On The Road with My Son

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Life sure can throw you for a loop sometimes, huh? For all my married life, I’d been faithful to my husband, never even thinking about cheating on him throughout the 30 years we’d been married. But when I asked my son for a simple favour, my entire world changed forever. My name is Cynthia Jones and this is my incredible journey.

I was 54 years old, and my husband was away for the week at a conference in Melbourne. We’d been growing apart for a couple of months, and we’d not made love for even longer, so I was really feeling the need to try and reignite the fire that once burned so bright between us. The lack of activity didn’t come from lack of trying on my part, I can tell you that much – I do yoga 3 times a week in order to maintain my slim physique (which, at 5’4″ tall, is certainly a struggle at times), and I’d tried all manner of sexy lingerie, but nothing seemed to work. Almost every time I tried to initiate some intimate times between my husband Mark and myself, he’d gently turn me down, claiming to be either too tired or too stressed out from working. I never did buy that excuse; he was winding up to retire, not gearing up for a promotion, so he should’ve just been coasting until he hit 60.

Anyway, I was reading one of my trashy tabloid magazines when I read an article about “How to Spice Up Your Sex Life!”, and got inspired by tip number 8: Surprise him with a romantic getaway. Sure, his three star accommodation wasn’t inherently romantic, but what man wouldn’t be thrilled with his wife suddenly showing up at his hotel room, hungry for sex? I was just about to book the $400 plane ticket right then and there before a much cheaper option occurred to me: wasn’t our son, Joel, heading to Melbourne tomorrow morning?

Joel was 23 and worked full-time as a truck driver for one of the country’s biggest “logistics and supply chain companies” – corporate jargon for a freight company. Since he was away for weeks on end, Mark and I both decided it would make more sense for him not to have a rental property just yet, and keep his old room for the few days he’d have at home every now and then. With his 20 year-old sister, Kirsty, now living in London, Mark and I were practically living by ourselves. As luck (or fate) would have it, Joel was home at just the right time for me to beg him for a lift to Melbourne, which was his next destination. I’d already done the mental calculations, and Joel would arrive with still two days left to go with Mark’s conference. Now, most guys probably wouldn’t exactly leap at the opportunity to be stuck in a truck with his mother for four and a half days so that she could have sex with his father at the end, right? Well, most guys in their mid-20s don’t have incredibly obvious crushes on their mothers. And, as much as it pains me to admit it, this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve exploited his Oedipal fantasies for my own personal gain – I lost count of the number of times I deliberately changed into push-up bras and short skirts before asking him to do some much-needed chores around the house. It’s cruel, I know, but I suppose in a way I was punishing him for having feelings that I deemed to be “wrong” or “shameful.”

So that was that; I’d decided. First things first, I changed into a low-cut V-neck shirt and some skinny jeans and found Joel lying on the couch, reading something on his phone. I stepped in front of the couch, bent over and asked him “Hey sweetie, just wondering if you’d like to do a huge favour for me?”

He turned his head, and it was fairly obvious where he directed his gaze at first. As always, I didn’t know whether to feel flattered, violated or guilty. A few seconds later, he looked me in the eyes. “What’s up?”

“Well, you’re heading to Melbourne tomorrow, right? I just had this idea and – sorry it’s so last minute – and I was hoping you’d let me hitch a ride with you so I can surprise your dad while he’s at that conference?”

He seemed taken aback, and I can’t say I can blame him too much. I’d never asked to come with him when he was working before, and it was very last minute. He thought about it for a little while, and finally replied with a resounding, “Sure, whatever you want.” He paused. “But there’s a couple of conditions. One, you can’t criticise my driving. Two, the motels have already been booked as single rooms, and it’s probably too late to change the bookings for a double.”

“Alright, that’s fine, sweetie. And I completely understand about how last minute this whole thing is, so I’m happy to sleep on the floor or the sofas or whatever they have. Thanks so much, Joel.” I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and left promising I wouldn’t say a word about his driving.

At 5:30 the next morning, Joel tossed my luggage into his truck with the rest of the cargo and our little mother-son road trip was underway. At first, I did what I could to sleep while we drove, but I just couldn’t relax. Every so often, I’d feel my head lolling from one side to the other as I matadorbet started drifting and then suddenly I was awake again with a start. That probably happened 15 times in the first hour or two of the drive. At the same time, Joel’s driving probably didn’t help me relax either. He tailgated a few drivers that he felt cut in front of him, he sped a few times, and more than once overtook a slow car without a safe enough gap between us and the oncoming traffic. But, I kept my promise and my mouth remained shut. As I predicted, I caught him sneaking a few peeks at my body when he thought I wasn’t looking, and of course I felt my old Neapolitan ice cream flavour of emotions: flattered/violated/guilty. That didn’t stop me from “stretching” my back at one point while thanking him yet again for taking me with him. I arched my back, pushing my breasts out as much as I could against the seatbelt, putting on a little show, which I considered to be a little reward for him.

Once I realised I wasn’t going to be able to sleep, we would chat every now and then, sometimes about how Kirsty must be going in London. I would ask him how he’s enjoying working as a truck driver, and ask after some of his closest childhood friends who he’s still keeping in touch with. Depending on the topic, he’d reply with barely any words, or he could talk for miles on end. I guess that’s always the way with parents and their kids, though – once they reach a certain age, they suddenly realise they have a choice and can just choose not to talk if they don’t want to, especially if they think you’re “nagging” them, as I’m often accused of.

Lunchtime came eventually, and despite my reservations – Joel would probably prefer to use that old favourite “nagging” – we went to McDonald’s, which I know is meant to be a staple of a truck driver’s diet, and a road trip tradition. However, when you work as hard as I do at maintaining a slim figure, it’s very easy to see fast food places like McDonald’s as the bad guys. All those fatty, salty foods and the sugary soft drinks they churn out by the bucketload? No thank you. But, it’s his body and he was the one driving and paying for it, so I decided to just keep my anti-fast-food rant to myself for the time being. And I’ll confess, that afternoon the idea of a cheeseburger was just too good to pass up for some reason.

Joel was shocked that I was even considering a burger. I’d later come to regret saying this, but without even thinking about who I was talking to, I informed him, “It’s fun to be naughty every once in a while and just not worry about the consequences, you know?”

Joel said he couldn’t argue with that and smiled as he watched me eat my burger.

The rest of the trip that day was pretty uneventful; Joel remarked that he was pleasantly surprised he wasn’t having to push too hard to get to our motel before it got too dark. We arrived a little after 7:30 that night, and we had our own meals for dinner – luckily for me, we were staying a couple of blocks from a Subway so I enjoyed a salad (the bread is too fattening) and Joel, naturally, had another Big Mac.

Even though I’d packed my yoga mat, I felt way too exhausted to actually do any exercise that night. I don’t know why, but travelling does it to me every time. Besides, there wasn’t much room in the room for me to do my poses in a way that I wouldn’t be in Joel’s way…which is another way of saying I didn’t much feel like him ogling me while I stretched and posed in my exercise clothes. Instead, we sat and watched whatever was on TV that wasn’t dreadful reality television until we felt it was time for bed. I grabbed some spare sheets and a blanket from the tiny motel cupboard and used my yoga mat as a makeshift mattress for the night.

You know how I just said that I always feel exhausted after travelling? Well, guess who couldn’t sleep a wink that night? Okay, maybe I got an hour or two, but that’s never enough, is it? I felt so damn sleepy when Joel turned out the lights, and my self-made floor-bed was actually pretty comfortable. However, something was keeping me awake. Either it was the strange new surroundings, or Joel’s snoring, or a combination of the two, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the day and the days that lay ahead. So as I lay there, staring at the ceiling and listening to my son snore from his almost-comfy motel bed, a terrifying and completely new thought entered my head: What if Mark doesn’t love me anymore?

As soon as that terrible thought occurred to me, I couldn’t get it to leave. Holy shit, what if he’s having an affair? What if he’s gay? What if he’s actually in Melbourne to get a really good divorce lawyer? Why wouldn’t he love me anymore? Was it because I don’t have a job? But he told me he didn’t want me to get one since he was on such good money and didn’t want us to get bumped up into the next tax bracket. Oh God, what if he thinks I’m ugly? After all this work I do to keep myself fit and youthful for him, and matadorbet giriş now he probably thinks I’m just some desperate, dried up middle-aged housewife struggling in vain to hold on to her rapidly-fading youth. I mean, sure, I’ve been dying my hair jet black ever since I got my first grey hairs at 30, but I do my yoga and eat healthy so we have a better chance at a long future together, damn it. I don’t want to be fat and dying of a heart attack or a stroke before I reach 70, like both my parents did.

Rationalise it all you want, Cynthia, but it’s time to face the facts: Mark hasn’t made a move in, what, five months? More? It’s always been you, and he’s hardly ever wanting to even when you do. That doesn’t sound like the actions of a man who still loves you, sweetheart. You only have two children together, as well. Not from lack of trying on your part, though, is it? If he really did love you, surely he would’ve been willing to try for another baby or two.

That conversation with myself lasted for hours. I tried so, so many times to think about something else – such as all the naughty, sexy things Mark and I would do with each other when I showed up at his hotel in Melbourne in just two more days – but then the voice of doubt kept creeping back in: That’s assuming he doesn’t just kick you out the moment he sees you and how desperate you are for a fuck.

I wouldn’t say I’m prone to depression, but at times like that it’s hard to believe that. All the self-doubt and nasty thoughts you have about yourself when you’re tired and feeling all alone, it’s hard for anybody if they don’t have hope. My hope that night was the hope that I was wrong about my husband, and that he was just stressed about wrapping things up properly before retirement, and that he’d be so overwhelmed by surprise and desire that he’d take me before I even had a chance to change into some of the sexy clothes I’d packed. So, that’s the battle I fought in my head on the first night of our road trip. Not exactly a great start, nor an experience I’m keen to repeat at any point soon.

Though there were a few hours it didn’t seem likely, the morning did eventually arrive. Joel and I left the motel, and the first few hours of the trip went by without incident. But then I had to open my big goddamn mouth. Both at the time and now, I blame everything on my lack of sleep and the not-quite depression from the night before. And I suppose my inherent neediness might also have been a contributing factor. But mostly I was lacking my normal filter from being sleep deprived and a little depressed. So I randomly turned to my son and asked him, “Do you think I’m attractive? Like, genuinely attractive?”

To his credit, Joel didn’t run the truck off the road as he stammered and tried to think of a response. “I, um, yeah, I guess, no- you’re my mum, just- I’m driving…”

My maternal instincts worked together with my neediness as I tried to reassure my son. “Joel, honey, relax. Whatever you say, I won’t judge you or hold it against you or anything. I just… I’ll love you no matter what; I’m just really starting to have some doubts about myself lately.” I tried to stop my voice from quivering towards the end, but I don’t think I was terribly successful.

He took a deep breath before answering. Eyes still focused on the road, he confessed, “I think by now you should know I don’t think you’re ugly at all, Mum.” I nodded. “But I – oh man – I think you’re beautiful.” He paused as his face started to turn blood red . “No, screw it. I think you’re beautiful. And sexy. I have thought so ever since I was like 15 and you’ve only gotten more beautiful and sexy as you’ve gotten older. And I’m sorry, I know that’s way too much information for a guy to say to his mother. But you did ask.”

“Thank you.” I was too overwhelmed by his sheer honesty to say anything further.

“Anytime.” He took one hand off the wheel to check how much he was still shaking. If he was a surgeon, I’d have been worried. I pretended to be reading a billboard at the time so he could have as much privacy as he could in the cab of a two-seat freight truck.

“Honestly, though, sweetie, thank you. I needed that. This’ll probably sound stupid, but I’d started to wonder if your father didn’t love me anymore or if he thought I was ugly and all sorts of bad stuff. So, thank you so much for saying all that.” I put my hand on his knee and squeezed. He patted it a couple of times in reply before I took my hand back.

We went quiet for a little while after that, and my mind really began to wander. Joel didn’t come right out and say he was attracted to me, did he? Well, that depends on how you cut it. He said you’re beautiful and sexy, so to most people, that’d count as a yes. But I’m his mother, for crying out loud! And that doesn’t mean he can’t be attracted to you, does it? There’s way too many examples throughout history of guys being horny for their mothers for you to honestly argue that it never happens.

Not that I’d ever actually do anything with him, but… Yeah? Well, it’s just, he’s not a bad looking guy. You’d be doing really well to find a better looking guy his age who desires you that much. Plus, he’s your son, so you know he would’ve struggled with those feelings for quite some time before finally deciding “Sure, it’s fine that you feel this way, just tell her”, right? Actually, you know who he reminds me of? A young Mark. But more handsome. Exactly. I mean, sure, he’s got that styled stubble that he insists on calling a beard, but with Mark and my dark brown hair, and that sweet smile and those sparkling eyes, he’s a spitting image of Mark when he was younger.

Yes, he’s very handsome, but he’s still my son. I’m not saying I’d ever actually do anything with him; I’m just saying that I should feel pretty damn good about myself that someone so young and sexy finds me so desirable. Wait, did you seriously just say he’s sexy? Well, he said that about me, so it’s only fair… Hey, here’s an idea: fuck Melbourne, just get him to keep driving south and you’ll wind up in Tasmania, it’s a great place for those kinds of thoughts. Okay, I’ve had enough of these thoughts, and enough of this silence.

“Hey, it just occurred to me…” I clearly broke his thoughts, too.

“Uh? What’s that?”

“I never actually said anything in return, you know?”

“I don’t- What do you mean, Mum?”

“Well, I know this’ll just sound like I’m, like, either just repaying the favour or saying what every mother’s meant to tell her son, but just know I mean it, okay? You’re a very handsome young man. You look like a younger version of your father, but – don’t tell him this, okay? – you’re even better looking than he ever was.” I did everything I could to not stare at the tent that had recently appeared in his jeans.

“Maybe that comes from your side of the family, huh?” We both had to laugh.

After that, the conversation died down again and when we spoke for the rest of the trip, it was never about that topic. I did find myself staring at him more than I had the previous day, though. His arms, his neck, his chest, his hair, his face, his legs, his hands… There was a lot a woman could find attractive about my son, I was suddenly realising. Not that I was fantasising, though, I told myself. Perish the thought I was attracted to him. That was unnatural and offensive to my husband – and just human nature – on so many levels. No, I had just solved the mystery of why and how he’d had so many girlfriends. With a face and body like that, he could have his pick of any number of women, and he certainly did. Not that I’m judging, of course – in my youth I’d had a fair few boyfriends before meeting and settling down with Mark.

As I found myself appreciating what all his girlfriends must have appreciated about Joel’s looks, I started to feel the beginnings of some tingling between my legs. That was ludicrous, of course. I was just sex-starved and bored on this seemingly endless road we found ourselves on, and my mind and body had gotten confused about who I should and should not be fantasising about, that was all. I certainly wasn’t feeling the beginnings of attraction to my own son. No, absolutely not, I told myself.

Finally, the motel! I was very keen to get out of that cab that night, even more than I was the day before. Another Subway salad for dinner, then a nice hot shower. Given the day’s most interesting conversation topic, I took a moment or two to study my naked body in the mirror after my shower. My wavy, long, dyed-jet-black hair sat with my fringe covering my forehead, and the body of my hair ending just above my breasts. Now these, I’m happy with, stretch marks and all. Even after breastfeeding Joel and Kirsty, they were symmetrical and as perky as D-cups can be – bouncy, without being saggy. My nipples? The areola are probably larger than average, but the nipples themselves are pink and no bigger than average I suppose. I’m also happy with how my tummy looks. After childbirth and a fairly long chubby period, I put in a lot of hard work at home and with a yoga class and finally got it back to my pre-baby body, so now it’s nice and flat, and you can even see a little bit of muscle tone if the light’s just right. My butt is nothing special – a bit flat, really – but it’s still in proportion to the rest of me, so I consider that a win. My legs are thin but short – I’m only 5’4″ so I really curse them at times, such as trying to reach the top shelves in the kitchen. I also had done a bold thing the night before Joel and I left on our road trip and, when showering and shaving my legs and armpits, I applied my razor to an area I hadn’t since I was about 30. So that night, I was still sporting a freshly shaved pubic area. Surveying the entire landscape that was my naked, 54-year old body, I was actually really happy with my looks for the first time in a long time. Bolstered by Joel’s confession that morning, I really felt good about what I was trying to achieve with this silly little surprise I had planned for my husband. I eventually got dressed in my comfy satin slip and let Joel have his own shower.

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