Falling for My Mum Ch. 03

Here is the third chapter of Tom and Cat's love story. This stands alone but readers may wish to read the first two chapters to get the most out of it. As previously, this is inspired by, encouraged by and written for the enjoyment of the wonderful CatMoore. Readers familiar with her work will appreciate why the story takes the development that it does and I hope that they will think that it is handled sensitively within the overall love story. Thank you for all the kind comments thus far and I hope that you will enjoy the following.

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You had inherited the Florida house from my grandfather in your early 20s and it's always been a refuge for you, something of yours that you didn't owe in any way to Dad. Maybe that was why Dad never liked Florida or the house. We'd gone there a lot as a family when Sara and I were younger but, increasingly, Dad either bailed out completely or only stayed for a bit before zipping off up to New York for business. The house, an old 1950s villa, was on Anna Maria Island, a piece of 'Old Florida' at the mouth of Tampa Bay. A bit tacky and touristy it might be, but it guaranteed good weather, great sports, beautiful seas and, in the villa at least, peace and quiet, a retreat from the world and the rest of life.

Sara hadn't been for a couple of years but I had continued to join you in either the summer or your January visit and you used to go out a couple of other times a year, either with Dad or on your own. I was immensely excited by the possibility of being there together with you and I could tell that you were too. It was hard for us to contain that excitement from Dad on the Saturday before we left. Dad was at home, attempting to make up for the fact that he wasn't coming but, in truth, we'd much rather he wasn't there. It was sad to reflect on that. We both still had a strong residue of affection for him but, truth be told, he was now more of an obstacle than anything else.

Time moved slowly that day, crawling towards the late afternoon when we were due to leave for Heathrow. I seemed to look at my watch, my phone, or the kitchen clock constantly - I just wanted to be gone, to be alone with you. I had packed early, hoping that would speed the time but it didn't. Eventually the time ticked on to 4pm and the taxi we'd booked arrived. I gave Dad a handshake before heading out to the car.

"I'm sorry not to be coming with you, Tom," he said, decent enough to at least look convincing. "Have a great time and," he looked a little awkward, "look after your Mum for me. I've not, well, not been able to give her enough of my time recently what with work and everything, so make sure you spoil her a bit. You always know what to do." He said and thrust a wad of dollars into my hand. I was almost tempted to push them back at him but, I reflected, he was trying to do his best and I was hardly in a position to take the moral high ground, now, was I?

"Thanks Dad," I said after a moment. "I'll make sure Mum is taken care of." I tried really hard not to put any innuendo into that phrase. I got into the taxi and watched from the backseat as you and Dad had a somewhat frosty goodbye. As excited as I knew you were at the opportunity you and I had to be alone, I could also see that you were still hurting at yet another example of Dad putting his work before you and his responsibilities as a husband. He gave you a peck on the cheek and you gave him a thin smile before turning on your heels and striding purposefully to the cab. You took the front seat and didn't look back as we drove away, I could see your jaw fixed as you stated pointedly ahead.

I could tell that there was something on your mind beyond just Dad, something that I couldn't quite put my finger on, a nervousness? An anxiety perhaps? I wasn't sure. I could tell that you were trying to put it behind you or bury it, whatever it was, as we sat opposite each other on the train. You always liked to travel backwards on trains as it reduced travel sickness whereas I preferred to see where I was going. This meant that I had the chance to sit and admire you for the relatively short train journey into St Pancras. You were wearing a jumper dress of man-made fibres with black and white horizontal stripes. It was high-necked but clung tightly to your firm breasts and pert bottom. I marvelled again at how great you looked. One will often say rather patronisingly about an older woman that she 'looks good for her age' - you simply looked great. Your look was topped off by black tights and black suede ankle boots with a block heel. Your blonde hair was free and hanging loosely on your shoulders. We chatted aimlessly as we travelled, looking for all the world like simply an attractive mother with her grown up son, the image we wished to portray at this stage in case there was anyone we knew on the train. It gave me great joy just to watch you, the animation in your face enlivening your already enchanting features but I could tell, still, that something was bothering you.

When we reached London and the anonymity that the metropolis affords, we could be closer and gradually we morphed from the pose of mother and son into that of lovers. Standing close, holding hands, the touches of lovers. In some ways we had no choice - late Saturday afternoon on the tube in summer can be a busy place, especially on the Piccadilly Line towards Heathrow as the space in the underground cars is filled in part with the huge luggage of holidaymakers.

For some of the way, we found ourselves squashed up against each other near the doors. Holding onto one of the overhead bars, I pulled you close to me with my other hand, wrapped around your slim waist. You scooted as close to me as you could, your breasts pressed against my chest, your head resting on my shoulder. We just stood there, not saying a word, in our own little bubble as the world moved and chatted away around us. It was bliss, just us and sod everyone else, we were just wrapped up in each other. I could smell your fruit shampoo, your delicate perfume and the slight scent that was uniquely you. Every so often, I'd kiss the top of your blonde head and hear you give a little sigh of happiness in response.

Eventually some seats next to each other became available and we sat down, hands clasped together and resting on the smooth nylon that covered your toned thighs. Before too long, however, we were at Heathrow and making our way to the Radisson Hotel there. Our flight was at 7am and we had decided to stay in a hotel the night before rather than brave a horrifically early night. You had booked a deluxe room for you and Dad. While I had taken a cheaper one for myself. I'd cancelled the room last night, just in time to avoid a penalty fee, which meant that we would be sharing the room meant for you and your husband.

Strolling up to the reception desk, I grasped your hand and smiled at the rather bored looking receptionist. "Reservation for Mr and Mrs Moore," I said confidently. The woman tapped away on her keyboard and then looked up.

"Yes sir, Room 212, a Deluxe double. Second floor, turn left when you leave the lift. If you'd like to leave your bags with the porters they will ensure they are delivered to the room sir." She said in a voice that betrayed that she had said the same little speech dozens of times already today. I decided to see if I could get a rise out of her.

"Thank you very much," I said with a winning but shy smile. "We decided to splash out on the Deluxe as it's our honeymoon. Married yesterday and off to Florida tomorrow, we're so excited by it aren't we dear?" I said turning to you with a broad smile. You looked flushed and muttered that yes, we were really looking forward to it. The woman looked at us more closely and gave the slightest arch of her eyebrow as she looked at you, which only made you blush some more and look away.

"Congratulations sir, madam, on behalf of the Radisson we'd like to offer you our warmest wishes and a bucket of champagne will be delivered to your suite, on the house." She said as she gave us a definite once over and then a satisfied smile. She leant slightly forward and lowered her voice a little. "I hope you have a wonderful night together," she said then looked straight at you and winked. "The young ones can go all night madam," she almost leered and I wondered how you had any blood left in the rest of your body as I was sure it all gone straight to your face.

When we got to the suite, which was big, spacious, well-appointed and, like most hotel rooms, entirely anonymous, you turned on me more cross than I had seen you for a while.

"Don't embarrass me like that without warning again, Tom," you said fiercely. "The way that woman looked at me, I was...well never mind, but you've got to take less risks."

"What risk? You are Mrs Moore and I am Mr Moore, no lie there," I replied stubbornly. "I just wanted to have some fun, to not have to deny who we are and our feelings, is that so bad? Are you that ashamed of what we are doing?" I asked, more angrily than I intended.

"Of course not, Tom, don't be stupid but I am cautious. You seem to forget that what we are doing is illegal and could end both of us in prison." I was about to snap back but something in your expression and in your eyes warned me not to. Your voice then softened as did the flash of anger in those crystal blue eyes. "I love you, darling, too much to risk losing you. We don't have to deny our love, just not draw attention to it, that's all I'm asking."

I lean back against the wall and blew out my cheeks. "You're right Mum," I said quietly but firmly. "I'm sorry, it's just so hard not being able to tell the world how I feel about you, that I've found my soulmate and that she's you." You closed the distance between us and took me in your arms for just a moment, it was a mother's hug, just what I needed at that moment and all felt right again. Slowly the hug morphed into a kiss, one infused with the familial love of mother and son but with a strong undercurrent of sexual promise. I wanted to take you then and there but just before I could take things further, you pulled back and smiled.

"I'm hungry angel," you said and I grinned suggestively, "Not for that, you little animal," you smiled indulgently. "Later," you promised. Frustrated but understanding I didn't push it but I knew there was something still holding you back, something unrelated to the little fight we'd just had.

The slight shadow that I couldn't identify continued to hang over you at the decent dinner we had in the steak and lobster restaurant. I didn't want to press things - we were in public after all and you'd just chewed me out for being too indiscreet. Also, I must admit, I was a bit frightened. Were you having serious second thoughts? You'd said otherwise in the room just now but, well, was that true? Were you just waiting for the chance to let me down gently and trying to find the way to do it that would cause the least pain and embarrassment.

We headed back to the room in silence, for the first time since before our tennis match I felt a real distance between us. Inside, I gave you a long hug. We didn't exchange words but just held each other. I could feel the tension in your body and blurted out.

"Mum, you are so tense. It's too late for a spa massage, so I'll have to do."

"No, there's no need, Tommy," you said softly but I insisted. Methodically, reverently I undressed you. I made you sit on the end of the bed and knelt at your feet. My fingers pulled down the zips on your boots and I took each foot, one by one, and placed it in my lap before removing the boot. You wiggled your toes in your tights and I bent down and kissed each foot softly, as if they were those of a holy statue in a Catholic church. Sliding my hands up your calves and thighs and, as you shifted position, under your bottom, I savoured the feeling of your skin beneath the thin nylon. I reached the waistband and slowly dragged it down. Inch by inch white, creamy flesh replaced the thick dernier of the nylon and it was glorious. Standing up, I placed my hands under your armpits and gently drew you to your feet. You stared at me intently, hardly breathing as I raised your arms, reached down to the hem of your dress and drew it up, over your hips, your waist, your generous breasts and then your creamy shoulders and finally off over your head. You shook your mane of blonde hair and it took all my self-restraint not simply to ravage you there and then. You stood before me in just a creamy bra and panties set. The bra was a balcony one and your breasts were shelf like, perfect half orbs that might, with a deep breath, topple out. With slightly trembling fingers, praying that I wouldn't fumble this like a teenager with his first girlfriend, I unhooked the bra and those breasts did indeed spill out in all their majesty. Looking at you there, you were pure sexual opulence, rich and delicious, your attraction heightened in my eyes by the slightly skittish look on your beautiful countenance.

"God Mum," I gasped, "you're so damned beautiful." I cleared my throat and put on a professional tone. "If madam would like to lie on her front then I can begin the massage." You smiled and duly turned round and lay down on the bed, giving me a wonderful view of your backside, shapely hips and the full-bottomed satin knickers that covered them.

Straddling those hips I placed my fingers on your shoulders and began to massage. I could sense the high tension in your shoulder and neck muscles. I said nothing for a few moments, just listened to the little moans of appreciation as I worked out the knots there. I closed my eyes and tried to get in sync with your breathing and then I knew I could wait no longer.

"Mum, please tell me what bothering you. I know that something is and I'd rather know, to share it with you no matter what it might be." You said nothing for a moment. "Mum?" I prompted and you gave a low sigh.

"It's difficult to explain," you told me and then paused. "I've never cheated on your Dad with a man before you darling but, well, I have with a woman." My fingers froze for a moment in shock. You'd had an affair with a woman? I knew from our chats that you had explored your sexuality at university and, afterwards, in the publishing job in bohemian Bloomsbury before you'd met Dad but this was new. I knew that your sexual likes extended beyond just the heterosexual end of the spectrum, so I wasn't shocked by that, just that you had followed brought on them and also that I hadn't known about it. I felt a bit angry but, I reflected, I had no right to be. Mothers don't usually confess their affairs to their sons after all, even when they were as close as we were before we 'got together'. I began to move my fingers again.

"I...I see," I managed. "With someone I know?"

"Yes, with Connie," you confessed. I was taken aback for a moment but it made sense. Connie and her husband Bud had bought the villa next to yours on Anna Maria Island a few years back. Bud was as camp as they come and I'd been surprised that a beautiful blonde like Connie was still married to him. She was perhaps three or four years younger than you, in her mid-forties, heavily tanned and bottle blonde. While you were an English rose, she was a southern bombshell but you'd hit it off from the start. The friendship was hampered a bit by the fact that Dad, very much the alpha male, couldn't stand Bud, but was saved by the fact that he did like Connie and that she and Bud weren't one of those couples that always had to be with each other, which meant that we could see Connie without having always also to see Bud.

"Connie from Anna Maria?" I asked, purely as a means of prompting you to say more. My fingers still massaged your shoulders and moved downwards, my thumbs now digging into your back which my fingers splayed along the sides of your breasts.

"Mmm, that's nice," you cooed, "Don't stop with that. Yes, that's right. You guessed that Bud was gay, right?" I gave a low chuckle.

"Yeah, I didn't need to be Sherlock to work that one out," I replied.

"Yes, well, Connie had suspected for ages, of course, but it was still a shock when he told her. They agreed to keep the marriage going but it hit her hard and she needed someone to lean on. That someone was me," you said coolly. "You know I've always had bi-sexual tendencies, well Connie reawakened them in a big way. The sex was, *is*, fantastic and I think about her a lot - not so much lately," you said hurriedly, "but I still do and I, well," you paused, "I lust after her a great deal Tom," you said into your pillow. I sensed that not having to look at me while you told me was helping you.

"I see," I said, still trying to assimilate all this. No wonder you had been nervous and withdrawn since you found out that Dad wasn't coming. With him there, you might have been able to avoid the Connie thing coming up but with Dad absent, Connie would undoubtedly be expecting some Cat love, son in tow or no. I weighed up my next question carefully, not sure if I really wanted to know the answer. "Do you love Connie, Mum?" I asked haltingly, the words almost catching in my throat. There was a long silence before you replied, during which I managed through force of will to keep my massage going.

"I don't rightly know," you said in a voice that wasn't quite your own, slightly strained and a higher tone than normal. "It's complicated. Our feelings for each other are very...intense... very real. They are more than I feel for your father now, much more, but less than those I have for you. I wouldn't exactly call them love but I don't know exactly what they are." I kissed your back, between your shoulder blades and then moved further down your body, my hands now kneading your thighs, those powerful muscles toned by hours of tennis, gym and swimming but still delicately feminine.

"Mum, I love you, just you and I don't want to have to share you," I said slowly and you turned your head to try to look at me, but I stretched out my finger and pressed it against your lips. "No, let me finish," I said and the words stopped in your mouth. Instead you just gently kissed the tips of my finger as I continued. "I already have to share you with Dad but I can cope with that, just about, because I know he doesn't appreciate the treasure that he possess, but I can't imagine Connie feels the same way. But, as hard as it is to think about sharing you, I don't want to lose you, don't want not to be able to love you, don't want to lose the chance to do this," my fingers brushed your clit through your damp knickers and I heard you give a low moan into your pillow.

"I don't want that either Tommy," you whispered and pushed your bottom back, as if searching for my hands. I gave your arse what it wanted and began to massage it gently but firmly as I carried on with my little speech.

"I can't lose you Mum, so as long as you want me I am yours. That's what I told you our first night together and it's true now. I can live with you and Connie if needs be if it means that you and I are together, but I just want to be yours, no one else's. You, though, have to be you and I don't want to stop you from being that person because it's the whole Cat that I am in love with," I rushed my words at the finish. You rolled over and I could see the tears staining your cheeks and brimming in those blue eyes.

"Oh angel, that's why I love you so much. You're such a mature boy, you've grown up so well. I just need time to think things through but, darling, you have to know that it's you I love, that I want, that I need. I need you now baby boy, in Mummy's pussy, will you do that for Mummy?" You asked. How could I refuse such a request? Why on earth would I want to?

I pulled aside the gusset of your cream knickers, remarking silently on how wet they were, and then, realising I was still dressed, divested myself of my clothes as fast as I could, desperate to get naked and feel my skin on yours, to have nothing between us. You held the gusset to one side, offering me the prospect of your glistening pussy, as if I needed any visual encouragement.