Dutch Law

MARVIN

After Dad left, I became the man of the house, the one who knows about the furnace and cleaning the gutters. It's good being thought of as capable, at least. That Mom had zero interest in finding another guy was fine by me, as I didn't want to be dealing with some lame boyfriend.

When Mom decided she needed to get out, that's when my job increased. She'd drag me to events that she didn't want to attend on her own. "I show up unattached and some loser's going to hit on me. You being my date solves all that."

I saw a problem. "Yeah, but my age?"

"You'd rather be with somebody not so old, you mean?"

"You're not that old," what she was fishing for.

"Some creep moves in on me, you show him I've got a boyfriend," her orders.

"You sure?"

"We won't be breaking any laws. Just call me Holly, not Mom."

I wasn't sure if I scared off the creeps, or if they just decided a woman with a kid my age wasn't what they were after, but I preferred to think the former. She'd snuggle against me when we walked around and we'd do a lovey-dovey when a guy looked her way.

"I think there's one by the door," she'd say, pulling my hand to her boobs while giving me a smackeroo.

"Where there's one, there might be two," I'd reply, and we'd do it again. She was fun to kid around with.

The ladies she worked with let me sip their drinks at the office party while their husbands talked sports. Mom said afterward that one of them said she'd like to rent me, to which I said, super, I could use the cash, to which Mom said it would be after her booking fee and there'd be stipulations. I never did figure out which of her friends it was, and regarding stipulations, she just said, never you mind.

Mom would drag me to every classic rock outdoor event that came through town.

"This looks OK?" as we headed for the venue, her in a tie-dye recreation of hippie attire.

"Like you're ready for some psychedelia." I'd seen her braless around the house a million times, but the idea of her that way out in public felt strangely exciting.

When we got to the event, she'd hang on me like a flower child so the hitters wouldn't swoop in and make her take drugs. A flower child with softer petals that she'd have had back then, maybe.

At one concert, there was Ethan with his mom, but he and I pretended not to recognize each other, as you don't want your friend knowing you're there with your mother, especially if she's braless, which at a place like this, seemed to be the norm. Our moms weren't as concerned, though, as we ended up, blankets next to each other. As for what Ethen and I saw to each other's mom, there's no way we couldn't have,

I liked it, when going to get us something to drink, I ran into my Language Arts teacher, Ms. Rennick, wearing a "Make Love, Not War" t-shirt, nipples like marbles. Your teacher's boobs are cooler than your mom's, for sure.

"Didn't we meet at Woodstock?" she'd laughed, giving me a hug, boobs smushing against me. "Oh, yes," answering her own question. "At the swimming hole." Having seen the documentary, I knew the hippies had jumped in naked, but didn't know if she knew that.

I told her I was with my mom, to which she said if my mom couldn't bring me next time, let her know and we could come together. Maybe I could come over to her place afterward to listen to her vinyls.

I'd maybe have taken her up on it, but knew that Mom wouldn't want me tooting off without her. Probably Ms. Rennick was just looking for somebody to groove with, but it's awesome, you and your teacher grooving together about a summer of free love.

When I got back, Mom and Ethan had gone to check out where they sell fan stuff and as Ethan's mom dug through their tote, I'd a perfect view of her boobs. But then again, probably Ethan was seeing Mom's the same way at the merchandise tables, not something I wanted him doing.

When Mom and I would go out, Mom would leave the house with her blouse buttoned, but without me even noticing, by the time we got where we were going, a button or two would be open.

If Mom and I went to a place with dancing, her boobs would poke my chest and she'd have me put my hand on her butt to make us look realistic. I hoped that her leg couldn't feel anything, but, I suspected it could.

If her bra showed, she'd go to the lady's room and return without. I could have pointed out that doing so might attract the very guys I was protecting her from, but didn't.

Going to a movie and not holding hands wouldn't be much of a date, she informed me, hers above mine on the middle of her lap and pressing down. On my lap, she'd be underneath and when the actors had sex, her hand would ever so slightly rock back and forth. It again made me nervous, what she could maybe tell, but if she could, she didn't let on.

She'd tug my arm over her shoulder to where I could reach her side. The first time I went on around, she led me off, but I could tell she liked me doing it by how long it took her to let me return.

It's strange, taking your mom on a pretend date, feeling her nipple through her top, and forgetting that it's just pretend.

Once there was a couple making out in the row in front of us, and when the show was over, it was Ethan and his mom. Our moms chatted as they straightened themselves while Ethan and I tried to look cool.

Ethan's mom suggested that next time we sit together -- make it a double date, she explained -- leaving me to wonder if I'd get to make out with her, and Ethan with Mom. Like at the concert, half good, half not.

We never did meet up with them, but once I ran into her at Kmart and she mentioned that Ethen was at his teacher's looking at album covers for a display about literature in rock and that he'd be there all afternoon. Could I help her push her cart to her car? Sure. As I'd checked out her boobs at the concert, seeing her bra as we put the bags in the trunk wasn't that big of a deal, but it was still pretty nice.

Did I want a ride to her house as it's closer to my place, she asked, slipping against my arm as she moved the cart away.

I almost said sure again, but I chickened out.

What if Ethan was more than looking at record covers and I was doing to his mom what he was doing to Ms. Rennick?

As Mom said you had to kiss your date -- even a pretend one -- when you dropped her off, we'd pull over in the driveway for that purpose. More than that purpose, as she said that on a date, what happens in the car can be more than what happened where you'd gone.

We'd kiss and she'd end up perched on my lap. It wouldn't be a real date if I didn't get to touch her bra, she let me know, which left me confused about the nature of our date. Not that I'd get inside it, or anything, but I could feel her nipple.

Same for me rubbing her lag. Just not too high up, this being pretend, but that seemed to not mean the heel of my hand. No big deal if she was wearing jeans, but her skirt would sometimes slide in the front of her panties.

Just fooling around in the car, the two of us, was all, she wanted me to know, working her thigh against me until I'd almost come in my pants. The most she said about it was that date wouldn't be a date unless it got somewhere.

That our date was done once we went inside made sense, actually, as otherwise there'd be nothing special about going out. She'd thank me for taking her out -- though actually it was Mom who took me -- and that was that.

If I'd a time machine, we'd have been in an old Chevrolet, and I'd have come, but not in my pants.

Most moms wouldn't need to take care of their own needs after a date because the date would be with her hubby. It wasn't as if I was trying to hear; it's just that the wall between our rooms wasn't that thick and I'd get on my bed to do the same. If she heard back, she never mentioned it.

Why Mom didn't get back in the dating scene with guys her own age, I wasn't sure. As for me, it was sort of fun. My friends didn't know about it; that's for sure.

And so our dating life wrapped up when I went off to college. She went out with her girlfriends and I had my classes.

HOLLY

Some things just fall into place, and my visit to Amsterdam was one of those things.

When Marvin's college choir -- the Choraliers -- planned their European tour -- not quite as high-powered as it might sound, as they paid for it themselves and would perform for whoever happened to walk into whatever sanctuary they'd rented -- he and some Choralier buddies planned to stay a week extra, and then for one reason or another, the others jumped ship. With nobody to do it with, it wouldn't be as much fun. Might I want to join him in Holland?

As I'd vacation due and the fare was a bargain, I jumped at the chance. I'd get a guidebook so we don't miss anything.

I ran into Carol at Walmart and we chatted about her boys, no mention, though, of us having come across each other at the movies, boys in tow. She'd phoned the next day to see if I'd be interested in her movie double date idea. I was, I had to admit, but didn't bite.

They'd pick us up, Carol driving, Ethen in the back. Carol and Marvin would sit at one end to the back row, Ethen and I, at the other, him working at my hooks, while Carol's already lowered Marvin's zipper -- not what I wanted going on.

She said that Ethan had had a good year at college. He was going to take a marine biology course in Florida, and as she had work to do in Miami, she'd give him a ride, camping en route to make it an adventure. Their air mattress was as good as their mattress at home, she said, but she wondered if their sleeping bag wouldn't be too hot, it being for winter.

I would have thought she meant "mattresses" and "bags" -- plural -- but didn't want to ask. Sure, Marvin and I had seen them playing around at the movies, but just what you do at a movie. I said I was sure they'd enjoy collecting mollusks, or whatever.

I was the lucky one, her reply, getting to go with my boy to Europe.

When I got my hair cut -- I said to make it more little more like a co-ed -- Holly, Marvin's old English teacher, was getting hers done, too, and as teachers like to know where their ex-students are aiming, I told her that he's doing pre-law.

When I mentioned my travel plans, she said, "I'm betting he did some legal research, where to meet up." Plus she said she liked my hair.

I agreed that Marvin was a good planner, as he'd assured me I'd not need a visa.

When Marvin was next back in town, she told me he should stop by her place to tell her about school. I told her I'd pass it on. It pleases a mother to know her boy's remembered.

Marvin mapped the Amsterdam station down to the bench, and there we met, him kissing both my cheeks, right, left, right, what he said was the Dutch way, having researched it.

"New haircut, Mom?" At least he'd noticed.

We'd just not anticipated rain when we set off in search of a budget B&B. My book said there were many, but those we found were beyond our budget, and we were getting wetter and wetter as we looked.

Pension Polly had a vacancy and the price was OK. "Pension" doesn't mean where you bunk with a bunch of students -- not for me, if you please -- but rather that you don't get your own bath. That was doable.

"The bed is not grand like in the upper hotels, of course, but it's nice," the girl at the desk added.

The bed? As our last names were the same, did she think we were married? Good for my ego, perhaps, but I was quick to clarify that I was his mother, to which she replied that of course, we could sleep together.

As English was not her mother tongue, she was being literal, of course, regarding the meaning. Marvin and I could sleep together without sleeping together, so to speak. Just for one night until we found a better place.

In the room next to ours was a family who spoke a foreign language. The girl and the boy, teenagers, I'd think. As I could see they had two beds, I guess they were in a similar situation.

At last in our room - no sense whining about the one bed -- Marvin said that I looked like I actually needed a real American kiss -- with which I agreed -- and proceed to deliver. We weren't on a pretend date or anything, of course, but it had that flavor. As in times gone by I'd let him find my nipple through my blouse, it seemed OK to let him do so again -- not something you'd generally allow, but maybe your own boy, or perhaps his friend on a mom-son double date -- but I made sure the door was closed in case our neighbors passed by.

Once unpacked, I pulled off my blouse and pulled on my nightgown -- what boy hasn't seen his mom in her bra? -- and removed my bra underneath.

I tried to look like I wasn't looking when he stepped out of his trousers, him not having the do-it-under-something option.

"I think this place is going to be OK," Marvin told me as he claimed his half of the bed.

Of course it would, I told myself. Just be a little more together than we were used to.

Before I got too comfy, though, I had a thought. "We're Americans, right?" with which he agreed. "So that cheek peck's really not us," with which he also agreed. "So how about a real one?" which got me a long one on the lips.

His foot was against mine as we thumbed through the tourist brochures, but I didn't boot him back. He was perusing "Amsterdam for Lovers." We weren't that, of course, but I'm sure it contained some good information.

"Night, Mom," as he rolled my way enough for an American goodnight.

"Night, Marvin." It was going to be great, Amsterdam.

When I woke, we were both in the middle. You can do that with your boy, of course, as you're less likely to roll out. In drifting off, I'd undone a button of my robe to get more comfortable, and in my sleep, another had come undone, but I fixed them before my boy woke up.

Dressing, I just faced away -- It wasn't like he could see around me, not very much, anyway -- and pulled off my gown and put on my bra. What's a mother to do but to do her best to appear nonchalant about it?

When I went to shower, it was occupied, and when I came back, out came the girl and boy, our neighbors, towel-wrapped and giggling, who said hello to me in English. The shower wasn't that big, but perhaps where they come from, they don't mind crowding together, much less being opposite sexes.

The same girl was serving coffee at the breakfast table. "It's good to sleep together, is it not?" her comment, to which I agreed, meaning, of course, it was good to have slept well.

"Like two peas in a pod," Marvin added, apparently thinking of the "together."

The girl thought through the translation and laughed when got it. "Of course, as you're familiar with each other. Two peas in one pod."

"Is your name Polly?" I wondered.

"It's Roos, how we say Rose," she informed me. I asked how they said Holly, to which she answered Hulst, making me glad I wasn't born Dutch, as "Hulst Rennick" just doesn't sound right.

She was a tourism student pursuing an incremental program and knew what we should see. "I will lend you an umbrella."

On the way to where they make wooden shoes -- don't buy, Roos's advice -- I drew Marvin's attention to an extraordinarily-short automobile when we passed a display window featuring inflated condoms. "Every Flavour," according to the sign, their English being different.

The Velcro handcuffs were, "Lady's Choice."

The plastic penises -- they didn't say, "Every Colour," but I think that's how they would have spelled it -- made me think of buying one to show the girls, but I'd not have liked them joking that a plastic souvenir symbolized anything to do with my trip. "Getting older, that Marvin," that sort of thing.

"You're so lucky, Holly. I wish some guy would invite over there for a sleepover," Tish had laughed when told of Marvin's invitation, but they knew I'd keep it within the law.

I hoped my boy wasn't paying attention to the women beckoning from the upper windows.

"Wonder what they charge?" Marvin's question once we were past them.

"Who?"

"Those ladies."

He was kidding, wasn't he? I thought for a moment. "More than you've got, buster," elbowing him in the ribs for punctuation.

"It's the gigolos for chicks needing a boyfriend who charge the most," elbowing me back. "How about we save our money and splurge for a boat ride.

I tut-tutted that I was no chick, but readily agreed to his suggestion, at which he offered his arm to the chick without a boyfriend.

"Still my pretend date?" I ventured, taking his arm the way I used to.

"Ready to serve. The canal boat is supposed to be romantic," as he bussed my cheek.

"According to the guidebook, anyway," my comment.

"No, Roos told me. She said to sit in the back for it to be the most romantic."

"She did?"

"Maybe she forgot you're my mom,"

I doubted she'd forgotten anything, but I didn't say so. "Naughty Dutch boy," I scolded, Silliness, all of it.

It was beginning to drizzle, the umbrella was appreciated. The one Roos had given us wasn't that large, but if we scrunched together it was fine.

The sex museum was on Roos's list -- "so many things" -- but I nixed it, not because I'm a prude, of course, but because it might be a bad influence.

"Hey, Marvin, take a gander at this vintage orgasm torture machine."

"Neat-o, Mom. Maybe I could tie you up."

Fat chance, buster! I'd be the one belting you down, and I'd have a feather."

Just kidding, but it's fun to imagine what you might have said if you took your boy to a recommended sex museum.

As we waited to cross a boulevard, Marvin gave me another kiss, this time more of a kiss-type kiss. Amsterdam is for lovers, after all. Fun times. A mother can't help remembering.

As the Dutch seem a discrete people, though, I didn't let the kiss get the best of me, explaining that we're not in France. Not that I'd been there, actually, but I'd read things.

He seemed to get my point, but maybe not the right way, as a few minutes later he diverted me into an alcove to pursue it more like what I've read about. I really shouldn't have let him almost cup me, but it was just for a moment and nobody saw.

Back when we'd dated, I'd legged him a few times just to be silly, and for some reason I tried it again. Erection then. Erection now. It shouldn't have pleased me, but maybe it did.

Anyway, if Amsterdam's for lovers, that sort of thing's probably OK.

For lunch, we set off in search of Dutch babies, but as nobody seemed to have heard of them, we ended up with fish sticks we could have gotten back home for half the price.

Had to see the Van Gogh museum -- "Not so many things," as Roos had forewarned -- and in the museum with all old masters -- "very historic, but too many paintings" -- we knew some of the names. Good places to dodge the weather.

As there were so many steps, it was great to have an arm to hang on, pressing against him so he'd know I'd not minded our kiss. I think the people behind us were speaking French, so they'd have thought it entirely normal.

Back at Pension Polly, Roos noted that we'd not returned for our midday rest. "Sleeping together in the afternoon is most refreshing."

Lying in bed, our shoulders touched as we recollected our day. Parts of our day, that is.

When I awoke in the darkness -- my book says it takes several days to adjust your internal clock -- Marvin was curled around me. Maybe it wasn't my internal clock that woke me, actually, but the hand on my chest and the lump pressing my hip. I didn't let on that I was awake.

When I again awoke, he'd retreated, the wiggle of his side of the mattress revealing for what purpose. You can't blame a boy for being a boy. For that matter, you can't blame a girl for being a girl, even if she's an old one.

Was I just supposed to forget we'd once pretend-dated? Difficult to pretend we hadn't. Difficult to forget him feeling me up. me teaching him to dance. Difficult to forget how our legs fit together.