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Quite honestly I hated the guy with every fibre in my body – he’d become a complete asshole. What the fuck I’d seen in him really made me question my sanity now – I must have been out of my mind when I married him. Ye Gods, I’d even let him come and live with me in the house my parents had given me.
The dickhead had blown all my cash, yes the cash I’d worked hard for not his own; on buying porn; on expensive chat lines; even on prostitutes of all things.
I hadn’t found out until it was too late; until he didn’t come home one night; until I found his tracks on his laptop; until he got caught in some red-light zone, cruising where he shouldn’t have been.
While he was locked up, it took me less than twenty-four hours to get every single sign of him out of the house – I went through it like a tornado until the very last vestige of his presence was expunged; until the house became mine and only mine again. It took me about the same time to instruct divorce lawyers to clean him out too…and even less time to tell him not to bother to return.
Actually just three things saved me from losing it – firstly he was charged with loitering and shamed in a local paper and secondly he lost his job. His status went from hero to zero in a matter of days.
Oh, and thirdly I had a lovely son from him who somehow managed to keep me smiling when things got tough.
And I’ll mention it now rather than later – when that asshole eventually tried to get custody of our son and when he tried to claim some value from the house, he lost both cases to unsympathetic judges.
And so here I was, five years later, just me at thirty-nine and a nine months (don’t even call it ‘nearly’ forty!) and my son Chris, a fit-looking lad just coming up on his twentieth birthday. Just us and the house, my car, Chris’s car (if you could call that heap of scrap a car) and a cat… Oh, I’m Gina by the way – short for Regina, of all names to lumbered with.
For a while things had been a bit strained; Chris had liked his dad because he’d let him borrow his dirty DVDs, (or so I found out) and because he used to take him to football matches and help him when his car played up. I’d rightly guessed that I’d have to take Chris to his football now or perhaps let him go by himself and that I’d have to pay to help keep his car on the road, all of which entailed effort and money – especially money. Briefly I’d thought that I might lend him my car, but then I’d be stuck – so I gave that idea up and looked for other ways to finance his needs.
And so I’d buried myself in work for a while, immersing myself in it, learning new things, striving hard to achieve more income – and it had worked.
My bosses seemed to appreciate my efforts and thrust extra work at me; work for which I was paid quite handsomely. In addition, the extra work they gave me was designed to be done at home, so I still had a home life as well as work and income. Perhaps it helped that I’d given them my side of the story and they’d made sympathetic noises…
Whatever, inside those five years I’d recovered substantially; financially and definitely emotionally. The emotional recovery had been easier; I soon found that I didn’t miss him as much as I expected and anyway, I had my dear son beside me all the way.
And Chris really was a darling boy; he helped me in so many small ways, ways in which he hadn’t helped before. He came shopping with me; he learned about my finances and how to run the house; he took on the responsibilities of man-of-the-house and soon we realised that we worked well together; we made a good team. And he too knuckled down and worked hard – and no-one was more surprised than me when he came in and flopped wearily onto the settee beside me one evening.
“Mum, my bloody car needs new tyres; all four,” he began and I saw money disappearing into a large hole again as I looked at his downcast face…but then he shocked me.
“Don’t worry though, I’ve got it fixed,” he said brightening suddenly, “I’m buying them out of my own money!”
Wow – I was impressed; Chris had seldom made much of a financial contribution before and this was eye-popping news!
“Thought you’d be happy!” he said as he relaxed beside me, “Ought to try to pull my weight, shouldn’t I?”
I grabbed him and squeezed him hard and loved him all through.
And then one evening as we sat in the lounge idly watching the TV, I said something that changed everything…
“Chrissie,” I said, wheedling, “I fancy a break, don’t you?”
“Yeah, that’d be wonderful,” he mused, “Be nice to get away for a while. Why, what were you thinking of?”
“Oh, I don’t know – just a week away somewhere,” I said, my mind meandering then focussing; “What about a week down on the south coast?”
I saw Chris pull a bit of a disappointed face as he heard my suggestion.
“Suppose so – guess Spain’s out then?” he queried and I shook my head.
“Yes, afraid so – not yet, that’s wishful thinking. Perhaps in a few years – I haven’t got that much pangaltı escort spare cash,” I said, “But it would be nice just to get away, wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah, guess so,” he replied, his smile hiding his disappointment, “Ah well, so long as we’re together it’ll be good.”
I found myself thinking back; back some twenty years, when Chris had been just a lump in my belly when I’d gone with my new husband to a resort and where we’d had a great time. It wasn’t the smartest resort but it had a lot of charm and I didn’t mind that it reminded me of my ex – in those days he’d been a kind, caring partner.
“You won’t remember Sandy Cove, down in Devon,” I said, “It was a lovely place – I wonder if it’s still there? You won’t remember those old chalets either; they were terrible though!”
“Find out Mum,” said Chris, yawning prodigiously, “I’ll leave it to you…you decide. I’m off to bed now.”
And with that he rose, kissed me on the cheek and departed to his bedroom…presumably to dream of those sun-drenched Spanish beach bodies…
The following day, in a quiet moment, I searched the internet for the Sandy Cove I knew and after several false trails I found it. The resort webpage showed that it still looked delightful; many of the features we’d enjoyed years before were still there and recognisable but it had changed substantially. The chalets, instead of being not much more than wooden huts were now purpose-built units – what they called ‘nests’; the swimming pool looked better equipped; they’d added another pool as well and the gardens had matured – it all looked very inviting.
Time was short though so I didn’t have a good look around but I saved the site to my ‘favourites’ to show Chris later on.
Chris was home from work around five thirty as usual, to find me in the kitchen, getting our dinner ready. Somehow a salad seemed appropriate today; dreams of a summer holiday and all the sunshine that usually accompanied a holiday pervaded my mind and, even though it was still only March I decided to break out the brightness in me. I’d even bought a nice bottle of sparkling wine which was now in the fridge to go with the dinner too.
And to go with the salad and my summertime thoughts, I’d dug out one of my light summery dresses; all soft colours and flowers and I felt all bright and cheerful as I worked.
“Hey Mum, you look happy; you look good too,” said Chris, “What’s got into you?”
So I told him about my findings, my mind already focussing on our potential holiday; our break or our vacation. The company I worked for was American and they always spoke of vacations, so I tended to use the word myself…
Chris was interested to a degree but there was something more important on his mind.
“When’s dinner going to be ready?” he asked as he helped himself to a can of lager from the fridge, “Have I got time for a quick shower?”
“Yes darling, I’ll do the steaks when you come out. The rest of the dinner won’t get cold,” I quipped, “Don’t drink too much though – I’ve got some wine for us.”
“Oh, nice!” exclaimed Chris as he headed off to the bathroom, “Ok, just this one can – won’t be long.”
And by the time I’d got the table laid and the salad all spread out Chris was back, now in shorts and a t-shirt and definitely smelling a lot better than he had when he’d first come in.
Soon we sat and ate; a lovely fillet steak for me and a big T-bone steak for him; a tasty mixed salad between us – and the large bottle of wine.
Silence reigned for a while as we filled up until finally we were replete, Chris burping sociably as he collected the empty plates from the table. I smiled happily; my boy was contented…
“Leave them in the sink,” I said, “You can help me wash up later. I want to show you something.”
I moved to the lounge and sat at my computer while I brought up the Sandy Cove website again; scanning very quickly through the words until I came to the photos. Chris came and joined me, standing behind me with his hands on my shoulders.
“Look – look at these ‘nests’ as they call them – they’re sweet,” I said, “There’s two pools and there’s the beach; they’ve got a nice looking restaurant and there’s a big amusement hall in case it rains.”
I could tell that Chris generally approved from the way his hands warmed on me but after that quick run-through I spun my chair round to face him.
“All ok?” I asked and as I spoke my eyes realised that right before me was a very substantial penis, encased inside his shorts, but decidedly and at least partially aroused, it seemed.
Quickly I dragged my eyes away and looked up at Chris; just as his eyes lifted from viewing what must have been my cleavage, my fairly substantial cleavage, if I say so myself.
I smiled a bit uncertainly at him and Chris smiled back, his mouth creasing quickly as his brain disengaged from his view and connected to my words.
“Er, yeah, yeah looks lovely Mum,” he said somewhat distractedly, “But it’s pendik escort your choice – I’ll go along with whatever you decide.”
“Fine – I’ll see if they’ve got a vacancy,” I said as I closed down the page, “Ooooh, I’m stiff – all that work sweating over a hot computer…I’m going to have a shower too.”
My day’s grind entailed a lot of computer work and I had indeed stiffened up, the aches returning as I’d sat and perused the website.
I stood up, hugged Chris briefly, then headed to the bathroom knowing that a nice warm shower would work wonders.
My gown was already hanging on the bathroom door so I closed the door and stripped off; enjoying the feel of freedom from my clothes. I’d always hankered after becoming a nudist but with family and friends around the idea had remained a dream, released only when I could strip off.
Soon the warm water was soothing me, stroking me, cascading off my breasts, tickling my pussy as it poured over me and I luxuriated in the almost sexual bliss of its wet and gentle caress.
But I couldn’t spend all evening in there, so I soaped up, sponged away all the cares of the day and rinsed off, soon stepping out onto the mat. A big warm fluffy towel wrapped around me made me feel as if I was safe in a cocoon or in a pair of big warm arms and soon I was drying off nicely…
But even the towel began to cool, so I dropped it onto the chair, pulled on a clean pair of knickers and hooked my gown down from the door, wrapping it around me and sliding my arms into the sleeves. It was a half length gown, it covered my body but left my legs exposed; designed for summer rather than winter use, but for indoors it was fine.
I pulled it around myself, tied the belt and pushed my hands into the pockets to straighten the material…and found my fingers closing around something…
I pulled it out and looked at it – a small tube of KY gel, of all things!
“Wha…?” I mouthed, having no idea where it had come from, “What the hell?”
It certainly wasn’t mine; I actually had a tube in my bedside unit but it was larger than this, used to assist the penetration of my vibrator – so there was only one place this could have come from.
I stepped out of the bathroom and walked down to the lounge, where Chris was sitting, his hand around a glass of wine, his eyes on the TV screen.
I walked up to him and stood there, my legs braced apart; one hand on a hip while I stuck the other out to him, the incriminating tube in my fingers.
“Chris – what the hell is this?” I asked, “It was in my gown pocket…”
“What…oh fu…oh Mum, I’m sorry,” he exclaimed, his face reddening quickly, “Where on earth did you say that was?”
“In my pocket, in the bathroom,” I said, “It’s yours is it?”
“Well yeah, it’s mine, oh shit – I wondered where it went,” he said as he took the tube from me, “I knew I’d put it somewhere but thought…oh, I’m so sorry Mum.”
Then I realised; his own dressing gown was of similar material to mine (I’d bought the pair at the same shop at the same time) and he’d presumably thought he’d popped it in his own pocket…
“Been doing a lot of wanking, have you?” I said, winking at him prodigiously, “Dirty bugger!”
“Mum, don’t be crude,” he replied, hiding the tube in his short’s pocket, “It’s normal.”
“Hmmmph!” I said, “Well, keep it in your bedroom then.”
“I said I’m sorry Mum, what else can I say?” he asked, still blushing, “I’ll be more careful in future.”
I changed the subject as best I could.
“Right, where the wine?” I asked and Chris stood up once more, my eyes immediately gravitating to his groin.
“In the fridge,” he said, “I’ll get you a glass, ok?”
I soon realised why he’d been so keen to get away because there in his shorts his penis was once again quite clearly defined; most definitely a considerable penis by all impressions, partially aroused once again and slung from his centre across to his hip, it seemed.
I felt my eyebrows lift with surprise; surprise that my boy was so well endowed, not surprise that he was aroused.
I sat down and looked at the screen where some documentary was unfolding, not really taking it in – until a pair of naked women walked into view, their breasts and other ‘naughty bits’ pixilated by the camera as they now talked to the presenter.
And at that moment Chris returned, handed me my glass and sat down on the settee beside me.
“What on earth are you watching?” I asked, my eyes locked onto the exposed bodies.
“Nothing special,” said Chris, “I just turned it on and this was on, whatever it is. I’ll find out.”
He used the remote control to bring up the details and it turned out to be a current affairs program – about nudist breaks and nudist resorts.
“Oh, you like watching this do you?” I said, teasing him, “Even when they don’t show everything?”
“Actually I turned the TV on to watch the news but it’s amazing what comes up,” he said cheerfully, “Shame rus escort they aren’t showing us more though!”
“Chris!” I exclaimed, “Don’t be so rude!”
I slapped his thigh, my hand resting on him briefly to smooth his flesh to indicate that I wasn’t angry, until I found myself realising that my hand was no more than a few inches from where his penis had lain. Quickly I pulled my hand away as if burnt, disguising my actions by slopping a bit of wine over my dress.
There wasn’t enough of a spill to cause a problem so after a bit of work with a paper towel we settled to watch together while the presenter interviewed various people, most of them wearing little or nothing. Finally I got into it and the story emerged; there seemed to be nudist or naturist resorts opening or converting from clothing-important to clothing-optional all around the country, apparently because of warmer temperatures in the British Isles.
“I never knew that,” I said as the program concluded, “I wonder what it would be like to strip off and mix with other people like that?”
Dreamy thoughts of running around in the nude resurfaced; my desire to take all my clothes off having been stirred up.
“Rather fun,” replied Chris, his eyes sparkling, “Wouldn’t mind that at all!”
“Bet you wouldn’t!” I replied, “But what would happen if you got excited then?”
“Ah – ooooh yeah, hadn’t thought of that,” he said, “Dunno…then again perhaps the ladies might like what I’ve got!”
“Yeah!” I scoffed, “As if!
And then the vision that I’d seen in his shorts came back to me – his remarkably lengthy penis and I found that it was my turn to blush. And suddenly I found myself mentally at a nudist resort with Chris there too with a huge erection right there before me – all stiff and rampant and exciting! I shook my head hard but the vision refused to turn off and remained as a kind of after-image in my brain. Perhaps the ladies would indeed enjoy what he’d got!
Then the football came on and I sighed as my mood dissolved so I left Chris to it, to retire across the room to my computer to do some ‘overtime’.
But it was boring work and I couldn’t settle – I felt distracted somehow, so I closed it down and instead I returned to the holiday resort website with intent to see what dates were available.
It took a little while for me to register with them and then I was in, able now to access their more detailed pages – but all I was really interested in was the available dates.
Quickly I scanned them, soon finding that July was booked solid, so it would be a June or August date.
“Chris – that place is ok, isn’t it. I’m just going to book our week away – July’s out so which is better for you; June or August?” I called out and Chris looked up over the back of the settee.
“Make it June,” he said, “Should be the warmest month and the kids won’t be there will they.”
“Ah yes, makes sense,” I replied, “Thanks.”
Prices in June weren’t cheap but they were cheaper than August so that settled it and soon I was paying a deposit on a seven day break in one of the chalets. A confirmation email would be sent back and they asked me to check that all the details were correct. Fine, I’d do that eventually…
The football finished and Chris meandered over to join me just as I logged out of the site, so I confirmed the dates to him – they’d be fine.
“What have you booked Mum,” he asked, so I told him that all the details were on an email.
“Let’s see then,” he said, so I logged into my email page and there was the confirmation, so I opened it up.
“Welcome to Sandy Cove Resort,” it said, “Please check your booking details.”
We began scrolling down, the pair of us noting the dates and the chalet number.
“A double room?” asked Chris, pointing and I looked more closely.
“Oh bugger,” I exclaimed as I took in the detail, “Yes, just one bedroom – why’s that?”
I checked a few more details – ah, that was because I’d gone for a two-person chalet, partially because of the cost, partially because there were just the two of us. But I hadn’t thought of that slight problem.
“Hmmm, it’ll cost a lot more if we have two separate rooms,” I explained, “Can you put up with me?”
“So long as you don’t snore too loudly,” he said, “And don’t leave your clothes and things everywhere!”
There were no other anomalies and I was about to close the computer down when Chris stopped me.
“Can I have a look at the resort photos Mum,” he asked, “Now you’re logged in, perhaps we’ll be able to see more of the place.”
I opened the site up again and, still logged in, I accessed their photos…and the very first one was of two people, a man and a woman – both full-frontally stark naked!
“Oh what!” I exclaimed, quickly and shyly navigating away from the photos, “Is this the right page?”
I wondered if the website might have been hijacked…and yet the photo wasn’t pornographic and I now remembered subconsciously that the picture was captioned “Welcome to Sandy Cove.” Presumably not…
“Let’s see a bit more,” said Chris, leaning on my shoulder, “Come on Mum, they can’t all be like that!”
Actually I was more concerned that Chris might be embarrassed at seeing nudity so I looked over my shoulder at him.
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