Incest Is the New Blac

"Looks like incest is the new black!" The woman across from Carmen Grey commented, spinning the gossip mag in her workmates direction.

Carmen stifled the laugh that tried to escape mid mouthful of her quinoa salad by placing a hand across her lips. Finally swallowing and examining the glossy cover.

"What are you talking about Barb?" She quizzed, reading the headline, the word 'scandal' emblazoned across a photo of a woman and an obviously much younger man kissing.

"Lauren Brooks. You know, the fashion model," Barb elaborated. "Seems she's been having an affair with her own son of all people. Can you imagine that?"

"Well it's none of our business," Carmen declared. "Honestly you can't believe anything you read in these magazines anyway."

"Hmm," Barb leaned over the table of the lunchroom and lowered her voice. "It's going around though," she whispered.

"What is?" Carmen joined in the whisper, unsure exactly why.

"Incest!" Barb affirmed. "Did you hear about Evelyn Parker upstairs in accounts? Remember that gorgeous young thing she brought on to help her with the update? Everyone knew they were having an affair."

"Cain I think his name was, yes, so?"

"He was her son!"

"No!" Carmen again raised her hand to her mouth, this time out of genuine surprise and slightly annoyed with herself for engaging in workplace gossip. "Really?"

Barb leaned back nodding her head. "He WAS beautiful though! Can't really blame her," she laughed.

"Barb!" Carmen scolded her friend but thought of the young man herself and the memory was pleasant.

"Your boy's nineteen now isn't he?" Barb commented after a moments silence between them.

Carmen immediately recognised what her friend was suggesting and nipped it in the bud.

"Don't even go there Barbara," she jokingly warned.

Barb feigned innocence but immediately gave the game away. "I just wish I'd had a son. A younger healthier version of my Donald around the house. Who knows what we'd get up to?"

"Oh Barb you're incorrigible," Carmen dismissed her but thought of her own home life. Husband passed away. Mother and adult son under the one roof. Neither having a current partner. She hurried the train of thought from her mind before it went any further.

"It just makes you wonder if they're all thinking it," Barb continued.

"What?"

"Men," Barb explained. "Do they all secretly want to sleep with their mothers?"

"I doubt it very much," Carmen decreed.

"Hmm," Barb licked her finger and flicked through the magazine. "I'd keep an eye on that boy of yours if I were you," she smirked.

"Oh stop it," Carmen shook her head smiling. Chuckling to herself at the ridiculous proposition. It WAS ridiculous. Preposterous. And as she finished her lunch and the women headed back to work, Carmen endeavoured to completely put it out of her mind.

But a seed had been planted.

*

Vince Grey gestured over the steering wheel to his acquaintance standing outside the 7 Eleven and the man entered the car on the passenger side.

"Yo, Vincent. I got it man," the character confirmed. "One Ounce. $250 just like we talked about."

"Sweet," Vince nodded, looking around the parking lot for evidence of anything out of the ordinary. "Money's in the glove compartment."

The man pulled a green cling wrapped parcel from his coat pocket and swapped it with the wad of bills folded inside the compartment and was gone as quick as he'd arrived.

Vincent pulled out into the traffic and headed home.

*

'Be home late,' Carmen glanced once more at the scrawled note stuck to the front of the fridge as she passed through the kitchen. She'd been disappointed that they'd again not be sharing an evening meal. They so rarely did these days, she pondered. It had been different once. When her husband was still alive. Every night without fail the family would dine together. Happy; in conversation. Vince had gone off the rails post his father's death. Minor run-ins with the law. Dabbling with drugs. But he'd promised that was behind him. He had a job, was avoiding the so-called friends that had been nothing but a bad influence. If only he could get a stable girlfriend, Carmen thought. Maybe that would settle his restless spirit?

She poured the last of the Shiraz into her glass and was surprised to see it empty, taking the bottle and placing it beside the backdoor for recycling. Catching her reflection in the glass of the door, the sight took her by surprise and she looked down at herself as she went back to her wine. It hadn't been a consciously planned decision to wear the nightie. A shower after work and seeing she'd have the house to herself, her attention was drawn to the rarely opened bottom drawer of her dresser and one of her more feminine garments. Just to feel a little special, she'd reasoned.

Her nipples had hardened when they contacted the lace of the bust. A slipperiness between her legs when she ran her hands down the white satin. She'd almost foregone panties altogether but seeing the dark shadow of her pubic hair through the thin material deemed it necessary to regain some modesty. A quick dinner alone and the bottle had seemingly opened itself. That she was now draining the last of the glass as she stood by herself in the starkly lit kitchen, probably shouldn't have come as that much of a surprise she figured.

*

Vince watched his mother through the glass of the back door place a bottle in the recycling. He had to go in, she'd most likely heard his car pull up. She'd be wondering what was taking him so long? Through the front door, he contemplated? No. That would be too out of the blue. She'd suspect he was up to something nefarious. The wrapped package of marijuana now seemed heavy in his hand; too large to fit in any of his pockets, he quickly adopted the next best option and placed it down the front of his pants as he unlocked the rear door of the house.

Carmen jumped when she heard the door open just as she'd rinsed out her wine glass and placed it on the drying tray. She'd not heard his car so the sudden appearance of her son was shocking but definitely not unwelcome.

"Hey Mom," Vince acknowledged her as he tried to make his way quickly across the kitchen toward the hallway.

Carmen turned to watch his progress, too quickly and her head spun under the influence of the wine, reaching behind to catch and steady herself against the sink.

"What, in a hurry for the toilet?" She enquired.

"No," Vince answered and immediately regretted it, not wanting to face her.

"Well sstop and talk to me, we never see each other," she slurred and blushed at her obvious inebriation. "Sit down I'll make us a hot chocolate," she quickly added pretending not to be drunk and giving her the ability to look away from her son, to hide her red face. And also to momentarily hide her body. She looked at the front of her nightie as she gripped the sink, the lace across her breasts, her nipples clearly visible. The robe she'd taken out and thrown on her bed now seemed so far away. Own it, she told herself. He's your son, he doesn't care what you're wearing. No matter how provocative.

'Sit,' Vince repeated in his head. She'd inadvertently thrown him a lifeline. Beneath the security of the table she'd have no idea what he was hiding in his pants and without looking over his shoulder, slinked sideways to ease onto a chair. Only then did he stare directly at her and register what in fact she wore.

He'd seen her in less. He guessed. At the pool obviously. But then there were always others around. Other women for him to concentrate on. Here and now his full attention was devoted to his mother. He didn't recognise the nightie, if that was in fact what it was called? Because as he took her in, the white satin taut across her back and buttocks, barely reaching her upper thighs, the term lingerie came to mind. Even more so when she turned and his eyes lazily crept up from her waist to her breasts. They're her nipples! I can see my mother's nipples, he marvelled.

"So how was work?" Carmen tried to make conversation as she steadied herself and looked at her son. Seated at the table, did his eyes at the last moment creep up from her breasts, she wondered?

"Work?"

"Yes. Isn't that why you were late. Working back?"

"Oh," Vince felt his cheeks blushing at the real reason for his absence and hoped she wouldn't see through the lie. "Yeah, work. It was good."

Oh my god, Carmen thought. He's blushing because he WAS looking at my breasts. Was it true what Barbara had said, all men do secretly want to sleep with their mothers? She headed to the fridge, aware that his eyes were on her and removed the milk. Was it a conscious decision to accentuate her ass as she did so, bending forward maybe a little too much, she pondered?

Vince watched his mother move from the fridge across to the stove. He hadn't needed to see her with the wine bottle to know she'd been drinking, her speech was enough to give the game away, but her movement was the clincher. The way she'd needed to hold onto the fridge door as she removed the milk, bending forward awkwardly. She obviously had no idea the action had revealed the transparent material hugging the curve of her buttocks, the cream colored gusset. On any other woman, under any other circumstances it would've been hot. At present, with the package of marijuana weighing heavily on his mind and in his pants, it was just making things more uncomfortable.

The hot chocolate was a good idea Carmen fathomed. She was drunker than expected and the milk would help sober her up she figured. Despite her state she was able to successfully put the milk on to heat and walked to the pantry to obtain the sugar and cocoa. Turning from the cupboard she eyed Vince, a hand beneath the table, eyes downward. Clearly manipulating himself she almost gasped at the connotations. The voice of Barbara rang in her ear. 'I'd keep an eye on that boy of yours..' Was it possible?

Her spoon found the cocoa jar empty and she headed back to the cupboard to find a refill. On the uppermost shelf she spied the unopened box and moved the two step stool into place to reach. If I climb up he'll see right under my slip, she thought and the idea excited her. He's watching me right now, she reasoned as she placed a foot on the bottom rung.

This was ridiculous, Vince thought. Why couldn't he just quickly nip into his bedroom and stash the package? His mother occupied, clearly drunk, she'd probably not even notice his absence for a few seconds anyway. He rose as she entered the pantry once more, admittedly he allowed his eyes to drift to her ass as she lifted a foot onto the stool, wondering if her bottom had always looked so good?

Carmen heard the chair move behind her. Oh god he's coming, she imagined. She rose onto the second rung and pictured what he could see from behind. Can he see my panties? She wondered. Suddenly, unbelievably she wished she'd indeed not worn them to begin with, the thought making her lightheaded.

Vince kept an eye on her as he quickly crossed the room, the back of her creamy thighs as she rose onto the second rung and then her obvious unbalance. Was she about to fall?

Carmen retained a hold on the shelf before her as her head swum with images of Vincent, the magazine cover, the talk of incest and then she felt it, the strong hands on her hips.

It was a split second decision to go to her. To momentarily forget the contraband and prevent a possible accident. "Careful Mom," he suggested as his hands gripped her sides, the satin silky beneath his fingers, her flesh warm. "You almost fell."

Carmen's breath was taken away at his touch. She dropped a hand upon his own for reassurance as she felt him coax her backwards off the stool, wishing he'd circle them around her body to touch her sex, her breasts.

"Oh," she sighed as once again her feet hit the floor. "I guess I've had more than I thought," she stated as she turned to face her son, disappointed his touch no longer remained.

So close they stood together in the confines of the walk-in pantry. She could feel the heat of his body, the presence of his absent hands lingering.

"I'll get it," Vince proclaimed, rising up onto the bottom rung. "Was it the cocoa?"

Carmen barely heard the question. Her mind, her eyes were elsewhere. As her son stood up on the top of the step-ladder, his groin came level with her face and she saw it. The evidence. Unmistakable. His affection, his desire, there for her to see. And didn't it look impressive. The bulge pressing out the front of his jeans. His hardness a declaration of his love for her, of a son for his mother.

"Oh god it's true!" Carmen finally exhaled.

"What?" Vince looked down at his mother, shocked to see where her eyes alighted. "Oh Mom, I'm sorry."

"No don't be Darling. It's wonderful," she extolled. "We spoke about it at work. It's in the magazines."

Vince climbed down from the ladder, confused by her words as he moved his hand to the waist of his pants, his mother's eyes following his actions.

"Yes Baby get it out. Show it to Mommy," Carmen breathed, feeling the slick seeping through her underwear. She watched Vince place his hand down his pants, why didn't he just unbutton, she wondered? No matter, he wanted her and she him. It was true, all of it.

And then he removed his hand containing the cling wrapped marijuana.

"What's that!?" The excitement, all heat was taken from her intonation.

"I said I'm sorry," Vince once again apologised, in the moment misreading all the signals of the last minute.

"Is that..is that pot?" Carmen took a step back, as confused as her son by what had just occurred.

"Um yeah, I thought you knew," Vince replied now more perplexed. "You said you were talking about it at work or something."

The sound of the milk boiling caught Carmen's ear and thankfully she was able to extricate herself from the pantry, turning her burning face from her son.

"Oh yes of course I knew," she scrambled to cover her actions, her words. Turning off the milk she felt Vince exiting the pantry. "That's what I was saying. That it's wonderful that it's essentially legal now," she covered.

"Ah yeah," Vince agreed. "I just...I thought you'd be upset. My promise and everything."

Carmen felt humiliated. She didn't dare look him in the eye lest he see through her charade.

"Oh no it's fine," she lied. "Actually I don't really feel like that hot chocolate anymore. I think I might just go to bed."

Vince stood in the middle of the kitchen and watched her. He could see the blush that had spread from her face down to her neck and as she turned to head past him, to her breast.

"Would you mind cleaning up in here Darling?" Carmen asked as she hurried from the room, barely maintaining her mask of composure. "I need to sleep, I've really had far too much to..." She left without even bothering to finish the sentence.

"Yeah of course," Vince watched her progress until she was out of the room. It was only then the questions arose.

He sat back at the table and looked into the pantry. What the fuck had just happened? He wondered. How did she know he had the dope in his pants? Why wasn't she upset about him bringing drugs back into the house after all that had happened in the past? All of his promises. He again looked at the step ladder. Thought of her ass as she bent at the fridge. Her nipples. Oh Jesus Christ, Vince reasoned. She didn't know! So what did she want to see in his pants? He questioned himself and the answer slapped him across the face. "Oh my god!" Vince spoke to the empty room.

*

If Carmen had had a worse nights sleep in her life, she couldn't recall it. For hours she sat up in bed listening for any sign of Vince. Did he understand what had happened? Did he see through her veneer? How could he not? Her face blushed every time she recalled her own words. 'Get it out. Show it to Mommy.' What else but his cock would she be talking about? The drugs. She cared not. Pot. How much different was it to alcohol really? She'd even smoked it herself in college. At least it wasn't anything harder. Harder. The word stuck in her mind and amid the humiliation she was at least able to laugh. Oh God, she mocked herself. It had definitely looked like an erection. It looked exactly like her son had a hard-on. A hard-on given to him by his mother.

All night he debated going to her. Entering her room and then...what? He had no idea what would happen. It was impossible to believe she'd been flirting, but then what was with the satin slip and the provocative gestures? What had she said? He tried to recall the exact words, hazy upon reflection. 'Pull it out, give it to Mommy,' or something like that. That was sexual, of this there could be no doubt and even as he repeated them in his head his cock agreed, hardening to the memory. He stopped short of masturbating. What are you doing Vincent? He asked himself. She's your mother. But as he awoke the following morning from a sleep he thought would never have come, his first thoughts and his morning erection were devoted to her.

*

At the first sign of light, Carmen was out of her sleepless bed. One hour earlier than usual she entered her bathroom and freshened up before dressing for work. Attempting to remain as quiet as possible she silently cursed herself for forgetting to do the laundry the night before, her underwear drawer devoid of panties. There's always the bottom drawer, she reminded herself of her sexy, rarely worn attire but images of the night before flooded back and she chose against. Tugging tan pantyhose from the dresser she fell back on the bed. I suppose I can go without panties for one day, she reasoned.

None of the normal noises had preempted the sound of his mother's car starting up and leaving the drive. The house gave away every secret, he'd heard no shower; she didn't even have breakfast. It was a disappointment. In his head he'd come up with scenarios, their hands meeting in the sink as they did the dishes together leading to them kissing, fucking on the dining table. Walking in on her in the toilet. That in particular had his cock granite-like. His mother seated, legs splayed as she masturbated him, took him in her mouth. He came upon his chest as his alarm went off; a metaphorical reality check. This is the real world Vincent, he told himself. Your mother doesn't want to fuck you.

*

Carmen volunteered to work late.

She hated what she was doing but the thought of facing him again had her red faced, her heart rate skyrocketing. It was ridiculous she knew. Delaying the inevitable. But every time she imagined what he may be thinking of her, it was worst case scenario. He'll think me disgusting. A freak. She saw herself on that programme, what was it? She asked herself. Jerry Singer, Springer? The audience booing her for attempting to seduce her own son.

"What are you still doing here?" The voice came from over her shoulder. "It's 7:30 Carmen," her manager spoke as she swivelled in her chair. "Go home to your family."

The words were a wake up call. Vincent wouldn't hate her. He was her little man, her son. A part of her. Who knows, she thought. Maybe he thinks I really WAS talking about his pot!

*

Sheepishly she unlocked the back door and entered the house. Well after 8pm, the heartening smell of cooking still lingered in the kitchen but no human presence remained. His car was in the driveway which was strange for a Friday night she thought but he wasn't in the living room and his door shut, she resigned to allow the confrontation to be delayed at least a little longer.

He would be aware she was home, she knew that. The walls of the house were like paper and as she returned to the kitchen the sound of his door opening came to her ears. A deep breath and she turned to face him.