Her hand went to the groin of his brown tweed pants, obviously finding him hard. There was no real surprise on his behalf when she raised her dress and climbed upon his lap. The sex perfunctory, almost without passion as she seemingly brought herself to orgasm. "Did you cum?" The woman asked him and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat thankful the relative darkness of the cinema obscured my blushing face.
Onscreen the actress stroked her son to climax. Nothing was shown of course but the implication was graphic nonetheless. The movie was pretty bad, the subject matter uncomfortable at best, but it didn't prevent me from getting an erection, and considering the circumstances that fact alone was embarrassing to say the least.
The scene ended and from the corner of my eye I attempted to look at my mother seated next to me in the theatre. Was she as uncomfortable as me, I wondered? How could she not? An onscreen mother and son engaged in an incestuous relationship. The movie poster suggested nothing of the sort. Julianne Moore, that Eddie...something guy from, I don't know...stuff! It had looked so legit.
The strange thought arose in my mind. Did Mom know? She certainly hadn't acted as if she had I recalled from our conversation in the foyer, surveying the posters and session times to decide upon what we'd see. My cock was in a terrible position, desperately needing to be re-adjusted and ever so casually I moved a hand down from the armrest to my groin. Did Mom's gaze follow? I delayed moving my hard-on despite the urgent need in case she suspected something. What? I reasoned. That I was going to get out my cock and masturbate in a semi crowded theatre to mother and son incest?
I scoffed at my thought process and moved my dick to a far more comfortable position just as Mom leaned into my ear. Oh no! I thought. She's seen it. She's noticed how turned on I'd become by the film and was about to chastise me. An entirely different scenario entered my head. No. She wants to touch it. The movie awakened something in her and she wants to fuck me. Jerk me off me just as had been done in the movie. Mere milliseconds passed as my brain predicted the future. I should learn to never listen to my brain.
"Can you pass the popcorn?" Mom breathed into my ear, coming up with a third scenario that I hadn't even fathomed. Idiot.
"Oh, yeah," I whispered back, passing the box across from the opposite armrest to her.
She hadn't seen my erection. Probably hadn't even noticed my hand go down to move it. And why? Because she was a normal person, not a sexually frustrated twenty one year old obsessing about fake onscreen relationships. I bet Mom hadn't equated the characters in the movie to our own relationship at all.
Or had she?
Losing interest in the plot I ran my own fantasies through my head. That old chestnut of putting a hole in the bottom of the popcorn box; inserting my cock. Mom's hand reaching in and finding my dick. Hard. Hard for her. Jesus. What was I thinking? One, (well, a few) scenes of incest in a film and now I'm fantasising about my own mother. Cut it out Lincoln, I told myself. But the feeling of her breath beside my ear remained. The goosebumps it had given me. I placed my left arm back up on the armrest and it connected with hers. She didn't pull away. My hard-on remained.
*
"Well that was..." Mom tried to critique the movie as we walked back to the car in the Tuesday night darkness.
"Yeah, I know," I understood her difficulty, thankful it hadn't been me that had ultimately decided to choose the film.
"I mean it was Julianne Moore," Mom added. "I thought it might have been good."
"Oh well, we'll know better next time," I concluded, thinking it wise to put the film in our past. Possibly to never mention it again!
"There might not be able to be a 'next time,' for a while," Mom stated and I looked at her out of curiosity.
"What are you talking about?"
"The salon," she began. "The new owners are making an announcement tomorrow. There's going to be changes apparently."
"What does that mean?" I asked as we came to our car, Mom stopping on the driver's side and looking across to me before we entered.
"I can only think job cuts," she admitted. "Maybe less hours at best."
"What? They cant get rid of you, you've been there forever," I acknowledged. "Anyway, I'm bringing in pretty good money at the moment, there's no need to stop movie night."
She smiled as we entered the car. "I'm not having my son pay for me like a date," she laughed and considering that we'd just sat through two hours of mom/son incest, the words hung heavy in the interior of the vehicle.
In future I would choose my own words more carefully but in an attempt to be, I don't know, funny? Carefree? Non-plussed? I responded quicker than I should've.
"Hey, I wouldn't expect you to sleep with me or anything!" I stated and immediately felt my face redden.
Mom laughed in response but it seemed to be more out of impulse than actual humour and unfortunately didn't say another word as we drove from the parking lot.
The silence was becoming uncomfortable and I reached for the radio to provide a distraction, another minute going by before either of us spoke.
"It WAS a bad film wasn't it!?" She stated and her comment told me she'd equated my retort to the movie. She was thinking about us, them.
"Hey you picked it," I challenged and she again laughed.
"Hmm, I did didn't I?" She admitted. "I read a review that said it was ok," she added, justifying her decision and it told me a whole lot more than I assume she cared to relay.
So she must have know there was an incestuous relationship between a mother and her son as a plot line. What review would leave that out, seriously? Again I began with the fantasies. Mom was 48 (I think.). Was it wrong to not know my Mom's age for certain, I wondered? Nevertheless, not dissimilar to the woman in the film. As attractive. Well I certainly thought so. I mean up until that minute I hadn't been looking at her as an object of desire but now I thought of it, she would definitely be considered good looking. She was single and as far as I knew wasn't looking for that to change. My father had turned her off relationships, I knew, and couldn't blame her, and certainly showed me how not to treat a woman you supposedly love.
We stopped at the lights and intimating I was looking at something out the drivers side window, I instead looked at Mom. Her hair tied back in a ponytail, still in the white loose pants and matching shirt from work, a jacket thrown over the top. She was, 'average' I figured. I reasoned she'd not look out of place in a library, long fitting grey skirt, possibly over black, no, tan pantyhose. A white silk blouse maybe? Pearls. Black rimmed glasses and hair tied back as it was. I imagined her below me. Smiling up at me as I came upon her face, over her glasses. Jesus Christ, I almost gasped as I felt my cock once again stirring. Mom looked across to me before the lights changed and caught me staring at her, my eyes immediately darting away like the guilty party I was.
She said nothing.
*
I wouldn't say I hated myself for it, but I definitely felt ashamed at what I pictured that night as I masturbated myself to sleep. Stepping into the shower with her and offering to wash her back. It was all so innocent, the by-play between us in my mind. So natural that I found myself with her under the flow of water. My hands travelled her body, soaping her ass, her breasts. In my mind her pubic bone was hirsute, my fingers delving between her legs. She took me in her hand and as I wanked myself in bed, it was her that brought me to orgasm. Kissing me. Licking from her fingers the cum she'd extracted. Forcing me downwards to taste her.
As I came upon my stomach I immediately banished the fantasy from my head. So unhealthy I thought. It wasn't in anyones interest to let this impossibility nurture. It was the real world, not some fiction. Enough with the incest already, I told myself. And deemed to obey.
That lasted a day.
*
