Breaking the Duck! Ch. 03

My knees felt like rubber and I leant against the doorframe, making a creaking sound. Helga turned her head.

"Shit... Helga... I'm sorry...I didn't mean to... I was just passing...and couldn't help seeing...!" I gasped. I was standing in her doorway with my erect prick in my hand wearing nothing but a pair of flimsy cotton shorts.

She didn't scream or yell, or try to hide her nakedness. She just laid there and smiled up at me her eyes bright and sparkling and a lascivious little smile playing on her lips. She raised her hand still wet with the juices from her orgasm and crooked her finger, beckoning me!

"Komm her, bitte, Gavin, komm zu mir!" She called. Even I could work out what she was asking.

I stepped into the room pushing the door wide. Jesus Christ! At long fucking last... I was going to get laid and who better than this gorgeous Danish-German beauty laying wide open and waiting even I couldn't get it wrong this time. What could possibly go wrong?

"GAVIN! GAVIN! ARE YOU HOME? Are you up there Gavin?" It was my fucking mother.

I hadn't heard her car come up the drive or the front door open and now she was in the hall at the bottom of the stairs.

I looked up at Helga, she had rolled off the bed and was pulling on her bathrobe. She gestured for me to leave, "Geh zu Mama, Kleinen Jungen, sie ruft dich an..." She said. I didn't get it all but I think it was about my mother calling me.

I went to the top of the stairs and peered over carefully. I heard Helga's bedroom door close behind me.

"Hello Mother..." I called down. "I am just going to take a shower then I will be down..." There was no chance of using her shower room now so I would have to use the main bathroom. There wasn't much likelyhood that I would want to beat off now... my prick had shrivelled away to nothing at the sound of my mother's voice...it would probably be in shock and might never stand up again.

I guess that I needed to write the afternoon off to yet another fuck-up! Coitus fucking interruptus yet again!

After that, things between Helga and I were a bit tense. I desperately wanted to apologise, make things right between us but I think that any ideas she had of shagging me were now well and firmly discarded. In fact she seemed to be trying to avoid me as much as possible and would only stay in a room with me if there were other people present.

I don't think that Mother ever cottoned on to what had nearly happened that afternoon between Helga and I. If she had then what occurred next would probably never been given the chance to happen.

Two weeks later Mother had a charity function at the Pump Room in Bath and as usual elected me to be her escort. My father never, ever attended any of my mother's charity fund raisers although he always sent a sizeable cheque. I doubt that he even knew which cause he was giving to but the publicity was good for business.

By pure chance a combination of events led to our leaving Bath earlier than expected. The key speaker at the event had to cancel at the last minute and so the planned supper at her hotel after the function wasn't going to happen. My mother got one of her rare headaches during the dinner and was only too happy to leave early as I was there to drive us home. Bath was only a bit more than an hour's drive from Cheltenham in Mother's BMW and it was just after eleven when we turned into our driveway a good three hours earlier than expected.

There were lights on in the house but to our surprise my father's Bentley was parked in the drive at the front of the house, something he never did unless he intended leaving again straight away. In fact we had not expected him home until the next day he was supposedly staying at his London club for the night.

I dropped Mother off at the front door and then drove her car around to the garages at the rear of the house, parked it next to my Ford Focus and then went into the house by the rear door through the kitchen.

My mother's coat was draped over a chair in the hall with her handbag standing on the floor beside. There were no downstairs lights on and so I guessed that she had gone upstairs, perhaps my father had come home sick and had gone to bed. I would need to put the Bentley away for him or he would kick up shit in the morning if it was left in the drive.

"G-a-a-a-a-a-a-r-h!" A piercing scream echoed through the house from upstairs. It was a woman's scream and it was my mother! But it was not a scream of terror or anguish, certainly not a silly girly scream...it was the full blooded scream of an enraged lioness. I felt my blood go cold and my balls shrivel up. My mother was beautiful, even at fifty, she was elegant and a bit flighty at times, but she was British upper class and could be as tough as old leather, she was not somebody that you wanted to piss off!

Maybe we had intruders, maybe something had happened to Dad. I grabbed the putter which he kept in the umbrella stand and made a dash for the stairs and got halfway up in time to see the naked form of Helga race along the landing into her room and bang the door.

I could hear my mother and father shouting at each other. Father's bedroom door banged and the voices were muted a bit but the argument continued without let up.

Shit! Anybody could see what had happened. Mother had caught him shagging Helga...in the marital bed... not that she had occupied it for years. The old bastard had succeeded where I had failed and was giving the au pair a good shafting when mother had burst in on them. I thought my own interrupted attempts at getting my end away first with Mrs. Pope and then with Helga a couple of weeks back and felt a shred of sympathy for my old man, but you had to give my mother credit for being consistent in policing her men she wasn't letting any of us fuck or get fucked!

The shouting had stopped and my father's door opened and my mother emerged. As always she looked totally composed with not a hair out of place and her eyes were dry, she did not appear to have been crying, but I noticed that her hand shook slightly.

"Are you alright, Mum?" I asked...I hadn't call her Mum for years not since I was ten.

"Of course I am...silly boy." She confirmed but her voice had a faint tremor. She glanced at the golf putter in my hand. "Put that stupid thing back where it belongs..." She scolded with a smile.

"Can I do anything to help...?"

"Yes, darling... Just get that girl out of my house... Take her down to the railway station and leave her!"

"That won't be necessary, Pamela," My father said emerging from his room. He was fully dressed and carrying an overnight bag. "I can clear up my own shit! Helga will be coming with me!"

I stood at my bedroom window and watched the Bentley with my father and Helga drive away until the rear lights disappeared onto the Leckhampton Road and then joined my mother in the sitting room. She had poured two large whiskies and handed one to me without any cautionary comment. I wondered if that indicated that she finally saw me as a man.

"So what will happen with Dad, now?" I asked.

"Your father will be fine... he is one of life's ultimate survivors..." Mother said, perhaps a little wistfully. "He will probably book into a hotel tonight and go back to London tomorrow...his company owns many nice properties in the city and he never really liked our house here..."

"Will you divorce?"

"Oh absolutely!" She said and smiled sadly. "This is not new it has been going on for some time he has always had mistresses. He told me that he actually wants to marry that German strumpet!" I couldn't help laughing.

"Mother, nobody says 'strumpet' these days..."

I couldn't say that I would miss my father. He wasn't there a lot anyway and I didn't really like him that much if I was truthful, certainly no more than he liked me I doubt that we would have chosen each other if families got to pick their relatives.

I decided to keep quiet about Helga inviting me to screw her two weeks ago if my father wanted to marry her then I would happily let him make his own fuck ups! Right now my mother needed my support and so I would play the dutiful son for her. I might even catch a break and get to lose my virginity whilst she wasn't looking.

*

Millennium Year was supposed to be the biggest worldwide celebration ever and whilst all my friends were out partying, getting drunk and getting their ends away, where was I? I was at home playing host for one of my mother's never ending succession of dinner parties, dressed up in a dinner jacket and bow tie, and being trotted out to be admired by her snobby friends.

"This is my lovely, handsome son, Gavin." She would tell them.

Nothing much had changed for me. Twenty years old and never been laid and with no immediate prospects of the situation improving. I spent so much time acting as escort for my mother that I had become a sort of honourary member of her circle of wealthy do-gooder friends, the ladies saw me as a sort of mascot and I think that their husbands felt a bit sorry for me. They were for the most part older men in their forties and fifties but a couple of them invited me to play squash and George Latimer, the busty Harriet's husband, put me up for junior membership to his golf club. I had always wanted to learn to play golf but Dad didn't play and therefore he didn't regard it as a worthwhile skill. Harriet also had become a good friend, a bit like an older sister, she had read English Lit and sometimes I would have coffee with her in town and discuss books and my course work.

I saw Felicia Pope regularly at functions but she had completely forgotten about our little incident after my birthday party, I was quite happy to let it pass and she never so much as flirted with me again. I finally got to meet Gerry from the Foreign Office, he was the husband of one of the younger women in Mother's coterie, a nice guy who claimed never to have even met Flissy Pope, but had blushed scarlet when I mentioned her. He was attached to GCHQ and held a master's degree in several languages, a clever chap.

My father was gone. The divorce was due to be finalised any day, but we now spoke on the telephone every few weeks, I guess we talked more than we had when he was at home. To everybody's amazement he and Helga were still together living in a house in Chelsea and were expecting a baby, so in a few months' time I was going to have a little brother or sister. I was not sure how I felt about that. Certainly not jealous but not joyful either. I was happy for my father but concerned about how my mother would take the news.

"Oh Ugh!" She had exclaimed when I told her. "Nappies and vomit and the smell of milk...NO THANK YOU... he is welcome to that at sixty-years old!" She had laughed and put her hand on my arm. "You were a foul, smelly little creature, with extraordinarily powerful lungs and a never ending fountain of urine...I much prefer you as you are now, darling!"

"Do you miss Dad?" I had asked her.

"Not at all...we fell out of love years ago...I am glad it has end before we learned to hate each other..."

"But aren't you lonely...don't you miss not having sex?"

"No, I'm not lonely...I have you darling..." She had said. "...And I bought a vibrator a long time ago!"

Oh Fuck! Now I wished I hadn't asked.

I was now well into my second year reading English Literature and thoroughly enjoying university life. Studying English literature, many people say, is like being on holiday because we "only" have to read three novels a week and submit a paper on each...ONLY! Wading through James Joyce and Chaucer is hard work even if ultimately very rewarding. It is true that we English Lit students have only about ten hours of lectures and seminars a week in total but this is only a tiny part of our coursework which is comprised of a huge number of essays and papers which must be submitted for assessment towards the degree as there is no formal written examination. For me one of the great advantages of that style of course was that much of my reading and composition could be done from home from the luxury of a beautiful garden in the summer and a warm study with a wood fire in the winter. Not once did my mother complain when I invited my study group home to work, or play tennis, and then stay for lunch or supper or even the week-end.

The problem came towards the end of the term when I met Dr. Julius Frome. Julius was an American English professor with a chair at Columbia University who was in England putting together an exchange programme for students to spend a semester next year studying in reciprocal colleges either side of the Atlantic. I was particularly interested as one of my major modules was the comparison of early 20th century fiction by American and English authors. Several months at an American college, would be a real boost to my work study and I had heard rumours that American girls went wild for guys with cute English accents.

I had intended to tell Mother about my decision to apply for the exchange programme after dinner on the Sunday evening. Just for a change we would be alone in the house, no week-end guests or friends dropping in for drinks and I had a free week following without any on campus lectures to attend. If it all went ape-shit then I would just have to suffer out a week of hysterics, drama and cold make-do-and-mend food, but I was determined to make my bid for freedom.

As it happened, I managed to fuck that up as well!

We had finished our dinner and taken coffees and brandy through to the sitting room. My mother seemed in an amiable mood, she had cooked Beef Wellington, one of my favourites with Lemon Meringue Pie for pudding and we had finished off a bottle of claret between us and so I believed that I had a fairly soft landing for my news.

"Mother, I just need to go up to my room for a minute and then there is something I want to talk to you about..." I had said as I handed her the brandy.

"Yes, dear..." she had smiled.

I had raced up to my room. My little speech was all planned, I knew exactly how I was going to put my case, even down to a couple of literary quotes, and I would back it up with the notes and brochures which Dr. Julian Frome had given me to look over. I had been rehearsing my act all afternoon and the leaflets had been laid out on my desk sorted into the order that I would hand them to Mother as part of my presentation.

Except they were gone!

Mother had been into my room and found them, she already knew my plans. I was fucked!

By the time that I got back downstairs every word of my planned speech had fled from my head and I knew that as soon as I opened my mouth nothing but gibberish would spew out and Mother would just savage my plans for going to the USA like her ancient Jack Russell, Toby, had shredded his way through my algebra homework when I was ten. Actually it had been Mother (and Toby) who had sat up until midnight with me re-doing the work for handing in at school the next morning. I had got the best mark I had ever had for a math exercise.

I guess that it was easy to forget that it had been Mother who drove me to every sporting event, stayed to watch my performance, had always been waiting at the finishing line or had cheered me on at the County Junior Tennis Doubles Championship. Mother had always been there for me and supported me in everything that I wanted to do...except leaving home and getting laid!

I paused in the sitting room doorway. Mother was seated on the couch, she looked composed and calm her brandy balloon in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She was dressed casually in a loose white linen shirt and fitted washed denim jeans which hugged her rounded thighs.

There was no doubt that my mother was still an enormously attractive woman even at fifty. Her face was a perfect shape with a strong jawline and wide generous mouth which could light up her whole face when she choose to bestow her beautiful smile on the world. Her eyes were a deep grey green which flashed a bright emerald when she was excited and her hair, professionally tinted now was a warm chestnut brown and usually worn tied back in a short pony tail or twist which made the best of her strong facial features. My friend Michael, always referred to her as 'Dr. Sarah' because he said she looked so much like Susan Sarandon in the movie 'The Hunger' and I guess that was probably right. It is hard for a son to see their mother as anything other than their mother.

I suppose that she kept herself reasonably fit. She played tennis and badminton during the summer and went to the fitness centre every couple of weeks and once a year always had a fortnight at a spa with some of her friends. Her figure was still good with the rounded lush curves of the mature woman, wide hips and firm buttocks and a solid but still quite narrow waist and long shapely legs.

The exchange programme brochures were spread out on the coffee table in front of her.

How the fuck had she done that? She must have discovered the literature in my room during the afternoon, run upstairs and gathered it up whilst I was clearing the dinner table and making coffee and then waited for me to go upstairs again... her mind was like a steel trap and it was about to snap closed and sever my balls.

As I watched from the doorway she put down her brandy, stubbed out the cigarette and put on her reading glasses, the new fashionable spectacles with large round tortoiseshell frames that were totally bloody intimidating. I had fucked up again! She had the initiative and my bid to escape the fold was about to rate the same success score as the Charge of the Light Brigade.

"Sit down sweetheart...I think we need to talk about this!" She said quietly tapping the leaflets with a perfectly manicured and painted fingernail.

"Mother... Er... Mum... Er... It would be good for..." I stuttered. All the carefully composed validations for my applying for the exchange had vacated my head like rats off a sinking ship, which is exactly what my ambition to visit the USA was, a bloody Titanic! Doomed never to get across the Atlantic.

She snapped open her cigarette case removed two and passed one to me then waited for me to light them.

"So...do you think that this little excursion will actually help you achieve a better degree?" She asked calmly.

"Er...yes...absolutely." I replied hopefully. "It really is a fantastic opportunity... Too good to be passed up on...if I was to get accepted..."

"Then you had better get your application in as soon as possible..."

"You have no objections?" I was amazed. It really could not be that easy.

"If it is what you really want...then of course I don't object..." She said. She pulled a dramatically sad face. "I just wish that I had been the first to know about your plans..."

"What? Er...who?"

"I had a telephone call from your 'friend' Harriet Lattimer! She seemed to think that I was standing in your way and stopping you from taking up this opportunity...?"

"Oh Shit, Mother...I never said that... I was having a coffee with Harriet and showed her the literature that Julian Frome had given me to look over..." I really hadn't said anything disloyal about Mother to Harriet but I suppose most of her friends must have noticed how possessive she could be at times.

"Are you sleeping with her, Gavin?" She asked bluntly. That took me completely by surprise...chance would be a fine thing. Harriet was attractive but she and George were friends, nothing more. I had a little fantasy thing for her at one point but we had become friends and I no longer thought of her sexually and she would have regarded me as far too young for her anyway.

"NO! No, of course not!" I protested. "She just helps with my literary assessments sometimes..."

"Are you sure, Gavin...a young man of your age usually..." she started.