Like Father, Like Son
by MicaMeesha
Copyright© 2026 by MicaMeesha
I looked at my son, and in the half light of early evening I could see his father, Paul. Paul was gone now, lost during the pandemic, a time when we were not even allowed to visit him in hospital. It had been a challenging time for us, and without Mik, I was not sure I could have coped. I sighed; it had been a lonely few years.
Paul and I had met at university and hit it off straight away. I think I fell in love with him the moment I saw him, and we were lovers within days. Oh, and what an excellent lover he was. Neither of us were inexperienced, but for me, and Paul said so too, nothing before had felt as wonderful as when we were together. He was considerate and passionate, and we made love frequently and at every opportunity. When we stayed with one or the other of our parents out of term, we continued our lovemaking, not caring who heard or what they thought; we were in love.
Our lovemaking continued enthusiastically throughout our marriage, becoming simply oral in nature during my postpartum period until I healed, and then resuming as before. For some reason I only got pregnant once; it was odd. We had expected quite a brood, but no, just Mik, who grew up to be the spit of his father.
I stood there reminiscing as I watched Mik towel himself dry after a shower. He had left the bathroom door ajar, as he often did, yet today was the first time I had caught a glimpse; I had just never spied. I leant back against the wall, my mind lost in memories of Paul, how I would watch him shower, how he would smile and turn to me, and I would watch as his arousal grew. I remembered the lovemaking and could almost feel him inside me, my memories so strong.
I sighed and stepped away. I had lost my love, and only our treasure, Mik, was left. I had not wanted any intimacy with another man since I met Paul, and I still didn’t even though he was gone from me, and it took me aback to find myself reminiscing about the memories of sex touching me in a way that I had abandoned.
I finished clearing away the dinner things and grabbed a glass of Chablis and sat on the sofa, my legs curled up to the side of me, memories of Paul now seemingly haunting me.
“Hi, Mum,” Mik said as he strolled in, decently attired in a T-shirt and boxers, “what you drinking?”
“Chablis Paul, sorry, Mik, there’s a bottle open on the counter. Help yourself.”
As Mik sauntered off to the kitchen to get a drink, I chided myself. What was I doing calling Mik by his father’s name? What was up with me? As I sat there, I remembered the times that Paul and I had sat there, arm in arm, spooning and cuddling, just loving our time together. Sometimes it was sexual, sometimes it was platonic, but it was the sexual memories that came back.
I felt his fingers cup my breasts and twist my nipples. I felt his hand inside my knickers, stroking at my nubbin, sliding between my petals, penetrating me, pushing deep inside. I gasped just as Mik came back into the room, as a small explosion of pleasure emanated from between my legs.
“Are you all right, Mum?” Mik asked as he sat next to me on the sofa.
“Oh yes, darling,” I answered as my small orgasm subsided, leaving me flushed and wet. I was glad that the light was low. “Yes, just enjoying my glass.”
Mik laughed and put his hand on my arm. “Well, I hope I enjoy mine as much as you are enjoying yours.”
I didn’t know what to say, had Mik realised, did he know I was aroused? His simple touch of my arm had raised goosebumps; this was getting silly. Mik was not Paul, nor would he be, no matter how my silly mind saw him.
“I wonder if there may be another lockdown.” Mik said, “It seems there is another virus doing the rounds, worse than the last one.”
“Yes, I heard it on the news. I can’t bear going through all that again; the last one cost us so much.”
“I know, Mum,” Mik said, his hand stroking my arm, “I know, but I don’t think they will actually do that again.”
Just his very act of stroking my arm took me back. Paul sat on the sofa next to me, stroking my arm as a prelude to something more intimate, telling me of a discovery his company had made: how if they followed it through, it would make us millions more. How his stroking had moved to my leg and up my skirt, how wet I had been as his fingers slipped inside my knickers and found my wet throbbing sex, and before we knew it we were making love on the sofa, my memories feeling his hardness as he stretched me.
“Mum?” Mik must have been talking, and I hadn’t heard him, lost in my memories.
“Oh sorry, baby, I think I zoned out there.”
“Crikey, Mum, you were far away. Remembering something?”
“Yes, baby, well, your dad, actually.”
His hand fell from my arm and landed on my thigh; it was all I could do not to gasp. It was something Paul used to do, his hand often sliding under my skirt. The memories of the touch seemed so real.
“Ha, I bet it was something saucy; you zoned out again,” Mik laughed as he spoke, and his fingers tightened slightly on my thigh. As I came back to reality, I realised that Mik’s fingers were a little high, up above my skirt hem line, and my bare skin was tingling at his touch.
“Well, baby, I have very many happy memories of your dad, so I can easily get lost in the pleasure of them.”
“Haven’t you wanted to go and meet someone else and perhaps make new happy memories, Mum?” His fingers squeezed a little again.
“Oh, gosh, darling,” I said, “no, my memories of Paul are still so real; it honestly is, as if he were still here with me.”
Mik’s fingers squeezed a little. “Oh, Mum, but Dad really isn’t here anymore, just me, and I’m not him. You ought to think about making some new memories.”
I took a drink of my Chablis and realised my glass was empty. I stood up, Mik’s hand sliding down my thigh. “I’ll go and get the bottle,” I said.
As I walked to the kitchen, I realised that I was soaking. Gosh, the memories of Paul had been so powerful, and then Mik’s fingers. His fingers really had been a little too close, so close in fact that it had triggered memories of Paul, how his fingers would touch the hem of my knickers, tracing along the top of my thigh, and then slipping under the fabric.
I had to stop and lean against the work surface to steady myself; my pleasures were flowing, and I could feel Paul’s fingers tracing along my crease, touching my nubbin and then sliding down between my petals and burying inside me. I gasped and pressed my hand hard against my groin; the memory was so real that I almost had a moment.
“Have you got lost, Mum?” Mik called.
“No, gosh, you are so impatient, Mik,” I called back, trying to add laughter to my voice.
I picked up the bottle and headed back to the lounge and filled my glass and topped up Mik’s; he hadn’t quite finished his. But, then again, I had started earlier than he had. I put the nearly empty bottle on my side table and sat back down next to Mik. My memories of Paul are still foremost in my mind, and my arousal is still high.
“It is about time, young man,” I said, trying to change the subject, “that you brought your girlfriend home.”
“And what makes you think that I have a girlfriend?” He said, his hand once more touching my skin.
“Mik, you are eighteen. I am pretty sure that you must have a girlfriend, even though you never mention one.”
“Perhaps I have a boyfriend,” he said, his hand squeezing again.
“Well, you never bring him home either.”
“Would it bother you if I did?”
“What, have a boyfriend? Not in the slightest.”
“Did Dad ever have a boyfriend?”
“Not as far as I know; once we got together, we only had eyes for each other.”
“And more than hands, I bet,” he laughed, his fingers squeezing just the way Paul had. I gulped and took a quick drink of my Chablis.
“Well, you know, we were very close, right from the get-go; it was wonderful.”
“And then he was gone.”
“Yes, and then he was gone, but I have you, and you remind me so much of him. You are very like him.”
“Ah, well, there we are then. Perhaps I make you remember him.”
“Yes, baby, you do.”
“And even those special memories that make you gulp and gasp?”
I was quiet. What could I say? I couldn’t tell him that I had seen him in the shower and how he was almost identical to Paul, how he made my groin tingle, and how my insides drip with desire. I couldn’t tell him that. I was simply quiet.
His fingers moved. He was touching the hem of my knickers. Oh God, I was getting lost; it was wrong. I wanted him to be Paul, but he couldn’t be. I stood up; I had to stop the madness. I was unsure if my imagination was taking me to the wrong place, stimulating memories that were being overtaken by a reality that shouldn’t happen.
“I think I need to go and tidy the kitchen, baby,” I said, and with an almost indecent haste, I headed into the kitchen. I stood looking at the tidy kitchen; I had already done the clearing up earlier. I felt foolish; my emotions were getting the better of me. Perhaps, as Mik had said, I ought to try dating and try and get new memories, new intimacies.
I turned to face the kitchen door; Mik was standing there watching me. “I am going up for a shower, and then I’ll turn in, Mum,” he said. “The kitchen looks tidy to me.”
“Goodnight, baby,” I said and watched him turn and head along the hallway to the stairs. I checked that the windows were shut and the back door locked. I turned the lights off and then checked the lounge was tidy and turned the light off there too. I locked and bolted the front door and turned the downstairs light off. As I faced the stairs, I could see the light from the bathroom. I didn’t need to turn on the landing light; I could use the light from the bathroom to see my way up to my room.
At the top of the stairs I could see that the bathroom door was almost completely open. Mik was in the shower, suds in his hair, and his hands rubbing through them. As he moved his dick, it waved back and forth, not hard, but not soft. He was so like his father; in fact, he was like his father in every single way. I gulped and headed to my bedroom.
I stripped and headed to my ensuite and cleaned my teeth, standing at the washbasin, my groin on fire and my mind in a turmoil. I could not help but think of Mik as a reincarnation of Paul. The resemblance was uncanny. Now that Mik had grown out of the gangly early teens, he looked very much as Paul had looked when we first met.
I turned the ensuite light off and headed to bed, throwing the covers back. I got onto the bed and lay there, uncovered yet feeling hot. I heard the bathroom light click off and then saw Mik standing in my doorway looking across at me. I didn’t say anything, I didn’t shoo him away, I just lay there. Mik just stood there, his dick at full mast; I almost called out ‘Paul’. Instead I reached across and turned my light off, Mik disappearing from view, only his silhouette remaining.
I heard the landing floorboard creak as Mik walked back to his bedroom, and then the dim light escaping from his room extinguished as he closed his bedroom door. I moved my hand and gently stroked it along my crease, sliding a finger through my petals, finding my entrance. I widened my knees and pressed my finger; in my mind I saw Paul dipping in, and my body remembered my husband as I slipped off into sleep.
I awoke with a start, my dream vivid in my memory. I was on the settee, my legs apart, and Paul knelt in front, licking me, sucking at my nubbin, and then he looked up at me, my wetness making his face glisten. Only it wasn’t Paul that looked up at me; it was Mik. As I moved, my dream dissolved, and I was left with a strange feeling, a feeling of uncertainty.
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