The last eight years had been strenuous for both of us. I had suddenly found myself all alone with a nine-year-old son after his father had left us in the lurch for a younger model with fairer hair than mine. The years had passed me by, sexually, and I became the mother, carer, the responsible adult, constantly looking after my son and watching him grow into a young man, a teenager.

He had grown up to be unsure of himself at times, and I did all that I could to give him the confidence he needed for his life ahead. His friends helped immensely, but I’m not sure that I did everything I could. He is still a shy person, unsure of how to take people at times, slow in assessing situations. Some would say withdrawn, but I wouldn't label him in that way, cautious around people, maybe.

I have more or less spent my life working to look after my son. No one had ever spent time looking after me and to be honest, I just didn't have the energy or time to look around for a new lover, though Brad could have done with a father figure, in hindsight. I just didn’t feel like a woman for most of the eight years that have passed. I certainly never felt sexy and eroticism was something I only read about now. Well, let’s face it, you wouldn’t feel sexy after the person you thought loved you, dumped you?

Brad and I are like friends as much as mother and son, we've had to be. There isn't a lot we don't talk about, except sex. We don’t talk about that, but I know the time will have to come. One day.

I’ve already had to tell him that he needs to close his bedroom door at night. I’ve seen him naked, what mother hasn't seen their son naked, but at his age, well, let's just say it surprised me. I’ve nearly caught him masturbating on more than one occasion and I’ve had to wash up the sticky remnants of his efforts when I’ve found his pants in the bottom of the laundry basket. At least he hasn't noticed that I do the same as him some nights, but then I hide the toys that I use in my deepest drawers.

So, I was surprised recently, when he went quiet on me. Conversations would start to dry up and things would get a little awkward. One minute there would be free-flowing speech, the next, silence. Not just silence, but I noticed deep frowning on his face, the sort that means he's pondering something serious. Long stares out of the window or into space. Looking down at the floor whilst helping me in the kitchen; he was a good cook and inventive.

I asked him once what was on his mind. All I got was the shake of his head and not a word until he was forced to say ‘nothing.’

I knew something was up. But I knew not to dig, not yet anyway.

His attitude continued in this manner for over a week. I was beside myself, becoming anxious about it. I was intrigued as to what had put him in this state and even more intrigued as to whether I could help him out of it. I wondered whether it was his schoolwork that was suffering or perhaps he was on the verge of his first girlfriend.

Yes, that had to be it. He had a girlfriend or fancied a girl from school. I couldn't help but smile to myself after that revelation hit me and I was sure going to help him through this difficult time.

The opportunity arose many times over dinner but it was difficult getting anything out of him that was revealing. Whilst I often started conversations about older women or young girls, they always dried up. But not after his face flushed once or twice. I knew I was on the right track so I kept digging, as mothers do.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, Brad, don't you,” I told him one evening.

“Yes, I know, mom,” he replied. I nodded reassuringly.

“Tell me,” I started with a spring in my voice, “how's the girlfriend front.”

“Umm, I don't have a girlfriend, mom.”

His hesitation didn't convince me, yet his words seemed honest and true. I made light of his remark as quickly as I could.

“A young man as handsome as you should have no trouble finding a girlfriend, you know.”

Brad just shrugged his shoulders but said nothing.

“You must have kissed a girl,” I continued.

Brad shook his head and started to look out the window, in one of his staring moments.

The doorbell rang and I quickly rose to answer it. It was Beverly, a friend of mine and Brad’s best friend’s mother bringing over some shopping that she had agreed to fetch for me from one of the larger, out of town superstores. I invited her in for a quick chat but she could see that we were eating and so didn't stay long. Making her excuses, she left as quickly as she had arrived. I did notice the smile she directed toward Brad and the soft touch on his shoulder as she walked past him after dropping the groceries on the kitchen worktops. After I saw her to the door, I returned to sit with Brad, her presence reminded me of his most recent sleepover at Bobby’s place. I decided to change the subject as the topic of girlfriends was getting me nowhere.

“How was the sleepover last week? You've not said much about it.”

“It was cool,” he said rather brightly.

“What did you two get up to?”

“Umm, not much.”

“You must have done something exciting?”

“Played some games, watched TV, not much really.” Brad was digging his fork into the food, shuffling it around rather than eating it. Something was on his mind.

“What games did you play?”

“Umm, card games, poker.”

“Poker, at your age!”

“Yeah, all the boys play it.”

I nodded knowingly. “What time did you get to sleep?”

“About two in the morning.”

“What were you doing until two in the morning?” I blurted out.

Brad went silent, his face flushed, he shoved a mouthful of food into his mouth, probably to stop him from talking and telling me what was on his mind. I let him finish his food before continuing.

“So, what were you doing until two in the morning?” I repeated.

“Mom, must we?”

All sorts of things went through my mind when I heard that reply. Maybe he wasn't at his friend's, maybe he was taking drugs and hiding it? Maybe he was with a girl somewhere else? Maybe he and Bobby were – was he gay?

I immediately stopped thinking about the permutations.

I looked into his eyes. They were red, and he looked almost on the verge of crying. I hadn't seen him like this in quite a while. It was like he was hiding a deep secret from me, his mother.

“Are you doing drugs, Brad?” I had to know the answer to that one at least.

“No, I would never do that,” he replied. It was quick, and to me, an honest answer.

I wasn't going to force it out of him. I held my hands up in front of me to let him know I was finished. I gathered up the dishes and walked them to the dishwasher.

“It’s okay, you can tell me when you're ready. If you want to.”

I left the conversation there and switched the TV on for an hour before heading off to bed. To say I was worried about Brad was an understatement. For the first time in the last eight years, this was the first time we had not talked openly and honestly. It worried me deeply.

ooOoo

It was three days later that the ice broke and little pieces of information were revealed bit by bit. Brad started talking about whether it was right for younger men to be attracted to older women. I parked the possibilities and continued to have a sensible mother-son chat about relationships and what they meant, about why nothing was wrong as such, but how some people would frown upon it. I tried to be grown-up about the questions he pushed to me. All very sensible and all very inquisitive, as teenagers are.

The following morning, Beverly knocked on the door to pick Brad up for a baseball game. I watched him climb in the backseat with Bobby and waved them goodbye. Halfway through my chores, I decided that I should, for once, stop working and go see my son play baseball. I looked up the fixtures for the local club but could not see any scheduled game for this weekend. My mind started to ponder. A very dangerous thing to do without all the evidence. And where was that evidence pointing, I had to wonder?

At six that evening, Brad walked through the door. I had prepared dinner because I always did after he came home from a hard game. Only one thing was different, I had already downed a few glasses of red wine; something a mother with lot’s on her mind shouldn’t do.

We sat down, we chatted and he told me all about the game.  How he and Bobby both scored home runs, how they had eventually won, and how good the burgers were.

I smiled and listened to him while sipping my fourth glass of red.

“S'funny,” I slurred, “I can believe how good the burgers were, but the game...” I wagged my finger at him. He looked dumbfounded. Astounded that I didn't believe him. He looked scared.

“I – I actually looked online for the game so that I could come and see you play,” I said.

I looked into his eyes. Brad stared at the dinner plate. I sipped more wine while grinning at my son over the rim of the glass.

He pushed the chair back, toppling it over and stood up quickly before rushing upstairs to his room.

I had certainly hit a nerve, but let him go. My thoughts caught up with me. What would drive him to do that? He left the house with Bobby and Beverley, so what would cause him to lie?

I was slowly coming to conclusions that I didn't want to come to. I needed answers to questions that I was afraid to utter and Brad was locked in his room.

I must have waited a good few hours while only drinking one more glass of wine. I heard his door open and I eventually walked upstairs to bed, thinking I would get a chance to bump into him in the hallway. I didn't. So, I opened his door and looked inside, Brad was sitting on the bed, legs curled to his chest, head buried between his knees.

I entered his room and sat down in the chair.

“Want to tell me about it?” I asked.

There was silence at first, then a sigh and a deep intake of breath.

“Don’t know where to start,” he offered.

“How about the beginning,” I offered.

He huffed loudly.

“I went over to Mrs Robertsons and we had sex.”

There it was, the confession, the older woman younger man conversation we had at dinner earlier in the week. I nodded knowingly and sympathetically; my tongue scraping against my teeth as I nodded.

“Was this the first time?”

Brad shook his head. “The first time was the sleepover night.”

Yes, he as up until two in the morning, I thought to myself. Everything was coming together.

“We did play poker,” he smiled, “strip poker and she lost so had to forfeit.”

I nodded, understanding the game that could have come across as innocent, yet wasn’t.

“And where was Bobby when this was going on?”

“It was Bobby that suggested it. It was Bobby that dragged his mom to the table to play in the first place, telling me it would be fun.”

“So, you won, Bev lost and then you and Bev went upstairs?” I questioned.

Brad nodded but lowered his head. There was more to this tale, I could tell.

“Is that what happened, Brad?”

He nodded and then shook his head, “Bobby came too,” he added.

My eyes flung wide open. And Bobby too. Did he say those words?

“Bobby too...” I said and waited with bated breath.

Brad nodded. “We all climbed into bed together. Mrs Robertson was smiling and stroking both of us as we removed the remainder of our clothes. Socks and pants, that was all that we had on.”

I nodded in silence. Words were stuck in my throat my nothing came out. A part of me was astounded at this revelation, a part of me annoyed at Bev for stealing my son’s virginity, and a part of me was getting aroused by this tale. This confession wasn’t so much about Brad and Bev anymore it was far more sinister than that.

I just looked at Brad, curled up on the bed in an upright fetal position, hiding his face as best he could as he mumbled out his confession.

“And yesterday? Three was no game was there?”

Brad shook his head once more. “We went over to their house, Mrs Robertson stripped my clothes from me as we kissed almost as soon as we were inside their house. By the time we got to the bedroom, Bobby was on the bed, naked, waiting for us.”

“What did Bev do when she saw Bobby on the bed?” It was a stupid question but I had become desperate to know what the answer would be. I wanted Brad to tell me in no uncertain terms what she did.

“She pulled me into the room, just by holding my cock and told me what a nice sight it was to see Bobby ready for her. She told me to sit next to him which I did.”

My eyes were searching his for more information but he avoided my stare.

“And...”

My need to know had become even greater. Brad was not to know, but my heart was thumping in my chest. I was barely controlling my breathing and I could feel my knickers get wet with the anticipation.

“Mrs Robertson...”

“Call her Bev or Beverly, Brad. I think it's a little too late to be so formal,” I said interrupting him.

 “Beverley climbed onto Bobby and put his dick inside her. She turned to me and asked whether I liked watching her do it.”

That was what I needed to know. I needed to know that it was Bev that took control, but his words hid even more information. He wasn't telling me all of it and I as I struggled to stop my hand from reaching for my pussy I asked the one question that would drag it out of him.

“And...did you?”

Brad nodded, and with that, my nipples immediately stiffen. I had heard enough for now and I stood to leave.

“Thank you for telling me,” I said, “it was the right thing to do. We shouldn't have any secrets in this house and certainly not big ones like that. I need to think about what you have just told me. It’s a lot to take in. But, whatever you do, do not mention this to Bobby or Bev for now, okay.”

I tried to look into his eyes and he eventually looked up at me.

“Am I grounded, am I in trouble?”

It was my turn to shake my head as I left his room. It wasn't his fault at all. For the last eight years, he'd been lacking a father figure and if anything, that was my fault.

I reached my bedroom in a bit of a state. I didn’t even bother to strip my clothes off and immediately rummaged around in my bottom drawer. I pulled it out, all nine inches of it. I pushed my knickers to one side and pushed my toy into my sodden cunt. I laid back against the headboard and started thrusting. Not once did I think of my son or what he had done. Not once did I blame Bev. No, the only thought racing through my head was Bobby fucking his mother or Bev fucking her son. I could imagine Bobby, a strapping lad with a very nice physique, splaying her legs apart and fucking his cock into her. That image in my head was as vivid as if they were in front of me.

I came hard, so hard in fact, I wet the duvet, soaked it. I was shaking by the end of my climax. Not so much from the actual orgasm, but from the intensity of my thoughts. Thoughts of incest. Not the thinking of them but for actually condoning the actions of Bev and Bobby.

My thoughts eventually drifted to Brad. What must he be thinking right now? How would he be feeling? What effect has this had on him?

ooOoo

The following morning, I did three things: got up early to make Brad a nice breakfast, phoned Bev to arrange a night out for that evening, just us girls, and took my son breakfast in bed. He was shocked to see me enter his room with a tray full of bacon, waffles and maple syrup with orange juice. I reiterated that he had done nothing wrong. Reassured him that everything would be okay but that he should not tell Bobby or Bev anything about the previous night. I hoped he would honour that agreement because I needed a chat with her. A serious chat.

That evening I told Brad that I was going out, but not who I was seeing. I told him that his dinner would have to be a microwave meal. His face almost lit up at the thought.

I left at seven in the evening and picked Bev up at about seven-thirty before heading out for a meal. The evening was all in my favour. We were laughing and joking up to the point when I asked her about the baseball match. The lies flowed freely but she could see by the smile on my face that something was up. I told her that I knew. I told her what Brad had told me about her fucking my son and then I asked her about her and...