In View of Vesuvias

I arrived first, and got a table on the corner. I was deliberately early, there was no way I wanted you to see me stumbling across a restaurant unable to control my limbs. I sat facing the door; I wanted to see you arrive.

I did not wait long. You arrived in your gorgeous flowing yellow dress, the fabric swaying around you as you walked, like some Disney princess from a cartoon. Only as you approached did I see that every time the fabric swished in one direction it clung momentarily to your body revealing the outline of your curves and a secret only the closest observer would notice: you weren't wearing a bra. I also saw firsthand just how transparent the material could be, though unfortunately not in the vital areas. Still, all that semi-naked flesh concealed only by a thin layer of yellow fabric was enough to make me erect.

"Not going to stand and greet me?" You called me up on my manners.

"Oh mum," I groaned. "You're so old-fashioned." Did my cover work? Did you buy my excuse for not standing up? Young and enthusiastic I may be, but impolite I was not; surely you knew that I would normally stand to greet my date? Your quick glance in the direction of my crouch and the evil smile that accompanied it shocked me into realisation: you had guessed. You were teasing me. But that worked. It broke the ice, it made me feel easier with you and I could see in your eyes the tension diminishing.

"Old fashioned am I?" You said, still standing there.

"No of course just joking," I muttered.

"Well when a son meets his mum in a restaurant it's like a date really isn't it?" You asked an alluringly impish glint in your eye. 'She feels the same,' I thought to myself relieved that we might well be on exactly the same wave length

As you sat, I half stood and leaned over the table and kissed your cheek. You blushed. You weren't the only one with power.

We puzzled over the menu for restaurants in Italy as opposed to Italian restaurants in the UK, present their fare in a completely different order. We worked out though and ordered a light meal. We chatted away with me telling you about how great Pompeii was, but in truth I didn't recall too much for my mind had been so occupied with you and what had happened last night. 'My nearly mumfuck' as I was beginning to think of it.

The food was served quite quickly, but then it was only a small trattorria. We had an amazing seafood pasta with a rocket salad, crispy fresh bread and a jug of the house red. Fabulous.

We chatted so easily as we ate and drank. A second jug turned up and we ordered a bottle of San Pellegrino as well. Most of our conversation was about us, of course. It was part as if last night hadn't happened, but part as if it had, that we had gone on and that we were now lovers. As a lot of what we were saying was hugely intimate we had to whisper and lean close to each other. God knows what the other diners thought, but then this was Italy. We smiled a lot and as the wine got to us we giggled; we were at ease with each other, just as I imagined real, proper lovers are.

We finished the food and ordered espressos; we still had the second jug of wine to finish, not realising that they only charge for what you drink. We were both leaning forward; my chin was resting in my hand. Our faces were close; our knees kept touching under the small table. We were, I suppose flirting again, but then we had been earlier with the double entendres. I couldn't work out whether all this was a sign that now our desires were 'on the table' you could relax because we wouldn't do anything or, whether it was because we would. Back to square one really, but at least now we could talk about it, although I had no idea where we were going as, I suspected you didn't either.

We made confessions as we waited for dessert. We had both wanted what had happened last night for some time, it wasn't a sudden urge, and it had been with each of us probably since the marriage break up. It was hard not to talk about sex when it was all we could think about, all that was consuming and all that was hanging like a cloud over us.

Incest is such a big topic, a frightening one, a taboo, but that was what we nearly committed last night. I pondered for a moment what technically constitutes incest. Is it the actual fuck or is taking your mother's knickers off, playing with her tits and pressing your cock against her cunt lips just as incestuous as having a shag. Not surprisingly as aroused as I was and half pissed, I didn't have an answer to that.

Too much red wine at lunchtime is never a good idea, unless you're looking for an excuse to do something inhibitions forbid or if you want to loosen your tongue; maybe we wanted both.

"It really was the most amazing thing that's ever happened to me," I told you.

"What was?" you asked.

I giggled. "I shouldn't say this."

"Of course you shouldn't, but then we are saying lots of things we shouldn't say and doing things we shouldn't do aren't we?" You said as you scratched the back of my hand with your fingernails. "So what was?"

I leaned towards you and put my mouth to your ear. "Taking your panties off in the pool."

'Fuck I have just said that to my mother?"

You looked up at me out of the top of your eyes.

"It was a pretty amazing thing for me as well Peter," you said quietly and sincerely.

Our faces were almost touching, our knees were pressed together we were holding hands. No one seemed to care. The warmth from your body was intoxicating. My heart was pounding. I think yours was too.

"Peter," you whispered, brushing your cheek against mine.

"Yes," I whispered back.

"Do I really turn you on?" You whispered into my ear. You could see the answer in the way my body reacted, but I said it anyway.

"Yes."

"Let's go home," you said. It wasn't a request. You left money on the table as I tried to hide my erection under the bagginess of my shorts.

The stroll out of town was a pleasant affair. The weather was gorgeous and we walked like lovers, with my arm round your waist and yours around mine. Every so often I would move my hand, stroking your side and occasionally letting it slip down onto the swell of your bum, or you would nuzzle against my neck. It was bliss, but I was almost paralysed by the effects your heated presence was having on my body.

In no time at all, or a whole eternity depending on whether you ask my brain or my cock, we were near to the villa. The lane up to it winds round a field.

"Hang on," you said. "When I was here with your father we used to walk straight across the field not round it. Look there's the gat," you said pointing to a classic five bar gate. It was locked, but that didn't deter us.

"Give me a hand up," you said standing by the gate your hands on the top bar, your right foot in the sandal poised on the lowest one.

I moved up behind you and put my hands on your waist. "Ok at the count of three up we go," I said the sensation of holding you immediately getting to me. You looked right at me as my hands circled your surprisingly small waist. It felt good.

"One" I said, pausing rather drunkenly dramatically. "Two," I added purposefully squeezing you. "And three," I went on lifting you and pulling you against me instead as you had expected lifting you up onto the higher bars of the gate. I pulled you to me, the feel of your breasts on my chest rekindling all the passions of last night.

"Peter, this wasn't in the script," you admonished, but not I noticed struggling to0 get away.

"No but script changes are permissible aren't they?" I replied my face just inches from yours.

"Up to a point yes," you said placing a hand either side of my face and kissing me softly on the lips. "But not too far."

"How far?"

"About as far as the top of this bloody gate," you laughed struggling and forcing your way upwards and onto it.

You clambered over it surprisingly quickly and elegantly and jumped down the other side. I easily climbed over and jumped down beside you into the field. It was presumably lying fallow for the grass was quite long, knee length in places and it was full of wild flowers and weeds.

We started strolling through the field, up the hill towards the villa. We were alone; it was as if nobody else existed. The sun was warm, there was a gentle breeze, the birds were singing and the countryside smells wafted over us. It was tranquil, almost heavenly and certainly dreamlike.

You kept teasing me with your words for sure, but also I thought with your body. The yellow dress seemed to be almost permanently stretched tight across your upper body and it gaped beneath your waist pulling at the buttons kidding me into thinking they might pop open and your legs would be revealed.

I still wonder if you were as in-control as you pretended to be. Could you resist me, or were you as driven by desire and lust as I was? Again I had that feeling of being right back at square one, not knowing where I stood with you and being totally confused over what was happening. But then impending sex with your mother was never supposed to be straightforward was it?

Either way, it was in that field that things came to a head. A little teasing became play-fighting. The sexual tension hang heavy in the air. The play-fight concluded, we continued walking but as you slid your arm back around my waist it slipped under my t-shirt. Your hand on my skin made me gasp. My cock twitched.

"Still erect?" You asked out of nowhere.

"You knew?" I shamefully confessed.

"Of course," you smiled acceptingly. "A mother can always tell," you added jokingly, but then with a more serious look on your face you said quietly "As can a woman."

Our eyes met. I didn't know what to say.

"It's ok," you whispered, running your free hand down the outside of the front of my shorts right across my dick. You gripped my erection and muttered.

"Yes Peter?"

I shoved my cock against the palm of your hand, grabbed your tit, squeezed that and groaned,

"Oh yes Cat, oh fucking hell yes, yes, yes."

I fumbled my hand inside your dress and found your breast. It felt so fantastic that for a moment I though it would make me cum, but I managed to hold if as I squeezed the gorgeous flesh and pinched the hard rubbery nipple.

You were now blatantly rubbing the palm of your hand up and down the bulging outline of my cock and, or so it seemed, pushing your tits against my hand. It was all wonderful.

I looked down. The head of my cock was already poking out of my shorts. You barely needed to move anything to cause the shorts to release it; I pushed at the waist moving my shorts down a bit so that my cock sprang out and was as free to the Italian air as it had been last night by the pool. A dozen strokes, perhaps less, and I couldn't contain myself any longer. With a guttural moan a long stream of white, sticky sperm spurted from my cock. I seemed to cum so much. It was all over your hand, on my shorts and tee shirt and, slightly embarrassingly, on your dress as well. I like to think you watched with delight as my cock twitched in your hand and spurt after spurt was discharged, but I have no idea. My eyes were firmly closed.

When I opened them you were staring straight at me. You replaced my shorts as I reached out with what little strength I had and pulled you to me, unthinkingly putting more of my sperm on your dress. As my breathing returned to normal I held you.

"I love you," I whispered.

"I love you too," you replied.

Cat

As often with elicit love there was an emotional down when we finished. There was also a physical awkwardness about our position.

We were standing in the middle of field; shielded certainly, but by no means hidden from view should somebody pass by. I was fully dressed even though, the buttons on my dress above my waist had come undone so most of each boob was displayed; your shorts were round your knees. I was holding your softening penis that had some strands of sperm dripping from it looking like the strings from a spider's web. We were leaning against each other, but we were not looking into each other's eyes. Your arm was round my waist; your hand was gripping me just above my bum.

I meant in when I said that I loved you too. However, I meant it in a different way, than I had ever meant it or said it before. Of course I loved you; I loved you as my son as I would love a daughter or any blood relative. I had a caring, considerate and protective love, a guiding and educating love and a proud and expectant of the future love. A typical parental love, a mother's love. But now, and particularly since we had been in Italy, I had accepted and acknowledged the different love as well. It was not just that of a mother and parent, not the protective and caring love for a child, for it was now the love of woman for a man; it was now a sexual love. And I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that masturbating you in that field was taking us one step further towards the unthinkable, the forbidden and the taboo of a mother and her eighteen year old son fucking.

"I'm sorry" I said removing my hand from your still warm and sticky penis.

"Oh mum, Cat, please don't say that," you said looking rather embarrassed as men do after sex when their erection departs. You quickly pulled your shorts up.

"I should not have let that happen," I replied doing up the brass buttons on the chest of the yellow dress. I left the top one undone, but pondered doing that up as well to reduce the temptation; was that yours or mine I wondered?

"It was right, we both wanted it, we both needed it," you said showing an emotional understanding well beyond your years. "But you had nothing."

"Come on let's go," I said purposefully moving a metre or so away from you. "That's ok, Peter, a woman can resist her urges more than a man."

"Like last night," you said meaningfully as we again held hands.

We didn't talk much on the half mile or so stroll uphill to Peggy's villa. It actually was quite a climb and I was a little out of breath when we got home.

The quite strong spring sunshine had pushed the temperature up to a pleasant sunbathing level in the high seventies, but that was too warm for long walks up hills. I was pleased that I had worn such a light dress and so few clothes, but regretted the second bottle of Chianti I had ordered in Trules, which turned out to be an excellent find and became 'our' restaurant during the holiday.

I felt hot, sticky and tired when we at last got to the imposing old villa. I also felt a little hungover. You had been quiet on the walk.

"How do feel Peter?" I asked as we walked into the coolness of the kitchen

"In what way?" You replied catching my eye and smiling.

"Not that way," I smiled back as I immediately got your drift.

"Oh, ok. Tired then I suppose, it's quite a walk round Pompeii and I only did about half of it."

I was pleased that we seemed to have got off the subject that was starting, inevitably I suppose, to dominate us.

"So what do you want to do this afternoon?" I asked.

"Well that's pretty much gone, it's almost five."

"Oh yes," I said looking at my watch.

The atmosphere was very heavy, it was electric. There were so many things that needed to be discussed and worked out. But then that's probably inevitable when a mother has just jacked off her son. It's probably even more inevitable when just the previous night he had laid between her spreaded thighs the tip of his hugely erect cock pressing right against the lips of his mother's cunt.

"A swim perhaps?" Peter said.

The thought of being in my bikini in the pool with you thrilled and scared me. It had been just that situation last night that had triggered off our desires for each other.

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

"Why not?"

"You know perfectly well why not?"

"Cat we can't go on like that," Peter said as I made some tea using a teapot not tea bags as the Italians do on the odd occasions they drink tea.

"I know."

"We're her for another ten days; we are going to be close together, in the same villa, alone for all that time."

The bugger didn't need to remind me of that. He didn't need to flag up the facts, the situation, the temptation and the awful possibilities, or were they likelihoods, I wondered? As I made the tea I was very aware of my son's eyes looking at me from the side and slightly to my rear. I knew that he would see the jiggle of my unfettered breasts as I moved, the swell of the tops of them as I turned and the outline of the little white thong as I reached for things and stretched the yellow material over my buttocks. I also realised he would see the stains of his cum on my dress. How sordidly stirring, I thought.

Was I fucking mad or simply perverted I asked myself? Why go without a bra. Why wear a dress with buttons right up the front? Why wear material that was nearly see-through? Why dress so provocatively?

I knew half the answer and told that to my alter ego. 'Because I want to pull my son then fuck him,' I heard in my mind. I also heard the other view, the balanced one, the cautious one, the conservative and probably correct one. It was telling me how wrong it was, how it was incest, how it could affect both of us for the rest of our lives, how we may never recover from it and how once done, it could never be reversed.

"We have to talk Peter, we need to discuss this, it's so important," I told him as we took our tea outside and sat under the bougainvillea covered gazebo.

Peter

So often, the female solution to a problem is to talk about it. So we talked. I sat down knowing that you were going to tell me that this couldn't go on, that you couldn't enter into a sexual relationship like this... And you did.

But you listened to me as I countered your arguments. You slowly nodded as I pointed out that we were away from home, no-one would know, we were consenting adults, etc etc.

You wanted me to convince you. You countered my counter arguments weakly. Your desires were winning. You knew as I did that there was no way we'd get through the rest of this holiday without giving into our desires and you wanted me to be the one to take the lead. Perhaps you were scared. Perhaps you didn't want the guilt. Perhaps you were just trying to encourage me to be a man.

Either way, the conversation reached a pause and you decided to get a drink. I stood as you did, offering to get one for you. For a second we were face to face, close enough to feel each others breath. You smiled nervously, declining my offer. You turned to go, and I put out my hand to stop you. It slid around your waist so easily. You stopped. The male solution to every problem is action; I stepped closer, and placed a kiss on your neck. You melted.

"N.." you started, but didn't finish it as my kisses reached the top of your neck and you turned your head so I could kiss your lips. Another deep, wet kiss. You turned around to face me, reaching up around my neck to kiss me again, with passion and love. My hands were round your waist, pulling your hips towards me, only our clothes stopping us from embracing as lovers. The inevitable had begun.

"Come inside," you whispered, and turned towards the door. I followed.

Cat

In some ways kissing you, or to be more accurate us kissing, was even more erotic than what had happened last night and this afternoon. Could a kiss really be more erotic than having a man lie between your legs his cock pressed against your lips? Was it possible that a simple kiss was more erotic than masturbating a man in a field? As our lips parted and I turned towards the house saying for you to come inside, every aspect of my mind and every element of my body said that yes it could.

"Go and have a shower," I said once we were inside.

"Why?"

"Because I am going to as well."

"And then?"