I sat on the balcony of the over-priced sports club relaxing into my uncomfortable heavy iron chair and taking in the view over the rolling green golf course, lined afar with bushy pine trees so as to do their best to hide the housing subdivision behind them from the other over-paying members. The sky was turning to a burnt orange as the sun set and I basked in the warm glow of a dying sun and several lagers on top of my tired muscles.
My name is Tommy Butler and I just won the tennis tournament.
Actually, me and my Mom did. Sorry, my Mom and I did. Her name is Wendy Butler and we've been practicing tennis together since I was 12 and she wanted to lose some mom weight. She's a true beauty of a woman, although I don't like to hear that as we really do look very much alike. The family resemblance, even I'll admit, is very strong between us. She's 5'6" and I'm 5'8", she 42 me 22, we're both around 150lbs (what I make up for in height she makes up in motherly curves) and have Roman-black hair and just-shy-of-olive white skin. My hair is cut short, just longer than a buzz cut, hers flows down to her shoulders. We look very much alike and very much like mother and son.
It turned out we'd both been quite good at the tennis and had kept it up before entering in the local country club's family doubles tournament when I'd been 17 and had done pretty well, but this is the first time we'd won. And we'd worked hard to do it. Playing 6 days a week for months on end as we approached this year's tournament, sometimes twice a day during the weeks the tournament's knockout rounds were being played on those Saturdays. This year we'd made it. I sighed contentedly and turned my head to the right to gaze happily over the large gold-colored winner's cup on the table, what was left in my pint as well as mom's empty pint glass. I'd been surprised she'd ordered beer but as she doesn't drink often, she'd ordered one of what I was having, which turned to two, which turned to three.
My mom, Wendy, had gone inside to use the facilities before she said she'd come to get me so we could say our goodbyes and go home. It had been quite the celebration - in a gentle, country club way - and we were now due to make our pleasantries and leave as it was getting late; everyone had already gone inside to the bar area as the sun made its bed and mom had told me to stay here so she knew where I was and could grab me for a quick exit - she was clearly pretty tipsy and hadn't wanted to lose track of me.
Although we had been members here some years since the first family tournament, we didn't really feel comfortable with all these rich people peacocking to each other. We just weren't those type of hoity-toity people although had had years of entertainment between the two of us making a little fun at the old guard and their ways, when all we wanted to do was to play tennis. We definitely got a feeling we weren't quite good enough to be members here, to the point we felt they were patting themselves on the back that they had allowed lower-class folk like us in and we were the one shining example of a family they used and kept around to show how they definitely weren't superior elitist types. That we'd won this year was the icing on the cake for us and I could now feel the as-yet un-vocalized question of whether we'd retain our memberships, was hanging in the air. Still, there was time for all that yet. Tonight was for celebrating.
Mom came back through the balcony door with a pained expression on her face, but before I noticed that I felt my heart flutter at seeing her. Weird. She's my mom. Yet there was just something about the way she floated through the door and the lights from inside shone through her hair that really spoke to me for a second. Damn beers. I think we've also been bonding a little too closely recently and maybe I need to get out there cruising for chicks again; I'd not even thought about it while this tournament was on and had only hung out with her and, at night, my laptop, diving headfirst down rabbit holes of filth. This week's focus had been watersports and my obsession had been getting a little stronger recently to the point it was something I really wanted to try. I'd been abstaining both from drinking alcohol and from women and now the tournament was over I'm 3 pints deep and getting horny.
"Shit," mom began her declaration, snapping me back to reality. Shit indeed; had I really just been checking out my own mom? Maybe I need to lay off those incest fetish sites too. "There's a long line in the ladies," Mom followed, "I don't know what to do."
"Erm," I sat back with a smug grin on my face, "have you tried waiting in the line?"
"It's too long," she pouted back, "I never should have had those beers I'm not used to them. Where's the other ladies?"
"How should I know?!" I exclaimed. She shifted to the side. It was a peepee dance. Is that what had caught my attention and made my perverted heart flutter?
"I don't know, I feel uncomfortable asking people here," she said, followed by an "ugh" in resignation as she spotted a waiter walking past the door and yanked it open while making eye contact with him. I carried on staring out over the balcony as I heard her ask and be told it's the only ladies' room on site. She shut the door and I turned my gaze back to her and could tell she was annoyed. She had my attention now as I was getting a little turned on by her peepee dance and was allowing horny feelings to creep in after the emotional release of knowing there's no more tennis to prepare for.
"Damn men's clubs!" She cried. "Only one women's bathroom in the whole place, no wonder the line's so long. There's no way I'll make it. We've got to go, now!"
"No way!" I swallowed a mouthful of beer quickly to say into my glass currently held to my mouth, "I've still got half a pint left and we've got to say our goodbyes. There's no way I'm slipping out the back with this trophy, there's plenty of posh people here I want to lord it over yet." I could tell she was in a quandary of what to do. This was annoying me now as we'd been getting along so well and having such a great celebration but this was killing the mood. Damn patriarchy and their one women's bathroom. "I know" I joked, "piss out here on the balcony. That'll show 'em."
A big grin grew across my face as I realized how much I'd just amused myself by the suggestion and my head swam from the beer. "Go in one of those potted plants" I recommended, pointing with my glass towards a large potted palm on the balcony. I was getting a little sloppy.
"Oh, as if!" Mom poked back, but I could tell the joke had lightened her mood a little, "you're right though, damn patriarchy. I'd love to piss on their balcony and show them what they've made me do!" Her emphasis on the word 'piss' had stung a little in its brashness. This was getting fun.
"Do it!" I joked, wondering how far this would go.
"I can't!" she insisted, "everyone will see!"
"Oh mom, as if you haven't always loved being an exhibitionist!" I was right about that. The tiny bikinis she'd worn on family vacations that even I'd thought inappropriate as a kid; the sex noises coming from the next tent. The tiny tennis outfit she had on now, complete with white pleated microskirt that was definitely shorter than all the other moms' but worn under the guise of being proper apparel.
