“Oh honey, I never thought that. I thought you were awkward because you regretted the entire …love-making. And I was really thinking I came across as desperate and pathetic and sad, like a clichéd middle-age housewife who’s trying to hold onto her youth by having sex with a younger guy. Or that you really only wanted me that one time, you know?”
“You’re none of those things. Really. You’re so strong and so amazing, I’m truly in love with you, Mum.”
“I’m glad you don’t think I’m pathetic, I’ve just been feeling really down lately – it’s been so long since your dad has wanted anything to do with me in that way… I guess my self-confidence is just in tatters at the moment.”
“Seriously?! I can’t believe that you really have to go all the way to Melbourne just so that you can, like, surprise him into having sex with you. Jesus. If you were my wife, I don’t think I could even leave the house without fucking you for hours before I went. Um, sorry.”
“Wow, no, don’t be sorry. About the swearing, or about what you said. You know, I’m starting to think that we have, like, tons in common. Apart from genetic material, that is. I mean emotionally, we’re very similar – it’s kind of funny how we’re both so in sync already.”
My husband had never fully understood my emotional fragility, but here was my son not only empathising with me but sharing his vulnerable side with me, too. Holy shit, I think I could really be falling in love with my son. Certainly wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world; at least he loves and respects and wants you, and he really does get your neediness, since he’s kind of needy too – hell, he probably inherited it from you, Cynthia. It’s been years since I’ve felt this wanted, this sexy, this empowered, this loved. Sure, I’ve been chasing Mark fruitlessly for probably a year now, but here was a younger, sexier, more emotionally connected version of my husband right in front of me. And when we got to the hotel tonight, I really wanted to show him just how much all that meant to me.
If last night was all about me, that night, I made it all about Joel. As soon as he shut the door, I just about attacked him. I kissed him with all the day’s built-up sexual tension and immediately started unbuttoning his shirt without even looking. He responded in kind, kissing me back and unzipping my dress and helping slide it down my body and I stepped out of it. In the twenty seconds I’d had in the room by myself before Joel came in, I noticed the cupboard of our room featured a huge mirror. Stepping backwards, I pulled Joel into the room and in front of the mirror so he could see everything.
I finished unbuttoning my son’s shirt and slid it off his back, then moved away from kissing his sweet young mouth and started slowly kissing my way down his neck, my hands rubbing his back and his chest. I licked and sucked each of his nipples, running my tongue in circles as he had done to me the previous night. He ran his hands through my hair and moaned with pleasure. Once I felt that his nipples had gotten enough attention, I continued my way down his torso, kissing further and further down until his belly button. I stopped myself from undoing his pants, instead repositioning myself on my knees in front of him. Looking up at my son, I placed my hands on the waistband of his jeans and said, “Thank you for making me feel sexy again. Consider this a small token of my thanks, my darling.”
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