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“For the hundredth time,” Fay said, exasperated, “we’re not going to crash! Stop looking up airplane statistics and turn your dratted phone off.”
“Mum!” Tom sounded aggrieved. They were sitting in First Class on a BA flight from London Heathrow to Orlando International Airport, and they hadn’t even taken off yet. “Did you know that when a plane crashes you’re almost a hundred per cent likely to die? Horribly?”
If her son had been eight instead of eighteen she would have smacked his bottom and told him he wasn’t allowed to go to Disneyland. But he wasn’t a child anymore. So she’d just have to reason with him instead. If that reasoning had a hectoring tone, well, so be it.
“I kept telling you that watching Air Crash Investigation before your first ever plane journey was a bad idea. Here’s a statistic for you – you’re more likely to die in a car crash than in an airplane. Have you died yet?”
Tom smiled. He had a cute smile. “No, Mum.”
“Well, then.” She sniffed, mollified. “Now turn your phone off and put it away before one of the trolley dollies has a go.”
“This is the twenty-first century,” he said, powering the device down and putting it in his pocket. “You can’t call them that anymore.”
“Oh, excuse me.” Fay’s contrition was exaggerated. “I happen to come from a generation that still refers to them as trolley dollies.”
Tom burst into laughter. “What generation? Nanna might have called them that, but you’re only forty!”
Fay’s laughter joined her son’s. “Smooth talker. Remind me to up your pocket money.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “You haven’t given me pocket money since I was fourteen and got a paper round.”
“There you go, then.” She patted his knee and settled back in the seat. “Something is better than nothing, right?”
“My mother, the last of the big spenders.” He threw his hands up in mock exasperation.
The Captain’s voice came over the intercom and minutes later the plane was moving. Tom’s ghoulish fascination with plane crashes vanished. His good humour vanished. He almost vanished himself; sinking back into the seat, hands clenching the arm rests, face as pale as a sheet. Fay’s forehead creased in a sympathetic frown.
“Why don’t you try to sleep?” she suggested.
“Yeah. Sleep. Good idea.”
Fay woke from a light doze a few hours later. The First Class compartment was dim, the lighting lowered as they flew through the night. She innovia escort was so glad she’d decided not to go cattle class. Half the seats here were empty. Their nearest neighbours were two rows ahead. They were virtually alone.
Tom really was going to Disneyland. He and his best friend had both turned eighteen less than two weeks ago, so to celebrate leaving their childhood behind they were going to embrace it one last time. That, apparently, meant hitting on Cinderella, taking the ‘It’s a Small World’ ride until their brains bled out through their ears, and buying goofy stuffed toys. Fay didn’t mind. She’d managed to combine it with a business trip to Orlando, knowing it was his first time on a plane and remembering just how damned nervous she’d been during her own first flight years ago.
Tom finally drifted into a fitful sleep. She watched him now. He’d grown into a beautiful young man, and in just a few years’ time he was going to be devastating. Sleepy dark eyes, a broad chin and tousled black hair. His cheeks were smooth. He’d tried to grow a beard but, like his father – who’d left them years ago – he’d never look good with facial hair.
The plane shuddered – they’d hit a pocket of air or, perhaps, a UFO. Tom snapped awake and once more resumed his white-knuckled death grip on the arms of his seat.
“Relax,” Fay soothed. “We must be halfway there by now. Just go back to sleep.”
“Sleep?” There was a touch of hysteria in his hoarse whisper. “How the hell am I supposed to sleep when we’re thirty-five thousand feet up in the air, and there’s nothing between us and the Atlantic Ocean except a few metres of metal and plastic?”
“That’s enough.” Fay’s voice was firm. “Calm down.”
But even though he kept his mouth shut, she could see he wasn’t going to calm. His lips were a thin white line in his face. His knuckles were so tight she could see the outline of cartilage.
He needs to let off some steam, Fay thought, glancing at him sideways. Her mind flashed back to a similar plane journey, years ago, when she and her mother – Tom’s Nanna – had flown with her brother Peter. Thinking Fay had been asleep, Nanna had helped Pete relieve his stress by masturbating him under a blanket.
Fay hadn’t thought about that in years. But it popped into her mind now, the memory as clear and fresh as if it had happened yesterday rather than over two decades ago. More istanbul escort than that – it brought with it a wave of arousal that made her press her legs together.
In the privacy of her mind she wondered now if her mother and brother had been sleeping together. The idea of it should have shocked her – should have revolted her – but she felt none of those emotions. Her mother had loved them both, showing it every day in the way she cared for them, the way she worked her fingers to the bone to provide. She’d scrimped and saved and gone without to send them both to University. It didn’t seem wrong to her that they might have had a sexual relationship. It would have been a natural extension of their love. And what two consenting adults got up to was nobody’s business but their own.
If they’d slept together then… were they still sleeping together now? Pete was two years older than her. Their mother was only in her sixties, still a fit, active and attractive woman.
Moisture pooled between her legs.
Could she touch her son the way her mother had touched Pete, so intimately? Could she cross that barrier?
She looked at his face. Tense. Drawn. Terrified. To calm her boy, to ease his fears, she would do anything.
When a trolley dolly – sorry, flight attendant – wandered past, Fay asked for a couple of blankets. The young woman smiled (revealing sparkling teeth and unconsciously thrusting her breasts forward) and returned with two red blankets. Fay thanked her and the woman departed.
“I know what you need,” she murmured to her son, arranging the blankets over them both. This was how her mother had done it.
“Couple of Valium?” Tom half-joked between clenched teeth.
“I know a completely natural remedy.”
Tom, perhaps catching something unusual in his mother’s tone of voice, looked at her. The look turned to a startled stare when, under the blankets, her fingertips ghosted over his thigh.
“Shush,” she said. “Do you trust me?”
“O-of course I do,” he stammered.
Fay stroked his thigh. No way to take it back now, she thought as she cupped his crotch through his jeans, even if I wanted to – which I don’t.
Tom stiffened in more ways than one. Even as blood rushed to his cock, hardening into an erection, tension ran through his frame. His eyes flicked wildly from her lips to her breasts and back again, kadıköy escort finally locking with her own eyes.
She stroked his bulge, estimating how big he might be. Maybe bigger than her ex-husband, though of course size wasn’t everything. Tom gulped. Slowly she worked at the metal button of his jeans, pushing it through the buttonhole, then eased his zip down. The tented material of his boxers met her exploring hand. The heat coming from his crotch was immense, as was the heat coming from his gaze as his eyes bored into hers.
Feeling suddenly wanton she licked her lips. Tom fastened on the movement, so she did it again. His cock twitched under her hand.
“Mum.” His whisper was hoarse. Then, “Mummy.”
Her clitoris throbbed. God, how she liked that, and from the way his cock strained to her touch, so did he.
She eased her hand inside his boxers and finally wrapped her fingers around his shaft. His skin was silky smooth, a small dusting of coarse hair covering his tightened balls.
She stroked her thumb over his slit. Tom jerked, biting back a hiss of pleasure, hands clamped on the armrests.
“You like that?” she whispered. Her thumb came away wet. She spread moisture along his shaft, stroking him with firm, practiced movements.
“Call me Mummy.”
He was staring at her breasts again. Her nipples had hardened. She teased one peak with her finger before dropping her hand; she couldn’t afford to get too distracted. Not here. Not now.
Under cover of the blankets she stroked her son’s cock, watching the way he came apart. His head tilted back even as his hips thrust forward, fucking the heated sheath of her hand. His mouth dropped open. He was panting and trying to be quiet about it. It wouldn’t be long now. She spread his pre-come around, slickening his skin, increasing the lubrication as she stroked him faster, pumping his cock.
Tom’s teeth were barred in a silent snarl, his eyes screwed shut. Seconds later he came, his hot, wet spunk splattering her hand. Her strokes slowed and stopped as he slumped against the seat.
She passed him a tissue but, still feeling a touch of the Devil in her, didn’t wipe her hand. Instead she licked it clean. Her son’s come was salty and tangy and, she decided, her new favourite thing.
His panting breaths slowed to normal. His eyelids fluttered.
“Do your jeans up, love.” Ever the mother. She knew they had to talk about what had just happened – what might happen in the future – but for now all she wanted was for him to sleep.
“Thanks, Mum… Mummy,” he whispered. As he dropped into relaxed slumber she leaned close and kissed his cheek.
To be continued…
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