in the hallway, inserting his cock and flattening her to her tummy, pulling her head back and roughly pushing his fingers into her mouth, whispering lewd fuck words and thrilling in their illicit escapade with us just downstairs, the very thought bringing them both close to orgasm.

Or would my mother lead him into my father’s bedroom, pulling him as she fell across the bed, over my Dad’s knees, as Paul took her roughly from behind, the way I’d taken her, once thinking it was my idea. Oh yes, she’d love that. Making him watch, hoping that he could still see and still understand. I’m sure she kept the monitor on for father to see when she allowed Paul to demean her in her own bed, to deface her with his spunk, again and again.

I asked Mary if she would accompany me to a movie. We left before they came downstairs. In the theater, Mary allowed me to put my arm around her and snuggled close. We kissed like teenagers. Strangely, I didn’t want any more than her sweet lips. It was Mary that pulled my hand over her breast, that pressed my palm tight until I could feel her stiff nipple underneath.

It seemed natural when I slid my hand under her cardigan sweater to rest on her hip as we walked toward the car. Before I could open the door, she turned to put her arms around my neck, pulling me down for a long kiss.

“I wish they wouldn’t be there,” she said, “that we could be alone.”

She kissed be on the lips then, a brief kiss, before stepping back for me to open her door. I fumbled a bit but not too much. On the drive home, Mary stayed on her side of the car but her arm stretched out along the back of the seat so her fingers could play with the hair at the base of my neck.

She urged me to pull over just before we reached our driveway. Sliding over as soon as I put the car in park, we enjoyed a long, passionate kiss. When our lips parted, Mary pulled my hand down between her legs. Not right up, but I could still feel the heat emanating from her.

“I only want to be with you,” she said earnestly, pulling my hand right up, turning it to cup her V tightly. “I’ll never be with him again. With anyone. Only you.”

She kissed me again. A shorter kiss this time, then slid over to the door.

“Let’s go home,” she said.

I spent as much time as I could with Mary after that. We spoke of how she and I would leave at the end of the school year. It was my last year and we decided we couldn’t wait until Paul finished. She would send money for him and I would find a job.

All that changed when my father died.

My father’s death had unexpected effects. For one thing, my mother unraveled. This was truly a great surprise. She simply lost her spark, as if her reason for being, the focus of her anger, had ceased to exist. It happened quickly. She seemed so shocked that I had to make all the funeral arrangements. Still, I thought this was a temporary problem or even, now a little wiser about what my mother was capable of, a sham.

But it wasn’t. After the funeral, mother disappeared upstairs and rarely came down. I had expected her to give Mary her walking papers and had been readying myself to leave as soon as she dismissed my new love. After all, we didn’t need a live-in nurse now that Dad was gone. But nothing happened.

I thought then that there must be some of contract whose term was due soon enough that mother was just letting it run out but that proved not to be the case. Querying mother one morning while bringing her breakfast, she became angry insisting that Mary stay, that she needed her and she wouldn’t allow me to get rid of her. Her shouting embarrassed me into explaining what had happened to Mary lest she think I really was trying to terminate her employment.

As mother deteriorated, Mary provided more and more care, eventually looking after her much as she did my father. Soon, I had run out of cash and Mary confided to me that she hadn’t been paid since father had passed away but had nevertheless been buying all the groceries from her savings.

One afternoon, I came home to find mother and Mary both waiting for me with another woman in a business suit, a lawyer. Papers were presented and signed and I found myself in sole possession of power of attorney over my mother’s affairs.

I knew we had never lacked for anything but I was surprised by how much my parents were really worth. I couldn’t help losing interest in school despite how close I was to finishing but Mary insisted I put my nose to the grindstone and finish well. I did as I was told.

And so life went on this way. Mary looked after mother, mother seemed to get better for a while, but then began a slide to the worse. Mary went to her own bed each night, alone. We were like a middle aged platonic couple.

Paul was hardly around. Clearly there was no sex to be had in this house. He came in late, often drunk, and once or twice tried to sneak an equally inebriated girl in with him but his mother put a firm stop to that. Not surprisingly, as soon as the school year ended Paul announced he was taking a construction job up north and was gone the next day.

For all intents and purposes, Mary and I were alone.

Nothing happened right away. There was no fervent sex the first night. Tension seemed to seep out of the house slowly. We came together through a thousand small intimacies. A smile or mutual laugh at some enjoyed moment while watching TV, quietly sipping wine and reading our own books while sitting on separate couches, longer and gentler kisses goodnight.

It wasn’t until my mother was so far gone that we had to put her into extended care that Mary let me closer. That very first night I kissed her goodnight, longing for her to stay, trying my best to make her linger, to no avail. She turned toward the stairs that led to the downstairs suite, her hand trailing out behind, still grasped my mine trying desperately to keep her for a moment longer, dreading the inevitable break and widening gulf when she finally pulled away.

But her hand held me tight and I was pulled, stumbling forward as Mary refused to let me go. One step, two, even a third before my fuzzy mind realized that this gorgeous woman was taking me downstairs, with her, to heaven.

I thought about telling you about what happened ... for about two seconds. I would have rushed upstairs before, tripping in my haste to reach the computer to spill the beans, but now I know better. We didn’t have sex, we made love. What happened, and will happen, is for us only.

So, I’ll send a few more letters, but then I’m done.

Goodbye.

Hi. My name is Marilyn. I know this is supposed to be a group for men sharing memories of their mothers but I found out about you — I won’t say how — and I want to tell you about my son. You can do what you want with the letter. I just need to tell someone to get it off my chest, and I can’t talk to anyone else about this.

Nathan is almost finished high school, something he’s longed for, but the closer it comes, the more unhappy he seems. His father wants him to work for him, to learn the business and work his way up so one day he can take it over. I think this is the source of the problem. Nathan isn’t a salesman type. He’s bookish.

Three years ago, I found out about an affair between Mark and a woman that works for one of his big customers. We had a big fight and Mark promised to end it, but I’m pretty sure he has had flings before and now that some time has passed he’s at it again. I can’t be sure but I think Nathan knows about the affair because he drew away from his dad right after that and hasn’t been close ever since.

Anyway, I think Nathan is afraid of confronting his father about his future and he’s becoming more and more depressed the closer the time comes. And that time will arrive as soon as school ends.

So, what does that have to do with a group like yours?

Well, my heart goes out to my son and I’ve found myself trying to console him. If Mark is out at night, which he often is, Nathan will sit alone watching a movie. He hardly ever goes out with his friends anymore. If Mark is home, Nathan will disappear into his room but he always comes out if Mark leaves. It’s clear he’s just avoiding his father. In an effort to get him to talk, I’ve been joining Nathan whenever he’s downstairs watching a movie and once even followed him to his room to chat while he surfed the net.

That was all well and fine, but the other night I was surprised to find that although Mark was leaving for a meeting right after supper, Nathan went to his room anyway. Before he left, Mark said, “Marilyn, see if you can find out what is going on with that kid.” Nathan’s behavior was indeed obvious if his father noticed so I knew I had to do something before things came to a head.

I cleaned up the dishes and went upstairs. For some reason, I balked at Nathan’s door and went on to my own room. I decided that I needed to relax before talking to my son, so I had a long shower. Putting on my soft, pale blue motherly robe, I walked slowly to Nathan’s room, cocking my head to swing the hair out of my face and onto my back and straightening my shoulders before knocking. I didn’t wait, I went right in.

He wasn’t there.

Momentarily confused, I left and approached the main bathroom. The light shone through the slightly open door. Pressing my face near the opening, I quietly called Nathan’s name. No answer. Cautiously, I opened the door just enough to peek into the bathroom, ready to pull back quickly in case he wasn’t presentable.

He wasn’t there.

Walking slowly downstairs, I was thinking Nathan had gone out and I’d missed my chance for a private talk but as I descended the stairs, I could see him slouched down in the middle of the couch, facing away from me toward the TV. All the downstairs lights were off and the living room flickered with each scene change on the television.

Quietly, I approached my son. He wasn’t aware of my presence until I leaned over the back of the couch and folding my arms around him in a big hug, my damp hair falling past my ears to drape over his shoulder and onto his chest.

He was startled just enough to spill some of the popcorn from the bowl he held in his lap.

“It’s so dark in here, it’s like going to the movies,” I remarked on the sanctuary quality the almost darkness shed on our living room, like the semi-privacy people sought in theaters.

“Yeah,” he replied, providing no further explanation.

“Do you want some more popcorn?” I asked, noting that the bowl in his lap was almost empty.

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

I left to make more popcorn, but not before I noticed that Nathan was also dressed in a robe and he was naked except for the pair of shorts underneath the bowl in his lap. While I made the popcorn, I puzzled about why I had noticed that, and why the term ‘naked’ had popped into my head. Anyway, before I joined Nathan, I was careful to turn out the kitchen light.

“Can I watch your movie, too?” I asked as I rounded the end of the couch and plopped down beside him. Nathan was still sitting in the middle and didn’t move over so our thighs touched. I had room to move away but I didn’t.

“Oh, sure mom.”

I held out the new bowl of popcorn but before Nathan could pass me the empty one I grabbed it and slid it across his lap, setting the full one into its place. I hadn’t meant to drag the bowl across my son’s shorts but I was aware of what I was doing when I actually did it and that I could have lifted it before pulling it away. I was even more aware that the bowl hadn’t moved across an even surface. I blushed and turned to watch the movie as Nathan grabbed the new bowl.

“Is it good?” I asked, looking at the TV.

“Yeah,” he replied in his usual, offhand way.

We watched in silence, Nathan concentrating on the movie and I trying to think of some way to engage him in a conversation that would let me find a way to help him deal with his worries about the future.

I couldn’t think of anything so I just watched the TV and picked at the popcorn. During one of these reaches for a handful of popcorn, I noticed Nathan glance at me. I’m right handed and, since he was sitting to my left, I had to twist that way, an action that forced a gap in my robe. I was shocked. Nathan was looking into my robe!

His eyes flicked to the TV as I drew back. I acted like I hadn’t noticed his look. Had he? Had he really looked? Now I wasn’t sure. I finished my handful of popcorn quickly and reached for another, this time twisting in an exaggerated fashion so my robe would gap more than necessary. I could sense his eyes straying down to seek my cleavage.

I can’t explain what I did then. I turned my head toward the TV, feigning a sudden interest in what was transpiring there, leaving my robe open while I held my hand in the bowl, allowing my son a long look, knowing he must be able to see the whole inside of my right breast as it hung freely from my chest.

Could he see my nipple? I remember thinking that as I continued watching the movie. I can still feel the tingle that thought sent through me. Would a young man my son’s age be interested in a woman’s breasts, a woman my age? Evidently. I had just passed forty but despite my husband’s wandering eyes, I still attracted my share of attention from the opposite sex. But I was Nathan’s mother, not just an older woman.

Eventually, I had to sit back but I took very little popcorn so only a brief moment later, I was back. Again, I seemed distracted by the movie and took longer than usual to retrieve even a small handful of popcorn, digging deeper in the bowl before finally filling my need. As I sat back to feed, I smiled to myself. I wasn’t quite sure what I was up to but I felt good and the thought of my son sneaking peeks at my breasts excited me. A strange tingle traveled up and down my limbs and my breath shortened. As I watched the movie, I shrugged my shoulders as if trying to ease stiff muscles but I was really trying to loosen my robe. Good grief, Marilyn, I thought. What are you up to?

I couldn’t help myself. My robe hung loosely from my shoulders as I leaned forward further than before in search of more popcorn and I could feel my unkempt breasts sway with my movements. I searched for popcorn for so long that an independent observer would consider my behavior odd if not brazen. But Nathan didn’t object. I kept fishing about in the bowl until the commercials started. Only then did I sit back.

After a minute, I asked Nathan if I should make more popcorn though the bowl was still almost half full. I reached over to grasp the bowl but Nathan held on to it tightly, keeping it in place.

“No, Mom,” he cried, “there’s still lots left.”

I laughed. “But we might run out before the commercials start again,” I argued, tugging on the bowl.

Nathan didn’t say anything but he held the bowl firmly in place and seemed agitated. Suddenly, clarity speared into my mind. He wasn’t worried about popcorn. He needed to keep that bowl in place lest it reveal the effect of his observations and my seemingly innocent help with his spying. I relented and we sat in awkward silence waiting for the movie to start again.

While we waited, I toyed absently with the belt on my robe. Although I hadn’t originally intended to, I found myself pulling the knot apart, surreptitiously, so as not to attract Nathan’s attention. Why was I being so secretive? I argued to myself that I needed to get Nathan to talk, to confide in me so I could help him, and to do that I needed his attention. This was hogwash, and wrong, but I wasn’t thinking clearly and didn’t hold this ridiculous rationalization up for serious critical review. At some level, I knew I was being bad but I was enjoying myself and needed an excuse to continue a little longer.

Self doubt disappeared as soon as the movie started and, almost as if it was expected, I leaned forward to get more popcorn. Arching my back, I fished around in the bowl, stretching breasts up and out, knowing full well that my untied robe afforded Nathan a wonderful sideview of my bare breast. He should now certainly be able to see the swell of my right breast as it departed my chest and swept up toward my covered nipple. In no hurry, I repeated my distracted fishing expedition in the popcorn bowl, shamelessly digging and scratching longer and harder for my prey, knowing the painful thrill that each scrape of my fingers along the bottom of the bowl sent to my son.

I knew that my robe had parted along my thighs and though my nipples were still covered, the robe was open all down the front, exposing my tummy and the top of my panties. I held my position for as long as I could, blushing when I realized that Nathan must know by now that I was letting him look. What other explanation could there be? I drew away with a handful of popcorn, letting my hand fall along the outside of my leg, brushing the robe away and baring my thigh even more as I twisted back to settle into the couch.

Silently, I slowly munched popcorn, my robe covering my breasts but open down the middle, splaying to the sides of my legs to leave most of my thighs exposed. I felt like an actor in a lurid scene, that the movie wasn’t playing on the television but here in our living room. Nathan wasn’t looking at the TV. He was looking at me and though I didn’t look at him I knew his eyes were on the valley between my breasts, rising and falling with the excited breathing that I couldn’t quite suppress. Then they traveled further, over my belly and along the narrow strip of panties visible between through the gap in the robe.