Proclivities - Pt. 11: My Parents

George squinted at the clock on the nightstand. "A little after one. Why?"

"We're due at my parents at three, so we'll have to leave around two-fifteen. That's all. But right now, you've got to let me up." Adding an unnecessarily modest, "I gotta go."

"I won't stand in your way," George said, rising by my shoulders and bending to offer a hand up.

Unsteadily, I walked to the bath and heard, "I'll tidy up," just as I closed the bathroom door. Damn, it felt good to have a seat.

I dealt with the 'collateral damage,' as I now euphemistically called it. Why was I so secretive about it? Not like George didn't know. But somewhere inside me, I didn't want to spoil the romance, or lose my mystique. Mystique, ha! That man read me like a book. It probably bothers me more than him - but he hadn't just had a jigger of cum shot up his ass either.

At least that's over. Time to get cleaned up. Turn on both showers. He should be here soon. The cascade of hot water soothed the tension loitering in my muscles.

George joined me a several minutes later.

"I'd have been here sooner, but it needed more than just tidying," he said, then answered my quizzical expression, "Fresh pillowcases."

I snorted and plunged my head under the water. Once again, collateral damage pierced my thoughts.

Wrapped in towels, we stood at our own sink of the vanity. Freshly shaved, with just a whisper of cologne coming my way, George combed his hair and brushed his teeth. Bang, zoom! He was done.

On the other hand, I struggled. I hadn't given my hair any proper care since...what? Friday. Yup, Friday. Starting at the ends, I gingerly combed out the tangles, wincing at the more troublesome ones.

"What?" I asked testily, miffed by his sappy expression, as he casually leaned his butt against the vanity.

"Nothing. I just like looking at you. Can't a guy enjoy the sight of the woman he loves?"

"This is hardly my finest hour."

"That's what makes it endearing."

"Are you trying to sweet-talk me?"

"You mean it's not working?"

"I prefer my masochism in solitude...now go get dressed."

George hung up his towel and left. A pang of remorse flickered. Was I overly cross with him? I hope not.

Birds' nests removed from my now blown dry hair, I entered the bedroom naked to find George dressed in pale cream shorts and a black polo, barefoot and sitting in one of the chairs by the window.

"Now there's a sight for sore eyes," he said cheerfully.

"Sorry that I snapped at you in there."

"I probably deserved it," he confessed, "no need to apologize. But now, if I'm not mistaken, it appears you developed a tan line."

Looking down, indeed there was a slight demarcation, a reminder of my bikini bottom that, to my delight, emphasized my smooth pussy.

"You're right. Thank goodness it's not sunburn."

"True that," he said, "and I find it very alluring."

"You're just easily allured," I quipped, "but it does add a certain emphasis."

"And I know how you like being...emphasized."

I couldn't suppress a smile. "Never could fool you, could I?"

"Would you want to?"

"Of course not," I answered as my mind shifted gears to my outfit. "Would it be okay if I wear underwear today?"

"I'll meet you half way. Bra, yes. No panties. I'll leave the skirt to you."

"Oh, you're going to make me naughty at my parents?"

"We'll be the only ones who know."

"True. Secretly naughty. I kind of like that."

"I figured you would," he said, giving me a wink.

"Yeah, just one of the things I love about you."

"We do like our conspiracies, don't we?"

"Indeed," I confirmed, adding rhetorically, "Now what to wear?"

After much poking in the closet, I settled on a red sleeveless blouse and knee length denim skirt. A red (and rather bland) bra and black ballet flats completed the outfit. Of course, George watched the process with great amusement, particularly my examination after I'd dressed, twisting and turning in front of the mirror, making sure the skirt wasn't too short. After a quick, light application of makeup, I pronounced that I was ready to go - all with five minutes to spare.

Once we were in the car, I gave George the general directions to my parents' house.

"Nervous?" he asked as he pulled onto the main road.

"A little. I know my mom and I patched things up, but some things can't be unsaid."

"She's probably feeling the same way. It'll be fine."

"I hope so, but not wearing panties isn't helping."

"You'll survive. Presuming you don't plan on doing cartwheels, of course," he teased.

"I hadn't planned on it," I smiled, once again his humor put me at ease.

"Yeah, that can wait til we get home. Anything I should know? Subjects to avoid or hot button issues?"

"Not that I'm aware of. They're pretty middle of the road, slightly conservative maybe. They're not drinking anyone's Kool-Aid, if that's what you mean."

"Pretty much. So just a typical family."

"That's about right."

"Just a mom and dad whose little girl just went off to school in her Mary Janes."

"Oh, please! I haven't worn those in ages."

"But it gives me an idea," he said turning to me with a devious twinkle in his eyes.

"Something tells me this won't be innocent."

"Oh but it will. I can just see you in a white cotton blouse, tartan skirt, frilly white ankle socks and classic Mary Janes. Your hair in braids."

"I do have the blouse and skirt..."

"Somehow, that's not surprising. I'm sure you can procure the rest."

"So, it's up to me?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

"I trust your capabilities."

"Then what?"

"Then you can be the naughty little schoolgirl who just happened forgot to put on her underwear."

"Let me guess...You'll be the strict school master," I said, warming to the idea.

"Of course. And, hmm...I'll put on a suit and tie. We can go out to dinner. Make a night of it."

"As long as I can wear a blazer or cardigan. Those blouses are kind of thin for going out."

"And really completes the outfit."

"Just one more thing."

"You're awfully demanding for a naughty schoolgirl," he teasingly reprimanded, setting off snippets of scenarios in my mind and recalling the fun we'd had in our role playing from Friday night.

"Earth to Linda. Earth to Linda," he joked.

"Oh, sorry. You got my mind wandering."

"In a good way?"

"A very good way, but I'm not going to tell you," I said, his expression anticipation tinged with disappointment, but pleased as well. Finally, it was my turn to keep him on edge. "But as I was about to say, can we go somewhere no one I know would see us?"

"Sure. Sounds like something you'd like to add to our road trip."

"Oh, that's perfect. Sounds like I've got some planning to do as well," I said, as our eyes met, happily sharing the suspense, but it was transitory. "Oh shit! Make the next right."

His eyes quickly scanned the mirrors, braking hard, he readily made the turn.

"Sorry about that," I said. "Their street is the third left up ahead."

"It happens. My mind was doing somersaults too."

After he made the next turn, I said, "Just ahead. Number three fifteen. You can park in the driveway."

Nothing had really changed since I'd moved out. My parents always took pride in the natural cedar shake cape cod with white trim and evergreen shutters. Lawn neatly trimmed; yellow and orange marigolds lined the short sidewalk leading from the driveway to the front steps.

"Nice," was all George said as I led him to the front door.

Before I could knock, the door opened, revealing my mother with my father behind her. They're both short, my mom, thin as ever, barely making five feet, my dad a head taller, his stocky frame the result of his trade. Much as I expected, she wore chinos and a long sleeve blouse, in a muted pink and purple plaid this time. And her favorite footwear, penny loafers. Her narrow, pale face underneath short silver hair. I wondered if I'd inherit it. I could live with that.

Thank goodness my boobs came from the other end of the gene pool.

My dad's 'farmer's tan' stood in stark contrast to my mom's complexion. His hair, formerly dark brown, was now salt and pepper, thick and wavy. Or maybe I had his hair? Denim shorts, a red polo and leather sandals confirmed their predictability.

"Linda, it's so good to see you," she beamed excessively and, after a quick hug, passed me to my father, whose hug was less brief. "You must be George! So nice to finally meet you."

She hugged him before he cleared the threshold. Now that was not predictable. What was with her? Overcompensating maybe?

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you too Mrs. Huggins," George said once he'd escaped.

"None of that. You'll make me feel old. Please call me Marge," she grinned and stepped back. "This is my husband, Jim."

"A pleasure to meet you too, Mist...I mean Jim," said George as they shook hands.

"Sorry about my wife, George. She's been counting every minute since she and Linda set the date."

"It's quite alright. I appreciate the warm welcome, thanks."

So far so good. At least my dad was acting normally, and I knew I could count on George to be gracious.

"So, now that the formalities are over, come on in," dad said warmly, gesturing us inside.

"You've got a lovely home," said George as he took in the brick fireplace and wood mantle on the right. A sofa lay straight ahead in front of a half wall separating the space from the dining room beyond, while two recliners faced the fireplace.

Dad led us past the dining space and into the kitchen with its butcher block countertops, apron front sink beneath an awning window, dated white cabinetry and wrought iron hardware, all exuding country farmhouse. I'm sure my dad wanted it to remind him of Vermont. A small breakfast table with three chairs stood against a wall with a large passthrough to the dining room. A narrow prep table separated the sink from the fridge opposing it.

"So, George," my dad started, "how about a drink? We've got gin or vodka with tonic unless you'd like a beer."

"A gin and tonic would be perfect, thanks," George confirmed.

"Coming right up. Ladies, I presume vodka tonics for you."

"Sure, thanks, dad," I replied. My mom simply nodded.

As my dad mixed the cocktails, my mom asked, "Linda, I could use a little help finishing up the food. You don't mind lending a hand, do you dear?"

"I suppose...I was hoping we could all talk. Together, you know."

"There'll be time for that. Why don't Jim and George sit out on the deck and get to know each other?"

I was disturbed by my mother's suggestion. Did she have some plan in mind, had she not truly forgiven yesterday's conversation or was I just being paranoid?

Sensing my discomfort, George graciously said, "Sure, that works. I'm sure you won't be long."

"Okay," I said calmly, having been saved from starting off on the wrong foot.

George and my dad took their drinks to the deck, exiting through the back door at the near corner of the dining room.

"Would you mind shredding some cabbage for the Cole slaw?" requested my mom.

"Sure."

I remained suspicious because my mom normally had everything ready before company arrived. However, I wasn't going to make an issue of it. Whatever she was planning, I'd let it play out. My underlying concern was that she would be offering her critique of my new lifestyle.

Having made cole slaw many times, I knew I'd find the cabbage in the fridge and set it on the prep table. Taking a serrated knife, I sliced it in half and started shredding. Yeah, I was killing time, but I wanted to give my mom a chance to get to the point, whatever it might be. She didn't take the bait and started making the dressing instead. How long could this go on? More minutes than I dared to count apparently.

"I had my first sailing lesson with George yesterday," I half blurted out, finding the awkward silence unbearable.

"How did that go?"

"I was intimidated at first. As you know, I've never been sailing before and there's a special vernacular to learn along with the general concept. But George was a patient instructor, so at least I gained some basic competency."

"That's nice."

Normally, my mom is talkative, so my anxiety level gained altitude.

"You want to see a picture? I think George texted one to my phone."

"Okay," she replied flatly.

"Let me get my phone," I said, retrieving it from my purse which I'd left by the front door and making sure I pulled up the right photo. I still had some other ones that mom sure as hell didn't need to see.

"Here. See. That's me piloting his boat."

There I was. Stupid satisfied grin, hat, sunglasses, and tee shirt. Hands on the wheel. A bit of the mainsail overhead with the deep green of the bay behind me.

"Well, aren't you the nautical one," she commented.

"Thanks," I said, resuming my shredding duty.

Uh-oh, I thought as I noticed my mom had nearly finished her drink. Normally, she'd nurse it til mealtime. Something was definitely off.

"Anyway," I started, "It was a thrilling experience with only the wind propelling us, but at the same time peaceful and relaxing."

Damn, I'm no good at making small talk. Or monologue, more like.

"It sounds lovely, dear."

Thank god my dad came back in the house with two empty glasses.

"Anyone need a refill?" he asked.

"I'm good," I replied.

"I could use another," said my mom.

Holy crap!

"George seems like a great guy, Linda," my father reported as he took care of the drinks. "Hard working. Obviously, he's smart, with all those degrees he's got, but he's really down to earth and hasn't let success go to his head."

"I'm glad you like him," I said, relieved, not so much at his comment, but that he'd broken the tension that filled the room.

"Her you go," he continued, as he handed a glass to my mom, sliding his hand across her butt and giving her a peck on the cheek before picking up the remaining drinks and heading back to the deck.

"We'll be out soon," said mom.

"Take your time. At least George isn't a Cowboy fan," he replied with a broad smile. Oh, yeah, Dad bleeds Giants blue.

"They seem to be really hitting it off," mom commented blandly as she stood beside me.

"I know. That's a relief and dad's in a really good mood."

"Well, I suppose that's my fault," mom added sheepishly and taking a long pull from her drink.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" I asked and paused shredding.

"It's kind of a long story, but you have to promise not to tell a soul," she said softly, nearly whispering.

"Oh, so that's what's got you so distracted. I was wondering why you'd barely said a word, but, sure, I can keep a secret."

"And that means George too. Yesterday you said you tell him everything."

"Okay, promise."

"Now, I suppose you're wondering why I suggested George and your father have their own chat."

Mom took another healthy sip.

"That did seem odd," I confirmed, setting down the knife. Multitasking at this point seemed dangerous.

"After my screw up. I thought it best they get to know each other without me around."

"How'd you convince dad of that?"

"To be honest I didn't want to be in the way, because this morning I told Jim about my snooping."

"Oh?" I said. "I thought you weren't going to."

"I just couldn't hold it in any longer. We were sitting right here at the kitchen table having coffee in our pj's when I decided to tell him. Well not everything, particularly not what you'd been up to. I stuck to my call with Judy, your finding out and being very upset about it. I was worried you might not have totally forgiven me despite our second call. Things could be tense, so I should talk to you and make sure everything was okay."

"How'd he take it?"

"Not like I expected, to say the least."

"So what happened?"

"He said it was a terrible thing to do - meddling in your affairs and treating you like a child. Particularly because I'd previously told him how much you liked George and how happy you were. But what really surprised me is that he pushed his chair back and had me lay across his lap, face down. Then he flipped up my nightgown, pulled down my panties, called me a bad mommy and spanked me."

"Holy crap, mom! I thought you were acting weird because you hadn't forgiven me," I said, my head spinning at the revelation - first that my dad would do it, but more so that mom would allow it.

"Hardly. I was mortified at first, but he was emphatic that I needed to do my penance. Then the strangest thing happened. I'm not sure which was first, but I could feel your father's erection pushing against my tummy and I was grinding myself on his knee."

Mom finished her drink, emphatically setting the glass on the prep table. No wonder she had a second.

"Are you sure you want to tell me this?" I protested, hoping she'd take the out I'd given her.

"As you said, payback's a bitch," she said, and continued, anxiously rushing her words. "Anyway, he kept spanking me, calling me a bad mommy and before I knew it, I was climaxing. I was so turned on that I got on my knees and performed oral sex on him. Not that I hadn't done it before, but this was the first time I...well let's just say there was a happy ending in my mouth. Then, I didn't know what to do. I couldn't just spit it on the nice clean floor, so I swallowed it. It doesn't taste very good does it?"

I was gob smacked. Had mom just said all that? She'd only ever given me sterile, rudimentary explanations on sex when I was the appropriate age. Then her question finally penetrated my shock.

"Not really. Kind of salty, but I don't mind."

"Gross, if you ask me."

"It's unique alright. But at least I understand why dad is in such a good mood. Just one more thing...why did you need to tell me this?"

"I hadn't really planned on it. Mostly I just wanted you to know that I'd told your father about upsetting you, but once I started, it just poured out. I had to tell someone or I'd explode," she confessed. "I believe I understand you better now...What can I say? I might even be a little jealous."

"Jealous? Of what?"

"Yeah, jealous. Obviously, everyone can see you're happy, but what struck me is how confident you are now. I want that too."

"Umm...okay, but I don't know what to say."

"I understand," she said, lightly resting her hand on my shoulder, "the whole day has been a whirlwind and my mind is racing."

"I know that feeling. Boy, do I know that feeling," I replied as we exchanged smiles and my brain played flashcards of my life since meeting George, right up to standing next to her with my smooth pussy on display under my skirt.

"Can't say I'm surprised," she confessed. "Just one more thing, if you don't mind."

"As long as we can wrap this up. I don't want George to feel abandoned."

"Did you?" she asked.

"Did I what?"

"You know, what you said you'd do this morning."

"Oh, that. Yes," I confirmed, but I was not about to go into details. My downcast eyes indicated as much, or so I hoped.

"Tell me. What's it like?"

"I'm not saying it's for everybody. It's not easy at first. Consult the internet if you're curious," I said. The last thing I wanted was to discuss the nuances of anal sex with my mom and how George had invoked her name earlier this morning, so I tried to deflect. "Just one piece of advice. Lubricant."

"Yeah, that makes sense. Now, since we're on a new plane of understanding...the thing is...I want be a bad mommy again...and maybe experiment, so...any suggestions?"

"Jesus, Mom! What I said to you on the phone was only because I was pissed off. Under ordinary circumstances I never would have...even though it was all true."

"I know that! But is there more?"

"Yes. A lot more, but I..."

"Didn't we agree that you could tell me anything?"

"Yes, we did, but you've got to understand what works for me won't necessarily work for you."