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"And so do I." With a theatrical flourish, she dipped her finger into the jug of cream and brought it to her mouth, sucking its tip suggestively, all the while staring at her son, who appeared utterly transfixed by her gaze, squirming under it in that curious mixture of pain and pleasure. It was the most overtly sexual display he'd ever witnessed from her and it had made him instantly hard.

In this moment, Rich's mother, all experienced sensuality and almost heart-breaking vulnerability, was the most beautiful -- and desirable - thing he'd ever seen. Perhaps she realised she had embarrassed her son earlier. At least, they weren't talking about his mother and her stupid boyfriend.

Although Rich was clearly relieved by this, Mark couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. " Rich was in his bed, which was a little bit higher than the air-bed next to it.

It started off as an idea for a simple stroke story about two friends and a weird incestuous mother and then, as they so often do, the characters became a little more two- and then three-dimensional, until they started quietly insisting that readers should be given a fuller picture of what was going on and be allowed to make their own minds up about the situation for themselves. The second part will almost certainly be a bit shorter and feature some 'proper' sex instead of all this slow-burn stuff. There was Richard, waving manically at him like a right tosser. Richard Macauley was a good friend and a good laugh and, with everything going in his life at the moment, he was in sore need of both. Nothing serious, of course, but Priscilla Macauley had once been a stage actress ("I've acted with Ian Mc Kellen, don't you know? "Oh, yes." "Great, we'll..." "I have put the kettle on," announced Mrs Macauley grandly. Sometimes being an adult wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Rich's mum was framed in the doorway by the light flooding in from the landing.

NB: Rich and Mark are in their first year at university and are both 18. Shouldering his backpack, Mark Dennett made his way through Cossington station's crowded concourse, narrowly avoiding tripping over a particularly doddery OAP's shopping trolley and murmuring a shy apology as he inadvertently bumped into a well-dressed middle-aged woman who had, for some reason known only to herself, stopped suddenly in front of him. Shifting the weight of his backpack from one shoulder to the other, he made his way over. A little bit thinner in the face maybe, but still the same gangly, gormless teenager he'd last seen the night before they'd both left for their respective unis. His brown eyes flashing with amusement, Richard clapped him on the shoulder. "Yeah, well, it beats standing in the rain waiting for a fucking bus, doesn't it? Before he got his knighthood.") and she still possessed a certain poise and faded glamour that somehow managed to get to him. She was leaning against the frame of the kitchen door in a stance that at first glance seemed to be casual, but on a second look was clearly studied. Her hair fell in loose waves around her face and shoulders.

Cossington was still a bit of a shithole, but it was home and Rich made things better. " Well, apart from his knack of asking exactly the wrong question at exactly the wrong time. He'd been expecting this question and he still didn't know how to answer it. At least he wasn't taking the same course as her, but even so... There's a pub down the road that's just got a new table." "Oh? As he trudged through the rain and splashed through the puddles, though, he remembered the phone conversation he'd had with Rich just a couple of days ago. Her breasts were full, though -- fuller than he remembered, maybe -- and the top button of her dress was undone, revealing lightly-tanned skin and a tantalising glimpse of cleavage. "Do you mind bringing the tea up to my room when it's brewed? It was a bit weird." He glanced up to see Rich staring at him intently. From his vantage point on the air-bed, he could see her clearly.