Chapter 4
She called her cousin that morning, and made arrangements for the travel bus; in a few days, he said. It would have to be thoroughly checked out first, and would she handle the insurance? She certainly would, and gladly, happily.
For everything was happy now; the entire world had come awake in a haze of joy this morning, and it was as if the world would never dare to go dark again. Charlotte Mason was in love, and the love was returned a thousandfold.
Blair had left for awhile, but he'd promised it would not be for long. He was as eager as she to continue the sweet exploration of each other's bodies, to prolong the tender happiness they'd already known.
But he needed clothes, and thought it best if he saw his mother face to face, rather than telling her the tidings over the phone. Charlotte understood, although she wanted him by her side, wanted to touch and hold him, to kiss him openly and without any lingering shame.
Did Elena feel the same way? How had Elena gone through the magic night with Duncan? As lovingly, as powerfully, Charlotte hoped, and knew a fleeting brush of some emotion she could not quite define, when she pictured Elena's blonde body writhing in the arms of Duncan.
She moved humming into the living room and had her first tall, cold one of the day, mixing cola with the bourbon and adding a dainty slice of lemon. Not jealousy, Charlotte said to herself, and drank from her frosted glass. Not jealous of her own son for making love with Elena Chapman, because that was an impossible feeling for her to carry.
No; she was glad for Elena, and glad for Duncan. Elena would enjoy his young body so much, and with all her experience, she could most certainly teach him all he needed to know.
Sipping her drink, Charlotte wandered to the stereo and punched buttons. She frowned, trying to think of something special that Elena might be teaching Duncan. Would there be any of the deviations she'd heard about, any of the acts that could be considered perverted?
She shook her head. Of course not; Elena wasn't one of those, for all her loose and kidding talk. She was too clean and nice for perversions, and especially she'd be careful of anything abnormal that might serve to twist Duncan's forming personality and contaminate his future.
Blair and she hadn't done anything like that. They'd only made love in several positions. Charlotte rattled the ice in her emptied glass and smiled, remembering. A little devil, that Blair; he'd been the experienced one who urged her to mount him, to straddle his hard body and take his hard thing up into her tremulous vagina.
Jim had never asked her to do that; her husband did it only one way, stiffly atop her body, pumping and plunging until he'd climaxed, and then rolling hurriedly off her, not caring whether she had known orgasm or not.
That hadn't been love, and it hadn't even been good sex; Charlotte knew that now.
Secure in her expanded new knowledge, she mixed herself a congratulatory drink and danced slowly around the living room with it, bathed in music, washed by sunshine. It was good to be alive.
The phone rang, and she waltzed to it, pirouetting with stylized grace. "Hello; yes?"
"Elena, darling. I called to tell you that Blair will be over in a little while. He went with Duncan to do some dinner shopping for me, but hell come to your place just as soon as he gets back. He's very eager."
Somehow, Charlotte's face prickled and felt warm. It was difficult for her to be as casual as Elena, when each of them had been so recently screwed by the other's son. She said, "He-Duncan didn't say anything to Blair?"
Elena laughed. "Not a thing. They were just a bit standoffish with each other this morning, so I don't imagine they'll get around to comparing notes. Not yet, anyway."
"Elena, pleaser
Her friend's voice was delighted. "Still coy, dear, after that long and interesting night? If Blair gave you just half the thrill that Duncan gave me, you're still on the clouds."
"I ... I don't want to talk about it. Not yet, Elena. You know how I am. I ... I just can't make light of it."
Elena said, "I'm not putting it down, darling. I also called to tell you that Duncan doesn't want to come home today, either. Hell be with me all day, and all night. That's some boy, Charlotte-all muscle and bone and stamina. I really want to thank you, even more so because Duncan was a virgin."
Charlotte drew a long, steadying breath, then took a long, steadying jolt from her glass. "A-all right, Elena." Her friend kissed into the phone and broke the connection. For some time, Charlotte held her phone, then carefully lowered it onto the cradle.
Blair had certainly been no cherry; he was too wise, too deft. But Duncan hadn't been around like Blair; he'd been a virgin, until last night with Elena. Until a sensuous, lovely thirty-seven-year-old woman had taken his cherry.
She drank again, and wondered if boys had any pain, that first time, like girls. No, silly; boys had no membrane in their things. But the implication was the same, with women and men alike greedy to be the first to possess a virgin.
Had her son sucked Elena's nipples and played with her pussy? Had Elena climbed atop her son's stiff and thrusting prick to ride it like a jockey atop a fiery thoroughbred?
Closing her eyes, Charlotte finished the drink. She was about to go for another one when the phone rang again. "Yes?"
"Charlotte." It was Mark Travers, and the timbre of his deep voice sent a cold shock through her.
"Mark? I ... how nice of you to call."
"Nice? That's a hell of a word to use. I called because I wanted to hear your voice, to know you're all right."
"I'm fine; just fine."
And what would you say, Mark Travers, if you knew I've been fucking a sixteen-year-old boy all night?
"Then have dinner with me."
"Oh; oh, I can't, Mark. Really; not tonight. There's someone coming to visit."
A boy golden and tall; a boy slim and hard between the legs, a boy with a driving, insatiable prick to make love with.
"Get rid of them. Darn it, Charlotte, I love you."
"I can't get rid of them, Mark."
"I said I love you."
"I heard you."
And Blair last night, with his firm young organ locked into my steamy box, Charlotte thought. I heard him say he loved me, too.
"Charlotte, what the hell is the matter with you?"
Nothing; she was in love and loved, and she didn't ever have to prove herself with a man; she had a boy who enjoyed her just as she was.
"Nothing's the matter. I ... we're leaving on a trip in a few days. I have to think things over."
His voice roughened. "My proposal? And who's that?"
"Elena Chapman."
"The boy staying home? How about Jan?"
Jan. Good lord, she hadn't even remembered that Jan was spending the weekend with a little friend, that her daughter might come home early, might appear at any time.
"No, no; they're coming with us. Elena's son, too."
"Sounds crowded. Don't go, Charlotte."
"I have to."
What would Jan think; how would little Jan react to anything that remotely resembled promiscuity? How could she have forgotten Jan, even for a minute?
"I won't let you go, Charlotte. I believe you love me, too, and that you're just trying to run away from our love. For some insane reason, you seem to be afraid of me, and of yourself."
She clung to the phone and wished she had a drink. "Mark, you can't stop me from taking a vacation. You don't own me, or even have a claim on me. I said I have to think it over, think us over. After I get back, I'll tell you ... "
"No! I need you now."
"Don't threaten me, Mark. I won't be pushed."
A moment's tense silence, then: "And I won't be put off, or let you make me so damned mad I'll tell you to go to hell. Whatever's wrong with you and me, I'll correct. I'm coming over there, Charlotte-right now!"
"But..." and she was talking into an empty buzz. He couldn't come here, because Blair was coming here. Mark-if Mark saw Blair alone with her, he'd suspect; he might somehow be able to tell just by looking, just by reading the guilt that would be so obvious upon her face.
Mark was so damned bullheaded, so arrogantly male. That was something that bothered her, that made her constantly classify him against the memory of her dead husband. Jim and Mark had owned some things in common-but she wouldn't be one of their chattels.
Moving swiftly, she scribbled a note for Jan, and threw some things into an overnight bag. Elena; she had to get to Elena, to hide there. Mark was overpowering, brutish; even if Jan liked him so much, now he was a danger to Charlotte's thing with Blair, and she couldn't allow that.
Before she left the house, she took a long snort from the bottle and blinked rapidly at the jolt it gave her. Then she drove the Ford to Elena's, clear across town, and all the way there, she was berating herself for not phoning ahead, so Blair wouldn't have a chance of missing her.
But surely he'd be intelligent enough to make some excuse, if he showed at her home and found only Mark Travers there. Blair wasn't dumb.
She just didn't want to miss him, to have to wait so long for the new and shining thing she had discovered, the brightness that only he had ever been able to bring her. Was it that much different for Elena, too? Elena had slept with a number of men, besides her three husbands, and she always talked so about what a blast it was. Had Duncan been a bigger blast for her?
Charlotte pulled the car into the driveway, then moved it slowly around back of the house to the delivery entrance where it would be out of sight. She'd told Mark that Elena was going on the trip with her; he'd be certain to come here next, if he couldn't find her. A stubborn man, Mark, a determined one who meant to have his way.
Maybe, just maybe, before last night making love to Blair, she might have folded up under his pressure, his demands. It was possible she would have married Mark, for there had been many times she was on the verge of saying yes.
Now she couldn't do it. Not since Blair; never could she impose another man between herself and the beautiful body of the boy. So sweet and tender, he was; knowing but somehow innocent even in his deft lovemaking. Gentle and kind, her Blair, understanding of a woman's needs, and in love with her, her.
Impatiently, she buzzed the kitchen door until Elena came to let her in. "Charlotte, what ... "
Charlotte brushed past her. "Have the boys come back yet?"
"No, they haven't." Elena shut the door. "But what are you doing here?"
"Mark called; he was most insistent. He said he was coming right over and change my mind. I ... well, I couldn't let him find Blair there, now could I?"
Elena shrugged. "You, probably not. Me-I'd have passed it off. Come on in and have some hair of the dog."
"Thanks; I need a drink. Mark is so ... and I'm all mixed up ... . "
"Here; stiff upper Up, or whatever else it takes."
Charlotte downed the shot. "Elena, you're so coarse."
Elena grinned. She looked tousled and rumpled, but happy with herself. She said, "But you love me anyhow, right?"
"Sure, I do. Only-hide me if Mark comes here looking. And, I guess I'd better go into one of the bedrooms of somewhere..."
"Why? Mark Travers won't come busting into my house, because he knows I'd clout him with something. Unless, of course, he had rape on his mind. Not your rape, mine."
Charlotte helped herself to another shot. "You're hopeless, Elena. No ... I meant I can't face up to Duncan right now. He knows about me and ... and his buddy; and I know about him and you, and well ... I just have to take all this by easy stages. Thanks for the drinks. Now let me get upstairs, and take a shower or something."
Elena patted her shoulder and walked with her to the stairs. "When the boys come back, I'll tell Blair where you are."
Charlotte hesitated. "I ... I don't know. I mean, in the daytime and with my own son in the house, and you..."
"All in the family," Elena giggled. "Go on, get up the steps and make yourself pretty for my hand-raised Romeo. You got to give the kid credit for good taste, right?"
The liquor warmed her, and so did the water. She soaped herself lasciviously in the guest bathroom, running her slick hands over her body, sliding fingers over her breasts and feeling the rigid nipples, down over her tummy, down into her pubic hair and the lips of that sheath that Blair loved so well. She was happy that he found her beautiful, that she could be sexy for him.
She caught herself, straightened and stepped back into the shower to rinse her body. Clean water purled over her, dripped from her nipples, raced down her belly to make a waterfall over her mound, to caress her inner thighs before darting across her shins and disappearing in the puddle over her feet.
Lovely legs, Blair said; beautiful tits, smooth belly, he said; and her pubic hair-so thick and luxurious, so deep he could just about make his balls vanish into it.
Charlotte lifted her breasts, arched her back to make them stand out more, and smiled down at her legs. If Blair liked them, that was enough. Maybe a young boy could be entranced by an older woman, could be enamored of her ripeness, her maturity. What did the psych books call it-Oedipus?
Oedipus complex: a morbid sexual fixation upon the mother figure.
She climbed out of the tub, grabbed desperately for a towel. Was she a mother image to Blair? No; that was only the learned nonsense of the shrinks. Blair loved her for herself, for being Charlotte Mason, and not because she was a handy substitute for ...
Elena? His own mother?
Impossible; insane. He couldn't be that kind of perverted boy, because it was very plain to see that if it held true for him, that could mean in turn that Duncan had a thing or ...
Her!
Flinging down the towel, she clutched for the terry cloth robe behind the door, and caught a glimpse of her body, naked and wanton, in the full-length mirror the robe had hidden. Full, high breasts, good skin, the glaring V of her pussy a black banner to tempt the devil himself.
"No!" she said aloud, and covered her sinful flesh with the robe. Unlocking the door, she opened it and ran through, turned right and fled down the hall to the guest room she'd spent many a lonely night in.
Her heart was pounding so, she didn't distinguish the hammer of footsteps behind her, so when he caught her at the bedroom door, she leaped like a startled cat. He held to her waist, and the robe flared wide open and she tried to twist away, frightened silly.
He kicked the door shut. Not Mark Travers, not the man she feared, but Blair. Dear, sweet and youthful Blair. His brown eyes were glowing, his beautiful mouth shaped into a smile.
"Wow," he said, reverently, "but this is the way to come home. When mother said you were here, I had to run right up and see for myself. And to catch you coming all soapy smelling from the bath, and nothing on under that robe-wow!"
Shyly, she pulled the robe together, belted it, sat primly upon the edge of the bed and put her feet together. "Blair-we have to be sensible. Did ... where is Duncan? Is he downstairs?"
He moved toward her, sleek and new in his T-shirt, his tight worn jeans. Sneaking a quick look, she could see the soft shape of his organ outlined there, and her heart gave a mighty leap. But it couldn't be: not here and not now.
"Dune's down there," he said, "but he won't bother us. You can bet on that, Mrs. Mason."
The way he said Mrs. Mason was nicer, more sensuous, than any pet name, any term of endearment he could have used. She trembled, remembering what he'd told her about using her married title.
"But he's here," she said. "My ... my son is right here in this house, just downstairs; he knows
I'm here. So don't you see-that makes it all so very different."
He watched her for a long moment, this young/old boy who was also a man; then he said, "Mrs. Mason, if it bugs you-okay. We'll take it easy, take it slow. Dune's down there, sure-but he's not thinking about you or me right now. I mean, my mother's down there, too, and he can't take his eyes off her. Dune wouldn't hear it thunder right now, he's that hung up on her."
That strange, sharp emotion cut at her again, but so swiftly was it gone that she couldn't hold it to try for recognition. She tried again: "But Duncan is my son, and if he thinks of his own mother, and ... and..."
Blair sat down beside her on the bed. She was tense, uptight as he took her hand. His fingers were warm upon her cold ones, and he said, "It all balances out, Mrs. Mason-darling Mrs. Mason, my love. Duncan with my mother; me with his mother-and I'm sure neither of us would have it any other way right now. Four people, but four different people, and all individuals. Me, you; him, her. Only because we're related, we're even nearer than if we were just passing lovers. I'm probably mixing it all up, but maybe you can sort out what I mean."
She held his hand; she felt his thigh against hers, his dear nearness. "I ... I think I know what you mean, Blair. But you're so young and pliable; you can accept strange new things. It's difficult for me, because I'm old and I get tied up in knots, and I have to take time to adjust myself."
"Okay," he said. "Take the time, Mrs. Mason. But let me wait here with you. I can't go downstairs right now. I mean, with mother just as wrapped up in Duncan as he is with her-it might be embarrassing."
"Of course, stay here," she said quickly, and swept his cheek with a swift butterfly kiss, because he was so thoughtful, so conscious of other people. "But please, darling, don't do anything to me; not yet. It's not that I don't want you to. I do, I do. I want you so much, so very much, but I just can't force myself to ... to be so bitchy right here and right now. Duncan's here, and I ... oh hell, Blair!"
He stroked her hand. "It's all right, Mrs. Mason. I can wait. I'll wait all day and all night, if you want me to. I'll just sit here where I can touch you and look at you, and be happy enough for that."
She wanted to hold him, to press his adorable body to hers, to feel him, flesh and bone and the distended rising of his wonderful prick. Charlotte shook within herself, clenched her thighs tightly together against the surging of her passion, and screamed no! no! no! into the far and echoing reaches of her mind.
She had to say something, anything, to fight her desires. "Did ... did you and Duncan talk about last night? I mean ... did he say anything, or you say anything ... "
He shook his head. "Not us. Dune's cool, and I dig that, too. We talked about school and taking this long trip next week, and traveling in the bus; nothing about actual screwing. It was in our heads, of course. But we didn't rap about it."
Charlotte let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. "Yes," she said, "let's talk about the trip."