It had been a bad week, the worst ever. Every time James thought of what had happened he was consumed with a mixture of shame and anger. He no longer talked to his mother. Sometimes it was more than he could stand to be in the same room -the same house- with her. He knew that she wanted to talk about it, sometimes she cried and begged, but unable to trust himself he deliberately kept his distance.
He could hear her vacuuming downstairs now as he masturbated over the gleaming wash basin in the bathroom. Sometimes he stroked two or three times a day since it happened. In some ways it seemed to relieve the feelings of anger and shame he felt. In other ways it seemed to make things worse.
He climaxed quickly and gripped the side of the basin with his free hand as his orgasm tore through him. His cum spattered wetly into the basin as he kept stroking. He gasped through clenched teeth as his cock spasmed again and his hips jerked.
When it was over he looked down at the thick blobs of cum in the basin. He didn't run the water to wash it away but left it there and went back to his bedroom.
-Fuck her, he thought, still angry, still confused. Nothing was resolved.
He sat on his bed and looked out of the window. It was raining and he watched the water run down the glass. One rain drop joining the next one, running into each other, getting bigger and slowly trickling down. Like thoughts and worries slowly getting bigger.
When people wrote about incest they never mentioned the mental anguish it caused. Now he sat on his bed thinking, alternately hating and then not hating his mother. He was nineteen, confused and emotional. It was futile to try and think of anything else. He'd tried but it didn't work. The same thoughts kept returning. There seemed no way to stop them.
He heard the sound of the vaccum cleaner whine down to nothing, the closet door closing as she put it away. There was silence then. The atmosphere the last week seemed as charged with slowly building tension as the still, heavy air before a cataclysmic thunder storm.
His bedroom was small and untidy, gloomy in the half light of a wet and miserable afternoon. He continued to stare at the window when he heard his mother's footsteps on the stairs, the creak of the loose board on the landing, and the bathroom door closing as she pulled it shut behind her.
There was silence again but for the light patter of rain on the sill. He wanted her to see his cum in the basin and understand why he'd left it there. He imagined her standing there and looking at it glistening thickly. He wanted her to be hurt.
Long minutes passed. It was impossible to know how many. Time had ceased to be something that could be measured. One minute was an eternity filled with a thousand troubled thoughts.
He didn't hear her cross the landing but he saw his bedroom door open from the corner of his eye. He saw her familiar shape without turning his head, felt her presence and the sadness she brought without having to look at her.
She moved a little. He could feel her watching him and knew when she leaned wearily against the door frame.
He watched one fat raindrop join the one below it and begin its spastic zig-zag journey down the window as another eternity passed.
"-I liked it, okay?" his mother whispered. "God help me, I liked it. I can't help the way I feel."
James said nothing but he felt his anger and shame growing.
She moved again and this time he was compelled to look at her.
She'd slipped down the doorframe and she was sitting dejectedly on the floor with her legs folded under her, half in and half out of his room. She was crying soundlessly and not looking at him but staring along the landing towards the stairs. Her fingers picked at the old, dark blue skirt she wore around the house. Her grey T-shirt was paint spotted. Her legs were bare, her shoulder length hair untidy.
"It wasn't just me. It wasn't just my fault," she whispered insistently.
She turned her head to look at him. There was pain in her eyes. Her attractive, careworn face revealed the anguish she felt.
"You liked it," he repeated. The words felt dead as soon as they left his lips. He didn't want to look at her but he couldn't turn away.
"I know what you're thinking," she began, "-but it's not like that, James. It's not dirty... " A new light came into her eyes, passionate defiance. "People don't know. You don't know... but I did, I liked it. I don't care..."
James stood up suddenly. He didn't know what he was going to say or do but one moment he was sitting on his bed and the next he was on his feet and glaring down at her.
"-Don't look at me like that. Don't you look at me like that," she said, her voice rising. She rose to her knees and turned towards him and reached out both hands. "Please, James.. You don't understand. I can't stand the way things are now. It just happened, that's all, but I'm glad it did. I wanted to. I still want to..."
There were tears in her eyes as she stretched her arms towards him and James found himself reaching for her clutching fingers but not to hold them. He grabbed her wrists instead and dragged her roughly to her feet then moved his grip to the fleshy part of her arms and shook her.
"You liked it?" he shouted in her face. "-YOU LIKED IT?"
He shook her and she cried. Her hair fell across her face. The tears on her cheeks ran a truer course than the raindrops on the window.
"God help me, I did," she moaned and then somehow James was turning her around, manhandling her towards his bed.
He sat down and pulled her down over his knees. He wasn't thinking, only reacting.
She screamed his name and tried to stop him but he held her in place and began to spank her. The only thought in his head was to make her suffer and he spanked her hard as she shouted and begged him to stop and kicked her thick legs.
"-James please... Stop it! -Stop it!" Her voice rose as she continued to struggle.
He didn't want to stop and wasn't ready to stop and when he saw that her skirt had risen up he yanked it higher to expose her plain white panties and redoubled his efforts.
The sound of his hand was loud and her fleshy bottom shook as she kicked her legs. It was only when she began to slip to the floor and he could no longer hold her that he stopped.
He was breathing fast then, looking down at her as she lay sobbing on the floor at his feet. Her panties were still showing as she raised her tear stained face to look at him.
"-I don't care what you do," she sobbed. "I won't take it back. I'm glad it happened..."
"-Don't say that!" he yelled.
"I won't take it back. I don't care."
Her hair hung across her face and she made no move to adjust her skirt and before James knew what he intended to do he was on his knees beside her. He pushed her onto her back and knelt astride her. He held her jaw and leaned over her, his face inches from her own.
"-Don't say it anymore."
He was trembling now. He didn't know what he was doing.
"James, don't hate me," she whispered. She reached to touch his face but he slapped her hand away.
"You liked it," he said again. It seemed the only thought in his mind, the only thing he could say.
He dragged up her T-shirt and tugged it up over her breasts as she watched him. He exposed her white lace bra and put a hand on each full breast and made claws of his fingers as he squeezed them.
"What did you like best?" he said, but she didn't answer, and he began to massage her breasts. He hooked his fingers beneath her bra and prised it up over her breasts and began to caress her again. He found her nipples and pinched and pulled them.
"Is this what you liked?" he whispered. He was breathing fast now. His cock was hard again. He held her nipples and pinched harder watching her face as she lay passive beneath him.
"I don't care what you do. I love you," she told him.
"You don't care?" he panted. "Okay.. so you don't care..."
