Despite the title, there is no ménage a trois in my story. I could have imagined it, but it didn't happen. That doesn't mean that Iris and mom and me weren't intimately related.
I grew up in an idyllic sounding village called Green Grove in New England. Actually it seemed more white than green, because we were near a patch of mountains that received more than its share of snow during the long winters. I never minded because in addition to the woods, there were always things to do in the house or the playroom. That was what we called the addition that was built onto the house that became the domain of my sister Iris and me. It's a little unusual for a sister and brother to be each other's best, and almost only friend, but I never thought about it when I was young; it was just the way it was.
She was a year and two months older. She loved me, and it wasn't hard to love her back. When I used to tell her that I was going to marry her when I got big, she would laugh and say, "We'll see little man." She looked after me because our mother worked a lot after our father passed away. It scared me when I got old enough to be told that they weren't sure exactly of what he died. Later I understood that anyone can die at any time, and instead of being afraid, you had to make sure you're aware at every moment to enjoy the people and the world around you.
Iris and I played every game imaginable, most of which she made up herself; snow games, rain games, and nighttime games when mom was asleep. Until our teens, I never thought twice about telling Iris anything I was thinking, and I knew more about girls from being with her than anyone my age.
I loved books because Iris showed me how much fun they were. She was a great reader and storyteller. I can still hear her voice dramatizing the words when she would say to me, "Listen Richie, you have to hear this!" Iris was almost fifteen when she read a story about two shy people who acted out scenes with each other that they found in plays, and books, and movies. She made me read the story, and she said that we should do what they did. It sounded like fun and once we started, we never stopped. At least not for two years. I always remember the one when we did Anthony and Cleopatra. I had put on some toga thing and Iris wouldn't let me see her until she was all dressed up.
When she came out of the bathroom, her make-up looked like that of an Egyptian princess. The black mascara framed her eyes and the big fake gold necklace she had on was perfect. She wore a flowing white cotton skirt. It's good I can remember any of those details considering that she also came out bare-breasted. Now we had been skinny-dipping before, and it wasn't a big deal for her to change a tee shirt in front of me, but she looked so sexy. She had really filled out since developing a small handful at thirteen. It was the first time I got tangibly turned on by her -- big-time. It was very hard for me to concentrate on the scene. Iris kept slapping my arm and laughing at me when she said, "Stop looking at my tits and read your lines." In reality, she loved being provocative, but she did say, "And don't tell Debbie about this. "
'Debbie' is what Iris liked to call mom when she wanted to tease her. That went on from when she was a little girl. Mom got a kick out of it, but I must have heard her say a thousand times, "It's 'Mom' to you - and it's Debra, not Debbie." It was silly, but we always laughed about it.
The day before Iris' seventeenth birthday, we decided to make our own party and she went to get the stuff. She had a learner's permit and had been driving everywhere since she was sixteen. She never came home. The roads were slick, and...and...and. I know it doesn't make any sense, but I still think, 'Maybe if I was with her I could have saved her.' And for a while I thought, 'I wish I was with her so I could have gone with her.'
To say it was rough for mom and me wouldn't come close to it. It was awful. I couldn't stand to change the tense of my sister from 'is' to 'was'. I still feel a grasping at my throat when I think of what those days were like. All the stupid words that people say about having to move on, and getting on with your life...well, like I said before, things are both this way and that way. They're true and they're lies.
The only one whom we didn't mind seeing was mom's sister Fran, who came up from Florida and stayed with us for a week. She'd made lots of visits up to us before, because she was close to mom. They spoke every day and Aunt Fran always said a few words to Iris and me whenever she called. She was a calming presence in the house that week. She had married well and had a big house that we had visited just before I started high school. I heard Aunt Fran trying to convince mom that we should move down by her, or at least come and stay for a few weeks.
We held out in Green Grove for about three months of hell, until it became too difficult to stay in that house. We talked about moving and mom asked if I'd mind. I said I didn't care as long as we left where we were. So we went down to the west coast of Florida where Aunt Fran had located mom a job, and a rental apartment for us. I went to school there and the void gnawed at me through the last numbing years in high school. The only good thing was spending time with Aunt Fran, and for the first year, her husband Steve. He loved baseball and he took me to a lot of spring training games. But their marriage went south and Steve took off for what he thought would be, greener pastures.
I hardly socialized with kids at all and spent most of my time with books, video games, my music, and mom. I still felt Iris around all the time, and the two years that passed were more like two hours when I thought about her. I did like being with mom though, because she understood. Sometimes she'd suggest I do something, or go somewhere, but she never pushed. The most we did was go to a movie sometimes, or drive the back roads. It was rural where we lived and we'd end up at the bayou or a grove, and just sit for a while and go home.
Once she said, "You should be here with a girlfriend."
I said, "I am," and put my arm around her shoulder.
She touched my face and said, "That's sweet, honey." That was the beginning. The car was old and still had a bench seat, so after that I asked her to sit next to me when we drove. Then I asked her to sit closer. Then I didn't have to ask anymore; she always sat close enough for me to feel her hip or thigh against me. A few times I kissed her, or she kissed me. They were the kisses of a mother and son, and maybe a little more.
When I finished school and a long computer course, I went to work. Mom was almost thirty-eight; she didn't pay much attention to what she wore or to being made up all the time, but she had fine features that made her look girlish. She had quiet warmth that always came through when we were together. Mom didn't talk much and neither did I, but there was no strain when the silence settled on us. I thought she was pretty. Sometimes on a Sunday we'd go to the beach. I told her she had nice legs. She gave me a nice smile for that.
On mom's thirty-eighth birthday, Fran wanted to make a party, but mom said that she didn't want to celebrate. We stayed home, and I bought a bottle of wine. I also bought mom a tank top pajama set that she had said was cute when we saw it on TV. I made her join me for a few glasses of wine and we laughed about a time we were trying to walk up an ice-covered hill in Green Grove. We each must have fallen ten times, and somehow, it got funnier each time the other one fell, until we were laughing so hard we couldn't get up. It was great to hear her laugh and see her a little light-hearted.
When it got late, I said, "Put on your new PJ's mom."
She said, "Yes, yes, I guess it's time for bed." She got up to go to her bedroom.
I said, "No, put them on so I can see them."
She shrugged and said, "Okay, turn around."
I turned my head and she turned her back. I turned back to look. She took off her top and her bra and slipped the tank top over head. I saw some of her breast from the side. She took off her skirt and put the shorts on over the sheer aqua panties. I could see the well-rounded globes and I thought, 'My mother has a nice ass.' She turned back and said, "Ta da," putting one hand behind her head in a mock modeling pose."
I said, "Cute, very cute." The set was made of soft cotton and I could see a hint of her nipples poking out. The top was short enough to show a few inches of her belly. I said, "No, more than cute, actually quite sexy."
She said, "See, you didn't know you had a sexy mom."
I said, "Yes I did." I guess I said it a little too seriously, because she got a bit uncomfortable.
She said, "Well, good night baby."
