Chapter 9
I woke up the next day, my mind hazy, the sun glowing through my bedroom window. My mind spun with the thought of the gorgeous nude treasure my mother had hidden from me for all this time. The thought of her made my cock ache again.
Last night, I managed to get into my room without suffering a heart attack. And the pent up, unbelievable lust drove me to jerk myself off, and I came, seizing, jerking off to the thought of how she felt, how she looked, masturbating so hard that I came again, and again, and again, until I collapsed in bed in a mess of sweat and semen. Wild pictures danced before me - of her wet hair across the pale curve of her back, her open mouth, her dark eyes looking into mine... the soft feel of her bare skin, the plush push of her breast as she pressed past me, slick.
And then there was what I saw between her legs. The picture of that little, carefully trimmed triangle between her legs made my jaw ache. That hint of pink.
I stared up from my bed at the ceiling, as if I could somehow see through it. Up to her room. I wanted more.
I wanted to feel, much, much more.
The front door made a creaking noise. Dad was back. I heard him groaning.
"Partied all night?" Mom's voice came from the kitchen. I guess she somehow made it down without me hearing her. Dad returned with a half-drunk grunt. Mom didn't respond. I guess she gave up on communicating with him.
I dressed for another sunny day and went out, hoping things wouldn't be too awkward. Maybe with dad in the house, mom could brush this off. Not that I wanted her to. But my stomach sank when I saw her.
She wore a lot more than yesterday, her look more subdued. She didn't wear the slight robe that revealed her delicate legs. Instead, it was shorts that went down, and stopped mid thigh. On top, she had on another tank. A shawl draped over her shoulders. It was a tourist outfit. Conservative. It showed nothing that I wanted to see.
She made eye contact with me and held it. I nodded, trying to keep cool.
"Something interesting happened, last night," said mom out loud to dad, maintaining her eye contact with me. My face went cold as the blood drained from it. Dad groaned from the couch, and I stood stuck, like prey. "Do you want to hear it, Ross?" Her voice was freezing. Tense. Chilled like ice. Her eyes like an eagle. She looked over at dad, who didn't even bother with a response. "I guess not," she muttered. She looked back to me.
A plate of sliced fruit moved in front of me. Mom set some tortillas and eggs down, a salsa dish, never looking away, trying to intimidate me.
Obviously, last night was a blunder. I started to regret everything again, and tried to think of something to say. Something to apologize with.
I tried whispering, "Last night-"
Mom raised a finger and spoke at a normal level, knowing dad was completely incapable of listening, much less participating in the discussion. "Listen," her voice was definitive. Final. Firm. She laid down a series of royal declarations and edicts, each word like a hammer blow. "Last night was a strange, strange experience, weirder than our little adventure with the TSA. I don't know what the hell has gotten into you. You've been acting so, so strangely for the last few days." She glared at me disapprovingly before continuing. "But it's nothing so strange that we can't all just," she took a deep breath, her chest making a subtle movement under her tank top, "we can't all just get over it and move on. Way past it." She nodded, as if that was the end. "Alright?"
I nodded, as if there was anything else I could do. "...Alright."
It looked like all the fantasy and fun was over again.
"We do have several days left," said mom, returning to cooking and dropping the subject. She looked disappointedly over to dad. "I wanted to show your father that beach we looked at yesterday, but clearly, he's done for now. He'll probably be out cold until dinner." She shrugged. "So we'll have to plan out today without him."
"You mentioned a waterfall yesterday," she continued. "You know where this waterfall is, right?"
I realized I hadn't exactly found it. All I had was a hint from the local I paid yesterday. "I have a pretty good idea."
"Alright, kid," she said sternly. "Get your trunks on and lead the way."
We made it onto the beach -- this time, mom was in a black one piece that tied behind her neck. Long, broad strings went down, carrying the generous fabric that sealed her breasts away. The strings came down and broadened into a flat weave that covered her midriff. There was nothing seductive about it, nothing that hinted at her chest. Just thicker cloth, stretching over her breasts, even seeming to hide her form from view. The strings around her neck kept all that prisoner.
A bigger, broader shawl was wrapped completely around her waist, mostly covering her legs. Each step only revealed the thinnest white line of her leg, just a flash of color -- none of the curve I beheld completely last night.
Only her shoulders were exposed, for a moment, but she pulled on a second shawl, a light cloth that draped over her neck, covering even the strings that held the fabric around her breasts up.
Mom was definitely wary. And cautious. These new clothes were her protection. I felt certain -- she thought her son needed a firm reminder that she was his mother, and like it or not, he was going to look at her in a respectable way.