They remained silent, but their breathing seemed unusually loud. She felt her son clutching at her hand, and she tightened her grip. If the light had been on, her son would have seen the straining thrust of her tits, molded by the sheet, her nipples arching up in rubbery hardness. He would have seen the outline of her slender body beneath. But the lights were off and the room was too dark to see anything but dim shadows and faint outlines.

Karen was horrified to find she was lifting the sheet, pulling at her son, urging him to slip under it with her. Brett came without resistance, and they lay side by side under the sheet, holding hands but otherwise not touching. They both stared at the dark ceiling, both aware of heavy breathing, of the tensions

between them. When Brett shifted his body a little, her hand-the back of it-came into contact with his hip. He was not, as she had thought, naked. He was wearing his shorts. Karen wasn't sure she was glad of that or not.

For a long time they just rested there, both breathing heavily, both waiting, both almost afraid. Then Karen sighed, a long drawn-out sound. As she sighed, she drew her son's hand toward her body, making it touch her naked hip. She felt him tremble and her breath seemed to suddenly catch in her throat.

Very slowly, she began to rub the back of his hand against her hip, up and down, then in small circles. Brett did not resist and let her move his hand.

Then, without speaking, they turned to face each other. Karen still held his hand, and they lay there for some time, both of them trembling. Finally, Brett's other hand moved to his mother's side, and slipped up and over the round curve of her naked tit. When his fingers brushed the nipple, Karen mewled and their lips met. Kissing softly at first, the pressure increased as they opened their mouths. A tentative thrust of her tongue met his, and they licked the tips of each other's tongue almost tenderly. When Brett finally cupped her naked tits, Karen sighed and released his hand, her