Stoned 2 by ASK80

I'd never been swept off my feet before. Never had a whirlwind

romance or been completely smitten. I'd experienced love, lust and

longing. It probably sounds like a strange thing to admit when you

have had the kind of. tempestuous love life I have had. But true

desire? Not until the accident. Not until this whole escapade kicked

off.

It is hard to remember a time before Tim now. I chart everything

from that crazy afternoon that we took the plunge and gave in to our

incestuous desires. Everything before that seems so long ago. A

different sepia-tinged era without colour or magic. But it was a

journey to that moment. A journey that started with the accident.

I'd never been a keen horse-rider. It was always one of those things

that my parents foisted on me in the hope that I would turn out to

have a gift for it. Like the violin lessons or the tennis coaching or the

swim meets. I enjoyed it but not enough to want to continue once

they stopped funding me.

It was only years later after I'd grown up and had my own family

that I returned to it. It was somehow more enjoyable without the

pressure of a parental eye watching. I joined a local equestrian club

and began going a couple of times a month. Nothing elaborate or

complicated, just riding around in a field mainly. Sometimes

breaking into a canter or a gallop. I was too old to deal with fences

and obstacles. I knew my limits.

Or so I thought. On the morning of the accident they had left out

some of the training fences for the other riders. I really can't say what

tempted me to attempt one. It was the lowest fence there, the bar set

barely above my mare's ankles.

It happened so quickly and suddenly that I am still not entirely sure

it wasn't a daydream. One moment I am upright in the saddle. The

next I am laid out in the mud with my horse gambolling off in the

distance. The pain is the most abiding memory. I know I have been

thrown. It has happened before but I have always laughed off those

previous forced dismounts. I instinctively know this one is different.

This is a bad one.

I realise I am grateful just to have feeling. Pain is bad, but numbness

is much worse. Sometimes, in accidents like these, there is no coming

back from numbness. It takes three hours for the ambulance to come.

It feels like longer.

I pass out on the way to the hospital and wake up later in a dingy

and darkened room. Alex and Tim are sat by my side. The pain hits

me like a dropped breeze block. I moan and try to roll away from it

as though it is something I can just detach myself from.

The next few hours are a blur. I only take in snatches of what is

explained to me by the doctor, the nurse and eventually Alex. A

hairline fracture. Not too serious. Six to eight weeks. I take little

notice of everything. I just want something for the pain.

My veins guzzle morphine. My mind tries to wander away,

anywhere to a place where there is not a mass of nerves screaming at

it. To this day, I don't recall how long I stayed at the hospital. One

moment I was there and then the next I was wrapped up in my own

bed.

Without the morphine, the pain came into much sharper focus. My

agony is unrelenting and exquisite. It waxes and wanes and comes

just shy of the threshold needed to make me pass out even though I

will it to. I am unbearable to Alex and Tim. I hide under the

bedsheets, a wounded animal begging to be put out of its misery.

I am impervious to the passage of time. My existence is measured in

increments of pain. Sometimes it goes up, sometimes it goes down,

but it is always constant and inescapable. Sometimes it is

concentrated around my hip and sometimes it radiates out across my

whole body. The doctor visits me and prescribes various painkillers,

each of them more useless than the last.

It is like I have struck some undiscovered seam of pain in my body,

and I am unable to bury it back in the hole it came from. Almost as

bad is Alex. At first, he was as attentive and considerate as I had

come to expect. But as the weeks dragged on, I could sense him

beginning to resent me. To suspect that I was exaggerating the level

of discomfort I found myself in.

Slowly, I began to rely on Tim more and more. Their roles were

becoming reversed. Tim and I have had an uneasy relationship since

he began his second year at university. We were happy to pay for

him to spend the first year on campus and experience the best parts

of university life. We agreed to subsidise him moving into shared

accommodation for the second year as well, if he chose to contribute

too.

When this didn't materialise and he neglected to get a part time job

to help towards the costs he still managed to blame us, or me

specifically. I had always been the stricter parent, the tyrant, the one

more likely to call bullshit on him.

So, when he stayed home it was with a chip on his shoulder and a

grudge directed at me. Mainly passive-aggressive insurrections and

half-hearted micro-aggressions but it was clear which parent he held

his ill-will towards. He would neglect to do his chores. Leave his

room a mess. Forget to clean up after himself. In a way, typical

teenage rebellion, but this was someone who was supposed to be

maturing. Supposed to be well on the way to becoming an adult.

It was hard to blame him. I would have been the same in similar

circumstances. Wanting to be free, but still trapped under the rules

and aegis of the parental home. Things did improve though. It was

impossible for him to maintain that level of frustration forever. We

had actually been getting onto a better footing after Christmas and

the New Year, but the tension was always simmering away in the

background.

This almost evaporated entirely after the accident. Tim seemed

genuinely shaken by my condition and the constant agony I was in.

I came to rely on him much more than Alex. It was easier for Tim to

study from home and be available to care for me than expect Alex to

take time off work. Soon, it just became an accepted state of affairs.

It was subtle at first, but then obvious. Tim was the first person I

spoke to when I got up. Alex had usually left for work by then. Tim

would make tea and breakfast and help me out of bed when I needed

assistance. He would sit with me while I ate and talk. I never realised

how much the talking would help. How lonely it would otherwise

be having to carry the burden of my pain in solitude.

I had never known Alex to be so derelict before. So detached. It was

like he was going through the motions of being a husband. An

autopilot spouse that was just waiting for me to be fully recovered

before engaging fully again.

As the days stretched into weeks it was clear that he was losing his

patience. We did not address the obvious elephant in the room. We

were both incredibly sexual people. That was part of the reason we

had endured this long. We both recognised in each other an appetite

that could not be satisfied by just one person.

I did not understand why he was so agitated. Why he didn't relieve

his frustration with someone else. It was almost as if there was some

unwritten rule we had incorporated into our arrangement that

should one of us be invalided then the other person was not at liberty

to seek refuge elsewhere.

It was as annoying to him as it was baffling to me. He would slope

around the house in thinly concealed irritation, snapping at both Tim

and I. The extent of my pain was somehow enough to obscure any

feelings of frustration I had. That was the only thing that I was

focused on conquering. I didn't have the strength to be the wife that

Alex was used to.

We were normally so good at communicating our thoughts and

feelings, but on this we were strangely reticent. A gulf had opened

up that neither of us were willing to bridge. It was inevitable that

Tim would grow to fill the vacuum my husband had left. I just never

imagined it how fully he would evolve into that role.

He was a different person to how I expected. An almost literal crutch

at times. Helping me out of bed or down the stairs or up from my

seat when I had to change position. It was comforting but also

embarrassing in a way. A glimpse into what I had thought was a

distant future where I would be reliant on my child to take care of

me.

Tim was more empathetic and considerate than I thought possible.

Most men don't know how to react to a loved one's pain. How to

show emotional strength. Somehow Tim had unlocked that code. He

was always patient with me, even as I crawled around the house. He

was selfless, always checking to see how I was, if I needed anything

and what he could do to help ease my pain. He would take me to the

doctor and pick up my prescriptions and do the household chores

that I was unable to. Even if nothing had developed between us, I

still felt proud to call him my son.

But the spark of something did emerge and perhaps its foundations

were laid in the long weeks when he was taking care of me. It was

impossible to predict that this display of devotion between mother

and son would eventually germinate into a frenzied lust between

those same two people. That this was a courtship though neither of

us knew it.

I don't know how we got on to the topic of weed, but I knew that Tim

was an occasional dabbler. Again, as parents, this didn't really bother

Alex or I. I didn't think we were cool or progressive. Just accepting

of the reality of the situation. People were people and would always

indulge their appetites. All you could do was treat them like adults

and give them a modicum of trust to make their own decisions.

I was going through a particularly painful episode. I had reached the

stage where the pain would come in waves. Some days it would

linger on me like a layer of dust and then other days it would torture

me like a twisted blade in my side.

I remember Tim coming home with the smell of weed on his clothes.

For some reason it was much more pungent than normal. I could

almost feel myself choking on it. He must have seen the pained

expression on my face as it prompted a sheepish apology from him.

'Sorry, Mum.'

'How much did you have? You'll stink out the entire house. Open

some windows before your father gets back.'

Normally he would bristle at taking orders, but he grins and moves

to the window to open them. It's clear he's coming off the high and

that makes him placid for now. I envy him that glazed look on his

face. As though all his cares have levitated away. He plonks himself

into a chair and pulls out his phone which he promptly drops on the

floor.

'For goodness sake, Tim.'

He apologises as he fumbles for the phone.

'You're not normally like this, are you? Or are you just better at

hiding it?'

'I...I...I'm sorry, Mum. It was some really strong stuff this time. I can

barely feel my legs let alone my hands.'

He finally manages to retrieve his phone and slaps it on the kitchen

table.

'Where do you even get it from?'

'I...I know a guy. Well, Danny knows a guy...who knows a guy. I get

stuff from Danny rather than going to the actual dealers. I don't like

the thought of them having my details.'

'What details?'

'Like...you know. Phone number. They text out special offers to their

customers.'

'Drug dealers? Text out promotional material?'

'Well, yeah...it's a business like any other, Mum. Why wouldn't they?'

I sigh in exasperation.

'Is...are you still in a lot of pain, Mum?'

'It comes and goes, Tim. I just wish...I just wish I knew when it would

completely go. When I could get back to normal.'

'How long has it been now?'

'Too long,' I answer bitterly.

'Why don't you try...why don't try some cannabis? It's supposed to

be good as a painkiller. I mean...I've never really used it like that,

but...'

He trails off as though he has suggested something offensive.

'I don't know...I never really dabbled to be honest. I've tried it, but I

don't think it did anything for me. This was years ago I'm talking.'

'It affects different people in different ways. I don't get the munchies

or anything. i just feel really chilled out. Too chilled out almost.'

'Yes, I've noticed.'

He sniggers in a high pitched and goofy way.

'Well, if you want Mum...I can get some for you to try? It might take

the edge off at least. Can it be worse than any of the other painkillers

you use?'

It was a simple question and I had no answer. I had tried so many

different things. Some were effective, others less so. The ones that

started off well would wane and eventually be added to the pile of

discards. It was as though my pain had built up an immunity to

anything that tried to numb it. I had already been searching online

on my own for other alternatives that could help get me through the

day. Practically anything that could at least dull the constant throb. I

hadn't considered the possibility of using illicit means to try and

combat the pain.

It's not like anyone really cared. It was to all intents and purposes

legal. And I didn't know what else to try.

'That's...not so outlandish an idea now that you mention it...'

He shrugged and nodded his head.

'Yeah...it's not a problem. If it doesn't work then at least you know.'

'True...ok, fine. I might need your help to...'

'Skin up?'

'Whatever you call it. I haven't done it in a long, long time and I didn't

really use that much when I did.'

'Sure...I don't know where the best place is for us to do it though. Are

you ok for me to bring it back here?'

'I guess...you're already kind of bringing it back with the stench in

here to be honest. We can just do it outside quickly.'

I was intrigued to see what the effect might be. I knew that

cannabinoids had a reputation for pain relief and a host of other

medical uses. It had never done anything for me before, but in my

time of need I was willing to give it another chance.

I give Tim the money to buy what should be enough. It feels wrong

giving my son cash to go and buy drugs no matter how soft or

relatively harmless they may be. My worry is the same as a lot of

parents. That by tacitly approving his use of marijuana he may then

graduate on to harder stuff. It seems unlikely as I know he is a

sensible boy, but you can never tell. You never get the full picture

from children.

It is a few days before he announces that he has procured what we

need. I don't want Alex to know. He is still in a strange mood and it

feels like we are on edge with each other. I so desperately want to go

back to before the accident. The older we get the more we yearn for

the past time, trying to go further and further back, but for now I

would just settle for a few months. Before all this pain invaded my

body.

I wait a couple of days before deciding to go ahead. I'm not sure why

as there are plenty of opportunities in the intervening period. The

pain is in a particularly sharp phase. I can take it no longer and tell

Tim to make the necessary preparations. The rain is falling heavily

so we decide to do it inside. The best room is the drawing room as it

has a skylight as well and should ventilate more easily once we have

finished.

I feel a little sordid waiting for Tim. He goes to the drawing room on

his own to get everything ready. I know I shouldn't care, but the

whole event comes across as a little seedy. It surprises me that I am

so uptight about this given how hedonistic my life has been up to

this point.

Tim calls me in and announces that everything is ready. I sidle in and

inspect the scene. He is sat on the sofa and has pulled up a stool to

place the product on. A bag of weed, filters, rolling paper and a

lighter. A freshly spun joint ready to go. It is smaller than I expected.

'Okay, Mum. Ready whenever you are.'

'Right. Well, sure. Let's give this a run and see what it does.'

He picks the joint up and lights it. It is a smooth action by someone

who has done it often. I'm suddenly aware that there is a lot I don't

really know about my son. He takes a puff and then a long sigh

followed by a trail of smoke escaping from his lips. His eyes flicker

and he takes a deep breath.

'Yeah...that is good, Mum. That is really good. You want to give it a

try?'

He offers it out to me. The first whiff hits me and I gag a little. I

remember why I was never a big fan of this in my younger days. Not

just the smell, but the way it clings to everything. I'm sure Alex will

ask a few questions later. I take the joint from Tim and hold it almost

like a pen. I can sense Tim finds my discomfort amusing.

I had never been a 'regular' smoker let alone anything else so the act

of putting the joint to my mouth and having a tug is alien to me. I

cough and splutter before it has even reached my lips. I start to think

that perhaps this wasn't such a good idea. I take a small toke and

cough again. The taste is acrid in my mouth.

'You'll need a bigger hit than that, Mum. That was barely a breath.'

I glare at him in annoyance. I feel foolish and out of my element. The

worst thing is I know he is right. I try to take a bigger puff. The

vapour fills my mouth and I try to hold it in. I feel...nothing in

particular. The pain is still pointedly there.

'Well?' Tim asks.

'I...I'm not sure I'm doing it right. I don't really feel any different.'

'Keep going, Mum. Still plenty left to suck down.'

I reluctantly take another drag on the joint. I move to join him on the

sofa. His limbs are already stretched out and loose. I breathe out the

intense flavour of the smoke. There is...almost something. It seems

too faint and distant to be called a high or even a pleasant sensation.

I wriggle in the couch and try to relax myself. I am aware of how

rigid I am. How intently he is watching me. In a way, this is his little

project and he has come into it with good intentions. I start to feel

guilty I will disappoint him if I don't at least give it a try.

'Well?'

'I don't know...how long is it supposed to take?'

'It's different for different people. Just give it a few minutes.'

I pass him back the joint and sit awkwardly on the couch. I feel like

a patient who has been dosed with some new medication but unsure

if it is the real thing or a placebo. The minutes tick by. Tim continues

to smoke the joint as I sit and wait. All I can sense is the flood of

smoke in this small room and how much I would rather be

elsewhere. It is starting to feel like the experiment has failed. I get up

to open the windows.

'Still nothing, Mum?'

'No...sorry. I'm not sure what happened. Maybe it's me. It doesn't

matter. At least we tried.'

'Hang on, Mum. Have another go. Maybe you've got some weird

immunity.'

'That would be quite something, Tim. Seeing as how I've barely had

any of it my entire life.'

'I suppose we could...'

'What?'

'No, I was going to suggest hotboxing but...we can't really. Otherwise

the house really will stink out.'

'Hmmm. I don't think it's worth it. I don't know what that is, but it

definitely doesn't sound worth it.'

'I can try blowback if you like? That might give you a better hit.'

'What the hell is that? Sounds a little violent.'

He giggles and smoke plumes from his nostrils.

'Here. I'll show you. Sit back down.'

I reluctantly plod back to the couch, wary of what might be coming

next. All this terminology that Tim is coming out with makes me

wonder just how deeply ingrained the stoner culture is within him.

'Ok, so...you just need to open your mouth and I'm going to take a

hit. Then I'll exhale the smoke into your mouth. You take it in and

then stand up.'

'What? That sounds...weird.'

'It's supposed to give you a better hit. I don't know actually. I don't

need it normally, but you look like you're a tough nut to crack.'

'I don't know, Tim...'

'It's up to you, Mum. Then we can say we've given it a good go at

least.'

He sounds somewhat crestfallen that I won't at least contemplate it.

I remind myself that he is trying to help in his own inimitable way

and I should at least make the effort.

'Ok, then. Let's give it a whirl. So, you just want to sit here with my

mouth open? It sounds stupid.'

'It's fine. It won't take a minute. Just sit there and I'll do the rest.'

I feel a little idiotic, but tell myself that it will be over soon and I can

get back to bed to try to sleep off the pain. I sit back and open my

mouth. Tim nods and takes a deep drag on the joint. He leans over

me, almost right in my face and I flinch in surprise. He laughs and

sputters and tries to wave the smoke cloud away.

'Don't jump, Mum!'

'Sorry! You just shocked me. I wasn't expecting you to get that close.'

'Well, I kind of have to. Sorry, I should have said. You want to try

again?'

'Ok...just go slow alright?'

He grins and takes another toke. I try to relax myself even though

this whole situation is beyond my comfort zone. He leans in. It is a

slower motion this time. His eyes have a glassy twinkle. I hesitantly

open my mouth. He stops a hair's breadth from my mouth and blows

into it.

It is a bizarre sensation having him so close to me and then just

stopping. The smoke billows into my open mouth and I try not to

cough it out straight away. He stops and pulls away. I inhale and

slump back in the couch. I close my eyes as something hits me. I feel

his arm on mine pulling me up. Disoriented, I clamber to my feet.

The room is spinning and I worry that if he lets go I will tumble to

the floor. I suddenly feel a rush of blood to the head. A oddly calming

sensation and all I want now is for him to let me go so I can fall down.

I feel Tim ease me back onto the couch. My head sways. I finally get

it. This indescribable feeling. A soothing light headedness and

trance-like calm. I feel like I am being swallowed into the sofa.

I can hear Tim snickering though I am too relaxed to care. So this is

what all the fuss is about. I don't know how long I lie there for. It

seems to pass too quickly.

I keep thinking about the look in Tim's eyes as he brought his face to

mine. There was just something I'd never seen before. And the way

he blew the smoke into my mouth, slowly and deliberately.

Whatever it was, it worked. I wake up the next day feeling better

than I have in weeks. Alex does not seem to notice anything amiss.

Or it could be that he has just stopped paying attention.

We are almost like strangers that are just passing through the night.

I tell myself it is just a rough patch like any marriage has. We have

just been held back by the accident. It has debilitated two people not

just one. I feel a tinge of regret. He is normally the first person I tell

anything to. The first person who asks. And now I have stopped

telling and he has stopped asking.

I want to mention how much better I feel. Almost back to normal. I

feel surprisingly horny or it could be that I have always felt this way

and the pain has just numbed it somewhat. Whatever it is, I enjoy the

day more than any I have done in a long time.

Tim enquires after me once he is back from class. I feel a little

embarrassed disclosing just how improved I am. It seems strange not

to tell him the effect our little session has had on me. Especially as I

fear that this is just temporary and I may need to partake once again.

I thank him for asking and let him know it has definitely helped to

manage the pain. He doesn't ask if I need any more. Perhaps he

already knows. This is his little realm and I have no understanding

of how to traverse it.

My good mood and healthy nerves last another day before the pain

comes back with a vengeance. It is impossible to tell if it was always

this bad or the interlude of the past two days has just made me forget

how sharp it was. The only thing I am sure of is that I need to speak

to Tim again. I need the same remedy.

I don't wait like last time. The pain is too deep to for me to hold on

to my pride. Tim does not seem surprised when I ask him. The

suffering must be etched on my face as he makes me go and lie down

to sleep it off. Alex does not seem to notice at all.

Tim is able to get another sample the following day and comes home

early so we can finish before Alex returns. I take more of an interest

as he prepares everything in the assumption that I may be forced to

do it myself soon. I don't know why I find it so daunting.

The weather is better this time. The sun is out though it is still cold. I

don't make Tim get ready outside. It seems as though we have found

our niche in the drawing room. I wait anxiously as he rolls the joint

and lights it.

This time he offers me the first drag. I almost snatch it out of his hand

and suck in a lungful. My eagerness is punished with a swift

coughing fit. Tim slaps my back as I cough and choke on the sofa.

'Go easy, Mum. There's plenty to go around.'

It takes me a few minutes before I recover my composure enough to

try again. This time I am more circumspect and take a quick drag. No

effect. I pause and try again. Still nothing. I stare in irritation at the

joint because I do not know who else to blame. How can something

so potent have so little effect on me? What was I doing wrong?

'You're not getting anything, Mum?'

'No...I don't know what it is. It worked last time, but...I don't know.

I just can't feel anything now.'

'Weird...'

He shrugs and scratches his head. We sit in silence as the smoke coils

around the room. I am almost ready to head out when he suggests

the other method again.

'It worked with blowback last time, didn't it? I could try again?'

I rub my arm. He is right, but I don't want to admit it. The last time

felt odd and I was hoping that it could be avoided. My pain interjects

and I have no choice but to agree to try again. This time I am more

prepared. The whole set up still does not feel right to me, but I know

the outcome justifies the awkwardness. I sit up straight on the sofa

as Tim takes a drag on the joint.

He approaches cautiously this time, almost in slow motion. I open

my mouth with a sense of vulnerability. There is something so

helpless about sitting there and opening wide. I look away from Tim

this time. The smoke rushes in and fills my mouth. I immediately fall

back into the sofa and then remember that I am supposed to stand

up to get the full effects. I stumble and Tim catches me by the arm

and helps me up.

The reaction comes through again and I totter on my feet for a few

seconds before plopping back onto the sofa.

'Better?' Tim asks.

'Much...much better. Yes...that...that is really good. That...that is the

good stuff.'

We giggle to each other and joke about my bizarre body chemistry

that only seems to get high via this peculiar method. The

nervousness evaporates and we sit and talk. I can barely make sense

of half of it, but I know we are laughing and enjoying each other's

company. I know I have to repeat it. I know it will become a habit.

For as long as the pain intrudes into my life I will have to take steps

to counter it.

'So there's no explanation for why it only seems to work this way?'

'I'm sure there is, Mum. But damned if I know what it is.'

'Right...just...I hate to have to rely on you to do it all the time.'

'Uh-huh.'

'What does that mean?'

'Nothing...it's just...you look so embarrassed and scared, Mum. Like

you couldn't even look me in the eye.'

'Well...it is a bit bizarre, isn't it? I'm not used to it.'

'I know, but you look like you think I'm getting ready to jump you

or something.'

'Obviously not, Tim. It's just...I need to get used to it. If this is the

only way it will work anyway.'

'Yeah...yeah. I know. Well, you can keep trying the normal way.'

We sit and chat for a few hours before the time comes to start clearing

up before Alex gets back. The next time is a few days later. The

soothing of the weed seems to last a couple of days before I start to

feel the pain again. In those two days I have a glimpse of what I used

to be like before the accident. I experience my habitual horniness

though Alex and I are still on cold terms with each other. I feel like I

am alternating between two different personalities and the weed is

the threshold that separates them both.

On this occasion I start to feel more comfortable. I am watching Tim's

movements so that I can replicate them myself if needed. I have tried

to search online for why I can only seem to get high in a very specific

way but there is nothing conclusive either way.

I realise Tim is right and I have been unreasonably offish with him.

Just the act of feeling him so close to me and blowing into my mouth

feels unnaturally intimate. I think that is why I didn't meet his eyes

the last time. I was scared of what I might see.

This time I meet his gaze and there is that look in his eyes again. Like

he is enjoying himself. I can't tell if this is the weed or being here with

me and doing all of this. It is an unusual bonding but as we sit and

talk it feels like I am getting to know him all over again.

He is at the age where he craves his own privacy and to follow his

own rules so it is not a surprise he has been distant. But as we sit

together in the drawing room, suitably baked and high there is a flow

of information that takes place that otherwise would not have

happened.

He tells me about university life and the work and his friends and

his plans for the future. I open up about my own work before moving

onto recovery and also my relationship with Alex. Tim would

ordinarily be the last person I would talk about this with, but he

understands. He can see it for himself. The gradual divergence of his

parents. It feels uncomfortable having it confirmed by an outside

party even if it is my son.

We settle into a regular pattern. Our schedule is built around Alex's

absence. Every couple of days we gather in the drawing room to

smoke weed and talk rubbish. I have given up trying to get high the

conventional way. Now I rely solely on Tim blowing the potent

smoke into my mouth. We are almost perfectly synchronised now.

Both bending over to meet at the midway point of the sofa as he

exhales it into my waiting mouth.

The awkwardness is gone, but a tension still remains. I almost forget

about it in the aftermath. Usually because I am far too relaxed to

think about anything else. But then later on, it will come to me and I

will wonder what it is and where it stems from.

It feels like Tim is coming closer and closer. Stealing an inch here and

there to get closer to me. It sounds preposterous, but I cannot ignore

it. The last time it was almost as if our lips were touching. I can sense

him staring at me as well. His eyes tracing the outline of my breasts

and legs under my clothes. I tell myself I am being neurotic, but it is

a sixth sense in all women to know when they are being leered at.

Could I just chalk it up to the weed? An altered state of mind? The

dropping of boundaries and norms that he otherwise would not even

contemplate if he was sober? I couldn't understand it. Was he really

checking me out?

I was not naive enough to think this was a completely outlandish

possibility. It was a common fantasy that manifested in most men

one way or another. But then there was no remote possibility of that

fantasy materialising. Not like this anyway. Not...with me. With Tim,

it felt like he was trying to push that possibility or at least raise its

prospects.

I did not know whether to ask him about it or even how I would go

about such a thing. All I had were my suspicions and my gut instinct

and neither seemed enough. I felt guilty thinking about it. It was a

sensitive topic with no tactful way to try and raise it. If it was just

harmless ogling then I could live with it. But I had the feeling that it

was growing beyond that.

Did I really think that he would try something? That was such a

radical and impossible notion. It should have appalled and repulsed

me, but...it was my son. I didn't want to shame or humiliate him for

what was a normal, natural feeling. Perhaps given my own storied

sexual history I could relate somewhat to it. I had spent so much of

my life trying to find a purer orgasm, a more heightened pleasure

and what was this other than Tim exploring that journey himself?

This wasn't like any other fantasy though. This was not something

that could be passed off lightly.

I said nothing for the next couple of sessions even though Tim's

actions seemed to follow my line of thinking. It was becoming less

subtle and more obvious to me with each new session. The

proximity. The breathing. The eyes. Could I just chalk it up to the

effect of the cannabis? It seemed to go beyond that.

It was almost as if he was daring me to kiss him. He would study me

intently after blowing into my mouth and his face would hang just

an inch or so from mine to gauge my reaction. It was a bizarre

dilemma. I did not know whether to confront him or just ignore it

and hope it was a phase that would pass. There was no good option.

I was cornered and I did not know how to react. It was...flattering in

a way. It had been so long since someone had taken an interest in me

like that. It had been so long since I had been wanted. But this was

my son and I did not want to encourage him and I did not want to

chastise him either.

All the while my overall mood was improving which I attributed to

the regularity of our sessions. I was becoming my old self. I was also

becoming unbearably horny. Alex and I hadn't had sex in several

weeks now and worse, he gave no inclination of wanting to break

that streak. I was trapped between the two men in my life. One

unwilling to show affection and the other trying to blur the lines

between affection and lust.

And then it all came to a head in a most unexpected way. Tim and I

had gotten ourselves comfortable for another blowback session. We

had both become so comfortable now that it was almost second

nature as to what occurred once we entered the drawing room. The

routine was almost clockwork. We were chirping happily along,

talking about nothing in particular at all as I waited for Tim to ready

the joint.

I had been thinking of taking a more active role in trying to at least

roll or prepare a joint myself, but it seemed academic. I needed Tim

for the blowback. There wasn't any other way that I seemed to get

high otherwise. We were both happy with the stated order so it made

no sense to try and change it.

I had just finished a quick burst on the stepping machine and was in

my gym clothes of jogging bottoms and a t-shirt. I was slowly trying

to work my way back into fitness after the accident. Something that

wasn't possible without my regular doses of weed. Tim was trying

hard not to be obvious but I know he is sneaking glimpses of me. The

sweat patches were spread over my chest.Not enough to see through

though the moisture is making my nipples stand on end. I realise I

should have showered and changed before coming in.

The joint is hoisted aloft as Tim lights it. I relax back into the sofa and

watch as he takes the first drag. We have almost formed our own

little ritual in the drawing room. Every step is planned out and

performed as though it has been done thousands of times before.

I sit up as he takes in the drag that is intended for me. We lean

towards each other. To this day we still claim it was the other that

initiated first contact. It is hard to recall accurately. All I know is that

just as I open my mouth I let out a huge sneeze. This knocks Tim

completely out of his stride and he snorts and coughs. We bump

heads as the smoke sweeps around us. We catch each other. I place

my hands on his arms and I feel his hand on my knee.

I want to say it was a romantic and sensual moment, but it was the

opposite almost. Me, with phlegm running from my nose and him

with water streaming from his eyes. Normally this would be the cue

for us to laugh and make fun of each other. But the most remarkable

thing happens. We kiss.

Tim claims it was because he was high and says I was the one who

leaned into him. It is true that I had foregone the blowback and I

should have been the one with my wits around me. I have no defence

on that charge. But I know it was him that made that first move. And

I responded in lockstep.

It happened almost too quickly to stop. His lips on mine. I remember

the snot from my nose dribbling down on to my lip and then the taste

of it in my mouth. I remember his hand squeezing my knee as our

lips wavered over each other. It was slow and deliberate and I

couldn't pull myself away. The tang of smoke filled my nostrils. I

could still smell the scent of my own sweat.

There were no tongues. No sudden movements of hands or

dishevelling of clothes. It was a gentle, exploratory kiss. Almost as

though we both wondered if the other was about to put a stop to it

with a furious objection. I don't know how long it went on for, but I

know I didn't pull away in shock or disgust. When we did break the

smoke had cleared and we were both on the sofa looking at each

other in confusion and surprise.

'Oh...I...I'm sorry, Mum. I just...'

'No...I...it just...it's ok, Tim. It's...ok.'

He takes his hand from my knee and I remove my hands from his

arms. I can feel a tingle in my belly. We don't know where to look so

we switch our gaze to the table and the smouldering joint.

'Do...do you want to try again?' he asks.

'You mean...'

He turns red in embarrassment.

'No...no! I mean...do you want another hit? Not that...not that that

wasn't nice. I mean...'

He trips and stumbles over his words. I should feel as flustered as he

looks but I don't. It is a strange sensation. Am I...horny? It has been

a while since my last kiss with a man, but this was my son. Was he

really turning me on?

'Don't... don't worry. It just...happened. No harm, no foul. Let's...let's

not get awkward about it. These things can happen when you're

high.'

'Yeah...yeah. I'm...I'm sorry, Mum.'

'Don't apologise. It's fine.'

'I just...I don't know. I thought...'

'You thought what?'

'I...I thought you wanted me to.'

I scoff a little too quickly before recovering quickly.

'No...I was...getting ready. I...I mean you looked like..'

He stops me with a kiss. His hand takes mine. I barely see the

movement and already I am lost again. This time it is more

passionate. There is more urgency and fervour. I respond again.

I forget this is my son. All the frustration pours out from me. For now

I am just a woman being kissed by a man. Eagerly swirling my

tongue against his. Feeling the warmth of his breath intermingling

with mine. Brushing against the tip of his nose as our mouths dance.

I know I should stop. Stop before it gets away from me. But I can't. I

have forgotten what it feels like to be human and I am suddenly

remembering.

Eventually I come up for air. My hands reluctantly lever Tim away

from my willing tongue. We both pant in excitement and then back

off. He releases my hand. It is a minute before we speak. The only

noise is our hearts thudding in our chests. Loud enough to drown

the other out.

'I...'

'It...'

The first words are barely noises, barely acknowledging what has

just happened.

'Mum...'

'Tim...'

'I...'

'No, it...'

We are on the cusp of apologising but also knowing there is nothing

to apologise for. I close my eyes and purse my lips. The time

honoured symbol of a woman who is giving herself to a man. I know

I am taking this decision out of my hands. Trying to abdicate

responsibility to Tim. Trying to deflect the blame for what inevitably

happens next.

No woman has closed her eyes expecting a kiss and not got at least

some form of response. It must one of the oldest romantic tics to have

evolved over thousands of years of courtship. My son does not

disappoint me.

I feel his breath over my mouth first. He is taking his time. It excites

me. The feeling of handing control over to him. He makes me wait. I

feel him stalking me almost. Moving his face closer and closer. His

patience snaps. He cups my face and plants his lips on mine.

I part my lips and my tongue slips out. It meets his and they glide

over each other as we swap saliva. I feel my pussy stirring. A hunger

wells in me. I feel it consuming my insides. I take his other hand in

mine as we kiss. I wander about his mouth. The thought of his tongue

fills my senses. His body. His penis. How he looks under his clothes.

How hard he is. The touch and taste of his skin. My son.

I feel myself getting wet. Soiling my panties with these forbidden

thoughts. I am living out a fantasy I did not even know I had. It is

like I have opened a gift box and the contents are unexpected and

wondrous. I need more. I want more.

I push him again but not to make him stop. He falls back onto the

sofa and I am sprawled over him. I feel his hardness and I snap and

bite at his tongue. So thick and juicy. Digging into my twitching

belly. I begin to lose control. All my instincts are trying to take over.

This is usually the point I would start taking my clothes off. Start

fantasising about taking the hard dick underneath me into my mouth

and pussy. Start wondering about how thick and warm the cum

would be. It takes all my restraint to focus just on petting Tim

heavily. That is the line I have drawn.

We squirm on the sofa as our bodies rub over each other. I feel like I

have not kissed or been kissed in years. I have forgotten how much I

love it. We moan softly in the few moments are tongues are not

crossing. My body grinds against his cock. I feel it throbbing harder

and harder.

The inevitable interrupts us. Tim cums with a loud gasp. I suck his

lip and hold his head as he bucks in pleasure. The spasms of his cock

thrill me. I realise I have just made my own son cum. My pussy feels

so wet. I need to cum. I need to feel the same ecstasy I have just

evoked in Tim.

He slowly stops his jerking. I feel the stickiness leaking against his

groin and tummy. I release his lip from my mouth. We stare at each

other. I am lying on top of him, my hand on his chest and my pussy

tantalising close to the soggy patch on his clothes. I feel a need to see

it. To see the last threads of cum oozing out of his dick. I want to taste

it.

'That was...oh God, Mum. That was...'

'Yes...it was...it was quite something, Tim.'

The embers of the joint are scattered on the floor. The table has been

tipped over. I did not even notice it clatter. My focus has solely been

on making out with my son.

'Are you...you're not mad, are you, Mum?'

'Why would I be mad?'

'Because...because, well you know...you know I just came in my

pants, right?'

'Oh, is that what that was?'

I hear my voice but do not recognise this version of me. So flippant

and casual given what has just happened.

'It's...it's ok, Tim. I...I'm ok with it. It's one of those things.'

I brush back my hair and lift myself off of him. I want to run out of

the room. Run to my bed and finger my sopping cunt. I don't know

how much longer I can stay in this room with Tim without

something else happening. I get up and put the table right. I notice

my pain has completely vanished. Not even the trace of it remains in

my hip.

'Do you...do you want me to skin up again, Mum?'

'Hm? Oh. I think we'll try later, Tim. Perhaps we should clean up

now.'

'Ok.'

He sounds a little dejected as though he has done something wrong

and is being passively punished for it. I want to tell him not to sound

so downhearted, but I don't know if I should. I am battling my

horniness and a creeping sense of revelation.

'I'm...I'm going to clean up, Tim. Don't...don't worry about this, ok?

It happened. There's no need to make a big deal out of it. Can you

tidy away the mess on the floor?'

'Sure...sure, Mum.'

He sounds mildly relieved. Neither of us know the script for how to

deal with this. I don't know who I am in this scenario. Am I Tim's

mother? The object of his affection? A woman who has taken his

tongue into my mouth and made him cum? It feels schizophrenic

and uncomfortable. I rub my arm as I walk out of the drawing room.

I hurry along the hall and then lock myself in the bathroom. I'm not

sure if I'm protecting myself or Tim. I feel oddly calm. I pull my

jogging pants down and graze my hands over the slick fabric of my

panties. I know if I don't cum now then something inside me will

snap. I slump to the floor and thrash my fingers into my pussy. I bite

into my t-shirt as the orgasm hits me rapidly. I cum thinking about

Tim and how soft his lips are. It is the first orgasm I have had in an

age. It feels so incredibly long and rejuvenating. I lie on the floor and

revel in it.

There is no shame. There is no embarrassment or self-reproach. My

head is clear and my body is serene. I do not know what I have done

to myself. What I have done to my son. It was just a moment of...I

can't say madness. I can't say abandon. It was a moment of

reciprocated desire that I had been yearning to feel for so long.

I realise I am shaking as I get up. My breath is short. My orgasm still

reverberates through my body. It is a while before I recover enough

to take a few steps. I only get as far as my bed and then collapse on

to it. I lie there for hours thinking about the afternoon's events.

The dreaded word rolls around my scrambled brain. Incest. Did I

take advantage of my son? No, he was as willing a participant as I

was. But just because it was consensual does not mean it was ok...or

was it?

I only resurface after Alex comes home. We eat dinner in a strained

silence with Tim equally quiet. I feel nervous around both of them.

Tim excuses himself early and retires to his room. It is difficult to

gauge his state of mind. It is difficult enough to gauge my own. My

body feels the best it has in months and this despite not even having

sampled the weed.

I wonder if the release of my orgasm is responsible. An orgasm

inspired by my son. Alex is more detached than normal. Checking

his phone after every mouthful of food. I feel redundant and useless.

Not a wife and not a mother. Well, not a conventional mother.

After dinner Alex heads out for a walk. I clean up in the kitchen and

wonder what the next day will hold. I ask myself if I should talk to

Tim now or let this awkwardness fester. I don't know how things

will turn out tomorrow and sense that he may need some

reassurance this evening.

Reassurance about what? I'd already told him not to worry. I was as

confused as he was. The only thing I knew with clarity was that

earlier that day I had experienced one of the best orgasms I had had

in a long time.

I creep up to his room and hover outside his door. I put my ear to it.

I don't know what I am supposed to be listening out for. My mind

immediately imagines he is masturbating inside and I start to feel

hot. There are butterflies in my stomach. I cannot remember the last

time I felt like this. I give a quick knock on the door.

There is no answer. I knock again harder. There is a pause of a few

seconds before I hear rustling on the other side. The door is unlocked

and opened. Tim peers behind it looking at me warily.

'Mum?'

'I...I just wanted to check you were ok, Tim.'

'Oh...yeah...yeah. I'm fine, Mum. Are you alright? I mean...you didn't

get your hit today.'

'That's alright. I...I actually feel pretty good. It's...surprising.'

He opens the door fully. There is a hint of a smirk on his face.

'Oh? That's...that's good, Mum. I'm glad.'

He leans against the door. My eyes flicker down almost

involuntarily. He is wearing shorts and a vest. I'm sure there is a

bulge down there. I lift my jaw up to prevent any further glances. I

get the impression he is flaunting himself to me. Lounging against

the door. Opening his body up. The heft of his cock suddenly flashes

into my head.

'Well...perhaps we should try again tomorrow at lunch if you are

free. Just to make sure the pain stays away.'

'Sure...no problem, Mum. I'm happy to try tomorrow. Whatever you

need.'

I stand there almost willing something to happen before I grin and

walk away. I sense Tim staring at my retreating figure as I head to

my room. I flop on the bed with the same churning in my stomach. I

don't know what game I am playing or if Tm is playing along, but I

feel the most alive I have in months, maybe even longer. I think about

the following day and what might happen. There was an unspoken

moment between us just now. 'Whatever you need.'

It feels like something is in motion and neither of us can stop the

momentum now. Was this normal? It couldn't be normal and yet...I

couldn't dispel the notion. I knew about Freud and Oedipus and all

that psychobabble, but I was on the other side of the fence. Wasn't

there some kind of mental filter that should have stopped me from

doing any of the things that I did so recently? Stopped me from even

thinking about it?

I get changed for bed and wait for Alex to come home. He slips into

bed with barely a 'goodnight' and soon reverts to snoring. The pain

in my body is absent and now there is only a ruction in my brain. I

lay awake wondering what tomorrow will bring.