The following story is strongly influenced by the pulp erotica of the 1950's and 1960's, an era where authors had limitations on how explicit they could be in their descriptions of scandalous sex. This story is told from the perspective of people who witnessed an incestuous relationship between a mother and son over a period of decades. The two principal characters do not tell their side of the story. For this reason the story is less explicit than most stories published on this site.
All characters in this story are over eighteen.
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Mayor Michael Deitz: When the story of Rebecca Siebert and her son, Allan, went viral two years ago it brought a whole lot of unwanted attention to our small town. Incest is a sensitive topic around here. Our town was founded in the 1800's as a German speaking settlement. The language barrier and the physical distance from larger towns in the days before automobiles limited contact with people outside our community. Up until two generations ago marriage between first cousins was common. After World War II things began to change. First, a paved State Highway was completed and in the 1950's the interstate followed. A county wide high school was built which eliminated any sense of isolation. Still, the students from our town had to contend with incest jokes and innuendo from their classmates. Growing up with this stigma made people sensitive to the topic. So, when the story broke most people wished it would go away. This strong sense of denial and shame is probably what allowed the relationship between Rebecca and Allan to flourish underneath our noses. People prefer to pretend that the obvious isn't happening.
Rebecca wasn't from here. She met Robert Siebert at the state university. The Sieberts were a well off family, having owned the mill and several other businesses for generations. I know nothing about Rebecca's people. She must not have been too close to her own family because after Robert passed away --when Allan was eleven -- she elected to stay here despite never seeming to belong. She had the air of a socialite, always dressed to the nines in designer outfits she must have had tailored for her in Philadelphia or New York City. She never married again or even dated as far as any of us could tell. It wasn't for lack of suitors, not with all the money she inherited. She's not a bad looking woman either; definitely on the plump side but more voluptuous than obese. But as I said, she'd always been a strange one, spending most of her time in the Siebert house on the edge of town.
Allan was a year ahead of me in school. I can't say that we were best friends but he was part of the crowd who hung around the roller rink on weekends. It was a small town scene; a dozen or so sneaking beer in the parking lot, chatting with girls and dreaming about getting out of here. Allan would have a beer or two with the rest of us but I don't remember him getting too tipsy or being in a fight. Around eleven thirty his mother would pull up in that Cadillac of hers, beep the horn and Allan would go running.
I can only remember one incident growing up which, in retrospect, seemed telling given what happened later. It was spring of Allan's senior year. We were hanging around the roller rink on yet another Friday night. Dad and I were going fishing the next morning, so I promised I'd get home early. I asked Allan if his mother could drop me off on the way into town. He didn't think it would be a problem.
When the blue DeVille pulled up to the front of the rink, Allan said, "Let me make sure it is okay," then slipped in the passenger door. Mrs. Siebert turned towards her son, put her arm around his neck and kissed him on the lips. No, it wasn't a full blown make out session but it was no simple peck on the lips either. Allan pulled away from his mother, looked towards me and said something. Rebecca nodded. Allan unlocked the back door and motioned for me to get in the car. I climbed in back.
The musky scent of Christian Dior combined with a hint cigarette smoke was overwhelming. Mrs. Siebert had on a fur cape. I don't know what animal it was -- fox, mink, sable -- just that it was light gray, almost white. Underneath she was wearing a pink nightgown. It wasn't some flannel house dress designed for cold winter nights. No, this was full length and luxurious, like some 1950's Hollywood diva would wear as she lounged around her million dollar living room. The skirt had two layers, the inside silky and pink, the outer transparent. The lace bordered bodice lifted her creamy breasts, giving me a good look at her heavy bosom.
"Allan didn't tell me we'd be having company," Mrs. Siebert said. "Where do you live, Michael?"
I gave her my address, then for the rest of the ride it was like I wasn't even in the car. There was a slight tension in the air, as if Mrs. Siebert was annoyed with Allan. I had a feeling she was miffed about driving me home even though my house was on the way. Maybe his mother had gotten ready for bed after an evening out before she remembered she had to pick up Allan at the skating rink, so she just threw a cape on over her nightgown and got into the car. Of course she'd be annoyed about me being there. Had she known she'd be driving me home she would have put on some jeans and a sweatshirt at the very least.
In those days the front seat of a car was a single bench all the way across, room enough to seat three people when the car was crowded or allow a couple on a date to snuggle up close when it wasn't. Allan and his mother were not quite at snuggling distance but near enough to be approaching date territory. I peeked over the arm rest. Mrs. Siebert was holding her son's hand on her lap as she steered the car with her left hand. I didn't think there was anything untoward going on; it wasn't exactly a town secret that Allan and his mother were close after all they'd been through together.
About five minutes into the drive Mrs. Siebert said, "I'm dying for a cigarette, darling. Could you get one from my purse?"
Allan pulled a pack of Eve 120's from his mother's pocketbook. He put the cigarette between his lips and pressed the knob for the dashboard lighter. Allen took a small drag as he lit the cigarette then handed it to his mother. She held the cigarette between her two painted fingernails and took a deep drag. The smoke lingered around her open mouth for an instant before she inhaled it into her lungs. Then she placed the lipstick stained cigarette in the ashtray, turned towards Allen and blew a long, thin stream of white smoke at his face.
"Thank you, darling," she said. "I needed that."
"You're quite welcome, Mother."
Allan rested his hand on his mother's thigh once again. Mrs. Siebert stroked his wrist and palm with her nails -- the polish matched her lipstick -- before clasping her fingers around his . With his free hand, Allan put the lipstick stained cigarette in his mouth and inhaled. I'd never seen Allen smoke a Marlboro or Camel, let alone one of those long and slender lady's cigarettes. But the way he leaned against his mother and closed his eyes as he drew on the cigarette reminded me of a man taking a deeply satisfying breath of cool morning air on a mountain peak. His mother puckered her lips, making a smacking sound. Allen held the cigarette to her moistened lips. She inhaled deeply before Allen withdrew the cigarette and took another drag of his own. They rode like that for the rest of the way to my house, in their own little world, fingers entwined atop Mrs. Siebert's thigh as the cigarette smoldered like a fireplace ember at the end of the evening.
They dropped me off. Our Irish Setter, Maxie, greeted me at the door. I slipped the leach onto the dog's collar and took her outside for a walk around the neighborhood. The evening air had cooled off considerably. I could see my breath as I walked.
On the next street the Siebert's blue DeVille was parked in a darkened area away from any houses. For a moment I thought the car may have broken down so I approached with the intention of knocking on the window and seeing if they needed any help. But this was a side street and there was no reason Allan's mother would have gone this way. I stopped about fifty feet away from the car, afraid of what I might see if I got any closer. I turned around and headed back towards my house.
Donna Mueller: It had been almost twenty years since I'd been within five hundred miles of my hometown but when I saw the headline, "____town Mother and Son Accused of Living For Decades as Husband and Wife" I had a pretty good idea who the story was about. Not that I blame Allan at all, growing up alone with that crazy mother of his. Nor am I bitter about what happened. I figure if all that borderline psycho was able to do was ruin prom night for me I got off easy.
Allan was tall, dark haired and surprisingly awkward given his looks. I was no beauty back then, believe me and landing a gorgeous guy like Allan was no small coup for a chubby girl with bad skin and glasses. About the only thing I had going for me were my large breasts. And I let plenty of boys get their hands on them in the parking lot behind the roller rink. I'm not proud of that part of my life, back when I was a teenage nobody with hardly an ounce of self-esteem. Thank God my grades and SAT scores were enough to get me out of that hick town for good.
When Allan Siebert asked me to skate with him during the couples only skate it took me by surprise. I'd never heard of him going out to the "poking lot" with a girl. At the end of the couples skate I expected him to bring me out back like everyone else who'd ever held my hand under those rink lights. But no, all he did was offer to buy me a soda at the snack bar. At eleven thirty he told me he had to go out front and wait for his ride. He kissed me on the cheek and asked if I'd skate with him next week. My tummy tingled and I felt my face go flush . I was pretty jaded by that point in my life and it had been a few years since I'd allowed myself to get giddy over a boy.
Over the next few weeks Allan and I became an item which in those days meant eating lunch together in the school cafeteria and spending Friday nights skating arm in arm at the roller rink. The first time we went out back to my car I practically had to drag him by the shirt. I had been going behind the rink with guys since I was thirteen and, believe me, all that experience didn't amount to much. Most high school guys can't even kiss without slobbering all over you like a St. Bernard. And all those guys who claimed they lost their virginity to me? Please. By the time they dropped their drawers most of them were so damn nervous that the bishop was softer than a pot of boiled linguini.
This wasn't the ordinary hook up with some random guy in "the poking lot". It was Allan. Sweet, gentle, Allan. At the time I figured he was a natural, that he'd been born with some innate ability to please a woman the same way some musicians are born with perfect pitch. I mean, supposedly he'd never even kissed a girl and here he was, tongue darting in and out of my mouth like a serpent's as he ran his hands down my ass and on the inside of my thighs. And when he pressed his fingers against the seam of my jeans, circling around the very top of my button. Shit!!! And I hadn't even taken off my bra, something Allan was able to accomplish in a second, like he was snapping his fingers. Most guys fumble around back there for five minutes before you finally unhook it yourself for fear that they are going tear up a twenty dollar bra. But Allan masters the quadruple eyehook on his first shot ever? Then the way he caressed my breasts, slow and gentle, his fingertips tracing circles around my areoles. His touches were like a warm breeze blowing across my naked body as he kissed my neck. It would be seven years before another man would touch me as he did. Either he was some sort of sexual prodigy or somebody had schooled him in the art of pleasing a woman.
The other strange thing is that whenever Allan and I were getting it on he seemed to enter this almost trancelike state, as though he was tripping or something. I know now that it is not uncommon for people who have been sexually traumatized to enter into some kind of disassociated state when they are being intimate. But at the time I figured he was some sort of sexual Zen master.
Things started to get weird around the time we were making plans for prom night. Allan's mother would not let him use her car which meant I had to drive. Also, a whole bunch of us were going to Jeremy Buntz's lake house afterwards. Allan's mother refused to allow him to go.
"You're eighteen and going away to the university in three months," I told him a few days before the prom. "Just go anyway. What is she going to do, call the cops?"
