I adored my son. He was all I had left, my husband, his father, having succumbed to cancer after a brief but hard fought fight against it the previous year. Davy had been a miracle baby, we'd married young and both of us wanting children, tried for years to have a baby without success, somehow I just couldn't conceive, then had gone down the IVF route, each course failing until finally on the very last attempt it had taken and I was pregnant, with twins!
Sadly, despite my husband wrapping me in cotton wool, one twin was not viable and so only Davy was born. I adored him from birth as did my husband. He watched me feed him one day, sucking ravenously at my breast, "Just like his father," he said, "a tit man!" And now he was gone leaving just Davy, now eighteen, and me.
He had finished school and had nervously waited for his results to confirm his entry into University, although there was never really any doubt that he would be accepted. He'd proven to be everything we had hoped he'd be, bright, personable and good at sports and it was with huge sadness I realised that my husband would never see his full potential realised.
We sat together one day and it suddenly hit me that soon my boy would be setting off into the adult world to fend for himself. I'd given birth to him, suckled him and raised him, nursing him through his childhood illnesses, his teen angst and now it was time for the fledgling to leave the nest. Not that he was a Mummy's boy, fiercely independent, standing six foot two with blond hair and blue eyes just like his father.
Out of the blue an idea hit me, "Why don't we have one last hurrah Davy, let's go somewhere, a holiday together before you leave me for good."
"Oh come on Mum, it's not for ever, I'll always be around, you know that, but a holiday together sounds great. Where?"
"Wherever you want."
"How about camping in the South of France, I loved those holidays we had there with Dad. Oh sorry Mum, I didn't mean to upset you, I miss him too."
"You'll never upset me by talking about your Dad, it's only by talking about him that we'll keep his memory alive. South of France it is, we can dig out the old tent and everything and have a wonderful time."
So it was that a few weeks later we were bowling down a French motorway, the estate car full of camping gear and clothes, heading for warmer climes. We were going to an old favourite site near Beziers and were both looking forward to rekindling old memories and creating new ones. It was a long drive and we'd decided to stop off in a hotel on the way, sharing a family room.
It was comfortable, with two large double beds and we settled in after dinner to rest after the drive. I went into the bathroom first and peed, brushed my teeth and changed into my comfortable night attire, panties and a baggy tee shirt. I came out and let Davy go in as I got into my bed. When he emerged he was bare chested and I couldn't help but admire his developed physique. He turned away from me and dropped his trousers and in just his boxer shorts got into his bed. "Night Mum," he said as I turned off the light.
I struggled to sleep, my brain still travelling at 110 kph and I lay there still, trying to relax, controlling my breathing to a slow regular intake and exhalation of air. Still sleep didn't come, and my ears picked up a rustling from the bed next to me, a rhythmical rustling of sheets. Suddenly I realised what it was, my son was masturbating.
I wasn't sure what to do, make a noise to show I was still awake or just lie there. I chose the latter and lay still, but my body started to betray me and I found I was getting a bit turned on by the knowledge of what he was doing. Of course I knew he masturbated, what 18 year old didn't, especially a boy. I'd seen enough evidence of it on his sheets to be certain.
My hand crept down to my panties and stroked gently, just as with a grunt the noise stopped and all was quiet. Fearful of my own activity being discovered I reluctantly stopped as I heard my son's breathing take on a different rhythm as he went to sleep.
I must have followed shortly afterwards as the next thing I knew it was daylight and time to stir. I got out of bed and peered at Davy who seemed to be still asleep. I crept quietly into the bathroom and showered, realising as I finished that I had no clothes with me and would have to go back into the bedroom to get dressed. We'd never been prudes in our house, but I didn't feel particularly comfortable about being naked in the same room as my son, and wondered how we'd manage.
I came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped round me, covering me as best I could, to see Davy sitting up in bed. "Morning Mum, glad you've finished, I can get in there now. You can get dressed while I shower." With that he sprang out of bed and strode into the bathroom closing the door behind him.
There was a familiar smell in the room and I sniffed. Spunk! My son had been masturbating again! I confirmed my suspicions with a sneaky look at his sheets, seeing the wet cum marks. Just like his father, I thought, horny as hell in the mornings. I was dressed by the time Davy came out, going back in ostensibly to dry my hair, to allow him to dress.
We were soon back on the road arriving at the campsite late afternoon, and were guided to our pitch. We got stiffly out of the car, well I did, Davy leaping out as excited as a young puppy and was soon busy putting the tent up. It looked a bit shabby compared to some of the others, but it had served us well over the years. It had two bedrooms connected by an open area, more of an awning actually, and we'd brought inflatable mattresses to sleep on and sleeping bags to keep us warm, as we knew from experience the evenings could be chilly.
Finished we set off in search of a drink and some sustenance, finding a nice looking bar. I settled back to enjoy my first holiday glass of wine, one of many I hoped, and Davy had a beer. Although he was only just eighteen he drank it like a more seasoned drinker, and I remembered my days of underage drinking, believing I'd kept it secret from my parents only realising much later that they knew all about it. We parents knew much more than our offspring thought we did!
It was getting late and we made our way back to the tent, and having stayed for perhaps one too many glasses, we were in a jovial mood. Davy unzipped his doorway and went in as I did the same, coming back out holding a box of tissues that I took to his doorway. "Here Davy, you'd better have these in your room."
He looked blankly at me, "What for Mum?"
"To save the mess when you have a wank." It was only as the words came out that I realised I should perhaps have been a little less forthright. "Come on Davy, I know you like to masturbate, all boys do, hell we all do, even me." Again my mouth was running faster than my brain.
"Thanks Mum!" was all he could manage as sheepishly he took them from me and wished me goodnight.
I was pretty tired and slept well, even on the inflatable mattress which was a bit like being on a boat and made a farting noise when you turned over, and I woke up feeling ready for my holiday. I rolled off the mattress, and dressed in just my baggy night shirt and panties made some tea on the camping stove. I had no intention using it for anything other than tea and snacks, but I did need my tea first thing in the morning. I made Davy one and called out to him, "Are you awake and decent Davy?"
"I am Mum, come in." I unzipped the door and saw him lying in his sleeping bag, also taking in the little bundle of tissues beside him. "Thanks Mum, first requirement of the day, a cup of tea!" Not quite I thought as I caught his eyes staring at my wobbling breasts and exposed legs.
We found the shower blocks and separated, finding they had been updated since our last visit with more individual cubicles, then going in search of breakfast, freshly baked croissants and French coffee, one of the finest ways to start the day.
We changed into our swimwear and found the pool. I had on a one piece, not sure enough of my figure to wear a bikini, and was pleased to see a mixture of types at the pool, About half the women were topless, as was the custom in France and I was amused to see Davy's eyes standing out as if on stalks. He'd been much younger when we'd last been here and with his hormones now raging I guessed he was going to have a great time "tit-spotting" as his father used to call it. He immediately jumped into the pool and I suspect it was more to cover his erection than any desire to swim.
He seemed to settle down and we slapped sun cream on ourselves and each other and lay back to enjoy the day. It was a lovely lazy day and I enjoyed it immensely, my mind going wonderfully blank. Davy wandered off a couple of times, just like that young puppy although a suspicious mind might have thought he was finding some relief, not just from the sun.
We had a pleasant evening, drinking less than the evening before and settled down for the night. I lay there allowing sleep to take me away and found myself slowly rubbing at the front of my panties and before I realised it I was masturbating furiously, my hand rammed down inside my knickers, two fingers deep inside my pussy. I came hard, my hips bucking violently as I tried to stifle my cries, hoping that Davy hadn't heard them or the farting coming from the mattress. After that I slept like a log.
A cup of tea for both of us in the morning, but we'd decided to shower in the evenings to wash the sun cream off so had breakfast and set off for the day. We'd agreed to head for the beach, a walk though trees and scrubland of about ten minutes. The beach was as I'd remembered, sandy and open and it was pretty crowded. Nearly all the women here were topless I noticed, as did Davy. We creamed up and settled down. I saw a load of young people Davy's age playing volley ball and told him that I didn't expect him to stay with me all the time, he should find some people his own age to hang out with. He wandered over to them and was soon heavily engaged in the game.
