Chapter 2

The stay at the hotel proved to be most restful. I inconvenienced my son by sharing his bed each night, even though I no longer felt afraid; the Police had contacted us through the concierge a day ago, letting us know they had caught the man who had broken in to my house. He had gone to a General Practitioner's surgery, claiming to have had an accident. His story had not lined up with his injuries- a deep cut on his leg and, I noted with some satisfaction, two broken ribs from when my son had kicked him through the glass door.

With matching fingerprints and DNA evidence, the case seemed water-tight; they assured me that he would be put away for a long time. To celebrate the news, I extended our stay by a few days, lazing around and watching movies together and ordering room service when we grew hungry. After a time, however, we began to grow stir-crazy in the room; Brandon suggested we head down to the hotel's pool. No doubt he hoped to spy on some filly of his age, I thought morosely.

During the summer months, my son exclusively wore board shorts; they doubled for normal wear in any case, and allowed him to go to the beach at will. I, on the other hand, had bought no swimwear with me; it had, after all, been the last thing on my mind.

I allowed him to cajole me into visiting the small boutique in the hotel lobby, where they sold exorbitantly priced strips of gaudily coloured cloth they claimed were acceptable swimsuits. I made a game of it, watching Brandon turn red and shift about uncomfortably each time I came out of a change room in a new outfit. In reality, I had already made my choice when I entered the store; a red bikini, with underwire support for my ample bust and a high-cut brief that would make it evident I had waxed. Hardly the sort of thing a mother should be wearing, let alone parade around in front of her son, I thought. I found the idea more than a little of a turn-on, and I was glad that the reinforced material of the bikini top concealed my hardening nipples. Brandon was suitably stupefied, and hardly knew where to look. Concealing a grin at his expense, we followed the signs that lead to the recreation area.

Much to Brandon's chagrin, the pool was host primarily to retirees. There was a young-ish family present, but the daughter was only a toddler, and the mother ... well. Let us simply say that she had let herself go. The sun was high in the sky, and combined with the outside cocktail bar by the poolside, I came up with a devious idea. Whilst Brandon fussed around setting up deck chairs, I wandered over to the barman and ordered two drinks; I had him use a double shot for the rum and cola I gave my son. He was husky enough and, not having shaved since we arrived, hairy enough to pass muster.

He took the cool drink gratefully, only sputtering slightly when he discovered the unexpected alcohol content. I was gambling on the treat- and its effects- to relax some of his inhibitions. I leaned in to him, pretending to be secretive. "Here's the deal, kiddo. You get that-" I indicated his drink "and you help me get a nice, even tan." He nodded readily, taking a deep draught from the glass and reaching for the sunscreen. I flipped over on the deckchair, fiddling with it until I had it configured like a bed, which I lay face-down on. After a moment of internal debate, I reached behind my back and unclipped the bikini top, sliding the straps out of the way.

"Mu-uumm!" he hissed. I grinned, levering myself up to look back at him. "Oh, come on," I reasoned with him. "Look-" I nodded to where an octogenarian dozed in the shade "she's doing it. And face-up, too."

He made a face. Resolute, I lay my forehead against my forearms. He sighed, but soon enough I could feel his strong hands on me, rubbing sunscreen into my skin. As he worked, I entertained fantasy after fantasy, imagining that he might try to cop a feel, sliding his greasy hands along the sides of my breasts, which even now flattened beneath my weight. Or perhaps he might flip me over, taking me here and now in front of startled witnesses, overcome by his lusts and unable to resist me. As those wonderful hands finally disappeared, I realised that I had grown wet; mercifully, the evidence was still hidden because I lay face down, but I could feel the dampness at my crotch. Inwardly, I cursed, even though I knew that with the heat of the sun the wet patch would soon dry out. Still, I knew that I would need to keep a tighter reign on my libido, or risk discovery, something I was not yet prepared to do.