Going Out With Daddy Ch. 06bycolumfa©
Author's Note: This is the last chapter of this series. I plan to write a sequel, although I have other stories to write also. Try and be patient! Thanks for all of your kind comments.
The sound of Carol's voice was like a cattle-prod into Tim's side. He jumped off of his daughter's sweaty body, horrified, trying to find something to cover himself, to hide his too obvious shame in front of his wife. He found himself crouching behind the side of the bed, mortified.
"Mom!" Marie's voice was a squeak, a child's guilty shriek on being caught doing something wrong. She found the covers and hurriedly pulled them up to cover her nakedness. Then she saw her mother's face.
Carol had been watching for some time. The union of her husband and her daughter, in her bed, showing a passion, a heat that she could never have imagined. It had been primal, animal, and God, how it had turned her on.
"Oh, dear," she said calmly. "I didn't mean to startle you so. And I won't keep you in any unnecessary suspense." Her eyes found her husband's. He was in a state of shock, clearly. Typical. The only person able to keep some sense in the situation was the woman, she feared.
"Uh, Carol, honey," Tim stuttered. "It's, uh, not what it looks like."
She laughed, walking over to the bed. She sat down on the edge across from where he was still crouching, and took her daughter's hand in hers.
"I'm not sure, Tim, how you could explain this as anything other than what it looked like. Believe me, I saw enough of your naked ass pounding into this pretty daughter of ours to be sure. In any case, you have no need to try to find excuses."
"You're not mad, Mom." Marie was looking at her with wonder, still clutching the sheet to her chest. She was gorgeous, her dark brown hair sticking to her cheek and forehead, her cheeks flushed.
"Mad, Marie? No," she smiled. "How could I be? I did everything I could to engineer this. I'm just surprised at how quickly it came to fruition, as it were."
"Engineer this?" Tim's mind was slowly trying to comprehend the turn of events. His wife? Had been trying to get him to... "But why?"
"Why?" Carol looked thoughtfully at her husband. "Why. You should know me well enough to guess that that question is more complicated than it appears." She smiled at him wryly. "In any case, if I'm going to explain myself, I'd rather that you weren't hunkering down back there as if you were taking cover from enemy fire. Come join your daughter up here."
Tim still appeared shell-shocked, so she patted the bed. He slowly stood up, his body still covered in a sheen of sweat, his pubic hair wet and matted around his sadly diminished penis. Marie held the sheet up and he slid under it, still careful to keep some space between him and his daughter.
"Now, how shall I begin?" Carol looked from Tim to Marie, her beloved family, and smiled reassuringly at them. "Let me try to answer your question. There are several reasons why I've tried so hard to bring this about. First, I'm getting older. No, wait, let me say my piece, and then you can talk," she said to forestall Tim's interruption.
"I'm getting older, and you, Tim, you like younger women. No, I haven't felt any slacking off of your passion towards me. But I know how you feel, and I also know that I swept you off of your feet before you had a chance to experience much else. I've felt some guilt about that. Not much, but I have. But that's probably the smallest part of this.
"Second, I know that you've always wanted to have more children, and I can't oblige you in that manner. Going along with that, I suppose, is that I've been feeling the desire to become a grandmother, as surprising as that sounds. So, since I could not be the one to provide you with more offspring, I came across this as, well, an alternative."
Marie gasped at this, and Tim looked positively stricken. But before either of them could object to her explanation, she rushed on.
"And lest you think I'm being entirely selfless, well, I guess the most important reason is still unsaid. I think, actually, that the other reasons are more or less rationalizations to make up for this last one. It's the hardest to reveal, but I've lived with it for too long to deny it any longer.
"The last reason I wanted to get you two together, and the most important reason why I can't get mad at you, is that I'm having an affair. Yes," she nodded as Tim opened his mouth to speak. "Yes, an affair. I've been unfaithful to you, Tim, but that fact is actually not as important as whom I'm having an affair with.
"You see, Marie, Tim, I can't judge you for sleeping with each other, as I'm sleeping with my own son."
Carol blushed as she unshouldered the burden of the secret she had been carrying quietly for so long. But her gaze never wavered, and she met the incredulous gasps of her family with stoicism. Let them think what they would. The die was cast.
"What?" Tim was completely caught off guard. This was beyond astonishing; it was incomprehensible. "I—I don't believe you. You can't possibly be telling the truth."
"No?" Carol looked at her husband, and seemed to come to a decision. "I'm sitting here with a pussy full of his sperm."
"Oh, shit, Mom," Marie squealed. "That is too fucking cool!" She dropped the sheet in her excitement, leaning towards her mother. "Can I see?"
"Oh, my, Marie," Carol blushed. She was surprised at her daughter's reaction, but more surprised at her own sudden reticence. "Maybe in a bit, sweetie. It's a bit sudden all at once."
"Cool?" Tim looked at his daughter, aghast. "Cool, you say? You think it's all right that your mother is fucking your half-brother?"
"Don't be a hypocrite, Daddy," Marie frowned, punching her father in the arm. Carol couldn't help but notice how her pert breasts swayed with the movement. She really was a lovely thing. She felt inordinately proud to have mothered such a wonderful girl. "You just fucked me, didn't you?"
"Ah, yeah," Tim said, flustered. "But that was different."
"Really, Tim?" Carol twisted her mouth in disbelief. "How so?"
"Because you forced us together," he shouted, outraged. Carol and Marie looked at each other. Marie rolled her eyes in disbelief. Carol just smiled. "Uh, no, it's true," he went on. "Marie and I never would have gone this far without your encouragement."
"Daddy," Marie said in an exasperated tone. "You want to be careful there. You're gonna make me think you aren't, like, attracted to me or something."
"Um." Tim looked at his daughter, sitting with the sheet around her hips, her sweet little tits unabashedly exposed. "No, uh, no, sweetie. That's not what I mean."
"Come now, Tim. Be honest. You never thought that I knew what was going on, did you?" He stared at his wife, then shook his head.
"And who was it who pushed himself against me at the car that first night, so that I could feel everything a girl wants to feel on a date? Was it Mom?" He smiled ruefully. "It's true, Mom," Marie turned to Carol. "He was so bad."
"Take a little responsibility, Tim. I may have sown the seeds, but it was you two who tended them and brought them to harvest."
Tim's shoulders drooped. He was defeated, and he knew it. He looked at the faces of the two women in his life, and rolled his eyes.
"All right, all right. I know when I'm outnumbered. But I want to know how this all happened between you and Don, Carol."
She smiled lovingly at him. She had hoped that she could count on his love and understanding, but it had been quite a gamble, to be sure. Don had opposed her when she had told him that she needed to reveal their love affair to the rest of the family. But she had stood firm. Of course, she hadn't told him the details of her plan.
"I'll be happy to explain. It's quite a story. You two should make yourselves comfortable."
"I don't think we can get much more comfortable than we are right now, Mom." Marie looked down at herself, and then over at her father, nude beneath the sheets.
"Well, then, settle back against the headboard."
Tim and Marie looked at each other, and then Tim scooted back, and Marie moved so that she could sit next to him. His arm automatically went around her shoulders, and she put her head on his chest. The sheet still covered their legs, but they made a pretty couple. Carol took a deep breath.
"It started when Don first moved into his house."
"That was five years ago," Tim gasped.
"You can't interrupt me if I'm going to be able to tell this story well," Carol admonished him. "Let me tell it, and then you can ask any questions you want..."
It started when Don first moved into his house. It was the second year of college for him, and he had decided, as you guys remember, that he didn't like dormitory life. I could hardly blame him. He had always seemed so much more mature than other boys his age.
When he found the lovely old Victorian, it was love at first sight. Sure, it needed overhauling, gut renovations, but it had the right bones. Don had the vision to see what it could be, and it was only a fifteen minute drive from campus.
You guys remember that we all moved him in, but I stayed behind for a few days to help him with tearing down wallpaper and starting the painting. It was incredibly hot that weekend, and even hotter inside the old house. There was no electricity yet, so we had no fans running even. We were working in the dining room, tearing down strips of awful floral wallpaper, and the air was soupy, as if we were underwater.
I was sweating like crazy, my thin tee shirt soaked through and plastered to my body. I had a sports bra on underneath, and it felt like a sopping tourniquet around my chest. Don, meanwhile had stripped down to his shorts, as men will do.
"Damn," I sighed, wiping my sopping brow with the back of my arm. "You guys are so lucky, you know that, Don?"
"Huh?" He looked over at me. Remember, he had just turned nineteen at that time, and he was in fine shape, I couldn't help but notice. He had been working out pretty hard throughout that Freshman year. His pecs were cut, and his arms were muscled and firm. Pretty damned good looking, I had to admit. There wasn't anything sexual about it; just the natural admiration of a hot-blooded woman for a fine male specimen.
"Just that guys are allowed to strip down when you're hot, and we women have to stay modest and covered."
"Whatever, Mom," he laughed. "We're all just family here. There's no need for embarrassment. I can see you're pretty uncomfortable."
"What are you suggesting, Don," I said, fluttering my eyelashes. "Are you trying to talk your old mother out of her clothes?" I struck a pose, cocking my hip. I knew I was being a little on the flirty side, but it was only innocent joking with my boy.
"You're not that old," he smiled. "But seriously, Mom, if you want to get more comfortable, don't let my being here stop you. It's all about the work with me."
I looked at him, weighing his words. Then I shrugged.
"No skin off my back," I said, and peeled my sopping t-shirt over my head. I held the wet thing away from me at arm's length. "Ugh," I said, dramatically, letting it splat onto the floor. Believe me, at that moment, I felt like the least sexy woman on the planet, dripping with sweat, in a dingy old white sports bra, and dusty jeans.
But Don was staring at me, as if he was seeing me for the first time. I felt very self-conscious all of a sudden.
"What? Is there a rip somewhere or something?" I craned back and looked myself over.
"Uh, no... no. It's nothing."
"No, Don, what is it?"
"Um, just that... well, Mom, you look really good." I raised my eyebrows in disbelief.
"Donald Marks, don't you tease an old broad like that."
"No, really, Mom," he blurted, raising his hands as if to ward me off. "You've taken good care of yourself, and it shows."
"Well, thanks, young man." I could feel myself blushing. It had been years since anybody as young as he had taken any notice of me. But truth to tell, I had done my utmost to maintain my figure, and I was proud of how I looked at forty-eight. "But don't you think we should get back to work?"
He nodded silently, his eyes still speaking volumes. A little confused at the feelings sweeping through me, I started stripping the wallpaper again. We worked in silence, but my thoughts were turning around and around in my head on the same question. Had my son just ogled me? Had my own son just been aroused by the sight of my body?
Now, mind you, it wasn't like I was suffering from a lack of sex at this time. You were more than satisfying me, Tim. I wasn't some oversexed underappreciated older woman, trolling for young meat. Still, it had been some years since a man had looked at me with that kind of stare.
Some twenty minutes later, I was still obsessing over what Don's look meant, and I excused myself to go to the bathroom. Standing in the hot restroom, I looked in the mirror and gasped at what I saw. It was no wonder that Don had stared at me.
My old sports bra had worn a little thin over the years, and the cotton, now soaked with my perspiration, had become somewhat see-through. Even in the dimmer light of the bathroom, I could easily make out my nipples and areolas. My breathing became faster as I realized what I had displayed to my son. But instead of feeling disgusted or ashamed, I felt, well, aroused.
It was the strangest feeling. It was as if, by being in a new house with Don, our normal relationship was up for reevaluation. He was no longer the boy who had grown up here, in our home, with his little boy's room. Just one look at him established that he was no child. My mind was creating justifications for seeing how my son and I would interact, now that he was an adult.
And sad to say, my mind had pressure from another part of me, that part between my legs, that had perked up and taken notice when he had stared at me so openly. But on the surface, at least, I rationalized that nothing would happen between us, as long as it remained innocent and fun.
Oh, Marie. You just jumped. Did I say something that resonated with you? Was it the word fun? I see. I guess you too have been seduced by that little idea. I know I was.
I got us some beers and we went and sat on the back stoop together. Don was terribly cute in the way he tried not to stare at my chest. I wanted to make it easy for him, however, so I leaned back on my elbows and letting my head extend backwards. I closed my eyes, as if resting in the intense sunshine. I knew that this position would thrust my breasts out, pushing against the still sopping bra.
"Mmm," I murmured, holding the cold beer bottle against my cheek. "That breeze feels so nice, doesn't it?"
"Uh huh," came the strangled reply. I smiled to myself. I just couldn't help myself. I dragged the bottle down my neck and pushed it against the bra between my breasts, letting the condensation from the glass drip into my cleavage.
I opened my eyes, to catch Don looking at me again. I smiled and cleared my throat. The poor boy practically jumped off the steps.
"Geez, Don," I chuckled. "Am I that good to look at?" Fishing for compliments, I know, but I felt shameless.
"Truth, Mom?" His eyes were so serious. I nodded. "College girls can't hold a candle to you."
"My goodness. Flattery will get you everywhere, you know." He relaxed a little at my joking tone. I reached out my hand and put it on his biceps. Incredibly firm. "Honestly, though, you can't mean that."
"I do, actually," he replied earnestly. "I think most girls would trade their left leg for the tone you have in your abdomen."
"I hope not," I said, with wide eyes. "Then they'd be hopping around everywhere." He rolled his eyes. "Oh! I see, then they would be better able to maintain their belly tone." Now he had to laugh. "Tell me more."
"Uh, I don't know if I should."
"Nonsense," I said firmly. "Just mom and son here, nothing more, right?" He looked at me thoughtfully, and then nodded. "So, what else about me do you think is good to look at?" Forward, I know. But it was all in fun, right, Marie?
"Well, I can't tell too much about your legs because of your jeans." He considered his next statement, and then seemed to come to a decision. "But your arms are slim, slimmer than usual for a woman in her forties, and you've kept your curvy waist without putting any weight on your hips."
I was practically humming with electricity by this point. What a charmer! I waited with bated breath to see if he would go any further. But, although his eyes were locked on my chest, he refrained from commenting on it.
"That's incredibly sweet of you, Don," I said, meaning every word of it. "And you look mighty fine as well, kiddo." My hand felt his arm's muscles before traveling up and onto his chest. "You've obviously been taking good care of yourself as well." He shivered at my touch, and nodded, unsure of himself. I stood up.
"Better get back to work, Mister. But maybe, if you're good, I'll give you a chance to see my legs later on." He stared up at me, as I turned and sashayed back into the house. I felt decades younger.
That night, after supper, I was bone tired, and sore all over. I flopped down on the mattress he had in the living room. He was going to sleep on his sleeping bag in the dining room. It was still incredibly hot, and I had stripped down to my panties and slipped on one of Don's tee shirts. As I lay there, I was in a peculiar mood, mixed elation and exhaustion, I suppose.
"Don?" I called out.
"Could you come in here?" He padded in. He was in his shorts still. He looked down on me. I felt so languid, I could barely move.
"Uh, what is it, Mom?"
"Could you give me a rubdown? I can't believe how many of my muscles feel like they've been through a wringer."
"Yeah, you know," I smiled lazily. "I lie here not moving, and you rub your hands all over my muscles to get me to relax."
"Relax, huh?" He smiled easily back at me. "Looks like you're pretty relaxed already."
"Donny," I whined, pooching out my lower lip like a little girl. "Don't tease me. I really need you to help me out."
"Fine, fine," he grumbled, but I could see he was actually kind of eager. I couldn't blame him. After all, how many young guys alone in an empty house with a sexy woman would not jump at a chance to give her a massage? Sure, it was a little unusual, me being his mother, but maybe that was what made it all right. After all, nothing could possibly happen, right? It was all just a bit of fun.
"Yippee!" I clapped my hands and rolled over onto my front. His t-shirt was long on me, covering everything that needed to be covered. My long legs were unclothed, sure, but that was no more than he had seen on many an occasion. He settled down on the floor next to me, and started in on my shoulders.
Through the damp t-shirt, his hands felt manly, strong. Little chills ran down my spine at his touch. This was crazy: I was getting turned on, even from this little innocent playing. But I knew it was innocent, and that was all that mattered. Who could it harm if I felt a little frisson from Don's hands?
"Mmm," I murmured, wriggling a little. "That feels divine, Don." He said nothing. I wondered what he was thinking. What was he feeling? Could he be experiencing the same bizarre suspension of reality I was going through? In this little cocoon, I was willing to let things go further. I hoped he felt the same way.
"Would it embarrass you terribly if I got rid of this shirt? Your hands feel great, but they're kind of chafing my skin, what with the dampness and all."
"Um, no, I guess not," he said, quietly.
"Turn around, then." I looked over my shoulder as he did as I asked. I sat up and pulled the shirt off over my head. I sat there for a second, gazing at my wonderful son. In the darkness, I couldn't see much of him beyond his outline. If he turned around now, he would see my bare breasts. I almost hoped he would, until my better sense got hold of me, and I settled myself down once more. "Okay, kiddo. Get to it."