Incest stories, Mother goes on a road trip with her son to surprise husband… 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 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 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.