01.13
She popped the last of the batter-fried cod into her mouth and washed
it down with the dregs of the pint of bitters. The remaining mealy
french fries (chips?) she would leave without regret. Jimmy was
already finished and looked as anxious as she to get to their room and
collapse. They had kidded each other through the ‘pub-grub’ supper as
to who would get the first hot shower.
They had arrived in England that morning, after an all night flight
featuring a six hour time change. Both she and her son had slept only
fitfully in the cramped seats, arriving – after a breakfast neither
was ready for – into Gatwick airport at 8 A.M. Greenwich time. She
had booked ahead into an inn near Stratford upon Avon, the one at
which they now ate. She remembered from her only other trip to the
British Isles that the best way to conquer the time change was to get
on the new sleep schedule as quickly as possible, so they had doggedly
crammed themselves into their tiny rental car and spent the day seeing
castles, churches, and picturesque villages. Jimmy went along with
her doubtful jet-lag theory – or at least refrained from complaining.
Actually, she was pleasantly surprised with his attitude. After the
divorce, it had seemed certain that he would go to live with his
father. But after spending a week with James about a month before,
Jimmy had announced he would stay with her. In a surge of relief, she
had planned this vacation for the two of them, not thinking until it
was too late that travelling through England with his mother might not
be a thirteen year old boy’s idea of a thrilling time. His smiles
seemed sincere, though, and she attributed to an overactive
imagination her feeling that his eyes showed an amused superiority at
her enthusiasm.
As they returned to the car to get their bags, she wondered anew at
Jimmy’s rapid growth over just the past six months. He was now a full
four inches taller than her own petite 5′ 1″ and lanky as a colt. She
was thankful for his new male strength – the suitcases would have been
too much for her without him along to take the larger ones. Now,
hopefully, a quick check-in, then a soft bed…
The jet-lag must have really set in. The inn-keeper’s words echoed
meaninglessly in her fogged mind. “… you did ask for a double room
… last one available … other hotels and bed and breakfasts in the
area full also… busy season…” Why was he restating the obvious,
and looking back and forth from her to her son? Yes, they were
sharing a room, but they could change in the bathroom and each stick
to their own bed. They were mother and son for chrissakes!
She nodded and said “Okay… fine… ” enough times that the innkeeper
finally took them up to their room. He paused in front of a room
revealingly labelled ‘toilet’ and said that they would be sharing it
with some other guests, but it was only two doors down from their
room: very convenient. Wait, this wasn’t right!
“But I specifically asked for a room with bath!” She could visualize
waiting hours to bathe in the morning.
“Of course, Mrs. MacKenzie, you do have shower and sink in your room.”
He seemed irritated at her lack of comprehension. “If you wanted a
toilet, too, you should have requested ‘en suite’ facilities. We only
have two rooms that have private lavatory and bathing facilities and
both of them are taken. Our historic old buildings were not built
with modern plumbing in mind.”
Yes, yes, en suite. She remembered now. Oh, well, at least they had
a private shower. Had she brought a robe so she could brave the
corridor for a late night pee? She almost giggled at the thought of
shadowy people in various stages of undress wandering the dark inn
searching for a potty.
The inn-keeper stopped at the door to number four. “Well, here you
are. If I can be of help, let me know. Full English breakfast from
eight to nine thirty.” He handed her the key.
She opened the door and stepped aside for Jimmy to carry in the bags.
As she followed, closing the door behind her, Jimmy turned and gave
her the strangest look, something between panic, confusion, and… was
there hidden amusement?
“Mom?”
When she looked around the room she saw the reason for his shock.
A tiny room – barely enough floor space to set down the baggage!
One double bed! For her AND her son!
A shower stall about the size of a British phone booth in the corner
of the room! (A tiny sink and mirror hid in the opposite corner, next
to that side of the bed.)
Liz MacKenzie sat down in despair on the bed (the only place to sit
except for one upright wooden chair!), her head in her hands. This
was why the inn-keeper was so confused! What could they do? How
could she possibly share the bed with her pubescent son?
Fortunately she had brought only flannel granny nightgowns, since she
had planned for them to share a room. Again she remembered too late
the proper terminology. She should have requested a ‘twin’ room!
And the shower! She peeked through her fingers at it, praying it
would miraculously change. Bad enough that there was no separate
bathroom for privacy, but the shower walls were clear plastic with
just a row of decorative daisy decals about waist height. Too high to
hide… too low to cover… Oh, damn, damn, damn.
The final, back-breaking straw was that she had booked the room for
two nights. And the manager had stressed that there wasn’t anything
else available! Anywhere!
The room remained silent, still, for an interminable time. Then
Jimmy took a loud breath.
“Mom, this is weird, but I know its not your fault. We just have to
act natural, I guess.” Act natural, yes. But how? She heard Jimmy
kick off his shoes. When she looked up he was pulling off his shirt.
“I got first shower. I feel kind of funny, but you’re my mother, so
you’ve sure seen me naked. I assume I was born that way.” He laughed
nervously at his attempt at humor, and she looked up to give him a
smile in response. His undershirt flew onto the bed. Then, he looked
deeply into his mother’s eyes, and, with a slight shrug of his bare
shoulders, in a quick motion pushed his pants and jockey shorts down
together. Stepping out of them, he stood nude in front of her looking
as embarrassed as only a teenager going through puberty could be.
It was right in front of her face. A smooth tube of flesh, arcing
downward. About four inches long with just a small tuft of
reddish-brown hair (the MacKenzie blood) above it. She knew well from
her experiences with James and, well, with at least one other man,
that it was about half way between soft and hard. She was glad they
had chosen circumcision… My God, woman, her mind screamed, don’t
stare, he’s your son!
She looked up at his face, her cheeks crimson. He stared back,
embarrassment, surprise, and that unfathomable something else flitting
across his features. He turned around and walked toward the shower.
He glanced back once as he opened the shower door, catching her
staring at is compact, teenage ass.
She whirled away and tried to busy herself with some unpacking.
Heaving the biggest suitcase onto the bed, she extracted a nightgown
and toiletries. But her body was reacting to her son’s maleness; and
her gaze kept returning to the shower, where through the clear sides
she could see her son’s… her son’s handsome cock.
She resolutely tried to keep her thoughts on the problems with the
room, their plans for tomorrow, anything! But, oh Jesus, now he’s
soaping it, and the ball-sac beneath. Is it growing? Is he washing
it or stroking it? Shit, he caught me looking again! She had
forgotten that if she could look in below the daisies, he could look
out above the daisies. She quickly went around the bed so that as she
worked her back was to him. She could feel the moistness in her
crotch, though, and her nipples ached in their hardness. Finally, she
heard the shower being turned off and the shower door open.
“Mom, could you get me a towel?”
Towel? She glanced back at him in confusion and for the first time
noticed that there was no rack on the stall. Her eyes searched
dazedly around the room, and she saw that the towels were hung by the
sink on the other side of the bed. She moved back around the bed, got
one, and turned to bring it to him. Act natural. Act natural.
He was standing, facing her, an uncertain smile on his face. As she
walked toward him, however, her eyes could not help but stray downward
again, and, unconsciously, she licked her suddenly parched lips. He
reacted, automatically and strongly, and she realized by the tell-tale
bouncy twitch of his manhood that he was involuntarily hardening. Her
eyes came back up immediately, but the damage was done. He tried to
stifle a groan and moved both hands in front of his rising penis. She
held the towel out to him and turned away as soon as he took it. One
of his shielding hands, however, had necessarily moved away from his
now almost completely upright organ to take the towel. As she
turned, she saw out of the corner of her eye that he was a man beyond
his years.
Six inches? Yes, at least. Not as big as his father, or, some
others, but really, he’s only thirteen. She stood still, frozen,
staring vacantly at the far wall, the image of his stiff staff burned
into her consciousness as he dried himself a few feet behind her.
Slowly, out of the daze that had befuddled her since dinner (she
really shouldn’t have drunk that pint of ale!) the thought crystalized
that she would have to take the next shower. Oh, Liz, you stupid… !
She should have undressed while Jimmy was showering and draped herself
with a towel. Then, perhaps tell him not to look while she was
washing in the stall. Now what?
Her son brushed by her (what was that rubbing against her hip?) and in
one motion whipped the towel onto the bed and plopped down on his
stomach on it, facing her. “Your turn, Ma. The water gets hot fast,
so watch out.” He kept up a light patter as he looked up at her, but
his white, firm buttocks, still brazenly bare, captured her attention.
As if hypnotized, she kicked out of her shoes and unbuttoned her
blouse. His small talk about the flight and their day together
provoked automatic replies as she shed the blouse and opened her
slacks. When she stepped out of her pants she suddenly realized she
was in her underwear standing less than three feet in front of her
thirteen year old child. Her face reddened and she would have dived
under the bed but for the words that kept appearing in her mind: “Act
natural.” What could she do? Make him stand in the corridor wearing
his towel while she bathed? Her body was, after all, nothing to be
ashamed of.
She really didn’t look her thirty-two years. Her hair was almost
black, and she had it cut pixie-short. Her upturned nose and small
mouth made her face look almost adolescent, but her body was mature.
She still wore her light, wispy 34C bra, but it did nothing to hide
her aroused dark brown nipples. Her great pride was that even with
C-cup breasts, which looked huge on her diminutive form, she needed no
support. Oh, they bobbled, but did not sag at all. She could pass
the pencil test easily. Her waist was 21″, and her hips widened
gracefully to 33″ (34″ if she’d been sneaking desserts). Her
translucent white panties were french-cut, in fact almost a thong in
the rear, and her shiny black pubic curls had been trimmed and
partially shaved to fit inside the panties’ sharp vee. The shadowy
dark patch of hair formed a perfect triangle pointing down to where
the wispy silk clung to her damp, swollen labia. Her legs were long
in proportion to her short frame – her crotch was almost at the same
level as Jimmy’s when they stood side by side. To be succinct, she
was the most beautiful and desirable female her young son could
imagine.
She realized she’d best get on with it, her underwear wasn’t hiding
anything anyway (act natural) so she reached to unhook her
front-opening bra. Just as she undid the clasp, she noticed that
Jimmy’s butt had started flexing, pressing his hips rhythmically into
the towel. She suddenly felt like a stripper forced to perform for
some Lodge smoker. As the expression goes, she lost it.
“Jimmy! What in the world do you think you’re doing? This situation
isn’t just an excuse for you rub yourself off on the bath towel. I’m
your mother, for God’s sake, not some slut in a Penthouse magazine.
Yes, a Penthouse magazine like those you hide under your bed when
you’re not masturbating.” Jimmy’s head snapped back as if she had
slapped him. Tears formed in his eyes. She began to realize that she
had overdone it by mentioning the magazines. She had never meant to
admit she knew about that. It was his secret: every boy’s secret.
But once started, she couldn’t stop. It was as if all her fears and
frustrations burst out at once.
TO BE CONTINUED
