Induct Son and Bro To Nudism

Husband (guffawing): I'll take my chances! Yes, your sis is sexy. For a mature woman in her fifties, she has her rightful allocation of flabs and sags. But, she has defied the persistent march of nature, and uncompromising gravity well. Buxom. Curvy. Breasts with just the right sag. Well defined arse orbs.

Brother (jocularly): Stop, stop! Don't spoil it for me. I want to enjoy the revelation moment.

Husband: I take this to mean you are amendable to the idea? Your sis is a piece of work. I get carried away. I forget we are talking about my wife, and your sis.

Brother: Seriously, growing up, I have never seen much of sis. No childhood accidental bathroom ooops nudity flashes. No bathroom to bedroom three meter streak sprints. I cannot remember ever having any access to her wardrobe and laundry basket lingerie velvety stash.

Husband (jocularly): What a deprived, austere, dreary siblinghood!

Brother (quipping): You said it. Seriously, I couldn't help but admire her from a brotherly gazing distance. She is lovely. Then and now. You lucky sod! If society has different ground rules to the game, I may not have introduced my sis to you.

Husband: Come to think of it, Lucy, your late wife, does look like your sis.

Brother: Don't go there...

Husband (jocularly): I won't. Well, it's never too late to make amends. Your sis will make it up to you. I am so glad we have this conversation.

Brother: What if I sport a boner? I am a brother and a man. And a fallow two-year widower to boot. Your wife is a sister and a woman. At some level, the man and the woman will show up at the party.

Husband: I can't speak for your sis. But, knowing her, she will display outward sheepishness, but will feel validated by your pointed approval. She will be mutedly elated that she has elicited a reaction from her younger brother.

Brother: You seem very socially liberal about this...

Husband: Like you say, there is the brother, and there is the man. There is the sister, and there is the woman. We have these combinations. Bro-Sis. Bro-Woman. Sis-Man, Man-Woman. Go figure the dynamics. It's complicated. I'm not going to mull over it. Your sis is my wife. You are my mate first, brother-in-law second. You introduced my wife to me. We are in this together... Que sera sera, as the song goes.

Brother: Hmmm...

Husband: Oh! There is something else you should know too.

Brother: There is more?

Husband: I had this same conversation with your nephew. My son. Your sister's son.

Brother: But why? Is it really necessary that he has to know about this?

Husband: There is a bit more to what you are thinking of.

Brother: Oh? What may that be? Pray tell.

Husband: You have your own plans and schedules. There will be times when your sis wants to sunbathe, and you're busy, and can't accompany her. It's not fair that your sis dominates all your free time. You have your life to tend to. Knowing your headstrong sis, she will just go ahead alone with her sunbathing if you are unavailable. So, we rope in your nephew as an alternate. This will give her some scheduling flexibility, and also not consume so much of your time. Your sis will also feel better, not being a drag on any one person.

Brother: Hmmm... That brings the family bonding to another level!

Husband: Just think of it as the sun being the centre of the universe, our raison d'être, and we all fall dutifully around it. Wife. Sister. Mother. Brother. Uncle. Son. Nephew. Whomever.

Brother: Hmmm...

Husband: There is also a secondary incidental objective to this.

Brother: There is?

Husband: We think that this is a good opportunity to induct you and our son into nudism. Not in the organised nudism movement sense. Just enjoying the sun, sea and wind au naturel whenever. Skinny dipping. Where we are living, desolate miles upon miles of dunes and coves, it is criminal not to enjoy the sun as it should be enjoyed. And maybe if you and our son are hooked this summer, you can join your sis and me in future.

Brother: OK, I'll go with this. I do feel awkward about the nudity thing. I hope sis is comfy with this all. If you and her are comfy, I will be. It is apparent that you and sis have rationalised this. If you're cool, I am too.

Husband: Just enjoy the experience. And the bro-sis bonding.

Brother (jocularly): Bonding huh?

Husband: I owe you. Big!

Brother (jocularly): You do! But, there are compensations. I have to admit, the idea of seeing sis naked, even if it is strange, piques my curiosity. She is very attractive. And I have never seen her naked. Truth be told, I get a twitch just talking about all this now.

***

Again, when I have my quiet morning tea time, I think over the candid conversation that my husband engaged with my brother.

Is there something simmering beneath my brother's comments about his young days? I think back to my young days. I draw a blank. Am I reading too much into this boys talk? Did my brother find me attractive in his teenhood? If he did, how have those feelings morphed now that I am in my mellowed fifties?

Again, as in the case of my son earlier, these inconvenient, but not unpleasant thoughts pique me. Hmmm... I will have ample opportunity to find out in the dunes. I get a tremor from this thought. I shouldn't really. But, I do. Hmmm...

First, my son. Now, my brother. And what exactly is playing in my husband's mind? An emotional whirlpool. A lot to process...

***

Chapter 5

I Tease My Husband

I finish my bath. I am standing naked in front of the full length mirror in my bedroom, posing this way and that, inspecting my body here and there, posing, preening, hunting down cellulite colonies, and mercifully finding none. Normally, I do this on my bare feet. But, today, on a whim, I feel moved to slip on my fuck me stilettos.

I hear my husband returning from work. He has been very busy this week, as he prepares to leave for his overseas assignment tomorrow morning. A jackboot march of steps up the staircase in a rising crescendo.

I remain in my present state. My husband and I are accustomed to casual home nudity. There is only me and him living in the house. Our son lives away.

He enters the room.

Husband (emits a lusty wolf whistle): Nice! A sight to behold for sore eyes! Hmmm... what's with the heels?

Me: Hi Darling! All set for your business trip?

Husband: Just about. I see you are all set too?

Me: Huh?

Husband (smirking): I see you are all set too for my business trip.

It dawns on me that my husband is cheekily referring to my sunbathing with our son and my brother, when he is away.

Oh well, two can play a teasing fantasy game. We do tease each other mercilessly. But, the taboo realm is a new incursion we have never explored before.

Me: Not quite yet. I need your wise counsel.

I twirl, spin down in my husband's direction. Perched totteringly on my high heels, I thrust my pelvis.

Me (coyly): I trimmed my bush. What do you think?

I tease more.

Me: I want to be presentable to our son, and my brother. I want them to think well of me. I am a mother and a big sister. I want to live up to these lofty expectations.

I crouch on my stilettos facing him. Body proudly upright. My legs parted only just so, showing my bush, and a delicate outline of cleft.

Me: Is it showing a wee too much? Or, not nearly enough?

I stand up. I turn my back to him. I keep both legs straight together, body bent down impossibly low, as only a former ballerina can. My left hand grips my right ankle, to lockdown the pose. A tantalising exposé of labia, slightly agape, but betraying nothing.

Me (coyly): You are awfully quiet back there...

I slide my legs apart while maintaining them straight. I graze my cheek against the side of my lower thigh, peering back coquettishly. My left hand continues to grip my right ankle.

Me: Shall I mow the lawn completely?

My husband does not reply.

In a kind of hypnotic trance, he strips in a flurry, guides me to the wall. He presses my back hard against the wall. He extends my arms horizontally out in a crucifixion configuration. His hands pin down my palms to lock me down. I am nailed. Holy cow! He nuzzles his rockhard shaft at the moist confluence of my lower mound and upper thighs in a sawing dry hump motion. As I tighten my clenched thighs, my husband intensifies his pistoning motion to breach the seal. Animistic pagan growls and howls. Can our neighbours hear us? His perseverance pays off. He gets in, by dint of forceful persistence.

It is apparent that he approves of my trimmed bush.

My husband flies off in the morning.

***

Chapter 6

Mother and Son

The morning sun is simply divine. Is it my imagination that the sky is brighter and clearer than usual?

I message my son if he would like to go to the beach. He replies yes in the usual economical terse reply of young people.

After meeting up in my home, we drive to the beach. There is some awkwardness as we make light contrived conversation in the car. There is an expectant air. I don't know of what precisely.

We hike a two mile meandering bushy trail. We squeeze and force our way, brusingly, through an unyielding thicket wall of tall bush. Our secret entrance. Nobody in their sound minds will navigate themselves through an impenetrable thicket wall.

Voila! Our secluded dune and cove. Members only. And today, I am inducting a new member.

My son pauses, and surveys and admires the picture-perfect scenery before him. He savours the austere seclusion. Maybe he is thinking of the incidental possibilities it affords?

My son takes off his sneakers and socks first, tossing the socks on the groundsheet, and the shoes in his bag. Next, he pulls off his t-shirt.

I have seen him in a swimsuit before, so this is no big deal.

He hears a rustling behind him, off his right shoulder. He knows that I am taking off my clothes in unison as well.

He says nothing. He keeps his eyes focused on the far horizon ahead. Next, his shorts. All he has left is a pair of briefs. He pauses.

This is our moment of truth. My rustling of clothes continues behind him.

In a swift movement, he pushes his briefs down his legs and steps out of them. He tosses them carelessly on the groundsheet.

I glance at his penis. My first view since he was an adolescent. Good length and girth, but not overly assertive. A dignified, almost regal demeanor. He is half-hard already. It stands away from his body in a droopy half arc.

He appears embarrassed to be in this state. I sense his twitch. He must be feeling an erotic tingle inside knowing his mum is seeing him for the first time, thick and partly aroused, rather than placidly shrunken.

Me: Alright! Time to turn around!

He turns around. He beholds me for the first time. I gaze into his eyes, and follow their laser beam.

He parses over my skin, like a mouse on a mouse pad, respectfully caressing me visually, lingering here and there, then moving on. Then, he ascertains my breasts as if deciding whether my sag is just about right, or perhaps a wee excessive.

By force of curiosity, he cannot stop his eyes from drifting lower, to between my legs. He looks surprised at that juncture. Perhaps he is expecting a full, wild bush befitting of a mature fifties female? Or, more contemporarily, a pristine silken mown mons pubis?

Instead, my son sees a faint brown bush. Closely cropped and shaped in a delicate wedge. It affords scant cover to hide the thin lips dangling sweetly between my parted legs. Is the fleeting glisten on my bush sweat or something else? Does he notice this detail?

I suddenly throw my hands out, dramatically, to my sides.

Me: So, what do you think of your venerable mum?

He is embarrassed, again.

Son (sheepishly): You look great, mum!

Now that my son has done his grand tour of his august mum, it is my turn. I run my eyes up and down his body, superficially in the early iterations, then immersing in the details.

Me: You look great too! A fine specimen. Now, tell me more about what you see.

Son: Exquisite! Mums shouldn't look like this! Utterly unmotherly.

Me: Hmmm... Just so you know, you are only the second person on this planet, male and female, who has the privilege of seeing me native.

Son (cheekily): I am so honoured! Thanks mum, for saving yourself for me all these years.

Me: Hmmm... you are too clever by half!

I move around the groundsheet organizing this and that, bending, crouching, kneeling, standing up again. I can't help it. My organizing instincts.

I spy my son's eyes are now drawn exploratorily south to my arse. Full, firm and ripe. Exposed to his view. I feel a shot of tingle.

Is that another twitch between his legs? He must be worrying about not being able to control his reaction. He doesn't want to be around his mum with an inconvenient raging hard-on. But he has no choice now. I sense he must be finding it hard to pull his eyes away from my arse. His penis is still only half erect, still behaving, nominally, but for how long more? Nobody can tell. Not even him. The charm is in not knowing, ever.

With our groundsheet in cosmic order, and housekeeping done, we sit down to chill some.

I sit down on a low portable foldout chair. My legs are parted slightly. My son sees the lips of my vagina. He tries to pull his eyes away and rivet them on my face. But, it appears almost impossible. My lips are parted. Only just so. A crack. He must be wondering what it will be like to part them more.

My son must feel like he has fallen down a rabbit hole. This must be the strangest experience he has ever had in his life, by far. His mum sitting naked with legs spread a few feet from him. He is naked with a semi-erect penis pointing in his mum's direction. He catches me glancing at his penis, between his own rationed darting glances at the enticing junction between my legs.

My body seems to have assumed a life of its own, coursing independently of me. Something is going on in me. My knees seem to be a bit farther apart than they have to be. My body is inclined farther back than it has to be. The result is that not only is the entire cleft of my vagina in view, with a hint of pink showing between my labia, but the creased oily circle of my anus as well. What is happening to me? What invisible force has appropriated my being?

I decide to take the proverbial bull by the horns. My son and I are going to be naked around each other all summer. We will endeavor to break all the sheepish inhibitions this morning. Get comfortable with our nudity, so that we can bed down quickly to a placid equilibrium, and enjoy ourselves without tension going forward.

I sit far back, almost reclining, on my low portable chair. My legs fall open wide. My son's eyes cannot help it, once again. He stares at my vagina. My lips glisten. Beckoning. Maybe it is just sweat. Is that a piquant vinegarish scent in the air?

My son must have stared at me longer than he is conscious of, because when he finally looks up, he sees me staring at him, my lips pursed in a wry smile.

Me: Do you like what you see?

My question catches him short. His youthful face registers shock. I smirk. He thinks I caught him. He barely stammers in reply.

Son: What . . . what do you mean?

Me: You were looking at me. Down there. Down me. Between my legs. Do you like what you see?

Poor sod! He must be thinking that there is no good way to reply to a question like that. I have a subterranean cruel streak that needs to find expression, every now and then.

Son (sheepishly): Mum, I'm sorry! I didn't mean that. I won't do that again.

Me: Don't be. And don't tell me you didn't mean to. I saw you doing it several times. You have been doing it ever since we got naked. You are looking at my vulva. You like looking at it, right?

His discomfort is now sky high. Not only has he been caught looking at me down there, but now I am putting on my motherly let's-be-completely-honest-about-this manner. The last thing a son wants to talk honestly with his mum is about looking at her vagina.

Me: Come on, son. Be honest.

Son: OK. Yes. Guilty as charged. I was looking at you. It is hard not to. You're a woman. You're attractive. And you're naked.

Me: Exactly! It is normal.

Son: I'm having a hard time getting used to this being normal. This new normal.

Me: Well, we don't live a nudist lifestyle. But, many families around the world practise nudism. They get used to nudity. To them, it is a completely normal, day-to-day, mundanely routine thing. It's all a matter of habituation.

I get up, and hop up on a flat rock ledge near the dune, and patted it with my hand.

Me (invitingly): Join me over here?

I sit on one end of the rock ledge and turn around. My son reluctantly follows and sits on it as well, a few feet from me. His penis begins to swell with all the talk about my vagina. He tries to conceal it by pressing his legs together.

Me (in a kindly tone): It's OK. Face me.

Reluctantly, he does as I tell him to do. He swings his legs up on the rock and sits cross-legged, facing me. His penis, choosing a bad time not to cooperate, grows still harder and pops up from his lap, angling in my direction.

Me (smiling softly): I can see you are definitely interested in the subject.

I look my son in the eyes.

Me: Look at me.

He stares back at me.

Me: No. Not at my face. Down here.

I point to my lap, between my legs stretched out to either side of the rock surface.

Me: Look at my most intimate.

Son (bashfully): Mum...

Me (reassuringly): Go ahead. I want you to. We are going to spend a lot of time together this summer, from today. I would like you to get to know me better, as I do you, so that we can be completely at ease with ourselves after this.

He does. Slowly. His eyes trailing away from my face, drifting down my neck, to my plump sagging breasts, past my belly, and finally to the nest of junction between my thighs.

I angle my hips toward my son, until the full vertical slit of my vagina is in his view. Top to bottom. I sit only a few feet from him. He gets the closest, best view he has had of it yet.

I can discern that he thinks it is lovely, the mounds of my outer lips framing and pressing against the thin folds of my inner lips. Brown well-trimmed hair lie about my lips, but do nothing to conceal them. My inner lips are parted. Just a crack. He glimpses a faint fleeting glistening sheen inside, from the reflected clean light of the morning sun.

Me: I think it is time to be candid with each other. You and I have never been naked together like this. I don't think you've ever seen me fully naked before. I cannot recall any fleeting bedroom or washroom ooops nudity exposé flashes. Am I right?

Son (sighing): Yes

He struggles to pull his eyes away from my womanhood.

Me: We have the summer before us. We are going to be naked together for a while longer, and if we're going to get something out of our beach time here, we need to be comfortable. I know you've been trying to be discreet about it. But I can tell you've been agitated. I don't want you to be that way. If you're agitated, then I'm going to be agitated too, and neither one of us will get what we should out of this summer. So, we're going to try something that should make us both more comfortable. Scoot closer.

He does so. I spread my legs wider still.

Me: We are going to put the mystique and strangeness of our nudity to rest, and enjoy the rest of the day. Cool?

Son: I guess so.

Me: You can see my hood here, covering my clitoris.

I trace its length with my index finger. It is long. It fully conceals my nub of skin underneath.

Son: Mum, I am not a gangling teen. I know what a vulva is. I have seen one before. More than one.

Me: But, you haven't seen mine before. This is about habituation, remember? Getting you accustomed to something you haven't seen before. Making you comfortable so that we don't have to deal with any awkwardness for the rest of the time we're here. Bear with me. Think of this as "Anatomy 101" for slightly more mature students, like for medical students.