I guess you could call me a victim of success. My husband and I married during freshman year of college and I had to drop out after the first year to deliver our only child, David.

By the time Phil graduated towards an MBA in Economics, he already had the job of jobs on Wall St. waiting for him. As research analyst, he made hand over fist money with expense accounts and all of the other perks.

But it required him to sell his soul to the company, spending ridiculous hours at work and travelling all over the country - or so he said.

It doesn't require an MBA to figure out that your husband, the guy who couldn't get enough sex when you were an item, and is now suddenly too tired to do anything when he's home, must be getting it elsewhere!

But the opulent address and standard of living made me blind to the facts. Besides, I was devoted to our son David.

The years flew by, Phil losing his hair prematurely (Divine payback?) as David grew into a handsome young man.

When I was thirty six and our son was sixteen, Phil took him on a company "road show", a Wall St. term for a proposed underwriting deal, a deal which the company won.

After they returned, David completely changed. I recognized the signs: he was now eyeballing everyone with an eye towards sex!

Phil had undoubtedly gotten the kid laid. I could accept that for a sixteen year old boy, but now the question of how much responsibility Phil did or didn't impart to his son weighed heavily on my mind.

Perhaps because I had been forced to masturbate almost from the time our son was born, I wondered whether he and his dad shared some company bitch or did Phil spring for a pro?

And by pro, I mean a $500/night pro, not some VD infected street tramp.

David went to a private school that didn't have females, so there weren't many chances for him to meet girls, and especially not in our private community. I guess this episode put my mind to rest that David wasn't leaning towards "gay".

But he suddenly had confidence now, and a little knowledge can sometimes be a bad thing.

Little things, like barging into the master bedroom unannounced (until I put the kibosh on that) or trying the bathroom door gently when I was in the shower made we aware that David wanted to see me naked!

After years of frustration, now that I was getting sexual attention, it was from the wrong person; but I was so desperate for even this little bit of aberrant attention that I allowed myself a fantasy that I should never have allowed: my son, better looking than his dad, seducing me!

I still brought myself off many a night without Phil. I even tried to initiate some sessions with him, but he had no more desires with me.

I'll give him this much: I never smelled anyone else's sex on him: he didn't know that many women have this ability - the sense of smell is notably sharper in females.

Most of the time that Phil headed out for the airport, his trademark line to me was: "Take care of our son while I'm gone."

After David "became a man", that line changed to: "Take care of your mother while I'm gone," and ofcourse was spoken to our son, instead.

So this one night, while trying to bring myself off, I heard a creak at the door. I froze for a moment, the natural reaction to such things, but I quickly determined that it could only be David. That calmed me down on the one hand, but left me frustrated on the other because now I couldn't finish myself.

The next day was Saturday and chores kept me busy as a bee until about three in the afternoon. David was out and I felt I had enough time for a "quickie", but I heard David come home, right in the middle of it all.

Frustated yet again, I recomposed and headed downstairs.

As dusk gave way to evening, there was a palpable sexual tension in the air. David could have taken his motor bike to the local mall and hung out with his school mates, but he chose to stay home, and my frustration level soared.

I swear that little so and so KNEW what I was desperately trying to find time to do (alone), and damned if he didn't make sure he was there to thwart it!

Or was he there to tempt me?

When I suggested we order a movie (via our cable system), David said he was old enough now to watch x-rated material. I quickly disagreed, and to bore him to death, I chose a Reese Witherspoon love story, one that appeals to the sensitive side of men, if they have one. I was hoping to chase David to the mall THIS way.

He fooled me!

He not only stayed, but during the scene where she was in a coma and her life was ebbing away, David cried real tears, just like mine, just like the immediate family in the movie.

I couldn't help myself - I spoke to my son, saying, "David! You're crying too. I didn't think this was your kind of movie."

David responded weakly, his voice still not composed, "It's so sad mom, I couldn't help it."

We were on the same sofa and I opened my arms. In that fleeting moment, my subconscious betrayed me and opened me to what happened next.

David came into my arms and hugged me very tight, pressing my breasts into his chest. I let him.

My temperature soared as our contact became overtly sexual, David now massaging my back. Since it was still not a forbidden act, I let him go on because it (he) felt so right, so very good.

But when David's hands drifted toward my breasts, I told him we needed to break the clinch - but as I tried to stand, I realized that somehow, my son had undone my bra clasp!

What else did his father teach him?

I nearly pushed David away as I spoke the truth, "I have to go to my room and change."

True enough, my panties were now damp and my breasts were hanging loosely.

David acted so hurt by my rejection of his advances that I never expected him to pursue me any further.

I went to my room, got a fresh pair of panties ready, stripped and headed for the shower where I desperately wanted to frig myself into a lather!

I swear. I never heard a sound from David, not a creak, not a whisper.

But when I returned from the shower and blew my hair dry, I couldn't hear anything short of an M-80 at this point.

I felt so wicked, having barely gotten off under the shower, and I remained naked as my hair dried.

I had stopped the movie when David and I got involved, but now I was determined to keep David at bay and watch the end of the movie.

As I dressed, I heard a creak again, but I didn't call out (in case it WAS just a creaking noise).

It had to be the confusion, I swear, or else it was a classic Freudian slip on my part, but when I returned to watch the end of the movie, I had forgotten to put on a bra!

And David was not there.

It wouldn't have been fair to finish the movie until David returned - was he possibly masturbating too?

I called out to him to alert him that I was ready to finish the movie.

There was no acknowledgement from David, but I heard the toilet flush and assumed the rest.

David sat back down on the sofa with me and, with a nod, indicated he was ready to continue too.

I won't ruin it for anyone by giving away the ending, but it left us both in tears again - tears of sadness or tears of joy, I won't reveal.

By now, David had scooted close again and his hand was rubbing my back as the movie ended. That's when I found out that I had no bra - there were no straps to tie up David's fingers.

I quickly changed the mood, asking, "So what did you think of the movie David?"

He said, "I'd make love to her all night long, just in case it was only a dream."

I hoped David was talking about the character Reese played because she is a married woman with at least one kid at home. Then it dawned on me that I was a married woman with a kid at home, also.