The long legs demand attention. Bare, smooth, pale, flawless, I marvel at their perfection. Leaning with her arms on the counter top, her ass arched, the simple, short black dress hugs her thin form. Standing straight, she steps back and I can see between her legs, her perfect teenage ass bisected by a tiny black thong. "What?" I hear her question before she suddenly turns and looks down at me. "Oh my god, stop looking up my dress!" my sister says, grabbing her purse and stomping off, the back door opening and closing. Lying on the floor, I can't tell if she is actually mad this time or not.
I see Mom shake her head and laugh silently. I just chuckle and go back to connecting the drain for the new dishwasher as Mom gets up from the kitchen island and stands over me, placing her glass in the sink. "How did I raise such a naughty boy," she laughs, bending to inspect my work, "Sure you don't need any help?" she asks, grinning, her sports bra straining to contain her ample bosom, hanging only inches from my face.
"Not the kind you mean, Mom," I wink.
"Jesus baby," Mom snorts, "you're such a shameless flirt. I almost think you mean it," she says, pausing before jokingly adding, "Too bad you're my son."
"Hey, you know what they say about incest," I jest, scooting out from under the sink.
Stepping back to give me room, Mom guffaws, "Just because family stuff porn is popular doesn't make it okay. Besides I'm your actual mother, you know? Not some bimbo stepmom."
"You watch incest porn?" I question Mom, a mock shocked expression on my face, before cracking a smile.
"Hey... I... That's none of your business, mister," Mom stammers, "Do you?" she asks, clearly hoping to put me on the back foot.
"Duh. Bimbo stepmoms are hot," I chuckle, calling her bluff. "I mean not as hot as real mom's, but they'll do," I say letting Mom see my eyes wander over her body. "But I still like stories more than videos, to be honest," I tell her matter-of-factly, pressing, seeing if she'll keep playing.
"Stories? You mean like... on Literotica? How long has this been a thing for you," Mom questions, her eyebrows raised.
"Yeah, they've always been my favorite, since... forever," I tell her. I can't tell if she's more surprised by
what
I'm telling her, or
that
I'm telling her.
"Which, um... you mean...the... incest stories?" Mom asks.
I shrug and say, "Yeah," then, suddenly feeling the need to justify my interest, quickly add, "I mean... they're hot."
"Oh... okay..." Mom says simply. It's unlike her to give up so quickly, maybe she's a little shocked by my honesty or maybe reluctant to press anymore, scared where it could lead. She stands silently watching me load the dirty dishes and a detergent pod in the new machine before starting it. "That's it, really?" she asks.
"Yep, told you it was no big deal," I tell her as we stand listening to the barely audible hum as it begins it's cycle.
"It's so much quieter than the old one. Thank you so much, hun. It really helps not having to pay for the install," she says craning to kiss my cheek.
"If this was an incest porn, you'd be kissing something else," I tell Mom and crack a smile seeing I finally really shocked her. Mom just stares at me, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open. I can't tell if she's trying to think of a smart reply or is maybe actually mad at me.
--
I suppose I should try to contextualize my relationship with my mother and sister, the simplest explanation is the flirting is a by-product of our current living and financial situation, and the fact that Mom and I never really had a traditional parent-child relationship. Mom was only 16 when she had me. She was a great mom, but the age difference certainly influenced her approach. I realized early on she wasn't like my friend's moms and not just her age. My friend's moms didn't talk to them like Mom talked to me. She was open and free and shared her life with me. She cussed, she talked about work, friends, boyfriends, clothes, movies, TV, bills, hopes, dreams, and sex. Things I came to learn most parents shielded their children from, but for a long time I was convinced it meant Mom loved me more than my friend's parent's loved them. By the time I was in high school we were more like old friends, joking and cutting up all the time, often trying to shock or embarrass each other.
After living on my own for nearly six years, I moved back in with Mom and Sis three months ago to help pay bills. Soaring costs and stagnant wages had finally caught up to us. My rent doubled, and I was looking for a solution when Mom told me she was struggling with bills, everything having gone up significantly the past several years. Her house, the one I grew up in, was nothing special, an old, ordinary middle class home in an old, ordinary middle class neighborhood. At least it used to be until people started moving into the area and buying houses just to tear them down to build something much bigger.
The house had belonged to Mom's grandparents, who raised her, and who sadly passed away only months apart when I was five years old. We moved in soon after and it's been our family home since. Over the years the interior was updated as money allowed. Sis had taken my old room and I had incorporated her old room into Mom's to create a proper master suite like Mom had always wanted. That was done never imagining I'd move back home, so I've been sleeping on a futon in the enclosed back porch while a second story addition is added to the detached garage to create an apartment. Soon the roof will be on and I'll be able to move in while I finish the interior in my spare time. Other than that the house has largely remained unchanged and as the neighborhood becomes more gentrified, it becomes more of an outlier.
