The Magical Bond

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“Let’s go to Pirates Cove,” Helen said, “it may be the last time the three of us can be together.”

Her husband, Alistair, rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation and said, “You know I can’t, not while the company is trying to cope with a massive new order.”

The reference to Pirates Cove really meant the cove where their family seaside shack was located; an old fisherman’s cottage they had bought and renovated during the early days of their marriage about twenty three years ago. In those heady days Helen had looked forward to what she saw as a real family, three, perhaps four, children, but that was not to be.

The only child she had was Brenton, and as she was to discover, Brenton was the reason, and perhaps the only reason, why Alistair had married her; she had given birth six months into their marriage. In a sort of reverse order, after she had given birth Alistair had insisted on wearing a condom when they had sex, something he should have done before they got married, but it wasn’t only the condoms.

The first flush of marriage passed and the Company came to dominate their lives, or at least Alistair’s life. With it there was a progression from condoms to Helen being on the pill which had a bad affect on her, and then a vasectomy for Alistair.

Helen of course got the message, no more children. Along with that message went a steady decline in their sex life, and if Helen complained Alistair’s standard avoidance response was that she was not to worry, he would always “do his duty.”

“Doing his duty” meant providing his wife and son with adequate financial support, which, to be fair, he did very well, but it did not include the sort of affection that Helen, like a lot of women, needed. Specifically it did not include the meeting of her needs in bed, and in fact they had long ceased to share a bed.

Helen had come to accept that this was the natural progression of marriage, and given the number of women who seem to endure this sort of deprivation Helen may well have been right in her view.

In her more intimate talks with female friends suffering from this marriage aridity syndrome, Helen had noted their responses both physical and psychological.

For some it was endless visits to their doctor with aches and pains, especially in the lower stomach, for which no cause could be found. If the cause was found doctors had difficulty in announcing the diagnoses, since they hesitated to say, “What you need is a good fucking.”

For others it was depression or anxiety for which medication was prescribed that suppressed the symptoms but did not touch the cause. For yet others, facing up to their true situation, there was masturbation or lovers, the first of which gave partial relief and the second endangering their otherwise comfortable life style because of possible discovery.

Some resorted to lesbian activity with friends, but for this to succeed they needed to have the natural inclination that Helen did not have, and there still remained the danger of discovery

There were of course some whose husbands continued to willingly, even enthusiastically, service their wives. This was rarely stated openly and it was only by implication that their situation was revealed. There were, however, those few who happily and boastfully proclaimed, “He can’t leave me alone,” “He wants me all the time,” “He’s always touching me,” “We had a table ender yesterday,” “Every day we…” And so it went much to the annoyance and envy of their sexually deprived sisters.

Helen, once she realised how the future of her marriage would be sexually, and taking into account her otherwise comfortable material circumstances, opted for what she hoped was a safe if not altogether satisfactory outlet, masturbation, mainly with a vibrator and very much in private.

If masturbation eased the physical symptoms she suffered, there remained those psychological, or shall we say emotional needs. In dealing with this Helen went down a path followed by many women, displacement. She transferred the love and affection she did not receive, and eventually was unable to give to Alistair, to her son Brenton.

This of course had its own dangers. Kept within the bounds befitting a mother and son relationship as prescribed by society, all was well, but should those bounds be overstepped disaster could loom.

It must be said that Helen had a genuine mother’s love for her son, and as someone once said, “In giving we receive,” so Helen received because Brenton reciprocated the love she gave him. This was fine until that crucial time in a boy’s life when he becomes aware of his sexuality and he begins to seek an outlet for his sexual needs.

Even then all might have been fine, and Brenton would have passed along the well worn track of youth: masturbation; high school girls, or if he was lucky an older woman who would introduce him to the finer points of pleasing a woman, and incidentally himself. Such might have been Brenton’s sexual path in life if chance had not intervened.

* * * * * * * *

Ironically güvenilir bahis it was in the cottage at Pirates Cove when Brenton was thirteen that Helen’s relationship with her son took on a new direction. As so often is the case they did not at first realize the significance of the incident that brought about this change, and it seemed like a small cloud on the horizon of their lives, a small cloud that was to grow until over time it seemed to consume their lives.

The incident in itself might be considered insignificant; something that might happen to anyone in any family, in fact as an incident it is almost a commonplace.

Alistair and Helen had decided they would go for a swim. Alistair had changed quickly into his swim shorts and gone ahead to the beach. Helen had started to change at a more leisurely pace and had reached the point of being naked when Brenton had burst into the room.

Normally Brenton would have knocked before entering, but on this occasion he had been fishing off the rocks and caught an exceptionally large fish that he was eager to show his mother.

As he burst into the room he was saying “Look what I’ve…” but he got no farther. He stood staring at his naked mother. He had seen her wearing her rather modest bikinis before and had vaguely been aware of her physical attractions, and not knowing at that time of the barrenness of his parents sex lives, he had been mildly jealous of his father’s access to his mother’s body.

Now, in her nakedness, he saw her breasts, not large but with cute upturned pink nipples and the vee of silky pubic hair that ran from her mons to a hint of a firmly cleft vulva, and in his imagination the gateway to paradise that lay beyond, and her long, slender but shapely legs, and she seemed to Brenton the fantasy woman of every pubescent boy’s dreams.

Helen, startled by this sudden intrusion stood momentarily motionless, staring at her son. If at first she was unaware of his eyes sweeping over her body it quickly became obvious to her how he was responding to what he saw. Brenton, in the fashion of youth, was wearing only minuscule swim shorts and the head of his penis emerged from what passed for the waistband, a pale purple head and Helen believed she could see precum oozing from his urethra.

Helen’s own body began to respond to what she was seeing. Her vagina began to engorge and flood, her clitoris throbbed almost painfully and her nipples extended and hardened.

It was for no more than ten seconds that mother and son stood immobile, and then Helen, trembling with her arousal said, “Yes darling, is there…was there something you wanted?”

The mundane words hung in the air between them, each knowing what they wanted but unable to give voice or action to it.

Brenton, backing out of the room, managed to say, “A fish, I caught a…I’ll show it to you later.”

Helen understood. She had heard of boys who were sexually attracted to their mothers. She had also heard that this attraction passed with time, but she wondered if a mother’s attraction to her son also passed with time. She didn’t know, and what she also did not fully understand, was that a change had taken place in her relationship with her son, and that it would remain as an indelible mark over the following years.

That evening they ate the fish.

Mother and son did not speak of the bedroom incident, but that incident condemned them to years of painful and growing frustration. During this time Brenton had many of the sexual experiences of youth, but with little joy. He was focused on the one woman he truly wanted but couldn’t have, and sadly this left him vaguely dissatisfied with any sex partner he did have; it was merely a case of emptying overburdened testes.

As for Helen, however much she tried to eliminate them, her fantasies when she masturbated were of her son and time did not weaken these fantasies, but intensified them.

Another sad aspect was that the relationship between mother and son became ambivalent; at one time they would seek each other out and engage in eager embraces and kisses that swung between the affection of a mother and son, and that of lovers. At other times one or the other of them would avoid contact, no doubt fearing that they would one day give way and turn their fantasies into reality.

* * * * * * * *

Another pivotal time in Brenton’s life arrived; a critical point that affected his parents as well; his eighteenth birthday and coincidentally his graduation from high school.

With his focus on the Company the impact on Alistair was slight, but for Helen it was considerable. She foresaw, as many mothers do, that her beloved son had reached the point in his life when he would consider, sooner of later, leaving home to strike out on his own.

This of course is the whole point of rearing children; that one day they would fly the family nest and soar on their own account. What Helen foresaw was that she would be left in a sterile marriage without the outlet Brenton had provided by türkçe bahis way of love and affection, however limited and erratic.

Despite knowing what Alistair’s response was likely to be, Helen made the attempt to bring them together as a family, and Alistair’s response was as she expected; as usual the Company prevailed over family.

In a last attempt to get Alistair to change his mind Helen said heatedly, “If you won’t come with us Brenton and I will go to the cottage without you.” This might have turned out to be an idle threat since she had not consulted Brenton on the matter, but in any case Alistair was unmoved.

Alistair smiled and said, “A good idea. The boy has always enjoyed staying at the cottage and he seems to prefer you’re company to mine.”

The fact that he referred to Brenton as, “the boy” suggests that he had not really noted that his son was now virtually a grown man, and the fact that Brenton preferred his mother’s company might have served as a warning,

Helen, angered at the failure of her threat, was tempted to say, “And no wonder he prefers my company to yours since you pay him so little attention.” She did not say it, foreseeing it might lead to a more complex discussion about her relationship with Brenton and things might be revealed that she wished to keep hidden.

To reinforce that it had not been an idle threat Helen retorted, “Very well, I’ll ask Brenton if he’d like to spend time with me at the cottage.”

Alistair merely smiled and said again, “Good idea.”

Still fuming at what she saw as her husband’s casual dismissal of this important time in their son’s life, Helen went in search of Brenton. When she found him she put the idea of time at the cottage to him, and was a little surprised at his response.

“Just you and me!” he exclaimed enthusiastically, “How long for?”

Helen hadn’t considered how long they should remain at the cottage and so she said, “How long do you think?”

Brenton seemed to weigh this for several moments and then said brightly, “Well, it’s three months before the start of the academic year so we… “

“Three months!” Helen interrupted, “Darling you’ll be bored to tears with my company before we’re halfway through.”

“No I won’t,” Benton said firmly, “I don’t have you all to myself very often, not really, but at the cottage we…” His voice trailed away and then he added, “Perhaps you’d get bored with me.”

Helen had been befuddled by the earnestness of her son’s words and knowing she had to make a response she said hesitatingly, “Of course I… I wouldn’t get bored with you but…but three months!” She had in mind Brenton being away from his peers for that length of time, especially the females whom she was sure kept her son’s hormones in check.

Realising the time factor wasn’t really all that important and they could in fact stay for as little or as long as they felt like, she said, “Let’s say a month and see how we feel when we’re there.”

“Okay,” Brenton responded.

* * * * * * * *

It took only the day of their arrival at the cottage for Helen to fully realize the situation she and Brenton had put themselves in. In their suburban home she had felt safe, not so much from Brenton but from herself. With people coming and going and even Alistair’s irregular presence she and her son were deterred from taking their relationship to the lengths they desired. It was a case of “you never know,” you never knew if you’d be caught.

Another aspect, and I have to say a sad aspect, was the uncertainty of their relationship. Certainly mother and son loved each other, but for those who would become lovers there is that doubt about how the other person will respond if one of them attempted the final step to Elysium, and at the last moment find them selves rejected.

In the case of mother and son this doubt, however slight, is even more cogent since a mistaken move might shatter the mother and son relationship they already had. It had been these apparent deterrents that among others had thus far prevented mother or son from taking the step they earnestly wished to take.

I feel that it should be pointed out that there are many mothers and sons who have denied themselves the opportunity of experiencing that most profoundly fulfilling and beautiful of all sexual encounters, that between mother and son, precisely because they feared the aspects I have outlined above.

Not all mothers and sons have the chance to be alone together and with no one to come upon them unexpectedly over an extended period of time. Now it was precisely this situation of being alone together that Helen and Brenton found themselves in and almost as soon as they arrived the sexual tension mounted between them.

It was a hot humid day and in Brenton’s case, stripped down to a pair of shorts, his condition quickly became obvious by the tent like bulge at his groin. For Helen there was no such clear physical exposure, no unambiguous signal that she was ready and willing to meet their mutual need, and she, güvenilir bahis siteleri against all her instincts, had made sure of this by wearing a modest skirt and shirt.

Towards evening the weather changed when a storm came in from the sea, cooling the atmosphere and reducing the humidity, but not reducing the tension between mother and son. In the end Helen tried to escape by going to bed early, but unable to sleep she lay listening to the sounds of Brenton moving around the cottage and just before he retired to his room the sound of the shower. She wondered if he had masturbated in the shower or had waited until he was in bed.

“Just once, just once,” Helen murmured as with one hand she began to fondle one of her breasts, and then applying the vibrator to her genitals that were already wet with her sexual arousal. The fact that she was alone with her son and that his sexual arousal had been so obvious, had given rise in her to sexual frustration which she found almost unbearable.

As she brought herself to orgasm Helen was pinching one of her nipples and frantically stimulating her clitoris. It was as she reached her climax she finally released what she had struggled so hard and so often to suppress, a fantasy of Brenton pouring his young hot seed into her vagina and she wept, “Please God…please…just once…I need him so badly.”

In the aftermath of her orgasm and fantasy, and as the mundane world took control of her emotions, she felt, not the relaxation of satisfying sexual activity, but the despair of one who knew that the one she loved and needed so ardently and who was so near to her, must always be beyond her reach.

For a while Helen drifted off to sleep, but there was no respite from her torment. She dreamed of Brenton with his head between her thighs, his tongue flickering in and out of her vagina, but just as he was about to start sucking her clitoris she woke with a start.

Agitated and thinking she would never find release from the need for her son, Helen rose from the bed and wandered disconsolately into the living room. There she stood before the large window that looked out on the now calm sea. The storm had long passed and the night sky was clear, illuminated by a full moon that silvered the little waves that splashed on the beach but unheard in the living room.

Helen breathed a sigh and then suddenly held her breath. She sensed rather than heard Brenton enter the room. She knew he must see her, and also knew that standing as she was, silhouetted by the light of the moon, her flimsy nightdress could be seen through to her naked body.

She stood very still hardly daring to breathe, her heart seemed to be racing, and then Brenton was standing close behind her and he asked softly, “Can’t sleep?”

“No darling,” Helen replied, “I’m so restless; and you too?”

“Yes, the same,” Brenton replied as he circled his mother’s waist with his arms. In doing this his body pulled close to her and she realised he was naked. Brenton’s hands were resting on her stomach and she placed her hands over his as if to hold them there.

Mother and son seemed to stand immobile for an age before trembling with hope Helen stuttered, “It’s…it’s a beautiful night.”

For a few moments Brenton didn’t respond and Helen felt something hard pressing against her lower back, and then he said, “Yes, a beautiful night when beautiful things can and should happen,” and he kissed the back of her neck.

Helen felt a spear of fierce desire pierce her and it seemed to come to rest in her clitoris. Her genitals became engorged and the top of her inner thighs were wet with her juice of love. She moved Brenton’s hands to cover her breasts with their swollen nipples, holding them there and pressing them so they caressed them.

Helen knew that this was the crucial moment. All she had longed for and she knew Brenton had longed for, could now take place. She also knew that once it had taken place their relationship would irrevocably change. Exactly what that change might mean for good or ill could only be known afterwards, and Helen saw it as a gamble. Would it be a few moments of sexual lust followed by a ruined mother and son bond, or would it mean a new and beautiful life for her and her son?

In response to Brenton and as if to test the situation she said, “It’s a night on which beautiful things can happen if two people really want them to.”

She felt Brenton’s hand leave her breasts. The thin straps of her night dress seemed to slip down her arms and then the whole nightdress was pooled round her feet.

Brenton said hoarsely, “Mother,” and his hands closed over her breasts again.

Helen could deny him nothing or herself for that natter herself. They had waited so long for this moment and she knew that the time of doubt and questioning was over. She pressed back against her son’s hard penis for a few moments and then turned in his arms to face him.

His penis now pressed against her lower stomach Helen put her arms round Brenton’s neck and drew his face to hers and kissed him. At first it was an inquiring kiss, as if asking, “Shall we go further,” but it quickly became a hot, wet tongue dancing kiss as mother and son, their bodies clinging to each other, slowly sank to the floor.

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