You Better You Bet

by dinkleberry©

Edited by HarleyQuin

[ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER 18. In my writing I use an informal tone, slang, and sometimes improper punctuation to reflect the casual closeness such an illicit and forbidden relationship would require. If this offends you, DO NOT READ. I am sure there are plenty of incest-based submissions with the perfect grammar you seek.

I'd like to dedicate this story to the memory of my DearOldDad. He exposed me to The Who and other great classic rock.]

***

Winter 2013

As I sit here in a beach chair enjoying the sun in St. Croix writing I couldn't help but look up and enjoy watching my love frolic in the calm surf. We're enjoying a vacation from the bitter wind and the cold of the Midwest where I work as an engineer. It is fun to watch her play and she is still so beautiful even at our ages. Now retired she still has a youthful vivaciousness to her, perhaps from always taking care of her appearance.

Even now I know she is slathered in SPF 1,000 to protect her milk white skin and as I watch her enjoyment I can see that she still has that smooth porcelain skin that contrasts sharply with the two piece black bikini she's wearing. I smile proudly that my love can wear a bikini and still turn heads. As I watch, I notice light reflecting off her navel and note that she must have a beaded jewel attached to her belly ring. I love that her stomach is still taut and that she has the confidence to deny convention and continue to wear a belly ring at her age.

She dunks her head under the clear water and rises up shaking her hair and droplets of water go flying from her ink black hair that's now in a fashionably short, choppy pixie style. For so many years I've enjoyed her long flowing locks of hair that it's still sometimes odd to see her with short hair. But as she jogs out of the water and towards me she runs her hands through her hair and it spikes up and Boom! it's in place. With her porcelain skin and black hair, her vivid blue eyes shine with pop.

I laugh out loud and seeing me laugh, still wet, she jumps onto my lap straddling me. She asks, "What are you laughing at old man?"

"You," I laugh amused at being called 'old man'. Yes I do have more grey hairs than her and do not cheat hiding them by dyeing them, however she is 16 years my senior!

She laughs her charming and merry laugh I love so much. She kisses me pressing her wet, slightly salty lips to mine. As my wife of so many years we are in tune and our motions our synchronized. As she grips the side of my head our mouths open and our tongues meet in the middle. I quickly rise to the occasion.

"Wow, someone's happy to see me," she chuckles and I am proud of the fact that although I am now closer to fifty than forty I have no problem stepping up to the plate without any performance enhancing drugs – i.e. the little blue diamonds with a V on them.

"But of course," I confirm as I grab her still tight little butt. Her bikini bottom is small enough that the bottom halves of my hands hold bare, wet yet warm flesh. She presses up against me, grinding on me, giving me a private lap dance. While the beach is mostly empty it is not deserted but she seems not to care so why should I?

"Oh god, that feels good," I whimper between kisses. Her whole body is sliding, gliding rubbing upon mine and I'm in ecstasy. Her tongue is in my mouth; her hands, pulling my hair, holds my head firmly; and my hands squeeze her ass tighter. With her dancing upon on my lap I tell her, "I love you,"

"You better," she sings in perfect time and tune.

"You BET-da," I sing in an imitation of Roger Daltry.

"You BET!" We both shout from the classic The Who song, 'You Better You Bet'. We laugh as we've done this routine for over 25 years. My darling keeps grinding on me and I'm in heaven.

"Oh yes, oh yes," I moan as she sorta dry humps me. Is it dry humping if we are both clothed but her body is wet? I don't care. I'm simply loving the pleasure she is giving me. Although my wife is still frisky it's been a while since we've done something like this in public. We are now both humping against each other, even the chair has gotten with the groove rocking along to our motions, squeaking away.

"Oh god, oh god," I'm able to get out before I do what I was trying to warn. I cum. I shoot my load right into my swim trunks. As I'm cumming my love doesn't stop but keeps dancing upon my cock insuring every drop comes out. And it does as I feel my cum shoot outta my cock only to get smeared upon my groin and swim trunks.

Finally I'm done and left in a puddle of my own goo. My love is laughing at the effect she still has upon me. My wife kisses me with love and passion. She then looks down at my stain and wryly quips, "Looks like more grandkids lost."

You see my love, my wife is also my mother.

***

Well, I guess enough time has passed that I can now share this story with you. However with it having happened over 25 years ago certain details have become fuzzy with age. I hope you'll forgive me, but I promise you the vital facts are still etched onto my brain. So here goes...

The 80's were great weren't they? The music was head-bangin' hair bands, the clothes were tight, the make-up was plentiful and the hair was big. And 1986 was the best year of them all. I would've thought 1984 (Van Halen's seminal album) would be the best since I'm class of '84; or 1987 would be as I'd turn 21, achieving the legal drinking age and would finally be allowed into strip clubs. But no it was 1986...

However to tell this tale right I gotta go back two decades. In 1965 my parents were two happy love-struck teenage sweethearts living in Middletown, Ohio. Unfortunately these were not happy times they lived in. After graduating from Middletown High School my father was drafted into the United States Army. Four days after arriving in the Republic of Vietnam his parents received a visit from an Army Captain, a medic and an Army chaplain with a folded flag and a letter from his Commanding Officer informing them of how their son Thomas died bravely.

It would be a few weeks later that his grieving widowed girlfriend would confirm she was carrying his baby. Moreover, she was getting ready to enter 10th grade. To consummate their love before my father went off to war my mother had given him her maidenhood – and whoever believes that you will get pregnant your first time?! With this being 1965, the only redeeming thing was that my mother's parents knew and liked Tommy. So they were understanding and sympathized with their distraught daughter who was now a social outcast as a pregnant high-schooler. In April 1966, I would be born or as my grandfather quipped, 'Another mouth to feed.'

In her senior year my mother would again discover that she was pregnant – because do kids ever really learn? This time it shouldn't be as surprising; as a social outcast and pariah the people she was now friends with weren't of the best repute shall we say. Knowing the realities, my mother successfully hid this pregnancy from her parents and everyone else until graduating from school.

After graduating she confessed this secret to her mother, including the fact that she wasn't exactly sure who the father was. To my grandmother's credit she handled it the best way a woman in the Ohio of 1968 could handle it. She sent her daughter and grandson to go live with a third cousin in Commack, Long Island, N.Y. with orders to, 'never contact them again.'

Arriving on Long Island (which is correctly pronounced LongIsland, one single word and not LonGUYland) my mother gave birth to her daughter in November of 1968. Now the parent of two children she knew that, "playtime is over." Even before my sister was born, my Mom had enrolled at the Long Island Beauty School. Soon after Jacqueline was born Mom graduated and set out, determined to become a sought after hair dresser.

As but an infant I only have the vaguest of memories yet I remember, or have since learned, that we moved from apartment to apartment as she worked diligently and was able to progress from ho-hum hair salons willing to hire an inexperienced 18 year old girl to better more upscale establishments.

I do remember when I was five years old moving out of that dark apartment that was upstairs from an old thrift store to move back into Uncle Warren and Aunt Zoe's house. (Although Aunt Zoe was more of my Mom's aunt that's what my sister and I called them.) We moved in because Mom would spend the next year at the Vidal Sassoon Academy. While today that doesn't sound like much, in 1971 Vidal Sassoon was It and to get accepted into one of his schools was a huge accomplishment.

In 1973, she bought her own house in Huntington and started working in spas on Long Island's Gold Coast. I was seven years old and starting 1st grade while my sister at four was still in Pre-K/Day Care. After school ended my mother would pick me up and we'd drive back to her place of work, (my sister would stay at day care) until her workday was over usually around 6PM.

As the years past, this pattern would remain somewhat unchanged for a few reasons. When my sister started regular school she would go over to Aunt Zoe's house after school. This was because as a girl and a bookworm she was quieter and easier deal with for my aging Aunt and Uncle. Also as a poindexter and brainic she naturally took to excelling in school, even skipping 2nd grade and didn't have be lorded over as I did.

From the beginning I hated school. I found it boring. I found it tedious. I found it too confining. However, the one thing Mom would stress over everything else was for my sister and I to succeed in school. As she would constantly say, "You do not want to make the same mistakes I made."

Yes, Mom was upfront with her mistakes and explained why we lived in the situation we lived in. Remember in the early 70's most kids were still growing up with both a Mom and Dad and all that, so she had to explain to us why we were different.

So I'd spend every afternoon at the spa Mom was working at in Cold Spring Harbor and she would ensure I did my schoolwork to my fullest abilities. Now you may not think a Gold Coast spa would be where a young boy would wanna be and you couldn't be more wrong! I knew of no place that had a better collection of hot females. I've joked that it was my growing up there that guaranteed my heterosexuality. [As a side-note, at these establishments all of the hair-dressers regardless of their age are referred to as 'girls' without it being a derogatory comment.]

Imagine a collection of attractive and very fashion conscious females competing for clients; rich clients competing with their husband's mistress; and the mistresses competing against themselves. This meant every one of them wanted to look better than the next. They wore the most fashionable clothes. They had their hair and nails done perfectly. Their make-up and perfume was done as if they were ready to attend Studio 54. And best yet, since it was 95% women, the rest either gay men or invisible laborers they slutted it up without shame.

Although I hated school I'm far from stupid and very quickly learned the rules and how things worked. I learned that being quiet and mostly unnoticed paid better dividends than being loud and running wild. I discovered that being polite and cooperative had better rewards than being rude and sulky. And I discovered that doing something right the first time, especially without having to be told, really earned me gold stars.

What this means is that I swiftly developed the routine of as soon as Mom and I returned back to her spa I'd go in the back room and get right to my homework. Since this was where 'the girls' took their breaks and smoked their cigarettes I was immediately surrounded by hotties – and they loved how well-behaved I was! They loved how my mother would inspect my homework after I was finished and get a high-five from her for a job well-done; and I loved being able to get a smile from them. In time they began helping me by quizzing me on my spelling or testing me on my readings or history lessons.

After finishing my homework instead of being bored and destructive I found ways to be constructive – and adored by the girls even more. I'd sweep. I'd stock the sleeves of all the bazillion beauty products they sold at ridiculous prices. I'd take the used towels to the laundry room and come back with fresh ones. I'd do anything I could do and in return I'd get a 'Thank you, sweetie.' I'd get my hair ruffled. I'd get a hug or I'd get a kiss. And as a kid is there anything better than getting a kiss on the check by a gorgeous older woman and the feel of her lipstick residue afterwards?!

In the summer of 1976 it was decided that instead of spending it at Aunt Zoe's and Uncle Warren's house and/or summer camp that I would be allowed to work at Mom's spa. My sister hated being at the spa. For her it was too loud, too crowded, too this, too that, too everything – so she'd be spending the summer at Aunt Zoe's and Uncle Warren's house and two weeks at band camp – way before the movie American Pie made the idea of band camp cool. Conversely, I loved it at the spa.

By this time I was a regular fixture for the afternoon clients and management loved the idea of having a free employee. By now I had shown my aptitude for math and being analytical, and so my skills were being put to use by helping man the front desk. Usually the manager of the hair salon worked the front desk but if I was there it freed her to go do other things. If being at the spa was cool then working the front desk was the best. From here I was in the center of all the action.

And the summer of '76 was a great time. This was right before the explosion of designer jeans. However these fashion savvy women were ahead of the curve. They were already squeezing themselves into the tightest jeans possible and doing everything they could to help such as to diet and exercise. Soon their daily outfit seemed to become a tight black tee shirt of differing styles, painted on jeans and sky high heels with bold colors.

And from the front desk I got to enjoy it all. I'd watch the girls at work, admiring their backsides and enjoying their fronts in the reflection in the mirror at their stations. I was learning how to playfully banter with them and some of the clients. Although I didn't really grasp it at that time I was learning how to lightheartedly flirt with them. I just knew that they all seemed to love it earning me smiles and 'Oh, you're so cute' remarks.

Since they knew I was working for free, often as they walked their client back to the front desk to schedule the client's next appointment they'd share their tip with me. I loved how as I wrote the client's next appointment in the calendar book they'd stuff a dollar in my back pocket. On a good day I'd earn over $20 dollars – which is pretty kickass for a 10 year old in 1976!

Once at the front desk I would essentially stay there from then on as the years passed on. When school started again my routine changed in that I no longer would do my homework in the backroom but instead would wait until we got home that night. Mom allowed this change, "as long as my grades didn't slip," and I made sure this didn't happen. I would man my station and would continue to chitchat, joke and tease the girls along with the clients. Since they all seemed to love it I'd do it more and more.

As I watched the girls, I developed an eye for detail. I remember learning how at a glance being able to recognize the differences between Sassoon, Jordache, and Gloria Vanderbilt jeans. I learned the different styles of their shoes and how 'heels' were basically open-toed whereas 'pumps' are closed toed. I learned to notice the small things like their earrings and compliment them on those things. Basically I was learning how to hustle because I was trying to earn all the smiles, hugs, kisses, and dollars I could get.

In 1981 I was 15 and was finally put on the payroll. By now I had mastered the art of being able to jabber-jaw and many of the clients loved me as much as they did their hairdresser. Of course I was getting only minimum wage which was three and some change back then but I would also stay until the spa closed at 9PM.

Since Mom usually only worked until 5PM (having started at 9AM) I'd get a ride home from one of the girls, which was especially sweet as I got older and more mature. It was on those rides home that I'd get my first real kiss; then I got to second-base. As a high-school senior, I was sorta secretly dating one of the girls as she'd give me a ride home every night and we'd talk and hang-out sometimes for hours. From this I'd get my first blowjob and even eventually get some nookie from that cookie!

The odd thing about the 80's was there was no real term for lusting for older women. The term 'Mrs. Robinson' had become passé and obsolete. MILF hadn't been coined yet; and cougar still referred to the animal or car. Yet on TV you had hotties such as Linda Grey and Victoria Principal on Dallas; Morgan Fairchild on Falcon Crest; and then there was Dynasty with Linda Evans and Joan Collins. With that how could one not grow up lusting for mature women?

As a teenager I was in love with all the hotties that worked at Mom's spa. However there was one girl at the spa whom I had a major crush on. While I would playfully flirt with the all the girls, for various reasons I had to be more circumspect with my crush. Still I would josh with her and drop a double entendre here and an innuendo there. I always got a laugh from her and sometimes a playful warning of, "You better watch it young man."

My crush had an alluring blend between Joan Collins and Joan Jett. She had Joan Collins' smoldering sultriness; her large, expressive eyes; and her magical 1,000 watt smile. She also had Joan Jett's edgy sexiness. Like Joan Jett she had that jet black hair that she wore long but there was a hint of punk to it no matter what the style; although taller at 5'7 than Joan Jett she had a similar physique being long and lean which she magnified with her outfits; and like Joan Jett she always had a suggestion of rebelliousness no matter what she wore or where she was. This seemed perfect as her own name was Joan.

As the 70's gave way to the 80's, the designer blue jeans gave way to, for a short while, an explosion of colored jeans; then even jeans with pinstripes before settling on black jeans. Nonetheless, jeans gave way to spandex. Many of the girls loved wearing spandex pants, for two main reasons.

The first was that being catty bitches they loved that spandex is unforgiving and reveals any flaws or imperfections. In an odd twist, you need a big set of cahones to wear spandex, especially if you weren't on-stage in front of 20,000 screaming teens. The second reason was that spandex was perfect to wear in a hair salon in that it would not collect hair clippings like cotton or any other material besides leather would. The girls liked how they could take a damp cloth run it down their legs and bang, they were ready to go. I just simply loved how they looked.

Joan with her tall, trim and toned body really seemed to love spandex and I really enjoyed how she looked in them. She seemed to really like the many different zebra print styles they could create but she'd mostly wear the white ones with black stripes, which complimented her raven hair and milky cream skin. Even at 5'7 Joan always wore heels whether they were attached to short booties, full length boots or shoes. As the Jane Fonda craze infected the country she started wearing many sleeveless tops showing off more of her porcelain skin and toned arms.

Although I had to be more circumspect that didn't stop me from lusting over her. From the front desk I'd watch her every move, even though her station was just behind my right shoulder. If I stood at the right angle she was always in my peripheral vision and I always knew where she was throughout the entire spa. This doesn't mean I was always subtle and didn't leer – yes I leered.