Incest/Taboo Fucking Under the Caribbean Sun

Struggling to get comfortable behind the wheel of my Kia my son said, "Grandma sure enjoyed that."

He'd detected the subtext. My mother's gift, generous as it was, was also intended to... What exactly? Embarrass me, humiliate me, manipulate my son?

I said, "Yeah, she did."

An hour ago, at Thanksgiving dinner, while my step-father sliced the ham Mom announced the secret I'd known, and kept, for the better part of two decades: she'd established a trust fund for my son.
​

* * * * *​

My family, my extended family, had money, lots of money, they were Masters of the Universe:, developers, investors, doctors, lawyers, accountants, corporate presidents, vice-presidents, CEO's, CFO's. My straight-laced brothers and I were expected to follow suit. They did; I, the irredeemable wild-child, had no interest. I got pregnant as a teenager; he was the director of the food co-op where I volunteered. We married, but I soon realized while he looked hippie and talked hippie what he yearned for wasn't me, but the family money. The marriage ended quickly and unhappily, neither my son nor I had heard from him in years.

On the positive side he'd been a hell of a fuck; I've had few his equal since.

So, on the occasion of my divorce my mother, with an oft-repeated, "I told you so," set up a trust fund for my son's proper education. The message: I'd never make enough money to do so.

I went to college, remained a wild-child (albeit one who, when it was a man, required a condom), got a degree in folklore, headed for graduate school, (more wild-childing), got a PhD, then a job teaching at a small public rural university in Virginia, where I calmed down the act. Then, after turning my dissertation into several published articles and an award-winning book, I was hired at the University of North Carolina.

In my world it was impressive; it my parents' it was a lark: North Carolina was not the Ivy League, folklore not a real discipline.

In Chapel Hill my reborn wild child was circumspect: William was of an age where I couldn't explain overnight guests by calling it a sleep-over with mommy's friend. There'd been a couple of serious relationships, and when not there were covert means to address my sex-drive: liaisons with visiting graduate students (our own student body was off-limits), former lovers I'd meet at conferences, and the young, oft-married, and hard-bodied assistant football coaches and trainers whose disappointment at my refusal to let their players slide through my classes was offset by my willingness to let them slide their thick cocks between my legs.
​

* * * * *​

Back to Thanksgiving.

After dessert - our long-time family cook had prepared her amazing Baked Alaska - mother ushered William away for a private discussion which my son, as we pulled away from the curb, immediately shared.

"It was basically the same old stuff. Grandma said you should have sent me to boarding school, Phillips Exeter would have been glad to have me, but despite my public high school education she said with my grades, ACT score, community service, and the 'soccer thing,' and her connections she can get me into Harvard or Yale. I could walk onto the soccer team, get a scholarship my sophomore year, and even if I didn't - here she self-congratulated on how well she'd invested - there was more than enough money in the trust to pay for it."

"What did you say?"

"I said I'd think about it, but I'm not going to Harvard. Y'know, Tar Heel born, Tar Heel bred, plus who wants to play soccer in the Ivy League when Carolina recruited me. You had the courage not to let them control you with their money, I can try to do the same."

"Aren't you afraid she'll try to take it away?"

"Yeah, although maybe she can't. She bragged how neatly her lawyers tied it all up, that no one else would ever have access. By the way, that pissed me off, that she thought you'd raid the fund."

The notion that I'd try to steal my son's money pissed me off too. I was not penurious, had never asked the family for money, and while the folklore faculty was far from the highest paid on campus I'd raised my son on my own.

"So I was thinking, as kinda of an FU to everyone, remember when you were dating Alan, getting serious, you two talked about a honeymoon at that Carribean resort, why don't you and I go there over Spring Break, on me."

"Son that's sweet, but you can't afford that."

He handed me an envelope; it contained the fund's financial report.

He could afford it.
​

* * * * *​

I told him "no" several times, but my desire to go and the disappointment in his voice overcame my reluctance. Over the next months, wanting to look my best, I prepared. I'm a jogger/swimmer/hiker, not a weight lifter, but with my son's guidance I hit the gym and worked out at home, losing ten pounds, getting my five foot seven inch body down to my college 127 pounds and my measurements to 36-24-35 (one more inch on the butt than in college - couldn't get that off). I let my brown hair grow out until it hung past my shoulder blades, which would have been frowned on in the business school but was fine in my more bohemian discipline, and took the opportunity to get out in the sun, darkening my already dark skin.

People noticed. I could feel the eyes on me; flirtatious students, friends, and colleagues grew more flirtatious. My own libido was also on overdrive. Unfortunately no visiting grad student floated my boat and visits from my football coach, who was on the road recruiting, were irregular. Finally I put together a paper to deliver at a conference organized by a friend from graduate school. She had marvelous lips and tongue.
​

* * * * *​

On March 1 the trust vested and William turned $10,000.00 in stocks into cash.

On March 2, debit card in hand, he headed for his computer to buy airplane tickets, rent a car (under my name), and contact the resort. Later, at dinner, he was distracted. I asked if anything was wrong. He said no.

Three days later he said, "Mom, we gotta talk."

"What is it son?"

"It's not my fault."

Employing my wide-eyed quizzical look, perfected from years of hearing my students say the same thing, I stared at him.

William recognized it, laughed, and ice broken said, "After New Years I called the resort. They said I'd need to give them a credit or debit card, which I didn't have, to reserve a room. Worried about Spring Break I asked if there'd be any trouble getting a room the week of March 9; they said no, they don't cater to students and never sell out in March. So the day after the trust vested I called to make a reservation and it turns out a family from Brazil booked all available rooms for a reunion. Hoping for a cancellation I checked the site every day for an opening, then just to be sure called. On the third day a suite opened up. Desperate, I booked it.

"I'm not hearing a problem."

"It's the honeymoon suite. The groom ran off with the bride's mother, so the wedding was cancelled."

"What?"

"The groom and the..."

I said, "Not that, we're in the honeymoon suite?" then calming down added, "I guess it's okay, weird but okay. Is there only one bed?"

"Yeah, but there's more. A strict policy is posted on the web-site, it's limited to honeymooners. Mom, it's the only way we'll get in."

"You lied, you told them we're on our honeymoon?"

"Well it's more like the lady I was talking to assumed we were and I didn't correct her."

I stared at him.

"Okay, they're pretty much the same thing."

"Son there must be other resorts on the island."

"There are a few, not nearly as nice, and they'll be aflow with drunken spring breakers. Mom, this is the one you wanted to go to."

"So what are you proposing?"

He pulled an envelope from his pocket, turned it over, shook it. Out fell my ex-husband's wedding and my engagement and wedding rings.
​

* * * * *​

Figuring an older more mature voice could find an exception to the honeymoon suite rule - certainly if there were no honeymooners they wouldn't let it go empty - I called the resort posing as half an unmarried couple wanting it during the off season, but they were adamant. They said the room was good luck; couples who stayed there never divorced. They would not jinx its gris-gris.
​

* * * * *​

That night I was more practical.

"Son we'll never get away with it."

"C'mon Mom, as good as you look, everybody will think you'd interest a younger guy."

"The flattery's a nice try, but we aren't a couple, don't act like a couple, don't dress like a couple."

"We can fake it."

"Really? You'd have to transform yourself into a smitten young man who adored his bride, hung on her every word, pampered her, took care of her, wore whatever she wanted, did whatever she said, no back talk, no lip..."

That sounded pretty good.

"... you'd think about her all the time, anticipate what she might want and do it. Pull her chair out, open her car door, massage her neck and shoulders, call her 'sweetie' and 'my love' like you meant it."

This sounded real good.

William nodded his head in apparent agreement and I decided to push it. I love to dance and suspecting my son, and his graceful athletic body, would be naturals on the dance floor I said, "You'd have to take me out dancing at night, which means we'd need to practice, hit a few clubs before we left. We wouldn't want to look like it was our first time."

Accepting my dare he said, "No problem."

"And we'd need a new wardrobe, fun sexy stuff for our honeymoon."

Pretending to give the matter serious consideration he sucked his lower lip into his mouth, lowered his gaze then, after several seconds, said, "Sold."
​

* * * * *​

In order to convince others he was my husband I'd have to be able to imagine him as my husband, as a man. We discarded the labels "mother" and "son" and with an occasional slip I called him William and he called me Rocky (my nickname, my mother had christened me the more ladylike Rachel) and used affectionate nicknames. Sweetie and gorgeous were among our favorites.

Our effort to be physically more affectionate was helped by the dancing. Good to his word, that night, twice more that week, we drove to a near-by city and, holding hands walked onto a dance floor and boogied. We learned how the other moved, learned to move with each other, and as we grew more comfortable we'd get lost in the music, move together like beaus, end each dance with a hug and kiss, return to our table, our fingertips touching atop it, our feet below it.

Whenever together we'd hold hands, slip an arm around each other, stand in the other's personal space.

If in the same room but not physically close we'd glance at each other, hold the other's gaze.

The rules for conversation: pay attention (not half but full, hang on every word), smile and nod while you listen.

At restaurants we ordinarily didn't patronize we'd hold hands, he'd pull out my chair. Sitting we'd mirror each other's actions, use pet nicknames and animated gestures, look into each other's eyes, listen, laugh at the smallest joke. He'd pay the bill, I'd kiss him in thanks.

I enjoyed it; it had been awhile since I'd seriously dated. I liked the attention, liked the envious glances of women wondering about my good-looking young man, liked the occasional glances of young men wondering how my son had scored this fine older woman.

My good mood was reflected in my everyday demeanor. Friends and colleagues said there was a certain glow to me.

I also had a whale of time dressing myself, and my son, for our honeymoon.

Thinking we just might pull this off I looked forward to trying. In bed, at night, I'd imagine the luxurious resort nestled in a lush tropical paradise, me displaying my hard body on the beach in a tiny bikini, handsome William bringing me a drink, and slip a finger inside by swollen cunt.
​

* * * * *​

Pulling up to the resort in the convertible we'd rented I was happy to see William fiddling with his wedding ring. He'd wanted to put it on several days ago to get used to it but I insisted he wait until this morning. One woman's observation: newly married men, adjusting to the sensation of it on their finger, play with their wedding rings.

My son came around the car, opened my door, offered me his arm. I stood, he kissed my cheek and whispered, "Happy honeymoon darling, you look beautiful," in my ear. I brushed his hair into place, kissed him, and holding hands we entered the lobby.

The clerk, who let her gaze linger on my son a beat too long, checked William's ID, said, "Mr. and Mrs. Barnes it's so good to see you," turned to a co-worker, said, "Let the boss know," and said to us, "Ms. Pamba, the resort's manager, insists on greeting honeymooners personally."

Saying, "That's kind of her," I wrapped a hand on William's arm, stroked his skin with a finger tip. While still not entirely comfortable touching him this way - there was an undeniable sexual component to it - it was what any woman would do after the clerk's covetous glance. It helped that my son's fit physique was a delight to touch.

Responding to my touch William's hand, his fingers sweet and sensitive, drifted to my lower back, his thumb stroked my spine. The clerk's eyes flitted to the side and following her gaze I saw a striking brunette, a few years older than me, approaching.

"Our happy elopers, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes welcome."

She kissed my cheek, did the same to William, and said, "My name is Mimi, I'm the manager. They alert me when the honeymooners arrive so I can greet them personally.

"Please, it's William and Rocky."

There was a hint of confusion in her eyes.

"I'm Rocky, it's a nickname, my legal name is Rachel."

She handed me her card, kissed my cheek, and said, "This is my private line, if you need anything text or call. I'd love to show you around. But first there's a bottle of champagne in your room, on the house. Have a wonderful time."

My son turned to me and with just the right look in his eyes said, "We'll be sure to do that."
​

* * * * *​

After tipping the bellboy we walked along the living room's wall-length floor to ceiling window overlooking the beach. I slipped my hand into William's and said, "It's beautiful, thank you. And, by the way, you didn't tell me we eloped."

He said, "Oh yeah that. I was worried that someone might wonder why we booked so late so I kinda said we were eloping, let them fill in the details. Y'know a couple so madly in love, so hot for each other, they decided they couldn't wait. You ready to test the water?"

I said, "Love to, but if we're eloping - and if there are any more secrets to our romance you should let me know - the first thing we'd do is screw like bunnies. Mimi knew that, that's why she let us go so quickly."

The place was lovely. Tastefully decorated, the living room opened on a balcony overlooking the ocean, the oversized bath included a Jacuzzi, and the spacious bedroom a wide firm bed. The closet was big enough for my entire wardrobe.

William said, "You should have brought more stuff."

I slid my hand around his waist and said, "You'll just have to buy your bride a few things while we're here, something fun and sexy. After all, you'd want to spoil me on our honeymoon. Now since we can't appear in public anytime soon I'm thinking that Jacuzzi looked mighty cosy. Care to join me husband of mine?"

William said, "You're really enjoying this," and went to change, re-appearing in the tight little swim suit I'd picked out for him, then continued filling the Jacuzzi while I, in the bedroom, tried on several of the bikinis I'd purchased for this trip, checked myself in the mirror, settling on a modest floral design. I'd save the daring ones for the beach.

Upon my return, voice enthusiastic, William said, "Whoa Mom, lookin' good!"

Fishing for a compliment I turned in a 360 degree circle and said, "You really like?"

"Very much, you're gorgeous. I have the hottest woman here."

With a, "Thank you," I slipped into the water. He handed me a glass of champagne, and our mantra of the last few days - always touch each other - took hold. He moved my foot into his lap, rubbed it with his thumbs. We chatted, grew quiet, relaxed. He moved to the other foot and I leaned back, enjoying his hands, the warm coursing water, lost track of time.

My phone pinged.

"What is it?"

I picked it up, slid over next to him, leaned into him, and his hand moving to my neck, kneading its muscles, said, "A text from Mimi. The masseuses had a cancellation this afternoon, the guests are out fishing and hooked a marlin. You interested?"

"Sure, sounds great, let her know."

I put the phone down.

"I will, but not yet. You gotta figure we're still consummating. A studly young man like you and a fit older lady like myself can go for hours. Your hand also feels good on my neck."

Forty-five minutes later I texted back, happy to find Mimi had reserved the spot. We changed into shorts and tee-shirts, buried our swim suits in the cloth bag I'd packed - newlyweds would not wear swimsuits in the Jacuzzi - put the champagne and glasses by the bed, then I peeled back the comforter and blanket and, squirming and bouncing, flopped onto the bed.

William said, "What are you doing?"

"We wouldn't want a nosy maid wondering why the newlyweds bed wasn't a rumpled mess."

William laughed, pounced on the bed. We wrestled playfully for a minute or two, then stood up, pulled the comforter into place, and I said, "Now that looks like we had a good screw."

All this thinking about sex was getting to me. I was horny.
​

* * * * *​

Coming around her elegant desk Mimi welcomed us to her office, directed us to a small beige love seat. She poured us each a cup of tea, then returned the pot to its place, I noting the delightful jiggle to an ample butt that perfectly fit her comely hourglass figure. Feeling self-conscious about checking out my hostess I looked to my son and, happy to see his eyes were better behaved than mine, glanced out her window. Her office overlooked the pool and ocean beyond; if I worked here I'd get nothing done.

As Mimi sat in a chair facing us William, snapping me back to reality, reached for my hand. I leaned my body into his and, after some engaging small talk Mimi said, "I'll have Sanchez escort you to the spa," brushed back her thick black hair, picked up the phone, and said, "My darling, they're ready." A moment later a good looking young man entered. Mimi stood, pecked his lips with a quick affectionate kiss, and said, "Rocky, William, this is my son Sanchez, he works here as an intern. He'll show you the way."

The resemblance was striking: short with dark eyes and skin, high foreheads, round faces.
​

* * * * *​

The masseuses, slender small-breasted blondes who could pass for Swedish although their accents revealed they were from the American South, wore white cotton pants and tank tops and, I suspected as I watched the fabric drag across their skin, not much else. They handed us towels and directed us to the adjoining dressing rooms.

My son opened my door, I entered, and was reaching to close it behind me when one of the masseuses, in a sweet Southern drawl, said, "Its good to see old-fashioned chivalry."

Damn, I almost screwed up. We were married, we'd dress, or undress, together.

My son followed me inside.
​

* * * * *​

"Act like we do this all the time."

"Can I stare?"

"No."

"Any man married to you would stare."

"Any man I married would be too classy to stare, especially with two strangers on the other side of the door."
​

* * * * * *​

I'd never experienced a massage its equal. My masseuse - I'd not expected such powerful arms and fingers on that lithe body - working carefully and patiently, understood my body better than I. The rhythmic music was gentle and hypnotic, the candle light indirect and comforting, the smell, an aromatherapy, intoxicating, and the oil, warm and silky on my skin, seductive and sensual. My body devoid of stress, my mood elevated, I was a sponge absorbing sensations.

I drifted, lost track of time, grew increasingly aroused. Not, "Damn, I hope that hunk has a big dick because I need to be fucked now," aroused, but, "I want to spend a rainy Saturday afternoon being touched, caressed, cuddled, kissed, stroked, and then slowly and sweetly entered," aroused.

The masseuse lifted and rotated my leg, then asked me to sit up. My eyes closed, head slumped slightly forward, she worked my neck, shoulders, and upper chest, then moved my neck, arms, and torso in gentle circles.

At some point she touched my upper back, said, "We're done," and I lazily lifted my head, opened my eyes, saw my son looking at me with the same placid eyes. His towel, as was mine, lay across his lap, my breasts - nipples hard - hung free.

If not so relaxed instinct would have kicked in and I'd have yanked the towel back into place, covering myself and giving the game away, but for a moment I just sat there and William had the presence of mind to say, "Darling, you look like you enjoyed it as much as I did. That was wonderful ladies, thank you."

"You're welcome. It's a pleasure working with two such responsive subjects. Maybe we'll see you again while you're staying with us?"

There was only one possible answer. It would mean being naked with my son again, but we'd be okay. Then, wondering whether the massage effected him the way it did me, before I could tell myself no I dropped my eyes to his towel. No hint of an erection, either it hadn't or he had better self-control than I.

Needing to stretch and back in newlywed mode I raised my arms in a slow circle, rolled my shoulders, my breasts swaying gracefully on my chest, then stood, wrapped the towel around my waist, leaving my breasts exposed, and said, "We'd love to." William stood, slipped his arm around my waist, turned into me, his chest pressed to the side of my breast, kissed me and said, "That sounds great my love."

We retreated to the dressing room, changed, thanked them again, left a tip on the counter.
​

* * * * *​

On the way back to our room it was William who broke the ice. "Those women were amazing. Are you turned on? I sure am."

"Yeah. I wondered if it effected you the way it did me."

I did not mention looking at his crotch.

He said, "Sure did. The only thing that kept me from becoming erect was the terror at doing so. After a session with those two we newlyweds would need additional consummating. Why don't you take the first shower. Take your time."

Well, that answered the question of whether he knew I masturbated in the shower.

"Thanks, I could use it. I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"Yeah, I know. If you prefer we could be indirect, use euphemisms, but I think we're beyond that."
​

* * * * *​

I aimed one of the twin spigots at my head, the other at my sex, and warm sweet water flowing down my body I quickly brought myself off. Then, the immediate need addressed, enjoying the endless hot water I pushed myself to the edge, retreated, did it several times before allowing myself the joy of a powerful orgasm.

A few minutes later, my son in the shower and I dressing in the bedroom I smelled it. Had William masturbated while I was in the shower? I pulled back the blanket on his side of the bed, touched his pillow, it was warm; I brought the pillow to my face and sniffed. It smelled good, like my son. Pulling the blanket all the way back I saw the outline of his body on the sheet, ran my hand on it. It was warm with a hint of his perspiration. Then I saw it, leaned down to make sure, touched it, recognized the thick slick texture, brought it to my nose. It was cum. I wiped my finger off on the sheet, pulled the blanket back into place, finished dressing, realized my son was still in the shower. At home his showers never lasted more than five minutes. Was he hard again? Was he in there masturbating?
​

* * * * *​

We sat together on the couch, legs draped across each other, playing on our tablets, then having given it enough time for some consummating, went to the balcony and watched the sunset, my son standing behind me, his arms wrapped round my waist, our bodies pressed together. Later, at dinner, my son, the devoted doting husband, held out my chair and we talked and listened, laughed, shared a dessert (my choice). Later we danced, my son holding me tight, me pressing my body to his trim powerful form, sharing an occasional kiss - just a peck. It was wonderful.

Back in our room I showered first, masturbated again, came again. William, who normally bathed in the morning, had acceded to my request - I like my bed-mate clean - was taking his shower. I wondered, was he masturbating n there, had he masturbated while I showered. I thought about checking his sheet again, decided that went too far, and wearing flannel pyjamas - I'd picked out the same for William - crawled into the large bed and fell asleep. In the middle of the night I returned from the bathroom, took a moment to study my son - he was so handsome. When I got back in bed without waking he murmured something, rolled over, lay an arm across my body, spooned me.

It felt good to be held by a man.
​

* * * * *​

We woke early, stashed our flannel pyjamas in the bag I bought, and headed for the dock; our scuba diving guide had said the sights were most spectacular in the morning. Enjoying the opportunity to show off my newly trim body I wore a revealing indigo bikini, something a bride would wear to get her man's juices flowing. Our guide was solicitous, might have been unwelcomingly so if I was not accompanied by my athletic young husband, and perhaps, feeling safe, feeling sexy, I was guilty of a little more preening than normal.

On our return I saw Mimi on the dock talking to the fishing guides. Assuming we'd head back to our room to do what newlyweds do, she waved us over, said she'd have lunch sent up - the chef was preparing her excellent ox-tail soup - and suggested we drop by her office at 3:00. She planned to get down to the beach, would love it if we'd join her.

After eating - the food was delicious - I showered and masturbated, then, while William showered donned a revealing yellow bikini and rumpled my side of the bed, then went to the living room, turned on the television, and was joined by my son wearing the tasteful - albeit small - red swim trucks I'd bought for him. He sat on the far end of the couch, placed my feet in his lap, and rubbed them as we learned that weathermen on Spanish television were uniformly bodaciously well-endowed women dressed in form-fitting clothes. If Mimi needed a second career there was one waiting.

When the show ended my son checked his watch and said, "It's time to head downstairs. I hadn't anticipated how much time we'd have to set aside on this trip for not having sex with each other."

"A young man like you has a reputation to consider."

Laughing, he said, "Yeah, and if my bride looked like you I'd never leave the room."
​

* * * * *​

My son, sunglasses sitting atop his head, wearing a swim suit, pull-over shirt, and sandals, held the door open for me as I followed Sanchez into his mother's office. Recalling the view I glanced at the window, saw the reflection of my son behind me. He was looking at my ass.

Sanchez said, "Mama asked me to offer her apologies. There's been an emergency. One of the lodges had a power failure, she's there with the electrician. She wanted you to know the beach is lovely and said I should remind you of the Brazilians."

After Sanchez left we headed for the beach and I said, "William, in Mimi's office, did you check out my butt?"

Expecting a denial I heard, "Sure was, I look every chance I get. Just playing the role of a newlywed, and it is one fine butt."

That was not something he'd have said to me two weeks ago. Not sure of what to say I said, "Thanks, I think."

He leaned in, kissed my cheek, and said, "You're welcome. When you look this good people stare. Do you know what Sanchez meant about Brazilians?"

I said I didn't; then we reached the beach and I did. I slipped my hand into William's and said, "They're nude."

"Yeah, Brazilians sun bathe in the nude."

"What are we going to do?"

Shrugging his shoulders William said, "Chicken out, blend in? What would newlyweds do? I'm game if you are. Wearing that bikini you can't pretend you're embarrassed by your fine bod."

That was also not something he'd have said two weeks ago.

"So your mother has a hot bod?

That was not something I'd have said two weeks ago.

"Absolutely."

"You're enjoying this, talking to me like this, playing my husband."

"Any guy would."

Thinking two could play this game I said, "Well, you're right passable eye candy yourself," and scanned the crowd. I was in better shape then most of these people; why the heck not? I said, "I'm game."

Finding a place off to the side I untied my top, slipped out of the bottoms, and enjoying the sun on my skin spread sun block over my body. It was top of the line stuff; it felt good. When I lay down William said, "Let me do your back."

I said, "Thanks," and handed him the bottle. William worked the lotion into my shoulders and upper back, his strong fingers turning it into a massage. I murmured in relaxation and approval. His fingers tips moved down the side of my body, along the outside of my sensitive breasts, then, emboldened by my failure to object he took advantage of our role-play and his hands slid up my legs, across my ass. I let him do it again before saying, "Thank you William. I think my butt's safe."

He said, "Just being careful, such perfection should be protected," then laying down beside me added, "Can you get my back darling?"

I sat up, my naked breasts swaying, and said, "Of course sweetie," wondered what people would think if they knew William was not my husband, but my son.

I worked the sun block into William's back, enjoying the sinews of his robust body. By the time I reached his butt, his high hard firm butt, I was ready for a bit of revenge and put my weight into it, vigorously working the lotion into his rump before laying beside him.

He rolled over, said, Thanks," kissed my lips, and we lay naked together, his foot touching mine. When I wasn't dozing off, my eyes shielded by my sunglasses I followed the young hunky guys wandering by, enjoying it when they, feeling safe under the anonymity of their own shades, checked out the hot older woman. Finally, growing thirsty, I asked William for water and he sat up, dug a bottle from our small cooler, and said, "Are those people heading for, coming back from the dunes, doing what I think they're doing?"

I rolled over, exposing my back side to the world, sand clinging to the perspiration on my skin. Couples were walking towards the dunes behind the beach - men's equipment turgid, women's nipples swollen - and languidly returning - turgid and swollen no more.

I said, "It sure looks like it."

He said, "I feel better."

"Why?"

"Surrounded by all this beautiful female flesh I've gotten turned on. I wondered if it might be," here he paused, searching for the right word, "inappropriate."

I said, "Should I be jealous?"

"Who said I wasn't talking about my beautiful bride?"

I raised myself on my forearms, my breasts hanging below me, my nipples still in the warm sand, and said, "Smart ass."

He ran a hand down my back, stopped before reaching my butt, and said, "You have a mighty fine ass too. I could use some relief, maybe I should wander up there."

"I'm not sure you should William."

"Why not?"

Nodding towards the dunes I said, "Because if you go as a couple you're doing it to have sex. If you go as an individual, people will think you're a voyeur, going to watch."

"Maybe they want to be watched? After all, they're wandering around naked before thousands of stranger and are about to have sex in public."

"Still the presumption should be to respect privacy."

His hand went to my neck, kneading the flesh, and he said, "So come with me."

"You can't wait til we get back to our suite?"

"I could, but I don't want to. Think of it as part of the resort experience."

It wasn't much of an argument, but it didn't have to be. I was turned on and as I imagined the naked men and women making love in the near-by dunes I got hotter.

We were man and wife. There was nothing wrong with taking a stroll.

"Okay, but if this gets out I'll sell you to the gypsies."

We headed for the dunes. I wondered, were the young men who'd been checking me out envious of my beau, did they imagine us fucking under the Caribbean sun? What if they knew we were mother and son, would they be horrified, amused, aroused?

In the dunes my son's theory was confirmed. While tall grass in the valleys between the dunes afforded some privacy, few took advantage, instead making love where anyone wandering by could see. By the time we found an unoccupied, relatively private spot William was not the only one who needed to masturbate.

"William, I'll wander off so you can take care of yourself."

My son, not fooled, knew exactly what I intended.

"No Mom, this is the best place we've found. You use it. I'll find another spot, then come back and get you."

My orgasm, hard and sharp, came quickly, and while there was another bigger better one inside me I was temporarily satiated. I scanned the dune line, saw naked William heading my way. He was beautiful.
​

* * * * *​

That night, back at the resort, we ate dinner, danced. My son held me tight, I clung to him. Later, in the shower, my back to the wall, water splashing on my sex, I slipped a finger inside, pressed another to my clit, brought a breast to my mouth, sucked my nipple, wondered, was my son in the bedroom, in our bed, jacking off? I pushed that image from my mind; my thoughts turned to the beach, the dunes. I came, came again, then a final time, a thundering roiling orgasm that buckled my knees. I slid to the shower floor.
​

* * * * *​

While the resort offered horse back riding, its trails were well-traveled and tame. Wanting to explore this tropical land we found a stable more to our liking and the next morning, wanting to get there early, we drank a cup of coffee, packed a blanket and lunch, took off.

The early start was a god-send for we got lost before finding the right dirt road (path would have been more accurate). Once there William ducked into the office, a rickety building close to collapse, to pay while a wiry young man led me into the yard. The horses were healthy, strong, and friendly; whoever ran the place knew his or her horses.

My son, mischievous look on his face, joined us and we took off with a rough map of the local trails and a detailed topographic map. Our sure-footed horses knew the way; our early start meant we had the trail and this lush verdant land to ourselves. As I rode, my hips grinding on the soft leather saddle, increasingly aroused I slid forward, increasing the pressure on my sex, my pleasant reverie interrupted when William said, "This looks like a good place for lunch." I looked around; we were in a clearing with a small pool of water at the base of a series of waterfalls trickling down the side of the mountain.

It was perfect.

We tied up the horses and as they dipped their heads to drink William and I lay our blanket on the soft soil. I pulled my tee-shirt over my head, unveiling the bikini top I wore underneath. Chosen for this bumpy ride, less skimpy than what I'd worn to the beach, it held my breasts high and firm on my chest.

My son's eyes flicked to my chest, returned to my face.

"Did you just peek at my tits?"

Wearing a cat that ate the canary grin he said, "The girls are standing at attention, hard not to notice."

I looked down. My nipples, hard and erect, were clearly outlined in my top.

The girls did look good.
​

* * * * *​

After eating William pulled out a joint.

I'm a college professor; I teach folklore. I did not feign shock that it existed or that my son might indulge.

"Where did you get it?"

"At the stable, a bonus when you rent two horses."

"We shouldn't."

Gesturing to the dense jungle he said, "We should. We're honeymooning on a Caribbean island, surrounded by this. I think we're safe."

He lit it, took a hit, passed it to me. It was good shit, I passed it back.

Things slowed down, soon we were giggling. The colors and smells of the world grew brighter, more intense.

He lay down, so did I, resting my head on his muscular stomach.

He reached for my hand, ran his fingers on it, my palm, my fingers, his motion sweet, intimate, sexy. I loved it. I was stoned.

My sex simmered.

After awhile, I'm not sure how long, he said, "I'm told you can get under that waterfall."

Lost in thought I had to ask him to repeat himself, then said, "What do you mean?"

"There's a little cave, or shelf, under that waterfall. You can crawl onto it, get inside the waterfall."

I rolled to my side, supporting my head on my hand, and said, "I see what you mean, but our clothes will get soaked and in this humidity they'd never dry before we had to get back on the horses."

Running a finger down my spine he said, "Who said anything about clothes," stood, and added, "It's our honeymoon, we've already been naked together, and we shunned the resort's trail in the hope of finding something like this, let's go for it," as he pulled his tee-shirt over his head.

I should have anticipated what happened next, but when my son pushed his jeans and underpants to his knees, it hung before me. Stoned, belly full, distracted by the beauty of the world around me I stared at it, thick and brown, several beats too long.

I like them big (not porn star big, but big). My son, while at the moment soft, had the makings of big.

While there was no disguising what just happened my son, the gentlemen, said nothing and offered his hand. I took hold of it, stood, and turning around said, "Thank you darling. Could I get some help here?"

He untied my bikini top, I turned back to him, dropped it on the blanket. I was impressed; his eyes remained fixed on my face. Suppressing the urge to lean forward and brush his skin with my breasts just to see what would happen, I accepted his dare and pulled my belt free, handed it to him, bent forward to work my breeches down my legs. As my brown hair fell over my face I wondered, was he, with no chance of being caught, scanning his mother's body? Would he think my breasts sagged? Would he understand how hard I worked to keep them in shape, how nice and firm they were for a woman entering the second half of her thirties?

I stepped out of my breeches, stood. This was the third time I'd been naked with my son, but it felt different this time, it felt naughty, a fun naughty. Was it because we were alone, because we had no good excuse for doing it?

He ran a finger down the side of my face and said, "You're a truly beautiful woman."

I smiled, touched his lips, said, "Thank you my darling. Now lead the way."

We crawled under the waterfall, the cool refreshing water splashing my naked body, onto the shelf. Its surface, purple and magenta clay, had a slick near libidinous feel. In the limited space William settled against the wall, I leaned my body into him, and we watched the sunlight, an array of ever-changing colors, play on the cascading water. I shivered and William lay his strong arms across my chest, the heat of his body warming mine.

I wasn't sure how long, but some minutes later William moved his mouth to my ear, whispered, "Don't make a sound," and pointed to the clearing. It took a second to see - its brown buff fur blended with the forest - but it was a monkey, a foot and a half tall with a tail of similar length, sitting upright. It scanned the scene, chirped, and a troop of about two dozen monkeys emerged from the jungle, filling the clearing. They raided the remnants of our picnic, drank from the pool, played, scanned their surroundings while nonchalantly accepting our presence and that of the horses.​