“Don’t be silly,” his mother spluttered. “Of course I’m not going to tell anyone. What the hell would I say?”
Switching tack, Gareth said, “So I can spoon you, then?”
Giving it up, his mother sighed and said, “God, all right, if you have to. But another five minutes and you’re in your own bed.”
***
Marion turned away from her son. She settled onto her side and felt the bed move as Gareth shifted around, the heat of his body against her back.
Then she felt the hard ridge press against the crease between her buttocks, a surge of anxiety swelling her throat when she realised it was her son’s erection back there. She did her best to ignore it. Marion pretended it didn’t exist, that her own son’s sexual arousal was right there against her body, that the only things keeping that thing from slipping between her legs were his boxers and her tee-shirt.
“You smell lovely,” Marion heard.
The cock pressed harder against her. Her son’s arm moved through the space between her neck and the pillow, shoving its way clear until Gareth embraced his mother, his arm around her.
Then he kissed the nape of her neck.
Marion wriggled free. She moved away from her son, weight on one elbow as she craned around to face him in the dark.
She hissed, “What are you doing?”
His voice came back, small and contrite. “I’m sorry. I … I got carried away. Your hair smells so lovely. You were so warm. I was half-asleep, mum.”
“You shouldn’t kiss me like that, Gareth. It’s not right. I’m your mother. You don’t kiss your mother that way.”
Marion paused, throat working as her cheeks warmed with embarrassment.
“And … And I could feel your thing,” she finished.
“I’ve got that tickle,” he told her.
Marion knew what he meant. Gareth was saying he was aroused, that the heat was n him, that he could feel dark urges swirling around in a deep, visceral place, a part of him that was far deeper than the pit of his stomach. She knew that feeling herself. Marion had experienced it before. One notable occasion being when she’d used a hand against the same cock which had so recently been pressed against her body.
“You should go to your own bed and sort it out,” Marion said.
The mix of swirling emotions rose up inside her again when her son replied with, “Couldn’t I do it here? I’m warm now, mum. I could do it and then go back to my bed.”
Marion wanted to tell him no, he couldn’t do it there. Not in her bed, the idea was disgusting, depraved and immoral.
But, instead, what came out of her mouth was a sigh and, “If you hurry up, Gareth. Just get it done and get out of my bed.”
A moment later, after some wriggling around which she took to be her son shucking his underwear down, the bed started to judder.
Marion heard, “Oh … Oh, yes. Oh, that’s nice.”
She said, “I don’t want to hear. Just hurry and get it over with. This is so bloody wrong already. God,” she breathed in an aside to herself. “I can’t believe I’m letting this happen.”
The bed rocked and her son groaned. Marion could hear the surreptitious and somewhat glutinous squelch of Gareth’s hand moving over the shaft, the slick fap-fap-fap causing a slither of some dark and very illicit sensation way down deep. Right where it tickled.