“Seriously, Mum? Is this really necessary?” Michael drawled, and the way he said it just made my blood boil. I kept my eyes glued to the road, slamming the gears into place. Gravel spat out from beneath the tires of the old Jeep as I took the turn too fast. The steering wheel vibrated in my hands, a physical manifestation of the anger thrumming through me.
“YES, it IS necessary! I’m dragging you away until you get your head on straight!” I snapped, fighting to keep my voice level. “Two girls, Michael! Pregnant! In two weeks! You’re acting like a complete animal.”
He snorted. “So, a forced vacation in the middle of nowhere is supposed to magically fix everything? Is that your genius plan, Mum? Like serious, I have needs and if it is just us two than I don’t know.” He said it with this strange look in his eyes, a look that made my skin crawl. It wasn’t the way a son should look at his mother, and it was just adding fuel to the fire already raging inside me. He was obsessed with sex, maybe I should have worn something different. I was in a skirt and loose tank top which dipped low at the front.
“Don’t look at me like that, Michael,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles white. I didn’t dare look at him. The idea of acknowledging whatever twisted thought was behind that gaze made me nauseous.
“Like what, Mum?” he asked, and I could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Am I not allowed to appreciate my hot mom?”
The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating. I flinched as if he’d slapped me. The anger momentarily receded, replaced by a cold, creeping dread. Where had I gone wrong? How had my son become this… this stranger?
“Just… stop, Michael. Please,” I managed, my voice trembling. “This trip is about you, about getting you back on track. Not about… whatever this is.”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the hum of the engine and the wind whistling past the open windows. Finally, he sighed, a sound that was too heavy, too world-weary for a twenty-year-old.
“Fine. Whatever. Just drive, Mum.”
I drove. I drove for hours, the landscape changing from suburban sprawl to rolling hills and dense forests. The further we got from the city, the quieter Michael became. He slouched in his seat, staring out the window, his expression unreadable. I tried to focus on the road, on the scenery, on anything but the unsettling feeling that had settled in my stomach.
The cabin was exactly as I remembered it – small, rustic, and miles from civilization. My father had built it years ago, a place for us to escape the pressures of everyday life. It had been years since I’d been back, but the familiar scent of pine and damp earth still clung to the air.
“Okay, here we are,” I said, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice. “Home sweet home for the next few weeks.”
Michael unfolded himself from the Jeep, stretching his long limbs. He looked around, his face a mask of indifference.
“Seriously, Mum? This is it? This is your grand plan?”
“It’s a start,” I said, my patience wearing thin again. “There’s no cell service, no internet, no distractions. Just you, me, and a whole lot of nature. Maybe a little peace and quiet will do you some good.”
He shrugged, grabbing his duffel bag from the back of the Jeep. “Whatever.”
I watched him walk towards the cabin, his shoulders slumped, his steps heavy. He moved with a kind of aimless energy. I sighed. This was going to be harder than I thought.
The first few days were a blur of awkward silences and forced interactions. I tried to get Michael to talk, to open up about what was going on in his life, but he remained closed off, guarded. He spent most of his time wandering around the woods, or holed up in his room, listening to music. I caught him staring at me sometimes, that same unsettling look in his eyes. It made me want to lock myself in my room and never come out.
One evening I got into a short silk nightie, I decided to try a different approach. I built a fire in the fireplace, hoping the warmth and crackling flames would create a more relaxed atmosphere. I even managed to find a bottle of wine in the back of the pantry – a relic from a long-forgotten trip.
“Michael, come sit by the fire,” I called out. “Let’s just… talk.”
He hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly joined me, plopping down on the worn rug in front of the fireplace. I poured us each a glass of wine, and we sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the flames dance.
“So,” I began, “how are you feeling?”
He shrugged. “Fine.”
“No, really, Michael. How are you really feeling?”
He took a long sip of wine, avoiding my gaze. “I don’t know, Mum. I am really horny and I can’t help it I haven’t had sex in days.”
As he said that his eyes were on the hem of my nightie and between my leg’s. He could see a slight glimpse of my black lace knickers. I crossed my legs as he adjusted his boxers, he was hard.
My breath hitched. It felt like the air had been sucked right out of the room. His words hung there, thick and heavy, like smoke. And his eyes… on me. On my legs.
I couldn’t speak. My mind scrambled, trying to process what he’d just said, how he’d said it, and the look on his face, mirrored by the clear, undeniable bulge beneath his boxers. It wasn’t boyish curiosity. It was something else. Something predatory.
I pulled my legs tighter together, wrapping my arms around myself. The fire suddenly felt too hot, the silk of my nightie too thin.
“Michael,” I whispered, the word a shaky sound. “That is… that is not okay.”
He didn’t look away. A small, unsettling smile played on his lips. “What? Just being honest, Mum.”
“Honest about… about that?” My voice trembled. “With your mother?”
He leaned back on his elbows, stretching out slightly. The movement only made the outline more prominent. “Who else am I supposed to be honest with? You dragged me out here, miles from anyone. It’s just us.”
“Yes, it’s just us,” I said, trying to regain some composure, some authority. “And we are going to talk about why you’ve been making such terrible decisions, why you’re hurting people, why you have two children on the way!”
He snorted again, that dismissive sound that grated on my nerves. “Right. Like that’s the real problem.”
“It is the problem, Michael! Or at least a huge part of it! Your complete lack of responsibility, your disregard for others… Will you stop messing with your… thing in front of me.” I could see the outline of his shaft against his boxers, oh my it looked big. “Go to the toilet and you know sort it out.”
He smiled, “No way, I don’t jerk off.”
“Well, it is the only way to… you know get rid of it,” I said pouring another glass. Then he gets it out. It is pointing up rock hard solid. I feel a tingle in my pussy.
I couldn’t help myself, my eyes drifted down to Michael’s hard cock. It was thick and long, the shaft an angry red color. The head was an angry purple, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip. I felt a shameful tingle between my legs.
“Michael,” I whispered, my voice trembling I rubbed in between my legs. “Put… ah… that away, now.”
I sighed and gave into temptation. I reached for my handbag and took out a condom. I throw it to him, “Your not getting me pregnant. Don’t tell anyone you hear.”
He caught the condom with a smirk before throwing back his head and swallowing his wine.
“So, you’re saying…?” He trailed off, his eyes dancing with a mixture of disbelief and blatant desire. “You’re actually saying… you want me?”
“I… I don’t know what I want,” I stammered, suddenly terrified by the path this conversation had taken. The wine, the fire, the isolation – it had all created a dangerous cocktail of emotions and hormones. “This is wrong, Michael. So wrong. But if it takes your mind off other girls than ok.”
I pulled my knickers off and laid on the couch.
He scrambled towards the couch on top of me. I laid there as he fumbled with the condom wrapper, his hands shaking with a mix of nerves and anticipation. He tore it open, the sound loud in the silent cabin, and quickly sheathed himself. His eyes locked on mine, dark and intense.
“Are you sure about this, Mum?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
I hesitated for just a fraction of a second, the weight of what we were about to do crashing down on me. This was wrong, so incredibly wrong. But the need, the desire, the twisted curiosity… it was all too overwhelming.
“Just… be gentle,” I managed to whisper, my voice barely audible.
He didn’t say anything else. He lowered himself onto me, his weight pressing me into the soft cushions of the couch. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the inevitable.
His lips found mine, his kiss rough and urgent. I responded in kind, my own desire rising to meet his. His hands roamed my body, cupping my breasts, tracing the curve of my hips. I moaned softly, surrendering to the moment.
He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine. “Ready?”
I nodded, my throat tight. He positioned himself between my legs, his hard cock pressing against my wetness. I gasped as he thrust into me, the sensation both shocking and exhilarating.
“Ahh, baby… ahh, fuck,” I moaned, my head thrashing against the back of the couch.
He began to move faster, his thrusts deep and powerful. The couch creaked and groaned beneath us, the only sound in the room besides our ragged breathing and my increasingly loud moans.
“Look… ahh between your legs mum,” he demanded as I looked and saw his thick cock pounding in and out my pussy.
“Oh, God, Michael… harder… faster…”
He obliged, his movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him on. The pleasure was building, a tidal wave threatening to consume me. His cock slid and out of her neglected twat perfect.
“Ahh, baby, ahh fuck,” I cried out, arching my back as the orgasm hit me, shaking me to my core.
He continued to thrust, his own release coming moments later. He groaned, burying his face in my neck, his body shuddering with the force of his climax. He pounded and pounded filling the condom with his cum.
We lay there for a long moment, tangled together, gasping for breath. The fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, casting flickering shadows across the room. I opened my eyes, staring up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
The shame washed over me in waves, a cold, suffocating tide. What had I done? What had we done? This was a line that could never be uncrossed, a taboo that would forever stain our relationship.
Michael rolled off me, lying beside me on the couch. He didn’t say anything, just stared up at the ceiling, his expression unreadable. You could see the guilt in his eyes.
I sat up, pulling my nightie around me, trying to cover myself, to hide from the reality of the situation.
“We can never speak of this again,” I said, my voice trembling. “Never, ever.”
He turned to me, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and something else… something I couldn’t quite decipher.
“I know, Mum,” he said softly. “I know.”
We sat in silence for a long time, the weight of our transgression hanging heavy in the air. The fire slowly died down, casting the room in darkness. I felt cold, empty, and utterly lost.
This vacation, this attempt to fix Michael, had just become a thousand times more complicated. We were more broken than we had been before. And I didn’t know how we were going to fix it.