Rhea and Me

It was when I was eighteen that it began. Looking back, it was a casual word from our neighbour, Mrs.White that seemed to set things going.

I was out in our little front garden helping mum put in a plant, when Mrs.White stuck her nose over the low dividing fence and said, “Man of the house now, eh, Rhea?”

Mum smiled and I think I made some facetious answer like, “Well, boy of the house, anyway,” and no more was said at the time.

I don’t think it was only my helping mum in the garden that caused Mrs.White to make her comment. I’d left school just before I was eighteen and had been extremely lucky to get an electrical apprenticeship with a firm of contractors called “Electus.” This had started to make a difference in my and mum’s life.

I should explain about mum and me.

I’ve never got the full story of how I came into the world, but from bits and pieces I have heard from mum and gran, I came to believe that mum was raped or seduced by an uncle when she was sixteen. By the time it was out in the open mum’s pregnancy was too far-gone for them to risk an abortion, so into the world I came.

It was not an easy world. At first, we lived at gran’s and grandpa’s place. I don’t remember anything about that, and by the time I became conscious of living anywhere, we were living in the small State Government house that we still live in.

The house was one of many occupying two streets in a large government housing estate. The houses in the two streets seemed to be reserved for women like mum. What are now called “single parents.” In addition, there were a few people like Mrs.White, mainly widows on the pension. We were all dumped in these houses to form one great heap of “social problems.”

At first mum got the single parent allowance, but being of independent inclination, when I started going to primary school, she got jobs cleaning, washing and ironing for well off people.

As a child, I didn’t realise just how hard mum worked, and how much she gave me and denied herself. It was not until later that I understood how all her clothes came from the Salvation Army Opportunity Shop. She never had anything new, except perhaps her underwear. My clothes were always new, and among all the other bills she had to pay, there were my school fees for compulsory extras, books and school uniforms.

Throughout my childhood, I was very close to mum. I used to tell her she was the prettiest mum in the world, and all that sort of thing. When I got into my teenage years, for a while I became an obnoxious little bastard and once or twice I made mum cry because of my nastiness. If I’d been mum, I think I’d have given up on me, but she never did. Even when I made her cry, she still seemed to love me.

I think one of the turning points for me, was when I was about sixteen, and we were visiting Gran. I was browsing through a photograph album and came across some photos of mum when she was a teenager.

They were pictures of a bright, gypsy faced young girl, staring full of confidence into the camera, a smile lighting up her very pretty face.

I looked from the photo across as mum where she sat talking to Gran. The dark hair and eyes were still there, and the slightly curving nose and full mouth, but it all looked tired. In the photo, she looked as if she had a fantastic figure, but now that too seemed tired - somewhat fragile.

At that moment, looking across at mum, I understood how much she had sacrificed for me, and I wanted to repay her. I foolishly thought, “I want to make her young again.”

It was after that time I tried to not be so obnoxious and started helping mum with little jobs around the place like the garden. Actually, we had a nice garden because mum was a keen gardener. Most of the other people in our street used their gardens as a sort of rubbish tip.

Another thing that I had become conscious of over the years, was that so many of the kids in our street had “Uncles” who came to live with them for a while, then left, only to be replaced a week or two later by another Uncle.

I used hear the sounds of the fights and squabbles in the houses around us, and the police having to come and break things up.

Mum never did anything like that. I did wonder about her sexual activity once I became aware of that aspect of life, but if she did anything with a man, it wasn’t at our house. If she did the whole street would have known about it, and the other kids would have said something to me.

She was still a nice looking woman, even though she had that tired look, and I was suspicious about a solicitor she cleaned house for, but I was never certain.

As for me, well, I mucked around with a couple of girls at high school, but it was never really – well, comfortable, if you know what I mean?

The high school, like most of the area, was a bit of a social shambles. I overheard one of the teachers’ say to another teacher one day, “Coming into this place is like entering hell everyday.”

I was lucky compared to most of the kids in our street. None of us had any chance of going on to tertiary education, and jobs for teenagers were hard to get. They were particularly hard to get because as soon as a prospective employer looked at your address, they thought, “Can’t be bothered with kids from disadvantaged homes.”

Some of the kids ran away from home and became street kids, and others, when they left school, hung around the shopping mall pinching old ladies handbags and stuff like that.

I was lucky because I was good at physics and maths, and I think it was this that got me the apprenticeship, plus the fact that mum made sure I was neat and clean before I went for the interview. Once I started the job and was getting the apprentice’s wage, things got easier for mum.

I remember the day I came home with my first pay slip. I rushed in and cuddled mum and dangled the slip in front of her: “Look mum, my first pay in the bank. It’s all for you.”

She looked up at me, and the tears started to well up in her eyes. “No, Alec,” she said, “let’s share it.”

So we sat down and discussed this sharing that worked out about a third for mum and the rest for me.

With money in my pocket I could have got plenty of girls, but instead, I did things like taking mum to see a film, and a couple of times bought her some new clothes. The trouble was, every time I did something like that, she wanted to cry.

The big thing was a car. I wanted a car so I could take mum out into the country. Of course, that was a long way off. With the little money she had earned, mum had learned to be very canny where finance was concerned. If she couldn’t pay cash for something, she went without. “I’m not throwing money away making interest repayments,” she would say.

I was influenced by her attitude, and started the impossible task of trying to save for a car. We still don’t have the car, but each year my wages increase, and when I have enough for a hefty down payment, I’ll take out a loan, perhaps with the bank.

So, back to where I started. It was my going to work, and seeing me helping mum in the garden, that prompted Mrs.Whites comment about my being the man of the house.

I was not sure at the time whether Mrs.White was being humorous, or just a sentimental old lady who saw me as the son she’d always wanted. Actually, she had a son, but he was doing fifteen years in jail for robbery with violence.

Mrs.White withdrew her nose from the fence, and nothing further was said at the time. It was only later that night while we were watching television, that mum said something.

She gave a throaty sort of laugh and said, “Do you feel like the man of the house, Alec?”

I laughed in turn, and said, “If I knew how the man of the house is supposed to feel, I might be able to answer that. As it is, I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel, so I can’t say ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”

Nothing further was said on the subject that evening, and I suppose I didn’t expect it to arise again, but it did.

A couple of nights later mum and I went out to see a film. While we were sitting there, my hand brushed against hers – or it could have been the other way round, with hers brushing mine. Anyway, as our hands touched, she took hold of mine, and remained holding it for the rest of the film.

Now I want to get this straight with you. Mum was thirty-six at the time, and still a nice looking woman. With the money I’d started to bring in, she’d been able to give up some of her ironing jobs, and she was looking a lot less tired and anxious.

Even before she started to look better, I knew there were kids of my age who got horny over her. In fact, I’d had fight with one kids when I was fifteen because he said, “I’m going to fuck your mum.” I made sure he never tried.

As for me, I never really thought aloud to myself anything sexual about mum. I mean, I never thought to myself, “I’m going to fuck mum one day.” So it was a bit of a surprise, first, because mum wanted to hold my hand, and secondly, that I liked it so much, I started to get twitchy in the groin. On the bus going home from the cinema, mum sort of leaned against me as we sat together.

Arriving home after a seeing a film, we usually had a cup of tea before going to bed. We sat on the sofa in the lounge drinking our tea and chatting about the film we had seen. While we talked mum started to stroke my hand in what seemed an absent minded sort of way, and changing the subject she said, “It’s a pity you don’t know what a man of the house should feel like, Alec.”

A bit taken aback by the change in conversational direction, I asked, “Why is that, mum?”

She was looking at me with her eyes half closed, but from what I could see of them, the pupils of her eyes looked very large and shiny.

“Well you see, Alec,” she said in a sort of contralto, slow voice, speaking very softly, “Traditionally the man of the house had certain rights or privileges.”

I laughed. ”Better not let the feminists hear you say that, mum.”

She joined in my laughter and went on, “I did say ‘traditionally’, darling.”

Now mum did have affectionate terms for me like, “Sweetie” and “Love,” but she’d never called me “Darling,” before. I mentally registered the word, but went on, “What sort of rights and privileges.”

Mum didn’t speak for a minute or so, then said, “When you feel like the man of the house, you’ll know.” Then getting up rather hastily, she said, “Time for bed, I think.”

That ended the matter for that night.

Next day at work this subject of being the man of the house kept popping into my mind.

I asked Doug, the electrician I was working with, “Doug, how do you know whether or not you’re the man of the house?”

He looked at me quizzically for a moment, then grinned and said ambiguously, “I suppose when you’ve got a woman of the house.”

I tried to press him to say more, but he just laughed.

That evening I took the matter up with mum, trying to get her to tell me about the rights and privileges. When she answered she looked strange – sort of soft and warm, and she took my hand again as she replied, “There will come a time when you’ll know the answer to that without being told. When you know the answer you’ll also know whether you want those rights, and if you do, whether you’re man enough to take them.”

I was feeling somewhat frustrated on two counts. First, because I did not seem to be able to get a direct answer to what I thought a fairly plain question. Second, because when mum took my hand it had been resting on my thigh, and she was now running her hand up and down my thigh, and I was getting horny.

I tried to take the matter up from another perspective.

“Mum, would you say you are the ‘Woman of the house’?”

“Since I’m the only female in the house, yes, I suppose I am the woman of the house. Why do you ask?”

“Well, that must mean that as I’m the only male in the house, I must be the man of the house.”

She chuckled and looked at me in that half-closed eyes manner again. “Darling, if you’ve decided you’re the man of the house, then you must know what your rights are, and whether you want them or not, and if you do, whether you’re man enough to take them.”

I didn’t know about wanting my rights, but what I did want was to flee to my bedroom to masturbate. Mum’s slow massaging of my thigh had brought on a first class erection and with it a high level of sexual frustration. On the other hand, I was also frustrated by the obscure answers I was getting to my questions.

“Mum, why can’t I get a direct answer to a simple question?”

“Which simple question, darling?”

Her hand seemed to be massaging very close to my erection now, and she surely must have been able to feel it.

“Mum, for God’s sake, what are these rights the man of the house is supposed have?”

All interest in the television had disappeared, and mum rose to go and turn it off. Turning from the set she stood looking at me for a moment, then spoke very slowly in a dreamy sort of way.

“Darling, do I have to lead you all the way?”

“What do you mean, mum, can’t you speak plainly?”

“Very well, Alec, you may hate me for this, but here goes.”

She raised the hem of her skirt until it rose above her thighs to reveal her crotch. She had no panties on, and there, open to my startled gaze, I saw a little bush of pubic hair running down to her neat cleft that seemed to be shining wetly.

“There you are, darling,” she whispered. “That’s for the man of the house. If you can see something you like, then it’s yours by right from now on.”

She moved towards me coming to stand over me as I sat on the sofa. She reached down to touch and hold my penis through my trousers.

My mouth had gone dry and I was shaking. I tried to speak, but only got out, “Mum…!”

“Is the man of the house man enough to take his rights, because I can see and feel what he wants? No? Perhaps the woman of the house has to help him?”

She pushed me on to my back and slid open the zip of my trousers. She drew out my penis, which by now had a throbbing erection, saying, “We’ll see what sort of a man you are,” she sat across me with legs wide, and dropping down, drew me into her.

I felt the moist warmth of her vagina embrace my shaft, gripping it with her vaginal muscle. The girls I had played around with had always felt soft and smooth inside, but mum’s vagina almost felt as if it had teeth. She gripped me with it and seemed to suck me into her.

“Let it all go, darling, don’t hold back,” she was whispering. “Just put it all into me, it’s what you want.”

I didn’t need any encouraging. I felt the beautiful pain of my ejaculation building up, then with a moan I shot into her, grunting with every thrust of my discharge as she moved up and down on me with exquisitely slow movements.

When I had finished, she continued to hang over me, my penis still inside her, as if unwilling to part from me.

“Better, darling?” she asked.

“Yes,” I gasped, not sure if all this was real or a dream.

“Good,” she said, ”Because you’re going to have to make me feel better a bit later. When you do, I’ll let you experience some of the other rights you have.”

She removed herself from me and flopped down beside me.

“I think you can do something for me right now she said.”

She took my hand, and drew it down to her sex, and making me extend my middle finger, she placed it on a little nub. It was what I later learned was her clitoris, and said, “Just move your finger gently round it, darling, and don’t stop until I tell you to.”

I began a circular movement round the place indicated, and she began to give little squeals and sighs, occasionally speaking my name: “Alec…oh Alec darling...oh darling…”

Suddenly I felt her become tense, and she started to moan, “Don’t stop, darling, don’t stop…”

Then as suddenly as she had tensed, she relaxed and started to shake all over, clinging to me and screaming, “Oh darling…oh darling…”

She came out with one tremendous shriek, and nestled softly into me making a sound like, “Ah…um…ah…um,” on and on.

She was soaking wet, and so was my hand, and with a final groaning sigh, she lay still.

“You can stop now,” she said weakly. “I’ve finished.”

She still held on to me, and she felt very soft and warm. I almost expected to hear a purr of contentment.

“Lovely, darling, lovely. More soon… When we go to bed.”

“Mum…?”

She cut me off.

“Surprised, darling? Surprised at mummy wanting you? Mummy is going to want more of you, so I hope you’ll want mummy, because mummy is going to make you pay up, my darling.”

“What do you mean, ‘pay up’?” I asked.

“Darling, I’m going to tell you some facts of life – or at least, some of the facts of my life.”

“You know the story of my uncle raping me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, he didn’t rape me. If anything, I raped him. I wanted him like hell, and I tantalized and tempted the poor man in every way I could. In the end he couldn’t hold back, and my God, didn’t we fuck!”

“I had no interest in him on a permanent basis; I just wanted to fuck a few times with an experienced man. I got pregnant with you, and that was the end of it. When my parents, your grandparents, wanted to report him, I told them the truth – that I’d done everything I could to get him to fuck me, and pointed out that I would say exactly that to the police if they were brought in.”

“That quieted them off. Of course, if the police had come into it, he would still have been charged because I was under age. I just made sure that didn’t happen.”

“And so, my darling, you came into the world and my life, and for a long time that was enough. I deliberately deprived myself of a man because I didn’t want to disturb our life together. Then when you went to high school there were a couple of men…”

“The solicitor?” I interrupted.

“Yes, he was one, but for the last couple of years there’s a guy I’ve been hankering for. That guy is you.”

“Now we’ve introduced ourselves to each other in a new way, you, my darling, are going to pay the price for all the years I went without a penis in my vagina. This time, however, I shall not be fucking, I shall be loving. I hope you will be loving too. I’ll tell you why I shall be loving some time in the future. Are you man enough for it?…No, don’t answer that, we’ll find out as we go along.”

I was still somewhat dazed by the events and the revelation. I had just had sex with my own mother, and found it good. I had a strong feeling it was going to get even better.

Mum stood up and went on, “Let’s have a cup of tea, a shower, then bed. By the way, you’ll be sleeping in my bed in future, I’m not going to make love on that single bed of yours.”

I’d often wondered why mum had a big double bed!

Tea drunk, the showers began. In all the years we had been together, I had never seen mum naked before. It was a very pleasant sight. Her breasts are not overly large, but nice and firm. The nipples are a light brown and are surrounded with darker brown circles.

Her facial complexion is dark, as if she has a permanent suntan, and this extends over her whole body. As I said earlier, she has a gypsy look.

Her neck if long and slender and her near black hair flows down it to cascade over her slim shoulders. She is slender but swells out smoothly at the hips in a way that makes me want to grasp them and pull her to me.

Her legs are long and tend to be thin, but when she wraps them round me, I can feel their strength.

As we washed each other’s genitals, both of us got worked up again and mum got me to come into her standing up with the water still splashing over us. That meant another round of genital washing.

When we got into bed I already had another hard and mum was pressing her self against me, so I was sure she was ready for another round of loving.

She came over me and started to kiss me pushing open my unresisting mouth with her tongue, and began some exploration.