Mother in the Middle

Rebecca Bishop leaned against the porch railing of the beach cottage, a plastic cup of rosé in one hand and her iPhone in the other. She'd hoped the familiar isolation of the old house and the warm evening breeze off the Gulf would soothe her raw nerves, as it had on so many visits over the years. Her sons had insisted on this trip together, suggesting that she needed a week's respite from her troubles. But Becca could not let go as easily as she had in her youth. Not this time, anyway.

So, she resorted to her go-to combination for quick stress relief: a little booze and too much porn.

She took another long sip of wine and swiped through the images on her phone. It was her favorite set, featuring a woman getting a massage. The female model was a redhead like Becca, but a few years older, probably in her mid-forties. The "masseuse" was a decent-looking guy in his early twenties. He had a great body and a nice large cock. Becca paused on a shot of the woman looking back at the camera from beneath one bent leg as she straddled the guy on his table. In the foreground, her shaved cunt stretched to accommodate his big dick. Her face was a study in dreamy satisfaction.

Becca glanced over her shoulder at the window of the cottage, assuring herself that neither of her sons could see her from inside. She set her cup on the weathered wooden railing and ran her fingers lightly across her halter top, teasing her stiff nipples through the thin nylon fabric. She wondered, as she often did, if her masturbatory fantasies were healthy, or even normal--whatever that meant. Sure, the last six months, since she and Cal had separated, had been the longest dry spell of her life where sex was concerned. But she thought there was something weird, even mildly dangerous in her fixation on porn involving women fucking guys half their age.

The screen door of the house squeaked on its rusted springs. She covered her phone hurriedly as her older son, Michael, stepped out onto the porch.

"Paul fixed the hot tub," he said.

"Oh! Good." Becca snatched up her cup and took a nervous swallow. "I was, uh, about to call Lindsey and ask her to have Matt come look at it. I really didn't want to; she's already been way too thoughtful. She took most of a day out of her own vacation to open this place up for us. And on such short notice."

"There's a box with a breaker switch on the fence post around back. Paul says that's always the problem, just flip it and the pump starts right up." Michael joined his mother in gazing out at the ebb tide a few hundred feet away. "Kid never forgets anything. How long since the last time we were here all together? Three, four years?"

"Three. Three years ago, the last summer before Paul...before he took off." Becca leaned into Michael's side. "I'm so glad that he's come home for this. With you going off to med school next month, this might be our last chance to spend time here before your father's lawyers do...I don't know, whatever the fuck they're gonna try to do to me."

"I shouldn't be leaving you right now at all. You shouldn't have to deal with this divorce shit alone." Michael put his arm protectively around her. "Anyway, isn't this place in your name?"

"I'm not certain. I've got to gather all those papers up for my attorneys. I was so damned weak when your dad and I first married, I pretty much did anything he wanted me to about finances...and everything else. It was such a long time ago." She lifted her cup to her lips again. It was starting to hit her; she felt tipsy. "My great-granddad sank the pilings for this place a couple of years after the war, did I ever tell you that?"

"You might have, a few times." Michael smiled. "Him and his brothers."

"There was a storm out of the Gulf a few years before that. It dug out the inlet that turned this little stretch from a spit into an island. There were maybe four houses left standing on the whole sandbar. A hundred years later there are all of, what, two dozen? Anyway, every summer when I was little Mom and Dad would bring us out for at least a month. Grandma and Granddad would be here, and the cousins and my aunts and uncles would come and go. Me and..." Becca's voice trailed off.

"You okay, Mom? Thinking about Uncle Chris always makes you sad, doesn't it?"

"Yeah." Her older brother had lost his life while fighting in Iraq. Decades later, the wound remained raw. "I wish you could have met him."

Becca sniffed back tears and hugged her son closer, looking up into his sympathetic eyes. At twenty-two years old, Michael was tall, slim and muscular. He took after her side of the family, sharing her coppery hair and sky-blue eyes. Her younger son, Paul, was just as handsome but favored his father. He was only a few inches taller than Becca, dark, and built like a middleweight fighter.

When Michael pulled her closer his mother got the surprise of her life. She was wearing cut-off shorts, and the unmistakable stiffness of his erection pressed against her bare inner thigh. The heat of his cock seared right through his thin, worn jeans.

More shocking still was her body's response. Her pussy was still wet from her looking at porn, and it was as if a floodgate opened between her legs. Instead of stepping away she instinctively pressed herself against him, riding his thigh.

"Oh, Jesus!" Realizing what he'd done, Michael blushed and let Becca go. Her cheeks burned as well, but she couldn't help glancing at his crotch. The visible outline of his cock ran down his pant leg nearly halfway to his knee. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Really." Becca reassured him, unable to suppress a nervous giggle at his abashed expression. "Wow, is that really all you?"

"Mom--"

"There I go, now I've embarrassed you." She reached up and ruffled his hair. "To tell the truth, it's a relief that I can still turn a guy on. Not feeling real attractive, lately." Sighing heavily, she added, "But then, I guess it doesn't take much to give a guy your age a hard-on, huh?"

"Don't you believe it." Michael stared at the deck, smiling weakly. "You're prettier than any woman I know, Mom. Dad should be grateful that a babe like you ever gave him a second look. And this is an epically weird conversation to be having with my mother."

"Entirely my fault. I went fishing for a compliment, and you delivered. Blame the wine. I shouldn't be slurping this stuff on an empty stomach." Becca drained the last of her drink. "It was a long drive out from the city."

She took a wobbly step toward the front door, fully aware that the wine wasn't the whole reason for her unsteadiness. She was so goddamn horny that her knees were about to buckle.

Paul sat jackknifed on the rustic pine sofa in the front room, tapping away on the keyboard of a laptop. He barely looked up from what he was doing as she headed for the narrow stair leading to the master bedroom.

"I'm going to lie down for a while," she said. "You guys okay on your own for an hour or two?"

"Always," Paul said absently. "I'm not ten." Seeming to think better of his dismissive tone, he shut the computer's lid and smiled at her. "I'll cook burgers on the stove tonight, maybe six or six-thirty. I'll get it together and grill out back tomorrow, okay?"

"Heavenly. Hope you killed a cow."

"We're stocked up for two weeks. If we want to hang after that we need to catch the ferry to the grocer's."

Paul and Michael watched their mother until she disappeared at the turn of the stairwell landing. "She's so worn down," Michael worried. "And drinking too much lately."

"It'd make this whole thing easier if she got a little smashed, wouldn't it?" Paul said with a smirk.

"Fuck off!"

"Joke. Lighten up."

"You're not funny."

They glared at one another for a few seconds, then Paul shrugged. "Okay, not cool." He opened the laptop again and studied the screen, pointedly avoiding eye contact with his brother. "So, um, are we doing this or not?"

"Doing what?"

"Making it with Mom, idiot. Are we gonna fuck her?"

"You're determined about this, aren't you? It's nuts."

"Like we didn't just talk about it again, yesterday?" Paul retorted. "Hell, we been talking about it forever. This isn't even the first time we've made plans. Like in Aspen a few years back--"

--"That was just you running your mouth stupid mouth."

"You were into it. It was both of us and you know it."

"No, Aspen was your 'I'm finally legal, let's bone Mom' fantasy. And fantasy's all it's ever been. Kind of a sick joke we used to laugh at together."

"That's right. Together."

However much Michael wanted to deny having such perverse fantasies about Becca, Paul was right. Their shared lust for their mother was real, a secret they'd kept between them for years. Michael doubted that most brothers would have confided such notions to each other, even if they harbored them. But despite their age gap and extremely different temperaments, he and Paul had been conspiratorially close as far back as he could remember. They were almost like twins in some respects. He supposed it had its roots in their having made common cause as kids against an emotionally distant and abusive father.

That was until Paul had abruptly dropped out of high school right before graduation and taken off, vagabonding from state to state and rarely reaching out to his family. He did keep in occasional touch with a few of his buddies back home. Michael heard through them that his brother had wound up on the wrong side of the law more than once.

As heartbroken as Becca had been as a result of all this, Michael had taken it even harder. It was as if he'd lost a part of himself--up until a few weeks ago when Michael had sent a message about their parents' separation to the only email address he had for his brother. For the first time since leaving home, Paul responded. He turned up unannounced at home, full of concern for his mother's plight. He seemed a lot more than a couple of years older than the teenager who'd run away from home. Rougher around the edges.

It became clear soon enough that one thing about Paul that hadn't changed was the filial lust for Mom that he and Michael still shared.

So, maybe most guys

didn't

want to fuck their mothers. But their mothers weren't Rebecca Bishop, a movie-star gorgeous woman of forty who looked for all the world like she was no more than twenty-five. That's how she looked to Michael, anyway. To him, she was perfect, from the lustrous mane of copper-red hair on her head to the toes of her high-arched feet. She was only a few inches over five feet tall, but so high-waisted and long-legged that she might have passed for a tall, elegant runway model.

The only attributes of Becca's figure that some might call disproportionate were her enormous tits--but there again, to Michael, they were just one more aspect of her physical perfection. The best part. He didn't see how he could be expected to live in close quarters with this goddess day after day, year after year, without dreaming about having those long girlish legs wrapped around his back while he sucked those big tits and stroked his cock deep into her pussy.

To top it all off, Michael had frequent opportunities to see his mother naked.

As Becca and Calvin Bishop's marriage had disintegrated, Cal had spent far less time at home. There'd been no one to observe Michael skulking about in the hall outside Mom's bedroom furtively catching long glimpses of her coming in and out from the shower. Her luscious youthful appeal was not an illusion of careful makeup and stylish fashion choices. There was no sag to her ass or legs or belly, a testament to the vigorous daily workout and yoga routines that she'd faithfully followed as long as he could remember. Bereft of a bra or any other artifice, her huge tits were perfect fleshly spheres with the same peaches-and-cream complexion as her face, her thighs, her butt, her...everything. They swayed gently when she moved, perfect pendulums of irresistible allure.

Suffering insomnia brought on by worry, Becca often roamed the house restlessly at night. Sometimes she slouched in front of the big family room TV wearing nothing but a short robe. Unaware that her son was watching her, she'd open that robe and play with herself, masturbating furiously until she dozed off, exhausted.

Mom was a horny, lonely, sexually frustrated woman. Again, the word that came to Michael's mind was "perfect."

And Dad was a fucking moron to give the woman up.

"Dad was with us, in Aspen," Paul said, as if reading his brother's mind. "It wasn't gonna happen then, was it? But the old man's not here and he's probably never coming back. And we couldn't ask for a better place." He spread his arms in a gesture to take in their surroundings: the cottage, the deserted ocean beach beyond, the miles separating the few houses on this remote island.

Michael slumped on the couch beside Paul. "Bro, Mom is not gonna fuck us."

"Well, not with that attitude, she ain't. You getting cold feet? Fine, you just go on about your business, keep on moping around and grabbin' her ass whenever you get a chance."

"What?"

"I saw you two out the front window a couple of minutes ago. I'll tell you something, though...that sure looked like mutual lust, to me."

"Yeah?" Michael was intrigued.

"Fuck, she was dry-humping your leg. Tell you what, maybe this'll help make up your mind." Paul handed him the laptop he'd been fiddling with. Michael recognized it.

"This is Dad's."

"I grabbed it outta the den when we swung by to pick Mom up this morning. Dad's such a dumbass, he keeps his passwords on a post-it in his top desk drawer. And he never signs out of his online accounts, neither."

"So, what, you're planning to drain his bank balance?"

Paul looked genuinely hurt at the accusation. "No, shithead, I was looking for stuff that might help Mom out. Evidence of, what do lawyers call it, alienated affection."

"Adultery. Alienation is different, I think."

"Whatever. So...surprise! I find about a million email messages proving that he fucks around on her. And then there's his AdultFriendFinder and Tinder and God knows what all else. He likes 'em

young.

Real nice, Dad. But what you want to see is the pictures in his cloud account."

"Why would I want to look at chicks that Dad's--" Michael stopped dead. Center-screen was a POV shot of Becca sucking cock. She had what must have been their father's prick halfway down her throat, and she was wearing nothing but the most blissful expression that Michael had ever seen on her face. The lighting was good enough that he could tell her nipples were hard.

"Most of his homemade porn is other chicks," Paul announced, too pleased with himself. "Some pictures from his office, lots of hotel rooms, even from home. Most are pretty new. This one and a couple others of Mom were taken around ten years old."

"I..." Michael's brain and mouth stuck in neutral, but his cock went into overdrive at the sight of his delectable mother so happily mouthing a man's joint. Even though the dick in question might belong to his detested father. Michael was aroused enough to open a couple of other images. In one, only Dad's cock-knob was in Mom's mouth. Semen leaked and dripped from her mouth.

"So what do you say?"

"God damn," Michael muttered. "God damn, fuck but she's hot." Closing his eyes, he pictured his mother on her knees in front of him, her mouth filled with cum just like in the picture. His cum. He cast a cautious glance toward the staircase leading up to the master bedroom of the cottage.

"All right. I'm in," he said. "Let's fuck Mom."

†††

I ought to be ashamed of myself.

Behind her locked bedroom door, Becca quickly shed her clothes and pawed through her suitcase until she found her dildo.

The toy was a flesh-like tan color, nine inches long, and made of a flexible, yielding silicone sleeve around a firmer core. She rarely used the vibrating function, but the self-warming feature mattered greatly to her. The closer she could get to simulating the experience of a real, living cock penetrating her needy pussy, the better. Other than her fingers, the dildo had been her only source of sexual release in the months since Cal had moved out of the house.

Life without sex was unbearable. She hadn't appreciated how she'd come to take it for granted until she was forced to do without even the occasional, uninspired attentions of her distracted spouse. She'd loved fucking ever since she was young--so much so that after losing her virginity here in this very cottage she'd gone wild the next semester at school. Her arts college was a candy store for a beautiful young woman on the prowl. She'd screwed guys and girls, instructors, full professors, and visiting artists. Eventually, she'd moved in with the dean of women, who'd taken her studies of feminine anatomy to the graduate level.

Meeting Calvin Bishop changed all that. Cal was an accountant, of all things, buttoned-down and a bit too solemn for his age--but he had a big dick that wouldn't quit no matter how many times they got it on in a night. For the second time in her life, Becca was head over heels. She'd lost her first love almost as soon as they'd begun. She swore that this time would be different.

Pregnant on her wedding day, she gave birth to Michael and then Paul in less than two years. But as their early days of lustfully wedded bliss faded into the routines of maintaining a home life for the boys while pouring themselves into their careers, Becca and Cal had grown distant from one another. She'd not fully understood how alienated he'd become until he'd served her with divorce papers.

Alone again, Becca discovered that her libido had not diminished with the passing decades. If anything, as she neared forty she was hornier than she had been even in her early days of taking on as many lovers as she could physically handle as often as she could. She'd confided as much to her best friend, Lindsey.

"I know the feeling well," Lindsey had said cheerfully. "I call it 'the middle-aged hots.'"

"I'm not middle-aged!" Becca had protested. "And neither are you. But I swear to God I'll turn right into an old woman if I don't get a guy between my legs soon. So you've got a name for it, that's swell. But what the hell are you doing about it, since you and Bob split?"

" Let's say I'm as busy as I want to be."

"Linn, you live with your mom and your son. I haven't seen you with another guy in ages."

"Never you mind

my

sex life." Lindsey's eyes twinkled as if at some private joke. "I can tell you this: it's a known fact that a woman's sex drive peaks decades later than your average man's. If you ask me, gals like me and you are also more honest with ourselves about what we want in a lover. More experimental. And, yeah, just flat-out a lot hornier. Why don't you take one of those twenty-something interns at your studio out for a spin?"

"My HR staff would quit on me in a week," Becca frowned.

"Way to ruin my erotic illusions about the lives of artistes. Well then, expand your horizons outside of your career. Or, here's an idea, start by taking some time off to reconnect and find out who Becca is these days before you go hunting for a new man to get lost in. Or gal."

"I've got too much going on. There's the commissioned installation for the new city plaza..."

"Bullshit. Your assistants can't manage for a couple of weeks?"

"A week, maybe two. You know, my sons have been after me to go out to the island."

"What a great idea! Remember the fun we all had out there when we were kids? Matt and I are going out with my mom next month. I'd be glad to lend him out to you."

"Pardon?"

"Have him drop by your place and set everything up for you. What did you think I meant, you pervert?" Lindsay laughed.