Mum Teases Son

"Huh?"

Em writhes out of her skirt. She is completely naked.

***

Ethan and Em are on the bed. Ethan connects his cell phone wirelessly to the widescreen TV monitor. He plays back the first video. Ethan and Em view the first video in silence.

Ethan's right hand drifts to Em's bare thighs. He touches the rivulet of arousal on her thigh. And then traces it with his finger to the source. She is liquefying. Soon, this woman will be a pool of fluid.

Em observes from the corner of her eye Ethan's left hand cupping his groin, as if in futile effort to contain the pleasure throbbing through his quivering flesh. She sees an emerging glisten of granule on his head.

Em moans, "Fuck me."

"But, I want to watch this video."

"We'll do both. Restart the video playback. Set it to continuous replay mode."

Em gets up. She nudges Ethan to sit at the end of the bed facing the screen. Em goes in front of Ethan, also facing the screen. She lowers herself on him. Ooo, that searing entry!

In the first replay, Em goes slow. The second, fast. And so it goes maddeningly. Slow, fast, slow, fast,... They settle into a rhythmic workout of frenzy and idyll, of savagery and tenderness, of exertion and recovery. Ethan wonders if this cycle can go on infinitely, and he lives out the rest of his life this way. It is quite a pleasant prospect.

Em deciding to add another dimension edge to the erotic charge, in a playful tone, "You like watching mummy, don't you? You know you're not supposed to do that? Good boys don't watch their mummies."

Ethan doesn't know what to say. He lets his cock doing the talking.

Em observes that Ethan is unseasonally hard. She can't recall the last time he was straining like this. She worries a bit that if he gets any more harder, he may hurt himself. But, she can't help herself. Work him up just a little bit more.

"I see you're getting very hard watching mummy. What is it you like about mummy?"

"Do you like your mummy's pubic hair? Or, do you prefer mummy bare so that you can see her better? Mummy can do both. Tell mummy which you like more."

"Does mummy have too much detail there? Perhaps you are a minimalist? Do you prefer a pubescent mummy? A mummy who never grew up?"

Things come to a head in the twelfth.

They leave a collective smudge on the bedsheet. But, Em doesn't mind so much.

***

Chapter 3

Vent

"Ethan, the ceiling ventilator fan in our bedroom bathroom is not working. The whole bathroom clouds up when I bathe."

"I'll look at it."

After awhile, "I looked. Can't tell what's wrong. You know I'm quite hopeless in these DIY things. Seb is good at this. I'll get him to look at it when he next drops by."

"I hope that will be soon."

Ethan texts Seb.

"Seb says he can't commit a time because of his uncertain work schedule. But, he'll try to come soonest possible."

***

The next evening.

The door bell chimes. It is Seb. He has swung by to look at the ventilator fan.

"I've just an hour. I've a web conference at 10 pm. And tomorrow morning, I'm flying off on a business trip for a week."

"Oh, mum has just gone into the bathroom for her evening bath. Hang on a sec. Let me talk to her first."

Ethan goes upstairs to the bedroom bathroom. He knocks on the door.

"Seb is here to look at the ventilator fan. We'll be at the attic. Are you OK with that? He has a web conference later tonight. And he is flying off tomorrow for a weeklong business trip."

"But, I'll be bathing..."

"I don't think we'll be able to see anything below. The fan blades are in the way. We're not dismantling the fan. Just checking the wiring and such."

"Oh?"

Ethan doesn't wait for an answer. He rejoins Seb downstairs. They go up to the attic. A shaft of light emanates from the bathroom vent. The fan is not working.

Ethan shows Seb what he has checked so far. They can sense Em moving around in the bathroom below.

***

Em has never been particularly conscious of the vent fixture. It is just something functional that is up there. How much can they see through it? She seems to sense some kind of presence, perhaps a kind of foreshadowing. Em feels a tingle. She is tempted to look up at the vent to see what is going on. But, she does not.

Better that she doesn't. It may make it awkward for Seb and Ethan. They have a job to do in a limited time. Better to be blissfully unaware. After all, what is there to see? As Ethan said, the fan blades obscure the view.

There is a certain charm in not knowing. She feels another tingle, this time, coursing through her loins.

***

Seb and Ethan are hovering over the vent. They can see Em's head and shoulders, and her small movements.

Seb likes what little he can see. The top view of her soft arcs of breasts and buttocks look quite delicious. Seb's gaze traces the outline of his mother's bosom, until the arcs fall and dim away, out of view. He then drifts southerly, traces the outlines of her buttocks, until the feminine lines curve out of his male vision.

So suggestive of the complete articles. He feels he kind of gets it. And yet, not quite...

He imagines what they might fulsomely look like in a frontal view. And side profile view. Maybe if this goes on for awhile, he will see more when his mum angles her body, as she will eventually, when she gets on with her bath.

Seb's mind flits back to his school Technical Drawing class. The top view is also known as the Plan View. Is there a plan unfolding here?

And then, French Curves come to mind. There is some underlying geometrical math to them. Euler spiral or something. They are used in manual drafting and in fashion design, to draw smooth curves of varying radii. The curve is placed on the drawing material. A pencil, or knife, or other implement, is traced around its curves to produce the desired result. Seb wonders about the curves that his mum will generate if he can trace them properly with his palm. Better still, they are three-dimensional wondrous reality.

Oh man! Is he nutty or what? Thinking about dimensional views, math and geometry at a time like this.

Ethan looks at Seb looking at his naked mum. He feels a surge. He really doesn't know what to think. Better focus on the job at hand.

Seb looks up. He realises that his dad is observing him ogling his mum. He feels a little awkward. Should he crack a bawdy joke or something to defuse the tension some? His dad says nothing, and appears focused on the job. Maybe he is not even looking down the vent, so he doesn't know what Seb is seeing.

"Dad, I've checked the wiring. Nothing wrong. No break. I've to dismantle the fan to check the rest of the assembly."

Seb gazes questioningly at his dad as if seeking permission for something consequential, if not radical.

Ethan is a bit conflicted. Dismantling the fan will mean that the vent will be fully open. Is it right for him to make a decision that will expose Em's naked body totally unobscured to their son? Her body is not his to reveal.

But, can Em wait another week for the ventilator fan to be repaired? She is already quite unhappy with the current situation. Women unlike men like to take long leisurely baths generating alot of bath mist.

This silent deliberation gives Ethan another tingle shot through his body, lingering persistently in his loins. He so wants to touch himself. But, he resists with superhuman effort.

Ethan peers down the vent. It is misty. So, it is not like it is a clear view. Kind of like looking through a frosted glass shower stall. Well, a light frosted glass shower stall. But, frosted, no less. But, what if the mist clears, as it escapes through the vent when the fan is removed? But, Em is also generating new mist as she continues with her bath. And in any case, this is a top view of Em. It is not like this is a full-on frontal or side view. They can only see her head, her shoulders, and her cleavage. Not so different from looking at her if she is in a low-cut dress or a bikini top.

Ethan nods weakly at Seb.

Seb appears eager to get on with the task. Shortly, the fan is dismantled. Seb's hand shakes a little as he lifts the disconnected fan from the vent. Maybe he is afraid that he may accidentally drop it? Maybe it is something else?

The vent is a 6-inch diameter circular opening. The entire bathroom is now visible. It is still misty because of the trapped condensation in the air. The mist seems to be escaping through the vent more rapidly than Ethan had anticipated. Must be the difference in pressure between the bathroom and the attic, or something like that, as Ethan tries to recall his high school physics. Like a sci-fi movie effect. An opaque wall dramatically turning translucent, then transparent. Then, his son's mother in full cinematic splendour.

Ethan wonders whether he should stop this. Tell Seb that he will take over from him hereon as he has to leave for his web conference. But, he knows this sounds lame. Seb knows that he is hopeless in DIY. Oh well, they have come this far. It would be more awkward to stop than to continue.

Seb peers down the vent in earnest, eager to continue. Poor lad! He is racing against time. And against himself...

***

Em is standing in the bathtub. She is looking at the full-length mirror, primping and examining her body.

Seb observes his mum tip-toe, then drop abruptly to her soles. Tip-toe, then drop. What's happening? A pre-bath exercise routine? But, it doesn't look vigorous enough to be exercise. It appears like she is checking herself out in the mirror, evaluating her bounce. Is this her pre-bath check-out routine? Has she forgotten that her son is working on the ventilator fan just a few feet from her?

She seems pleased with the responsiveness and firmness of her lush ornate treasures. Just the right sway. A little bounce, quivering down with an easy grace to restful state.

Not so demonstratively evident as to be lewd. Not so subtle as to be easily missed. A pair of limited edition genuine articles. None of that impossibly inflated plasticky confection of young husseys today. None of that over-blown party balloons affixed on chests.

She pats her breasts as if they are hush puppies nestling on her chest, saying "well done" to them.

She leans over and grabs the soap off the shelf and begins to rub it across her chest, and then, down her stomach.

She puts the soap down. She continues to spread the lather over her body with her hands. She lathers her breasts vigorously, lifting them a little to lather the undersides. It looks a bit like she is weighing them in her palms, taking their sensual measure, relating geometry to mass and weight.

Seb is fixated when his mother angles her lower torso so that she can look down and see her groin better. She soaps her pussy, sliding her fingers down through her folds, then gliding back up her stomach.

Seb can see fleeting flashes of intimate motherly pink as Em soaps her petals in earnest, leaving no fold unturned. Seb is struggling to believe this is happening. His uncensored dreams are coming true.

For a second, Seb, an art aficionado, thinks of the works of Georgia O'Keeffe. She is famous for her sensual paintings on close-ups of flower petals. Seb remembers his biology teacher, Miss Pinky Flora, saying that petals are the sex organs of flowers. And here, Mother Nature is in flourish.

Em moves to the edge of the tub, turns, and twists her torso, to reach her lower back. She soaps her buttocks, tracing her arcs with her palms.

Her buttocks are pleasantly contoured. Not a young girl's butt for sure. But, not a blubber mass of arse either. A woman's tail, full, longish and curving.

***

Seb stops his activity for awhile as if he is mulling over the electrical wiring, deciding what best to do next.

***

Waves of doubt and fear, and a sense of her own selfish sexual foolishness, sweep over Em as she is sitting on the rim of the bathtub. Her legs spread-eagled. She has a razor in hand. She is covered in what looks like shaving cream from her inner thighs up to her navel.

She lowers the razor toward her lower torso. She starts gently shaving herself, removing the first thatch of pubic hair covering the soft mound of her pussy. As the shaving continues, she emits soft groans.

She lathers up for her second go-over. She is using an old-fashioned shaving brush. As the bristles tickle her skin, she giggles a little to herself, like an amused schoolgirl doing something utterly naughty. Everything looks white as if unseasonally fine snow has fallen on her lower belly. She moves the blade to cut away the remaining stubbles of her pubic hair.

Slowly but surely, she shaves at every angle.

She appears done. She takes a washcloth to wipe away the superfluous bits of shaving cream.

Looking down at herself, she examines her handiwork. She parts her slit, parses her folds and petals, looking for remnant wisps. She runs her finger through the length of her inner and outer lips.

Seb gasps at the display of motherly pink. Alternating flashes of lighter then darker pink. He feels privileged, so privileged, like he is being inducted to some secret society.

His mother, again, gently parts her fleshy folds to expose the moist, pink, tender tissues of her most secret.

Em flashes a content smile. She puts the shaving brush and razor away, on the edge of the sink.

Seb sees his mum move away from the bathtub rim with a washcloth in her hand. She kneels down. She goes down on all fours to wipe the bits of shaving cream suds on the floor. It appears like she doesn't want to slip on the slippery floor. She raises her buttocks higher as she tries to access an inconvenient nook of the bathroom floor. Her pussy lips part momentarily. Seb can see her glistening pink. As she moves a little more, Seb can see his mother's puckered oily o-ring. It is quite a lovely little thing.

Her floor wiping done, she gets up, turns around and hops into the bathtub. Her teardrop breasts bounce up and down musically in a sensual dance.

***

Ethan can hear Seb sucking in all the air in the attic. Ethan has difficulty breathing.

Seb just cannot believe he has witnessed this woman, his mum, shaving herself in front of his eyes.

Ethan cannot believe he has witnessed his wife, his son's mum, shaving her pussy in front of their collective eyes. Why is Em doing this? What is Seb thinking? Will things ever be the same again after this?

***

While Em is warming up the water, she kneels down to pick up something from the tub floor. A rubber tube of shaving cream that has apparently fallen off the rim. Putting it aside, the curls of her hair fall down her shoulders, their tips reaching just far enough to come to rest above her breasts.

She grabs a bubble bath bottle, pouring a good measure into the water. Bubbles soon pop up everywhere in the tub. Then she lowers herself. She is lying at full length. Only her face is above the foam.

Her hands move up. She carefully cups her breasts hidden under glistening foam. She seems to be squeezing them and moving her fingers around her nipples. Little by little, the foam slides away, exposing in full view what Seb has so far seen wrapped under sensible blouses all these years.

As if blissfully unaware of Seb's and Ethan's presence, Em is now panting lightly. One hand caresses her exquisitely shaped left breast. The other finds its way south to where her centre of pleasure seems to be begging for a little attention.

She turns aside to reach for something behind her.

It is the shaving cream rubber tube again. Is there something she had missed shaving?

She raises herself to stand up in the tub. Her pussy is exposed in its mown pristine glory. There isn't a spot left for further shaving.

Em scoots over to the seat of the toilet, not lifting the lid. She sits down on the edge. The rubber tube is still in her hand.

Oh, how she loves the pliant soft feel sensation of this silicone tube. Soft yet firm. It is the kind of tube dispenser that motivates the user to always dispense more than necessary, just to enjoy the pressing sensation on the pliant rubber that little bit longer.

It dawns on Seb. No, she won't, will she?

She will.

Spreading her legs, she runs her fingers along the rim of her lips, parting slowly what the hot water had turned into a purple red. She is feeling herself, as if groping uncertainly for the meaning of her own flesh.

Uncapping the rubber tube, she applies a small measure of shaving cream onto the entrance to her pussy. Inserting first one finger, then a second, she pushes deeply inward, releasing gasp after pleasured gasp. The other hand applies even more shaving cream onto her mound to ease the stroking. With a wicked expression on her face, she pulls both fingers out again.

***

By now, Ethan can see that Seb is starting to act a bit disoriented. If the vent opening is any larger, Ethan will be worried that Seb may keel over and fall through, fall into the rabbit hole, in a stupor, landing on his mum.

Seb's cock is throbbing. He is so close to climax. Em stuns Seb in the next instant as she inserts the rubber tube into her pussy. Em slowly starts pushing it inward.

As Seb kneels over the vent in utter amazement, his cell phone rings.

***

It is a reminder call from the upcoming web conference convenor. The big boss has decided to sit-in the meeting. Make sure to come online five minutes before time. Some changes to the meeting format.

The spell is broken.

Seb gets on with the trouble-shooting. He finds the fault. A broken connection. Strange. It can't be attributed to normal wear and tear. No moving parts there. It appears like the connection was willfully cut by someone. Why is that? He is about to ask his dad. But, he bites his tongue.

The ventilator fan is fixed.

"Dad, please tell mum I gotta run. My web conference starts in fifteen minutes."

"Thanks and bye, Seb."

***

Chapter 4

Lonely Planet

Fast forward. A year on.

Seb has taken on a job as a Travel Writer. No more inane ungodly hour web conferences that meander in ever increasing circles mindlessly for hours. No more a palace serf at the beck and call of an eightieth floor corporate high deity. The world is his conference.

Places and individuals are observed with a respect for truth, and also with imaginative vividness, so that the act of observing is also an act of seeing. Of turning anecdote into narrative. Of people into characters, and the Travel Writer into a protagonist in search of something. The process of writing and remembering is thus also a quest for meaning, a chance to see and capture what the traveller missed before, too immersed in the act of physical travel to notice the inner happenings triggered by the travel encounter. Thus, the process of writing, of drafting and rewriting, after the journey, is also a journey in memory and in time.

A good journey is not one in which the traveller achieves his destination unscathed. It is one in which the traveller sets out into the unknown and ends up at an unexpected, undreamed-of place that has changed him irrevocably.

***

Seb is backpacking someplace in a marginal corner of this lonely planet.

It's Christmas Eve today. It's Seb's birthday too.

Ping!

He's got mail! Happy Birthday! He scrolls down.

A video attachment.

"Mum's the word"

***

It's Christmas Day.

Ping!

He's got mail! Merry Christmas! He scrolls down.

A video attachment. A bonus video...

***

Seb feels that he is on the cusp of a journey. That journey starts when he arrives home. His motherland.

He tries to remember the famous travel writer who said, "'The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is at last to set foot on one's own country as a foreign land".

The End

***