“What?”
“Crumbs down the inside of my housecoat, they’re scratchy.”
She stood up and started to try and shake the crumbs down and in the process the top of her housecoat opened a trifle to partially reveal her breasts.
She was right about sons fantasising about their mothers because this son had fantasised about his mother for some time. Nothing serious you understand, but when you love someone sexual thoughts can come into it quite uninvited – or at least you tell yourself they are uninvited.
Oddly our situation was a bit like that of Josephine Taylor and son, except it was the other way round – I mean, mum left dad when she caught him screwing the woman next door.
Mum saw me looking at her breasts and hastily covered them.
“What are you staring at, Ben?”
“I…er…nothing…I was just thinking.”
“That makes a change; so why don’t you think about doing the washing up while I start the vacuuming?”
“I thought we were having an interesting conversation.”
“What else is there to say? They were lovers and got caught and now she’s pregnant and…the silly woman she should have taken precautions.”
“Perhaps she wanted to have a baby with him.”
“Yes, and he should have kept his mouth shut and they’d still be enjoying each other; I’ll bet it was him who blabbed; it’s nearly always the men who have to boast about their sexual conquests.”
“I don’t,” I protested, and then tried to correct myself, “I mean, I wouldn’t.”
Mum laughed cynically and said, “You needn’t think I don’t know what you get up to Ben. You’ve been getting plenty of action with that widow.”
That shook me. “You know!”
“Of course I know; just about everybody in the street knows. You’ve been seen going into her place regularly – and don’t tell me you’re just dropping in for a cup of tea.”
I thought I’d been so devious about those visits, and I felt my face getting hot with embarrassment. I’d been enjoying the body of a forty five year old widow for some time. The only thing I didn’t like about it was she liked younger guys – lots of younger guys – so I had to take my turn on the roster.
“Yes, you can blush; I’ve had half the women in the street making comments to me; ‘Oh, doesn’t your Ben spend a lot of time with Mrs. Franklin?’ ‘It must be nice at her age to have young company, and so much of it.’ How do you think I feel, being told things like that?”
“Jealous bitches,” I muttered.
“What was that?”
“Oh…nothing…nothing.”
“Then let’s get on with the work.”
Mother swished out of the room and shortly after I heard the howl of the vacuum cleaner. I rose and started the washing up.
I had some study work to do so when I’d finished in the kitchen I went to my room and tried to get on with it.
A couple of hours later I decided it was time for a break. Mum usually had a cup of tea or coffee around that time so I joined her in the kitchen.
She was sitting at the table with a cup in front of her and reading the newspaper.
“Tea’s just made,” she said without looking up from the paper.
I poured myself a cup and sat opposite her at the table. No chance of a breast display this time because she was wearing her favourite lounging-around-the-house dark green track-suit – very sporty, and apart from lounging around it was one of those she wore when she went jogging in the morning before going to work.