Being caught naked in your garden by your husband inevitably causes marital problems. Being with a man who is also naked compounds that. Being about to be fucked by that other man makes it almost impossible to explain. And when that naked man is your twenty-year-old son things are fucked up completely.
There could only be one solution. Yes, Richard divorced me.
Being wealthy and well connected with lawyers, he did it quickly without any mention of the reason coming out; irreconcilable differences being the court jargon for the fact that my son and I had fallen in love.
*
It had been rumbling around between Peter and me for some time. It started with sly glances when I was showing a little too much of my, still into my forties, shapely, legs or my full, now, DD cup, breasts. It went on with him brushing up against me, us touching each other unnecessarily and holding each other's glances. It increased when he found Richard's and my collection of 'intimate' photos of me on my laptop and it exploded when he persuaded me to pose for him. That went too far and we ended up naked masturbating each other.
Luckily in many ways Peter was going travelling in South America before going off to university in the autumn. That would remove the temptation for both of us for we had admitted to each other lying naked on that floor that we could not resist each other.
We kept in touch when he was travelling. This was mainly by emails, occasionally by phone and a few times by messenger and then skype. They were amazing yet very worrying. Amazing because we could talk and see each other on cam, worrying because inevitably we cybered and yes, my son fucked me over the net.
He had only been home a day. One night and one day. I had tried. I had tried so hard, so very, very hard to resist the tremendous temptations and it had nearly worked. Once again Richard's work intervened. We were supposed to be together as a family for the few days before Peter went off to college, but Richard had to go to Paris overnight. That left Peter and I alone in the house. How the hell we ended up naked in the little courtyard at the back of the house that is such a suntrap I don't remember. But I do remember vividly being pushed back against the wall, having his lovely cock between my thighs and him about to fuck me when Richard walked in. The trip had been cancelled.
*
Richard rarely loses his temper. He keeps his cool all the time, but then top businessmen have to do that. He quickly summed up the situation in the garden that afternoon a few months ago now. He hardly said anything but I recall him telling Peter to get dressed and get out. He just told me to get dressed. Peter did as Richard told him and I slipped my clothes back on though, I couldn't find my underwear.
There was no messing around. He explained in very clinical terms exactly what would happen. He would move out and stay at a company flat in town while I sorted myself out. He would keep the house in St Albans.
"After all you have always hated it haven't you?" and I could keep the flat in Docklands and we would share the house in Majorca. He would keep the family home and give me a sum to balance things out. It was almost as if he had apreviously worked out how we would settle our assets.
"I'll draw up an outline agreement tomorrow and then we can get things moving," he'd said as he packed. "I'll send someone for the rest of my stuff."
That was it. No screaming, no shouting, no recriminations and no tears; just a cold clinical closure on a twenty two-year long marriage. Richard packed one suitcase, picked up his laptop, iPad and golf clubs and in less than hour from catching us he was driving his new Mercedes out of the driveway and my life.
I felt dead inside. Upset? Maybe, but not as much as I would have imagined. There was just a dull ache and a concern over the future and what we would tell our friends, family and work colleagues. The marriage had been on the wane for ages. We rarely had sex and when we did, he generally needed the stimulus of the photographs to get him going. But then with the hours he worked when in England and the travelling he did, at least a week away every month, the marriage didn't really have a chance. For a couple of years now I had contemplated having an affair. Like many women in their mid-forties I had also thought about finding a toy boy. Little did I imagine that my son would be the provider of both of those what I thought hade been fantasies.
My phone beeped. There was a text it was from Peter.
'How r things"
"Ok he's gone"
"Can I cum round"
I smiled at the misuse of the word. Being a bit of a wordsmith and having once worked in and owned a publishing company I didn't really like textspeak, but sometimes I indulge.
"U can cum round, square, oblong or oval if you like"
"Mum how cd u? On my way"
It was no more than ten minutes later that he arrived in the new MINI Cooper S we had bought him for getting such good A-level results. I opened the door. Before I could even close it, he pulled me into his arms and still with the door open he kissed me. I responded immediately. We ground our lips together, probed our tongues into the other's mouth and writhed our bodies together. All the pent-up desire for each other, the lust, the love and the sheer need to make love exploded as we kissed just inside the front door.
"Mum I am so sorry," he gasped between kissing me.
"It wasn't your fault, don't apologise," I managed to mutter back as the kiss went on and on.
His hands were all over me. In my near shoulder-length, natural, blonde hair, on my neck, up and down my back and on my bum.
"Oh God," he grunted when his hands ran down my spine and told him that I wasn't wearing a bra. His hands immediately slid round my body and cupped my breast that was straining against the cotton of my tee shirt. I kissed him even harder as he pushed the bulge of his erection into the place that had nurtured him for nine months, and slid his hand up my tee shirt and right onto my boob. Reaching down I gripped the hem of my tee shirt and tore it up and over my head. I bared my breasts for him as I wanted him to see and have his mother's full tits that were aching for his touch.
Sexually consummating our incestuous mother/son relationship became the urgency for us. It became the critical event. We had been near several times, but so far, I had not had my baby's cock inside me. No so far, we hadn't had full sex. So far, my son had not yet fucked me and we both so badly wanted to rectify that.
He pulled his tee shirt off as well and we both fumbled with the zips on our jeans.
