We had a wonderful, albeit frustrating, time the next day. Nellie teased me by bending over in front of me on the stairs showing me her panty covered pussy. In the restaurant she slid her bare foot up my shin under the table; I could do nothing in response. The sexual tension was very high. Michael made some veiled references to his and Clara's trip to Port Elizabeth. I glanced at Nellie to see how she was taking it; she smiled and ran her toes up my shin.
After lunch we went down to the breakwater at the river mouth and watched the giant waves roll in and burst over the rocks, the spray flying high into the air only to be blown away by the wind. Nellie and I climbed out of the car and walked a little way down the breakwater to feel the power of the wind and the sea. I took her hand as we stood there watching. "I'm sorry..."
"Sorry for what? That Michael's doing your wife? That you're doing your mother?" She looked at me. "I'm not sorry!" She looked away. "They deserve each other." She squeezed my hand.
When we returned to the car the red spots were again on Clara's cheeks and Michael was looking smug.
Back home I made a fire while Michael poured drinks. Nellie busied herself preparing food while Clara sat paging through a glossy magazine. When Michael went up to the garage to fetch more firewood I took the opportunity to cuddle up behind my mother, my crotch pressed against her backside. She gently pushed back clenching her muscles. I was erect again after a full day of sexual innuendo.
I turned her face towards me and kissed her lips, our tongues touching. It was a short kiss and, as I broke away, I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned to see Clara standing in the doorway looking at us, her mouth had fallen open in surprise and the red spots on her cheeks were back. She turned away before I could say anything. I hesitated a moment, then continued as though nothing had happened; Nellie was unaware of the incident.
The evening passed smoothly enough with Clara icily brittle towards me, polite to my mother and hanging on every word my father said; more than before, if that was possible.
When we were making plans for the next day Michael told us that he and my mother had to attend some function the next morning, but that it would be finished by lunch time. And then, depending on the weather, we could go and explore the beach at Cannon Rocks, a wild, untamed stretch of coast a few miles away. We all said good night and went to our bedrooms.
In bed first, naked as ever, I waited for Clara to come to bed expecting an explosion, recriminations. I rehearsed what I was going to say in my head; if she said this, I would say that. If she said that, I would say the other.
Eventually she emerged from the bathroom, climbed into her side of the bed, pulled the duvet up to her chin and turned the light off. She turned her back towards me, lying on the extreme edge of the bed away from me.
"Clara..." I said.
"I don't want to hear it! Kissing your mother! Never in my life..." she hissed. "If your father knew!"
"I..."
"I said I don't want to hear it!" She interrupted me.
I shrugged in the dark, rolled away from her, pulled the duvet up and went to sleep. When I awoke next morning, the sun was streaming in the window. Late. The house was quiet. I looked over to Clara's side of the bed. Empty.
I lay for a time enjoying the warmth, the peace. My need for a pee forced me eventually to climb out of bed and go to the bathroom. I had a morning erection from the full bladder making aiming the stream into the loo without messing difficult. I decide to pee while showering, solving the problem.
I stood there under the warm water, a long stream of pale yellow liquid spraying from the tip of my penis. As always I had left the door to the bedroom open and at that moment Clara walked through the room. She stopped at the sight of me, her mouth open in shock. Like last night. She was rooted to the spot. "That's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen!" she gasped, her voice clear above the running water. "How could you? Your father..."
I turned my back on her. I finished showering, dried myself, dressed in a warm track suit, and then went down to the kitchen for coffee. I saw Clara in the living room on my way through. "Would you like some coffee? Tea?" No answer. I made a pot of filter coffee then, mug in hand, walked through to the sitting room.
Clara ignored me.
I sat down and looked at her. She was sitting upright, knees together, dress primly pulled down, pretending to read a periodical, some glossy home-makers magazine; English, of course. "We need to talk," I said.
"Nothing you can say will make any difference. Nothing!" The red spots were back on her cheeks.
"Clara..."
"Nothing! You are the most disgusting person I have ever met! Kissing your mother as though she were a whore. Urinating in the shower. You never wear clothes to bed. Shorts without shoes, no shirt. The list goes on and on! Your father..."
That was enough for me, I stood up and walked out the room. "Don't you dare walk away while I'm talking!" She screamed at my back. I carried on walking, up the stairs to our bedroom where I retrieved my computer and returned to the sitting room.
Clara continued as though I had not left the room. "You expect me to carry my own suitcase, to open my own doors. Your father..."
"Yes, my father," I interrupted. "I have something here I want you to look at." I fired up the computer while I talked, entering the password.
"Nothing you have could possibly interest me! I don't want to see it."
