Son Waxes Mum

A pause.

"They were startled by my whooshing into the living room. Mum appeared like she was springing up or falling off, I couldn't tell for sure. Carl grabbed her just in time and held her down. Mum straightened her skirt."

A pause.

"Mum admonished me on my childishness. Why can't I act my age like cousin Algernon? The cottage had a front door installed for a purpose, she reminded. Carl just chuckled at mum's agitated state. He was a cool one. What piqued me a little then was that mum and Carl continued in their position, nonchalant, unmoved, probably because they were still viewing the movie on the laptop-PC. I made a move of seeing what movie was playing. But mum sternly ordered me to go upstairs and change as I was drenched in sweat and stank."

"Hmmm... that sounds much like Carl and Julia."

"Oh?"

"You sound a tad surprised?"

"Did you not find the whole thing a little... intimate... for a sibling pair?"

"They were like that in their natural state. Playful. Touchy, feely. Always goofing around. Perhaps it had to do with being raised in the remote South Coast countryside where the nearest neighbour was three miles away. They had to fashion their own pastimes."

"Oh, OK. Maybe that explains the rest of it."

"The rest of it?"

"So I went upstairs, did this and that, then, dozed off in the aircon. Sweet refuge from the stifling heat. When I woke up, it was late afternoon. I didn't know why, but I felt compelled to creep down the stairs silently."

A pause.

"Three quarter way down the stairs, I peeked into the living room."

"And?"

Chuckling, "Dad, you seem quite invested in this story."

Julian emits a thirty percent sigh, but says nothing. Cole decides to let this be.

"Mum was sitting on the sofa. She was in the same casual clothing she wore earlier. Her loose summery skirt was carelessly hiked up high on her thighs. Her legs were splayed open. Not the most mother-like or sister-like of postures. But, it was a scorcher afternoon. It was not clear what else she had on. I couldn't see. A portable fan was setup nearby blowing powerfully. Mum's skirt was fluttering high on her thighs, billowing rhythmically up to her waist even, then falling back. This was a shock to me because mum was such a prude. And here she was, a remake rendition of the classic Marilyn Monroe, only sitting instead of standing, a-fluttering in the air. This combination of hints and details kind of excited me."

A pause. Cole breathes heavily. He takes a sip of his beer, and spills some on his shirt.

Julian gives him a fatherly go-easy pat on his back.

"I couldn't help admiring mum's legs. I had never seen her like this. An impressive length of well-tapered, toned legs sloping upward. An expanse of firm, full, creamy white thighs, even smoother inner thighs, tapering toward where they would meet the rest of her body. Calves perfectly formed. The small muscles of her calves rippling as she shifted her legs."

Julian knows Julia's legs like the back of his hand, being an aficionado of that particular piece of artwork himself. But, his son's very vocabulary - tapered, toned, expanse, firm, full, creamy, smooth, rippling - curiously, sounds foreign and exciting to his ear. Every word fizzed with some kind of energy. The words are too alive to be just words.

Composing himself, "In my young mind then, I attributed all this to the scorching weather. Keeping cool. This was a survival tactic. People actually died from the heat."

A pause.

"Carl, still bare chested and in boxer briefs, sat cross-legged on the floor in front of mum, facing her. Her bare soles rested flat on each of his thighs."

A pause.

"He dipped a tiny brush tip into the nail varnish bottle. He meticulously painted a toenail. He looked up a notch, paused, as if ascertaining a captivating aesthetic detail. This he executed methodically for each toenail."

A pause.

"I felt that I should move on. I might inadvertently make a sound and get caught out. I had already crossed mum earlier. But, caught out for what? I wasn't seeing anything wrong, was I? Toenail painting. People painted toes all the time. Still... But an inexplicable force field held me there at the staircase."

A pause.

"It appeared like Carl was almost done. He inspected each toenail as if enthralled by his own artistry, and then contemplated them collectively in the parade of pink. He gazed up a little after that. Mum moved her toes, then her legs, this way and that, posing Carl's work, checking out the paintwork. Carl followed her every movement, gazing up now and then."

A pause.

"Just then, a cellphone chimed. I panicked thinking it was mine. It was Carl's. The spell ended."

"Hmmm... quite a tale. What do you make of it?"

"What do I make of what?"

"Your mum and Uncle Carl. The sibling closeness."

"I can't know."

"You mean you don't know?"

"No. I mean I can't know."

"Why is that?"

"I don't have a sis. I can never know the emotions of a bro."

"That's true. I never thought of it that way even though I too don't have a sis."

A pause.

"I'll be candid and say this right out. Mum has an uncanny likeness to Antônia. And you, Carl. The waxing has given mum a lift, and I'm a beneficiary of her physical and mental state. Why don't you routinely wax mum like you did Antônia, if it's not too much trouble for you?"

"Are you sure you're cool with this?"

"Well, you've done it already. Imagine this is like mum getting a routine waxing from a professional waxing service. Lots of women do that."

"Cool"

"You can give mum a little comfort on Carl. And mum can give you a little comfort on Antônia. It works out well."

Cole nodding as if he has been bestowed with a great wisdom, "I'll try."

***

Chapter 6: Webcam

The computer chimes. A webcam call. Julia throws on a robe.

"Hi Mum!"

"Hi Cole! Where are you today?"

"Rio"

"As in Rio de Janeiro?"

"Yes"

"How many days of business there?"

"Six. I'm not on business travel."

"Oh?"

Julia wonders what has blown Cole to faraway Brazil. Tucked behind his right ear is a sprig of wild lavender. She decides not to ask. Let Cole tell her if he wants to.

Changing the subject, "Where's Dad?"

"He's on business travel again. A week."

"It's just you and me then."

"How're you coping with the Brazilian babes hurling themselves at you at the beach?"

In a sad tone, "I wish."

They are a family of avid readers. Cole observing, "There's a book at your side. What are you reading?"

"The End of the Affair. Graham Greene."

A look of loss which he quickly erases with a sad sweet smile, "Oh?"

"But, I haven't read it yet."

She looks at him intently as she recrosses her legs slowly, "Do you think I should read it?"

He doesn't answer. Digressing, "I'm reading Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. A classic. Almost done. I can pass it to you when I'm back in town."

"OK"

"How was your day, Mum?"

"I wanted to go swimming this morning. But, it wasn't to be."

"Why?"

Sheepishly, "It's a little awkward to say..."

A pause.

Continuing, "I've grown some since you did me. I look outrageous in my swimsuit, if you know what I mean."

"Oh? That soon?"

"Yes"

"Show me?"

"What?"

"Show me?"

She looks to be considering it.

"Show me."

She gets up to walk away from the webcam. Cole doesn't expect this. Is she miffed by his forwardness?

"Mum, where are you going?"

"To change into the swimsuit to show you."

"Mum, we don't need the swimsuit."

"What?"

"Yes"

Julia sits back down, a little dazed, processing what Cole said. For a minute, both are quiet.

Julia is torn. In the cosy confines of the cave, there was a fantasy aura to it all that somehow made everything sublimely textured. Anything goes in a dream. Now here in her bright sunlit living room, reality is glaring at her face, the light unfiltered, the edges are hard and sharp.

Cole wonders if he has been unthinking and insensitive, even disrespectful. Gone too far, perhaps. His mum is not some eye candy doll.

After the longest time, she slowly sits erect. Her legs are still crossed.

Her right hand moves slowly up the upper hem of her robe. Gently, slowly, she draws it back revealing more and more of her right breast. Her straining nipple gets caught up in the fabric drawing a crease as the material moves across it. Then, it is exposed to view. She hears herself moan aloud. The perfect pink nipple is so hard.

Why is she revealing her breast to him when it is the state of her pubes that he is trying to determine? What will he think? She is feeling a flush of shame. Oh well, it would be lewd to just lift her robe to reveal her bottom like a crass flasher. She rationalises better to take her robe off. Exposes more, but more elegant. After all, Cole has seen her before.

"Beautiful!" he can't help whisper to himself.

She does the same with the left side.

"Perfect" he whispers, but a little more audible.

She pushes the material back until it falls off her shoulders, to a heap at her waist. She sits there before him, exposing her gorgeous breasts for him to admire. They sure don't make them like that anymore.

Moving closer to the computer screen, gently reminding her the purpose of this inspection, "Mum, let's check out your growth."

Continuing, somewhat losing control to the frisson of the moment, and no longer so mindful of his words, "Let me see you there again."

She hesitates a moment. The words 'see' and 'there' and 'again' send her a shudder. Is he asking way too much of his mother? They had agreed that what happened in the cave was it. If she agrees, this will push the boundary to a whole new giddy frontier. Where will all this end? But, there is a compelling force field emanating from the computer screen that commandeers her.

She rationalises that this is all part of the waxing process, observing the post-condition of it, useful knowledge that will improve the process going forward. She recalls Cole saying how he honed the process with Antônia over time.

But, going forward? Is Cole going to continue waxing her routinely like her hairdresser doing her hair? Nothing has been decided on this. What will her husband think? He'll know each time he sees her mons bald as a newborn's tush. What will Cole think? This thought excites her. Imagine the excitement welling, culminating in the waxing ritual every month. And she'll return the favour and do Cole too? Antônia and Cole. And now, Julia and Cole.

Slowly she stands, holding her robe demurely in front at her waist.

"Oh, don't tease me. Show me. I love your lips."

The word 'lips' transmits another shudder. He is getting bolder. Achingly slowly, she pulls the robe open, revealing at last her secret place.

Peeking out of her new thatch of undergrowth, her outer lips are thick, and swollen open, to reveal her tender inner lips pushing out. He has never seen her in this florid state. He is stunned. What happened to that coy pubescent gash that started way low on her mons? Mum is all grown up. And out.

"Mum, you look different."

"Glad you notice my new hairdo."

"Yes, that's nice. But, I mean your.... You're so... so... embellished. So puffed up."

She peers down at herself and gasps. She surprises herself. She instinctively covers her excited state with limp hands.

"Mum, it's OK. Mother nature goes about her own sweet way. It's not like you can do anything. It's in the nature of things. Just go with the flow."

Her moral burden lifted some, loosening up a bit, "I hope it doesn't come to flow..."

Chuckle. Some ice is broken.

"I've never been like this."

Cajoling, "I know. Mum, it's OK."

She moves her limp hands around her crotch tentatively. Is she deciding whether to reveal herself, or teasing him?

She removes her hand. He marvels at how quickly her undergrowth has bloomed. It seems like only the day before that he had defoliated her.

"Mum, can you show me the rest of you?"

"The rest of me?"

"Yes"

"You mean..."

"Yes"

"I'm not so sure about this. The rest of me has nothing to do with waxing. Mums do not show their sons these parts. I know you've seen me there before, but still..."

They look into each other's eyes, eyes separated by 5,700 miles of ocean, and yet, eye to eye, as though searching for themselves. She reaches down and with two fingers draws her flesh back exposing an erect clitoris, pushing out from under the tender hood that keeps it secret and private, especially from the yearning eyes of sons.

"Can you see me?"

The question excites him. She is asking can he see her most feminine. Most interior. Most intimate. Most secret. Most forbidden.

"Oh my god, yes!" he sighs through tightly clenched teeth.

***

Gripped by the feverish excitement of the moment, no longer herself, she commands, "Talk dirty to your mother!"

"What?"

"Yes"

"How?"

Helping her son get started, "What do you like about mummy's pussy?"

He plays along, "To begin with, everything. The coralline flesh of your slit. It glistens moist with illicit desire. It peeks out between your obscene swollen lips. The deeper coral of the inner petals over the fleshy folds of your hot pussy."

A pause.

"There's a rivulet of warm, slippery, viscous arousal seeping down to moisten your forbidden butthole. You're a shameless mother hussey in heat whimpering for your son to impale you. If Dad is here with us right now, what will he think of you, his wife, my mother, splaying yourself lewdly to your son's hungry eyes like this?"

A pause.

Deciding to up the ante, commanding in a harsh tone, "Now turn around. Back facing the computer screen. Stand up. Part your legs. Keep your legs locked straight. Bend down impossibly low. You're an ex-ballerina, you can do it. Grip your right hand on your left ankle. Lock down your sordid pose for your lusty son to adore."

A pause.

"There! Your puckered oily o-ring perked up for your son to ogle for as long as he so desires. What will your neighbours, especially that Mr O'Leary who is always eyeing your charms, and praise be, your church friends, think if they see you in this glory?"

A pause.

"Has Dad fucked you there before?"

"No"

"And why not? Such a frivolous waste of what Nature provides for Man."

Whimpering, as if reliving the experience, "Too tight. It was painful."

"Bad day at the orifice, huh?"

"Now, part your legs wider. But still maintain your legs straight and locked. I want to make a determination. Part your cheeks with your hands. I'll gladly do it myself but I'm a little shorthanded here."

A pause.

"More. Scoot closer to the screen."

A male breath.

"What a delightful butthole. I'll have to investigate it in earnest when I'm back in town. We'll make headway yet. What'd you think Dad will think if I fuck you there? I'll make my mum a properly consummated wife yet. What'd you think, mum? Would you like that? Maybe we'll invite Dad for the momentous groundbreaking occasion? He'd like that, won't he? His loving family coming full circle. How fitting is that?"

A pause.

"And maybe after you have a rest, we'll manage a ménage à trois. We've the numbers to play. Your pussy, butthole and mouth. My cock and mouth. Dad's cock and mouth. Think of the dizzy combinations and permutations. Mum, how would you like us to pleasure you? I for one would love to doggy hump your pussy in earnest while you suck Dad's venerable cock bone dry. Would you like that? Servicing even as you're serviced. I don't mind serving double-duty while Dad services you. Maybe you suck the life out of my cock, while I eat your sweet mummy pussy, and Dad can endeavour to fuck your butthole? You'll be a very busy slut, all stations humming, won't you?"

Julia says nothing. Alot to process. She mostly enjoys her son's inventive monologue with a sort of fascinated repulsion in a perverse way that she didn't think herself capable. She doesn't know what to think about his references to his father. But, she doesn't mind so much. In any case, she granted him full license to talk dirty.

Instead, she asks nonchalantly, "I've been gaining a little weight in my backside of late. Is my tail still appealing?"

"Mum, your buttocks are lovely. Longish and curvy. An authentic variation from the plasticky bubble butts which assault our senses in popular media. If you're here with me right now, I'll hump you till you split asunder and keel over."

A pause.

"And now, turn around to face your adoring son. Let out and jiggle your bewitching hush puppies."

A pause.

He wonders at the grace of her full breasts. They don't look like they belong to a sixty year old mother. An inviting weight that defies the years. The colour of cream with hints of the fine aqua veins below the surface.

"Close your right hand on your left breast. Stroke it as if it is a hush puppy in your hand. Pull on the nipple to distort its beauty. Harder. Oh yes!"

A pause.

"Lovely. And now, left hand, right breast."

***

"You should get comfy."

"I think I will."

Cole peels off his t-shirt. Then, he drops his shorts. He resolves to tease his mum a little to return the favour.

As if setting himself up comfortably for the rest of the webcam session, he stands up, placing his raging erection right in front of the webcam. It is bobbing and bouncing, in close-up to the webcam. He moves this way and that posing himself so that his mum can view him from every angle. He can't remember the last time he has been this hard. The cave, probably. Every vein is pulsing. His skin is painfully tight. It has never crept this far back.

She sees all this but says nothing. Fond memory associations of the cave return to her.

He casually bounces his erect shaft again. He stands, pointing his cock in her direction, as he folds his clothes, repositions the scatter cushions and his computer. He then steps away to get himself a beer, and then struts back, shaft bouncing at full mast, in view of the webcam.

He reaches down and gently scratches himself, right above the root of his cock, knowing that she is watching; almost touching himself for her.

Finally, he settles down languidly on the chair in front of the webcam, still in full flourish.

"This is supposed to make you comfy. But, you don't look very comfy."

"I'm like that when I first go nude. Even when I'm alone. That primal feeling of being nude stirs me a little."

"Oh?"

"I'll manage after awhile."

"Manage now..."

He invites, "You do it."

"Huh? How?"

"You tell me what to do, and I'll do it. Imagine my hands are your extended hands. Imagine AI robotic arms doing the bidding of their mistress half way across the world."

"Squeeze yourself a little. Stroke yourself. Feel all around. Watch the way your skin stretches as you grow. The way your head gets bigger and bigger. Those first little drops of excitement. And the way your balls tighten up."

A pause.

"Cup your balls like treasured objects with one hand. Let go. See how they loosen again, hanging down and swinging. Then tightening up."

A pause.

"Use a finger to move them back and forth, fondling them, just slightly swinging them as if they are bells. Slo-mo. No hurry."

A pause.

"Grasp yourself with your whole hand. Hold it. Feel its thickness and hardness. Take its measure. Squeeze it ever so slightly every few seconds."

A pause.

"With your thumb and index finger, encircle your shaft. Grab it right below the head. You've decent girth, don't you?"

A pause.

"Touch your tip with your index finger. Tease more drops to seep out. Roll your finger in the liquid. Lightly spread the moistness over your head. Coat it."

She is acting out the instructions even as she is giving them. He loves watching her breasts with her every move. Her undulating arcs. Her nipples. Hard and pointed. Like his penis, they too seem to have a life of their own.