Author's preamble:
Pivotal Points © is a fictional story containing graphic descriptions of an incestuous relationship between a mother and her son. Sexually active characters are at least eighteen years of age.
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To those who remain to read, please don't expect instant gratification, I've tried to write an erotic story, not a fuck-fest. Having said that, I'll leave you to your reading.
-oOo-
My son went through a pretty bad patch in his early teens -- the usual thing, on the fringes of a territory gang, hanging around with a couple of brothers from one of the local problem families, and getting into mischief. That was fine, boys have to rebel but when the community police brought him back home two or three times I got worried about the way he was heading. Especially as they told me he'd been caught smoking marijuana and I had caught a whiff of alcohol on his breath a couple of times. His father hadn't been around since he was a toddler so there was only me to take matters in hand.
At the very least, I thought, I needed to get him off the streets and away from the bad company, somehow. Give him a new interest but what? After some thought I decided to take him along to my amateur dramatic society. He whinged all the way there and sulked at the back of the hall the first couple of times. Until, that is, our only available young man broke his leg showing off to his girlfriend. As you can imagine, we don't get many members his age and we were in the early stages of rehearsing a new production so my Rob was asked to fill in.
That changed his attitude, he was soon hooked. His wasn't a big speaking part but he had lots of entrances as a page boy in a costume comedy. His page boy wasn't supposed to be a comic part but when he accidentally tripped on his feet on one entrance and made a miraculous recovery, preserving his silver tray's contents, which he calmly continued to serve to his mistress, Maggie, our director, saw the potential immediately.
Clapping her hands loudly to stop the action, she called, "Robbie, darling," he was embarrassed when she called him by that name but she continued, oblivious to his discomfort, "Can you do that again? You know, the trip and so on ..." Rob agreed to try so Maggie instructed, "Places everyone, we'll take it from, 'Upon my honour ...'"
Rob went 'off stage' and perfectly on cue he rescued himself from another spectacular trip. Thereafter Maggie had him tripping and falling all over the place with almost every entrance and he'd always come up bouncing and continued with whatever he was doing as if nothing had happened.
With just that, Maggie changed the whole tenor of the play. And the cast, too, as everybody got involved more enthusiastically. Rob just loved all the attention he got and became a dedicated member of the Pinchley Amateur Dramatic Society. He didn't hang around with the other guys anymore and that sullen scowl which he habitually wore was often replaced with a happy grin, especially on rehearsal nights.
He threw himself into his rôle as an inept and clumsy page boy -- literally threw himself into it with his tumbles. After almost every session I found myself bathing his little cuts, scrapes and bruises but he never complained and just took the same bumps next time.
Eventually the play came together and we were making our final preparations. Then at the costume fitting the poop hit the fan. Rob hadn't realised what page boys wore. The ornate wig, heavily buckled shoes, braided gold tunic and gold silk tights freaked him out. There was no way he was going to wear that outfit, he shouted, and stalked out. I told Maggie to leave it to me and when we had finished I took his costume home with me.
He was on his bed watching something on TV when I got back. I switched the set off and stood in front of it, hands on hips and legs slightly apart. "Get out the way," he said sullenly, making a grab for the remote in my hand.
"Shut up and sit down!" I pushed him back onto the bed. "You've been rehearsing that page boy character for over two months now and you're good. Very good. So tell me, Mr Bloody Page Boy, how did you expect to dress? Levis and a Beckham shirt?" He just sat there sulking. "Well?" I demanded, "What did you expect?"
He shrugged and for long seconds said nothing then the whinge came back to his voice, "I can't wear that costume. They'd laugh me off the estate."
"Who would laugh you off the estate?" I was getting more than a little annoyed. "Those shit-for-brains Doug and Phil? They're going one way in life -- the local jail -- and that's just where you'll end up if you don't stop worrying about what they think or don't think. How the hell will they see you anyway? Can you see those so-called mates of yours turning up for the Lower Pinchley Amateur Dramatic Society's production of 'Maid of Dishonour'?
"Look," I said with an exasperated sigh, "Out there with them you've got no life. Look at them -- their mother's messed up her body and head on drugs, she'll screw with anyone who will buy her next fix," including her sons, I thought disdainfully. "She wears a tag and is barred from half the stores in Pinchley for shoplifting. Phil has an ASBO out on him and Doug's heading that way. Are their brothers in jail or out on parole at present?"
I got on my knees in front of him and took hold of his hands. "Rob, is that what you want from life? Living on the social and never making ends meet? Sharing a doss house with half a dozen crack heads? Frazzle your brains with the stuff they use? Drink until you slip on your own vomit and smash your non-existent brains out?"
I paused to calm myself down. "At PADS I've seen a change in you, son. You've taken to it like a duck to water, you're happy there. I like the new Rob, he's kinda nice to have around." I smiled and received just a slight twitch at the corners of his mouth in return. "I don't know if you are good enough to be a professional actor although you might at least think of the stage as a career. But an actor wears the costumes the character calls for!"
Again I paused to catch my thoughts. "Look, son, as we get older we can sometimes look back on our lives and recognise some turning points. Like the day I met your Dad, for instance. If I had decided to stay at home and wash my hair one night, as I had planned, I would never have met him and you would never have been born.
"We don't usually recognise the moments when they come so it's often only in retrospect we can see those pivotal points in our lives. You're at just such a point now. You can hang around out there on the estate, bunk off school and throw your life away on drink and drugs and crime, finish up having your arse reamed out in prison or you can try on that page boy suit and decide to make something of your life." I placed the offending garments on his bed and said, "The choice is yours, Rob. I can't force you either way." Squeezing his hands once again, I stood and left the room, closing the door quietly behind me.
