Prof. Ryan, the professor of physiology, sent a message that he would not be attending class today, so I allowed myself to get up later than usual. Vic, my twin, was probably already in her first class when I got up. I took a shower and went down to the kitchen to grab something to eat before I left. My mother was sitting in the living room close to the kitchen with her two friends, Mrs. Carter and Mrs. O'Reilly, drinking tea. All three were dressed as if they were about to go to prom and groomed to the tip of their fingernails. That was their normal situation. None of them had worked a single day in their lives. All three were born into very wealthy families, far beyond your imagination, and Mrs. Carter also married money. A lot of money. Their undisputed leader was my mother. In high society, the hierarchy is determined by the amount of money, and my mother was the richest and most privileged of them all. So privileged that when my father married my mother, he was required to take her last name, Walton, and not the other way around.
"You got up late today, honey," Mom said, "you're late for school."
It was just a show meant for the ears of her friends. My mother was never interested in my studies, or in me or my sister. The only thing my mother cared about was herself. I considered correcting her for a moment, "Mom, I'm already in college, you know." But I decided against it.
I was eating some of the pancakes our cook, Sarah, had made for me and my sister, and drinking orange juice when my mother suggested, "How about we make lunch today for the asylum near St. James's Church?"
The proposal was accepted, and I already knew what was going to happen: they were going to make something that would be inedible and thrown away, and then Sarah would be called to the flag to prepare lunch for the asylum.
That, more or less, sums up the schedule of my mother and her friends. They dedicate a few hours each day to exercise, in my mother's case it's fitness training; Then a few more hours for self-care; And in what's left they drink tea, and occasionally engaged in all sorts of charitable activities, just for the sake of the impression. From time to time they play in the kitchen, doing more harm than good, sometimes they try to work in the garden and almost cause our gardener, Ricardo, a heart attack, or any other harmful activity designed to fill their boredom with life.
You have to admit that all this investment in their appearance, plus surgery here and there, paid off. All three of them looked beautiful with a stunning figure that wouldn't shame young women. If you met my mother on the street, you wouldn't give her more than thirty-five. Just a year ago, she underwent a facelift surgery, which took away from her appearance for at least five years. My mother was blonde with short hair, the so-called child haircut, but with a long forelock, and large blue eyes; Mrs. Carter had long curly hair in various shades of walnut and honey-hued eyes; Mrs. O'Reilly was a peony with straight hair that reached her shoulders and green eyes.
The three Primadonnas.
*****
Both Vic and I were outstanding athletes -- I played on the football team while Vic played on the tennis team. Without a scholarship, we didn't need a scholarship, and our mom saw it as a shame for the family if we got one.
It was Tuesday, the day of football practice. The coach dedicated today's training to running training, and I was an outstanding runner, and since I had to submit grueling work in anatomy, the coach exempted me from training.
I was sitting in a corner of the living room closest to the kitchen, a laptop on my lap, gathering material for my work on the Internet when the three demons entered the house. "I think the meeting with Father Paul was very good," Mrs. Carter concluded, "It will be a very successful gala night."
Mom put her bag down in the kitchen and twerked on her high heels toward the bar. "Sherry?" she suggested.
"Of course," Mrs. Carter agreed.
"For me double dose," Mrs. O'Reilly said, "did you see that poor guy sticking to me? I can still feel its horrible smell."
"Smelly, smelly," said Mrs. Carter, "but did you notice his pants? He had a reproductive organ that wouldn't shame an outstanding stud horse." Mrs. Carter understood horses. Her family owned a thoroughbred horse farm just for amusement.
"Absolutely impressive," my mom agreed, "my trainer doesn't have such a fancy instrument." I stopped breathing.
"I would adopt him, wash him and keep him on the farm for a weekend treat," Mrs. Carter said to the laughter of her friends.
Mom put the drinks on a silver plate and walked to the kitchen counter while Mrs. Carter wandered around the kitchen, touching everything. A towel-covered puff caught her attention. "Hey," she exclaimed, "there's dough here. What is Sarah planning for dinner?"
"Oh, I forgot," my mom said, "I asked her to make this dough. How about making pumpkin pie?"
"Yummy," Mrs. O'Reilly said, "I love pumpkin pie."
"Me too," Mrs. Carter agreed.
"Okay, then I'll flatten the dough. Kate, open the fridge and take out the filling Sarah made, and you, Leslie, turn on the oven and make the pan for us. Agreed?"
Mom went to the corner, put on an apron and said, "Be careful not to get dirty. There's going to be flour in the air here."
With Sarah, flour never flies in the air, but trust these three terrorists that in an instant the whole kitchen will be enveloped in a cloud of flour. Mrs. Carter, Kate, went to the fridge and took out the filling while Mrs. O'Reilly, Leslie, took out a baking pan.
"I think I need an apron too," said Mrs. Carter, "a very dirty pumpkin. Marie, do you have another apron?"
"I actually have no idea," my mom said, "look around."
I could already tell them there was no more apron. We only have one cook, Sarah, and she doesn't need more than one apron, but they didn't feel my presence yet and I didn't want to get their attention.
Of course, Mrs. Carter couldn't find an apron. Instead, she began to unravel the shirt she was wearing. "Kate, what are you doing?" giggled Mrs. O'Reilly.
"Pumpkin is very dirty and this is my favorite shirt," said Mrs. Carter. She took off her blouse, revealing a pair of gorgeous breasts resting freely in her bra. They weren't too big, nor small, just the right size, and erect and pointed, with nipples clearly visible through her bra. I have no idea how many surgeries she needed, but the result was definitely successful. A thick gold chain dangled from her neck, And the pendant -- as far as I could see, a cross studded with some gemstones -- rested between her beautiful breasts. She placed the shirt on the back of a bar stool and began editing the sweetened pumpkin slices on a tray. That's not how Sarah made pumpkin pie, but none of them were Sarah.
My mom finished flattening the dough, Mrs. O'Reilly finished lubricating the pan and together they managed to move the dough into it. Mrs. Carter pushed them aside with gentle movements of her rounded butt and began arranging the pumpkin slices on top of the dough. When the pie was ready, my mom opened the oven, bent down and put the pan in it.
Her bulging butt, as she bent over to the stove, caught the attention of Mrs. O'Reilly who patted her butt. "Leslie," my mom giggled, "you naughty."
"Sorry, I couldn't resist," Mrs. O'Reilly said, "You have a lovely butt."
My mom didn't hesitate for a moment. She closed the oven, straightened up, pressed her body against Mrs. O'Reilly's, and pressed a long kiss to her lips.
"Hooray," enjoyed Mrs. Carter, "it's going to be interesting here tonight." She rolled up the hem of her skirt and sat down on the counter, with one foot on the counter and the other folded to the side.
