Chapter 8

It was odd, Caroline thought as she pulled into the driveway, that there were no lights on in the house. It was not yet sunset, but with the rain it was almost as dark as night. A little light showed through the curtains in the living room window. It looked like they'd lit a fire, but it was strange for them to sit there in the dark.

When she walked in and took off her raincoat the house seemed deserted. Maybe they'd gone over to friends, she thought, and left the fire going. Though that wasn't like Sam. He was always very careful with things like that. A faint sound came from the living room, like voices. So they were here after all.

Caroline walked into the living room. It was so dark she could barely see anything. The fire was going, as she'd thought, but she didn't see the kids. Then she caught the glint of firelight on skin and heard a soft sound, like Joan's voice, but without words. Why were they lying in front of the fire? And what were they...

"Jesus Christ!" Caroline screamed. "What are you doing?!"

Sam and Joan had been too intent on each other to notice her entrance, but at her cry they both looked up in startlement. Sam jumped to his feet and offered a hand to help Joan. They were both nude. It was more than obvious what they'd been doing.

"Mom!" Joan said. "We didn't... "

"Get out of here! Go to your rooms, right now! Both of you! God damn it, right now!"

The kids fled upstairs, though the bit of a giggle that floated back to her didn't indicate that they were very worried about her anger. The sound of two doors closing followed. Caroline found herself trembling. How had this happened? How long had it been going on? What had she done wrong, that her children were... were... she couldn't bring herself to think it. An image of them, bodies together, limbs entwined, came back to her. She had to go talk to them; confront them; find out what was going on. But at the moment she couldn't face it. Still numb with shock, she went into the kitchen. There was a bottle of brandy in the cupboard, and she really needed a drink.

Sam lay on his bed, waiting. He'd put on some clothing, not liking his mother's probable reaction if she found him still naked. He wasn't too worried. His inner certainty assured him that he would find his way out of this problem. Mom had just been surprised, that was all.

He heard the creak of the stairs, then a knock at Joan's door. Voices rose and fell, too muffled for him to make out words, though he could recognize the intonation: angry at first; questioning; pleading.

After a while Joan's door closed again, and a knock came at his own.

"Come in," Sam called.

The door swung open and his mother stood in the doorway. She looked a bit calmer, but still deeply upset. Her face was flushed. A faint scent of alcohol came to him; she'd had a drink, maybe more than one.

"Sam," his mother said.

Sam sat up on his bed. "I'm sorry we upset you, Mom."

Caroline drew in a breath, then let it out. "But not sorry for what you did?"

"No," Sam said. "Not really."

His mother closed her eyes, then opened them. "Joan said that today was the first time you... did this. Is that true?"

"Yes," Sam said.

"Why?!" Caroline demanded, then before he could answer, said "Never mind. I know we've all been under a lot of stress... and with your illness... anyway, I'm sure we can figure this out. I'm going to call a man I know tomorrow. He's a therapist. I want you to talk to him. Joan, too."

"I'll talk to him, if you want me to," Sam agreed quietly. "But there isn't anything wrong with us."

"Isn't... !" Caroline stopped herself. "I think you'd better stay in your room tonight. Are you hungry? I can bring you something."

"I'm all right," Sam said. "I'll stay in here."

"Well... good night, then," Caroline said, and left abruptly, closing the door behind her.

Sam picked up the book he'd been reading earlier and settled back to wait. He didn't want to see a therapist, but he didn't really think he would have to. After seeing his mother, he knew what he was going to do.

Caroline got ready for bed with a feeling of despair. She'd eaten her dinner alone, and sat listlessly staring at a book without reading it. Another glass of brandy had made her feel dizzy, but hadn't eased her inner turmoil. The shock of seeing her children fucking -- she made herself think the words with brutal honesty -- had affected her; but even worse was her own reaction to the sight. Though she could not admit it to her kids, she had to admit it to herself. Her first reaction had been lust. Even jealousy. When she thought of her two kids together (and the image came back to her again and again, as if seared onto her mind's eye), she wondered what it would be like if it had been her instead of Joan; if Sam's cock had been in her pussy. It gave her a tingle every time she thought about it, and she couldn't stop thinking about it.

God, she thought. Have I somehow infected my children with my own, unnatural desires? Are they acting out a fantasy of mine? It had somehow come out of her worry for Sam, which brought her love for him to the forefront, and her increasingly frustrated longing for a man of her own.

Numbly, she looked at her body in the mirror. The sight, which had given her some satisfaction the night before, now just enhanced her anxiety. Joan could almost have been a younger version of herself; and Sam, a younger version of her husband. She remembered, vividly, the first time she and James had made love, the dizzying pleasure of it, his strong muscles moving over her, his hardness penetrating to the core of her being. His features kept blurring, transforming into Sam's. With a shock she realized that her hand had moved between her legs, her fingers slicking over the moisture there. She snatched the hand away. What was she doing? She was masturbating to the image of her son! She wished now that she hadn't drunk the brandy; it seemed to sap her self-control.

Quickly Caroline shut out the lights, and climbed into bed without bothering with her nightgown. She tried to lay still, her arms rigidly at her sides, but it was no good. As soon as her mind wandered to the thought of her kids in the living room, her hand would slip between her legs again. Finally she gave in. With her eyes closed, she stroked herself, imagining Sam's strong arms around her, his hard cock inside her. She would have to talk to the counselor as well, she thought, as her pleasure mounted. There was something wrong with her... very, very wrong...