It had been just me and Robbie for a little over five years. His father died of a massive heart attack, an undiagnosed abnormality; one minute a healthy thirty-three-year-old man, the next minute dead. I’d never really gotten over the loss of Charles and, despite the best efforts of my friends, I’d never started dating again.

We were pretty happy together but I’d been getting worried about him. In his free time, he would spend hours on his X-Box, and the rest of it playing around with his phone.

Other than at school and online, he spent hardly any time with friends and I worried for his health, both physical and mental. I’d tried to encourage him to join some clubs at school but without any success, and I wasn’t sure what to do.

Then one day I remembered that when I’d been about Robbie’s age my father had taken me hiking in the highlands of Scotland. It had been the first time we’d spent any quality time alone together and I still remembered it with great fondness.

My dad had died several years ago but I still had most of the kit that we’d used out in the garage. I checked it out and it was mostly still fine. I decided then and there that I was going to make this happen.

I went to Robbie’s room and knocked. As usual, there was no reply and, when I went in, he was in front of his TV with his headphones on, killing things. I moved into his eyeline and waited for him to pause the game. He saw me but it took a while, which just made me even more determined that he needed his priorities changing.

“We’re going hiking,” I announced.

“We’re doing what?” he grumbled in his now familiar, slightly surly manner.

“You and I are going hiking. In Scotland. Next week, in your half-term.”

“Where did that come from?”

“I did it with my dad,” I explained. “It was great. You’ll love it, trust me.”

He looked very dubious but I smiled at him and kissed the top of his head. “Now finish killing those ... things while you still have the chance.”

I’d managed to remember where I’d been with my Dad. The walk started at a small village, from there, it was a fairly vigorous four-day hike, covering about eight miles per day, to a small town where you could catch a bus back to the start.

It was all cross-country through spectacular landscapes and I was really looking forward to it.

I had to buy some new waterproofs for myself but my old ones would fit Robbie just fine. Our old tent and sleeping bags were not the latest gear, but they’d served us well in the past and would do again.

The drive up there from our place in Kent was a long slog and we arrived quite late at the pub where I’d booked us in for the first night. I had a bit of a disagreement with the landlord: I’d booked two single rooms, but he had us down for one twin. It was a weekend and he didn’t have any more rooms available. It was too late to do anything else, so we just had to go with it.

We had a very acceptable meal in the bar and then went up to get an early night, as I’d planned that we’d be setting off early.

As I unpacked what I’d need from my rucksack, I got the feeling that Robbie was looking at my bum. I didn’t actually catch him, but my sixth sense didn’t normally let me down. In the end, I put it down to my imagination or maybe wishful thinking: why would he be looking at me when he spent his days at school surrounded by teen nymphets?

In the bathroom, I checked out how I looked in the mirror. I was wearing stretch jeans and I had to admit that the old backside didn’t look half bad. When I was down to a singlet and knickers, I checked it out again, and I was pretty damned happy with what I saw. Not the smallest arse I’d ever seen, but firm and curvy and ... not at all shabby for a thirty-five-year-old. I had an appraising look at my girls as well for the first time in a while, and I was quite pleased with those too: a little bit of sag on the old C-cups, but not bad at all.

When I came out, there was no doubt that he looked, and I was shocked by how much of a thrill I got from having his eyes on me that way. I got into bed quickly while Robbie went next. I sat there, honestly shocked by my reaction, trying to put it down to sexual frustration and to work out when I’d last seen to my ... needs - it had been quite a while.

Robbie seemed to take an age and finally came out wearing a tight T-shirt and briefs. My eyes wandered over his body, admiring his developing physique: chest starting to fill out nicely, a little upper arm development, thighs no longer skinny with perpetually scabby knees, his bum, all tight and firm and ... fuck! What was I doing?! Then he turned around and ... oh my, was he rather nicely endowed, or was he a little erect? Had my son actually been turned on by his old mum’s body?

I fidgeted a little as I tried to get a better look, and the covers slipped down exposing my not-too-well-covered breasts. Again I saw him peeking and delayed covering myself for a few seconds, and - OMG - the lump in his underpants got bigger! As I pulled the quilt up, I chided myself sternly - teasing your own son like that! I loved him more than anyone else on the planet - what on earth was I doing looking at him like that? But there was no denying the little tingles that I was feeling in my clit.

“Night, night, Robbie,” I said, hurriedly turning off my light and rolling onto my side so that I could no longer see him, because I didn’t really trust myself to look any longer. I went to sleep with my hand clamped between my thighs, the pressure of my wrist helping to quell the insistent feelings in my clit.

I woke up later with my heart pounding: I’d been dreaming that a younger Robbie had come to my bedroom complaining of ‘funny feelings’ between his legs. “Show Mummy,” I’d told him, but I woke up just as he put his fingers into the waistband of his briefs and began to push them down. I couldn’t believe how hard my clit felt and how wet I was. I had a strong urge to touch myself, but with Robbie in the same room, I didn’t dare. Besides, I was shocked at the intensity of my body’s reaction to the dream. It took me quite a while to get back to sleep.

The alarm on my phone went off at six, to the accompaniment of much teenage whingeing. I tried very hard not to look at Robbie as we went about getting dressed and, after a couple of mugs of tea and some biscuits, we set off on the trail at just after seven.

Soon we got into the open countryside and, as I’d remembered, the scenery was stunning. Even Robbie stopped whining and seemed to be enjoying himself, at least a bit.

We stopped at midday to eat the packed lunch that the pub had provided and we were making pretty good time.

At one stage Robbie forged ahead a little way when I’d stopped to sort out a bootlace that had come undone. When I caught up he was partway across a stream. It was very rocky where he was trying to cross, and I didn’t like the look of it at all.

“Hold on Robbie. I’ll give you a hand.” I called out, running to catch up to him. He turned back to me.

“It’s OK Mum. I’m--” And then he lost his footing and began to topple over backwards. Time seemed to slow down as I reached out to grab his flailing hand, but I missed and he fell over backwards into the water. It was actually quite deep where he’d gone in and he was soaked to the skin when I finally managed to pull him out.

It was at this point that I regretted not buying some modern kit; Robbie’s rucksack was one of the old canvas ones and had pretty much filled up with water. His sleeping bag, which had been strapped to the bottom of the rucksack, was completely sodden. Robbie himself was shaking violently at this point and I decided we’d have to call it a day.

Between us, we put the tent up and by the time we got inside, Robbie was shivering uncontrollably. I stripped his clothes off him but he grabbed my hand when I went to pull his briefs down.

“Don’t be silly. These are soaked too. You’ll catch your death,” I told him firmly and pulled them down. Not surprisingly his penis was tiny and shrivelled and there was no sign of his testicles at all. He looked unutterably cute and I had an almost uncontrollable desire to cuddle it and make it grow and swell and ... I shook my head, cursing myself as a pervert, before manhandling him into my sleeping bag. I wrapped my body around him and held him from outside until the worst of his shakes seemed to be subsiding.

Luckily, my bag was my dad’s old one, and quite large. I stripped down to my underwear, undid the zip about halfway, and then slid my legs inside. With some contortions, I was just about able to pull it back up. I silently thanked God that I hadn’t bought new modern ‘maggot’ style bags - we’d never have both fitted in one. I spooned behind him and held him tight; his skin was cold and he was still shivering.

Waking up in the middle of the night with a warm body pressed against me was something I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed, and my clit was singing away softly to itself. I sighed deeply and went back to sleep breathing in his lovely adolescent scent.

In the morning I woke up and my arm was resting against his penis. The hot, soft skin touching mine was unmistakeably hard and throbbing. I couldn’t help the thrill that went through me at my first contact with an erect penis in literally years. I knew it was just a bloke’s morning woody, but that didn’t stop my vagina clenching at its touch. I gulped and moved my arm away and then heard Robbie groan.

“How are you doing?” I asked him.

“OK,” he answered groggily. “I guess.”

“Feel like getting up yet?”

“After you, Mum,” he replied, his voice a little croaky. I wriggled out of the bag, trying to ignore the way his skin rubbed against my own.

As I crawled around, trying to find my clothes, I caught a glimpse of Robbie, staring wide-eyed at my bum, covered only by my skimpy undies. I loved having his eyes on me that way and felt a surge of heat spreading out from between my legs.

I found my socks, and pulled them on, aware that my legs were spread and I was giving him a perfect view of my crotch. The way his eyes were boring into me was making me more and more excited. Was that a little movement of the sleeping bag, just at crotch height? Was my boy wanking at the sight of his old Mum’s body? Jesus, that thought turned me on so much.

Again, I told myself off, quickly dragging a shirt and jumper over my head and then pulling on my jeans. As I thrust my hips into the air to pull them up over my bum, his eyes were wide, staring hungrily at my panty-clad mound. When I pulled the zip up it pressed against my erect clit and it was all I could do not to moan out loud.

I took a deep breath and tried to get myself under control. We’d hung Robbie’s jeans up from the ridge pole of the tent, but when I felt them they were still quite damp. Then I checked his sleeping bag but that was still drenching and weighed a ton, so we’d have no choice but to abandon that.

I reviewed our kit and gave Robbie my spare jumper, but there was no way that my spare trousers would fit him, so I handed him his jeans. After a few seconds thought, I also handed him one of my spare pairs of knickers.

“I can’t wear these, Mum,” he whined. He was rubbing the soft fabric between his fingertips in a very distracting way. I tried to ignore it.

“Don’t be silly. If you don’t wear anything under those damp jeans you’ll chafe your ... er ... well, you’ll chafe.” I had to shake a vision of his penis, all red and angry, and unaccountably hard, from my mind.

“I guess...” he said uncertainly, still fondling them. I wanted to stay. I wanted to watch him put them on.

“Mum!” he whined as I knelt there looking at him.

“Sorry ... sorry. I’ll go and ... check on the weather,” I said and slipped out through the tent flap, pulling my rucksack out with me, all the while trying and failing miserably to stop my mind conjuring a vision of him dressed in my knickers.

It was six-thirty and the mist was still wreathing the valleys. There wasn’t a soul in sight and the utter silence was broken only by the first few bird calls. I put the little Primus stove on to make some tea and sat down on a handy log to wait.

When he finally came out of the tent, I pulled him into a hug and we just drank in the beauty of the view for a while. Even after a mug of tea and some breakfast bars, he was beginning to shiver, and I figured it was time to get moving.

We made good time and it was all very, very nice. Robbie seemed to have gotten over the shock of being extricated from his X-Box (and his dunking in the river!) and we were having a pretty good time.

There was a sudden squall towards the end of the afternoon so we had to make a call between getting togged up in our wet-weather gear or putting the tent up. We went for the second option, but by the time we’d done it, I was pretty damp, Robbie’s pants were wet again, and he was starting to shiver. I left him to strip off his jeans and get in the sleeping bag while I heated up some stew and vegetables that I’d prepared a few days earlier.

We had to share the sleeping bag again that night and so we ended up with me spooning him again. He was shivering to begin with and I held him until he warmed up but he just couldn’t settle.

“What is the matter with you?” I asked, after the umpteenth fidget from him.

“I can’t get to sleep,” he said, a bit pitifully. On instinct, I put my hand between his legs and immediately found the source of his problem: he had an erection.

“Mum!” he cried out when he felt my hand on him.

“It’s OK. It’s perfectly natural,” I assured him. “Can you reach my bag from there?”

“Why?”

“Never mind why, can you?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“There’s some clean socks in the left-hand bottom pocket. Pass them to me, please.” It took some struggling but in the end, he did as I asked.

I took one of the socks and reached around him. Most of his penis had already escaped from my knickers, and I pulled them down the rest of the way and slipped the sock over his hardon.

“Mum! What are you doing for God’s sake?”

“Well, neither of us is going to get any sleep with this thing like this,” I said, giving it a little squeeze.

“But you can’t--” he started to say and then stopped abruptly as I began to wank him.

“Just relax, this isn’t the first time I’ve touched it, you know.” It actually felt rather lovely to have him in my hand like that. The closeness just felt right somehow and the tingling between my own legs was undeniable.

As I pumped my hand up and down, the sock slipped a little and I ended up with the lower half of his naked cock in my hand. It was so hard, almost vibrating, and so silky smooth. I couldn’t resist cupping his balls with my other hand, and a surge of arousal coursed through me as they tightened.

“Oh God! Oh my God!” he cried, and I felt his whole body shuddering as his penis pulsated and pumped spurt after spurt of cum into the sock.

I knew that I’d gone way too far ... but I’d loved it! As his final spasms faded away, I squeezed the last few drops out. “That’s a good boy,” I whispered into his ear as I tossed the sock out of the sleeping bag. “Try to get some sleep now.” I kissed the back of his neck and I felt him relax in my arms as his breathing gradually slowed. The only problem was that my clit was now throbbing like mad, and it didn’t help that my pussy was pressed up against his firm little bum. I tried to convince myself that I’d done the right thing, that he really did need his sleep, but my wet cunt was telling a whole different story.