Mom and Son Homestay Guests

There is no sex in this story. Only titillating frisson.

***

I have never given any thought on the subject of incest, let alone mother-son incest. But, an unexpected incidental experience I encountered piqued my interest in this taboo subject. That said, till today, I'm still unsure if what I encountered qualified as incest. Or was it just chill nudity laced with frisson?

I'm John. Mid-thirties. Single.

When my parents passed away, my younger sis, Jane, early thirties, single, and I inherited a penthouse condominium apartment.

The condominium tower was perched on a wild desolate hillside. There were no other developments within a 2 kilometer radius. Far from the madding crowd. The penthouse was on the 40th floor. It had 3 bedrooms, a kitchenette cum dining area, and a lounge, that spilled seamlessly to an open patio.

The bedrooms, lounge and patio commanded a spectacular seaview. A coral island bobbed in pristine waters 100 meters offshore.

A little known winding cliff path connected the condominium garden to a secluded beach below. The beach was accessible by this path only.

The penthouse was a private heaven unto itself. No part of it, including the open patio, was within sight of anyone anywhere. A bolthole in the sky! The closest I'll get to heaven without the inconvenience of dying.

Besides the penthouse, my parents left Jane and I a more-than-modest sum of money. A surprise gift of largesse from our austere parents who worked and lived the Protestant Work Ethic. Counterintuitively, the unstated gift from my parents was that they never let on that there would be any inheritance, so that Jane and I were not distracted by moral hazards, in our academic and career pursuits. Between us, Jane was the more conservative one, somewhat influenced by our parents' religious values. But, she was no prude.

The inheritance enabled us to resign from our regular jobs, live in and enjoy the penthouse, and pursue home businesses which aligned to our passions. I wrote freelance, dabbled in photography, and put together multimedia contents that included images, videos, sound and text. Jane, the pragmatic one, was an avid and shrewd online trader investor.

Jane and I each occupied a bedroom. We ran a homestay on the third bedroom, listed on one of the popular online homestay apps. The homestay room had an in-built washroom and a small balcony. This was productive deployment of an otherwise idle asset. It helped defray our living expenses. And we could orbit the world without venturing past our doorstep, hosting and engaging interesting people from all over the world, on our terms. And homestay guests got to share our skyhaven, and enjoy local immersion. Win-win.

We received a homestay request from the south of England. The requestor was Sophie. Two pax. Two-week stay. She remarked that she was looking for some place quiet, private, nestled in nature, to chill. The profile pictures of our penthouse, and the vista sweep of hill-thru-sea view impressed her. I studied Sophie's profile picture in the app. She had a pleasant look, maybe in her late forties. We have never hosted English guests before. Great! We replied that we'd be pleased to host her and her partner. We would pick her and her partner up from the nearest village, 3 kilometers from our condo.

It was the day of Sophie's check-in. She texted me from the village. I drove to the village to meet her.

From a distance, I spied a middle-aged woman, with a young man of about 20 at the village cafe. I instinctively scanned round to see if there was a middle-aged couple nearby. There was none. I then studied the woman's face again. Yes, it looked like Sophie's profile picture. I strolled up to them.

We introduced ourselves. Exchanged pleasantries. I told them that their co-host, my sister Jane, was back at the penthouse. Sophie introduced the young man as Sebastian, or Seb, her son. She could sense that I was surprised by Seb's presence, and felt obliged to explain that Seb had, at late notice, taken over her husband's place because of unforeseen work contingency. Her husband had just won a big business deal. Shit happens! But, this was a happy problem. Sophie and Seb would celebrate the business success on behalf of dad.

Sophie in the flesh, looked late forties, to early fifties. She carried that classic English rose look. A curiously healthy anemic complexion, with a light dusting of freckles. And then nuances of cheeky warm cuddly lusciousness. Comely was the word that would do her social justice. Five feet, four inches. She was lush topside. Delicate rise of tummy. Her posterior was pleasantly contoured, a soft arc of provocative protrusion, without being riotous. Somehow, these contours of perfections, and lesser perfections, conspired to conjure a womanly whole that was appealing. An allure that was easy to identify, but hard to define.

Seb looked the part of the strapping son, in complement to his mom's earthy matrony charms. Played the part too. He topped 6 feet. Lean. Mean. Fresh faced. Seb was exactly what a young Englishman named Sebastian should classically look like. A 'lovely' young man in the Brit vernacular. I knew my sis would be mutedly pleased to have this living sculpture grace our penthouse for the next two weeks.

We gathered the luggage. It was a single backpack. I asked if there was more that would be forwarded to the condominium later. No. This was it. Hmmm... this was economical. Oh well, I guess bikinis and lite casual apparel don't consume much space. I drove back to the condominium. Sophie and Seb enjoyed the coastal drive along the winding road that hugged the hillside as it wound up. They were warming up. As we approached the condominium tower, mother and son were awed by the 40-storey massive erection, on the hillslope, that would be their home for the fortnight.

When Jane opened the penthouse door, I sensed her look of surprise at the unlikely May-December ensemble of Sophie and Seb. And then a muted quizzical askewed glance at me that enquired, what-the-fuck? After a brief but illuminating introduction, Jane led our guests to their room. Our normal orientation process was that we'll invite the guests to the patio for an ice-breaking welcome drink and chat to establish the social baseline, show them around the penthouse, and then the near environs. Their room was furnished with a queen-sized bed. I would have to ask Sophie later if she would like any reconfiguration of the bedding arrangement. But, it would be a challenge to replace the queen-sized bed with two singles given the limited swing space.

Half an hour on, we were chilling at the patio. Sophie and Seb had changed into casuals. A pleasantly seismic transformation. Sophie was in a pair of high-cut bikini shorts which accentuated and flattered her legs, and a breezy white top. My sis caught me checking Sophie out, and gave a knowing teasing grin. And then her eyes roved on to ascertain Seb.

Sophie was a homemaker, but worked part time twice a week in a private school teaching Literature and Art. This explained her pétillant demeanor.

Seb had just completed his final uni exams. This was his holiday before he took on the oyster that was his world. Seb was the only child. His uni was located a good 100 kilometers from home. This holiday was a good opportunity to chill and connect with mom, before he cast off to wherever his future job may land him. Dad ran an engineering business. He just bidded and won a sizable deal, so he had to attend to it.

Sophie waxed lyrical poetic on the penthouse's spectacular dizzy view of sea and hill, the 360 degree privacy, and the cosy homey ambience of the apartment. In her words, a cottage-in-the-sky. Jane told them about the cliff path that wound down to the secluded beach, and then, the coral island offshore. Sophie appeared to place great stock on privacy. She asked if the path was the only access to the beach. She seemed pleased when Jane confirmed so. And when I told her that the coral island had a secluded beach cove on the sea-facing side, which offered another level of privacy, she beamed.

Which prompted me to ask whether the bedding arrangement was OK, or would they prefer two single-beds in view of the change in their holiday plan. Mother looked at son in a kind of muted suppressed amusement. Sophie observed that two single-beds would be overly crammed for the room size. She said, through stiff upper lip, that Seb and her will survive the ordeal.

She giggled, "I will have to make Seb behave, he he!" And then turning to Seb, she demurred meekly: "You will, won't you?"

Seb turned to her and growled in mock tigerish: "Grrrr...!"

Sophie whimpered: "Oh, dear!"

My sis shot me an exaggerated astounded look. Hmmm... this must be the high water mark of British reserve! And we haven't even dipped our toes in yet! Seb was nonplussed by this playful tittilating jesting. It appeared like this was the easy outrageous banter that he engaged routinely with his mom. In any case, he felt at ease letting his effervescent mom do most of the socializing, although he was by no means shy.

I spied Seb's eyes darting between his mom's and my sis's legs, as if agonizing pleasantly over a perplexing pickle. His eyes lingered generously on his mom's legs without awkwardness, but engaged Jane's with courteous rationed interest. Par for his hormonal course. I drifted. I became engrossed in Seb's happy dilemma. My spell snapped when my sis recrossed her legs. I looked up and saw her arching what-the-fuck questioning look, which soon melted into a gratifying twinkling smile.

Later on, when Jane had a quiet moment with me, she asked "What was all that about?"

I replied: "Much more than meets the apparent eye".

She smiled: "You mean, your eyes?"

I conceded: "You got me there!" Jane smiled wickedly again.

I left it at that.

The next morning, as Jane and I were at the patio sipping our espressos, we saw Sophie and Seb emerge from their bedroom. They didn't see us. We decided to leave them be. They were apparently making their way, with some haste, down to the beach to catch the first morning rays, and to revel in the privacy that Sophie so valued. Sophie was in a barely-legal skimpy bikini that left little to the imagination. Seb was in a matching Brazilian-style pouch swimming costume. Effectively a cock sock. As the minimalist mother and son made their way to the door, Seb placed his hand on his mom's ample hip, and then drifted to her ass, as he guided her along. A moveable feast.

When they were out of earshot, Jane winked at me.

I quipped in all seriousness: "More and more meets the eye. A bit over the top, huh?"

Jane said cheekily: "Yes, a bit."

I said: "The mother of all bikinis."

We cackled in amused unison.

I observed: "Nice mother-son bonding."

To which Jane added: "Another Oedipus day in paradise."

I said: "So, what did you think of Adonis's package, he he?"

Jane threw the magazine she was reading at me.

We didn't see much of Sophie and Seb in the next three days. They left the penthouse early in the morning with beach gear and meal packs in tow, chilling at the secluded beach, swimming over to the coral island, relaxing at the village, and cycling along the corniche taking into the glorious views. They were at one with this place, and with themselves.

When they returned in the evening, in their beach togs, skimpy as ever, we would sometimes chat with them in the lounge or patio, sipping wine, watching the sun dunk below the far horizon in slo-mo. Mother and son savored these dramatic moments of nature, snuggling close to each other, in a body language that both appeared to be conversant in.

Jane and I would make a daytrip to the city about 30 kilometers away every now and then, to attend to professional and administrative matters which we couldn't execute over the internet. We also took this opportunity to stock up some on groceries which were unavailable in our village supermarket. On this occasion, we asked Sophie and Seb whether they would like to join us. Sophie declined. We then took from them a list of items that they would like to buy from the city. We informed Sophie that we would be back by about 6pm. They would have the penthouse to themselves. We told Sophie and Seb that they were free to use whatever.

Jane and I completed our errands by 3pm. Two of our appointments were cancelled at late notice because the people involved were on unforseen medical leave. When we were ready to leave the city, we thought it appropriate that we should give Sophie a call to let them know that we would be home earlier than originally anticipated. Her cellphone appeared to be switched off. Maybe they were at the beach. In any case, we messaged her just in case she turned on her cellphone later.

We arrived at our penthouse at 4pm. All was quiet. The homestay bedroom door was closed. There was no sign of Sophie and Seb. Likely still at the beach, or somewhere. Jane and I brewed our espressos. We drew open the patio sliding door, and were just about to step into the patio to chill when Jane stopped dead in her tracks. I looked ahead. Sophie was lying naked, face up, on one lounger. She wore sunshades, and appeared to be snoozing. Seb was postured similarly on the other lounger.

Jane and I retreated hastily to her room.

Jane said: "Oh shit, we forgot to close the patio sliding door."

I said: "Never mind, we'll just be upfront with our guests. We did attempt to inform Sophie via her cellphone. She would've our message on her cellphone, as well as a missed call record."

We watched a Netflix movie in Jane's room as we enjoyed our espressos.

I asked: "Is all this spooking you?"

Jane pondered: "No. Not really... Let's not read too much into this. Just a mom and son liberated from the wretchedness of dreary weather, catching sunrays. When we went into this homestay business, one of our aims was to meet a diversity of people from all over the world. We're doing just that now."

Later that night, as Jane and I were chilling at the patio, Sophie joined us. Seb was in the room watching a movie.

Sophie began by apologizing for their nudity in the patio earlier. She had missed our call and message, as her cellphone had been in her room on mute. She was on holiday, and was not expecting any communication. She knew we had seen them, by the patio door that was left open.

Sophie explained that she lived a home nudist lifestyle in their country cottage in England. It wasn't always like that. When they first moved to the cottage, they led a textile lifestyle. The cottage was remote with a secluded garden. The nearest house was a kilometer away. So, over time, they became increasingly careless, if not carefree in their dressing, to the point that nudity became convenient custom. Besides their home, they skinny dipped in the many streams and ponds near their home. The benefits of country living.

I was wondering whether this was just Sophie and her husband, or did it include Seb since he was away at uni. As if reading my mind, Sophie clarified that the home nudity involved only her and her husband. Sophie intimated that she initiated Seb to the nudist lifestyle only on this holiday because the environment and ambience was so right for it. The private secluded beach. The coral island, and its sea-facing beach which looked out to the open ocean. It was now or never as Seb would shortly fly the coop to wherever his career would take him. When they had the penthouse all to themselves, they decided to enjoy the nudity. It was such a high being au naturel, at the patio, basking in the sun and seawind, taking in the glorious view, at nature's high bosom. Without awkwardness, she said that Seb and her have been nude in their room, and Seb was adapting famously to this new dimension of freedom.

Curiously, Sophie said: "This is such a treat for Seb. And of course, for me as well."

Jane slipped me a funny look.

Sophie then excused herself to go to the washroom. I looked at Jane. My somewhat conservative sis.

I asked: "Do you get the sense that Sophie is obliquely requesting our permission for Seb and her to range nude in our penthouse?"

Jane replied: "Sounds like it."

I said: "This would certainly make their homestay experience whole and satisfying. I'm OK to tell her to go for it. Would you be cool with it? Young Seb will be constantly getting in your face though, ha ha!"

Jane countered: "Since you put it that way, yessss! Seriously, I'm cool. They're decent folks. They just want to have a memorable holiday. And again, one of our aims of our homestay business is to meet interesting people from all over, and live experiences, wherever they may range".

I applauded: "Very noble!"

Jane smacked my chin in mock displeasure, and said: "Yes, I'll admit that there is a certain undercurrent of tingling charm in this."

I said: "It'll be a 'treat' for you, he he!"

Jane countered: "Hmmm... I have seen you checking out Sophie surreptitiously."

Just then, Sophie rejoined us. I told Sophie that Jane and I should be the ones to apologize for barging into the patio unannounced. I added that we were cool with Seb and her living the nudist lifestyle in the penthouse, if that was what they wanted. It just didn't make sense that they had to slip on and off clothing each time they moved in and out of their bedroom. They could enjoy the sun in the patio.

Sophie beamed. She asked: "Would this be awkward for you? You've been more than kind. Seb and I wouldn't want to impose on you both."

And then turning to Jane, she asked: "Seb is a young healthy lad, still adjusting to this new freedom, if you know what I mean. He will have his moments of... hmmm... bodily exuberance. Do you mind?"

I looked interestedly at Jane's reaction. This was an implementation detail in the plan that had eluded Jane's consideration earlier.

Jane appeared mildly flustered momentarily, and then recovered. "Well, it will be a new experience for John and I. If John can survive this, so can I. Seriously, one of our aims of running a homestay is to broaden our lived experience by sharing experiences with our guests. This is one such biodiversity experience."

Hmmm... women are so adept at reframing matters to their convenience.

I teased Jane: "Sharing experiences...? Do you mean we..."

Jane punched my arm in mock mortification. All three of us broke into good natured laughter. That was the seismic ice-breaking moment.

I said: "So, Sophie, feel free to start anytime tomorrow."

Jane teased: "My, my, isn't he an eager beaver!"

More infectious laughter.

The next morning, Jane and I were enjoying our espresso fix in the patio when Sophie and Seb joined us, in their full glory, with coffee cups in hand. There was no awkwardness. They were at ease with themselves and their context. And considering that Seb was a newbie in the game, he was cool. What was prominent was that both mother and son were scrupulously shorn.

It accentuated their features. I looked at Jane. This detail was not lost on her. Her eyes lingered on Seb. Seb was endowed as an Adonis would be. Sophie would best be aesthetically described as lite Rubenesque. The spell broke when they sat down, partially obscured by the table. We chatted breezily as a casual Starbucks coffee party would. And that new dawn on the patio marked the start of a new chapter in the homestay.

We got comfortable with the new dynamics. The initial frisson simmered down to a pleasant equilibrium of humming sensual tranquility. Jane and I were at ease facing off Sophie and Seb, whether they were chilling on the patio lounger, or luxuriating on the lounge sofa when we were watching TV.

Seb in his most exuberant state of flourish was still within socially correct bounds, and on a few isolated occasions, only just so. How young Seb managed this was a commendable feat in itself, in the sublime company of a voluptuous naked woman, even if that was his mom, and a pair of well-turned legs.