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Subject: story: "MY SISTER JEAN. Chapter 16-17" 972258
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Date: Wed, 22 Apr 2009 10:56:05 +0000
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http://www.incesttabooo.com/taboo.html
MY SISTER JEAN. Chapter 16-17
By Billy G
Chapter 16 Jean's Confession (16 Part 2 / Chapter 17/)
It was a warm morning, the type of warmth you know will precede a hot
day. I was aware of a vague malaise, a sense of lethargy that was
rooted in the sameness of the last week of uncharacteristic heat.
Normally the cooling breezes of the Pacific, ten or fifteen miles over
the coastal range, held off the valley heat. Must be some kinda low
trapped right here, I concluded.
Still, I was feeling a bit restless and decided to take a hike into
the Open Space District contiguous with our home. I wondered idly if
Jean would like to go with me, but she wasn't in her room and the
downstairs was equally quiet. Grabbing a hiking stick from the bamboo
rack, I walked out on the trellised deck in the back and found my mom
and Jean sitting in the half-shade, looking out over the pond. They
were leaning toward each other, apparently having a whispered
conversation.
Both were wearing white shorts and T-shirts, probably I thought, to
play tennis. It wasn't the first time I'd observed just how much
alike they looked. Both were tan and fit, each with long, attractive
legs. And that surprised me, for I'd not really thought of my mother
in any way but as my mom.
"Hi, ladies. What's happenin'?"
Mom hesitated a moment, finishing something she was telling Jean and
looked up. "Hi, yourself, dude. You look like you're going to take a
walk."
"Yeah. Anyone wanna walk with me?"
Mom answered, "A little later perhaps? I'm too settled right now."
Jean smiled and said, "Me too, Billy. A little later?"
It was never easy for me to hear "No" as an answer, but I knew that's
just the way it was this morning. I told myself it didn't have
anything to do with me; they just had other things on their minds.
Looking up at the early morning sun over the Eucalyptus trees to the
east, I replied, "It's a little warm now. But it's gonna be hotter'n
the dickens in a few hours. You know me and the heat. Think I'll go
for it now. Catch you later."
I loved the miles of Open Space above our house and I'd rather walk
with someone, but in the face of my teenage-impaired tolerance for
delayed gratification, I just couldn't wait and took off up the hill
into the redwood grove. Even in the relative cool of the morning, I
seemed to seek out the shaded spots as I unconsciously choose to walk
down into the wooded ravine rather than up to the open country.
I'd discovered this trail - I thought of it as mine - my secret trail,
until the Open Space people had widened it and made it more
attractive. At first I had a resentment. I just knew that it'd be
overrun with hikers now that it was no longer a secret. I needn't
have worried. In the years since it'd been open up, I'd not seen a
single person. So it had again reverted to being "my trail."
The stream at the bottom was running full and on an impulse, I pulled
off my boots and dropped my feet into the coolness of the runoff. As
often happens around the sound of running water, soon I had to take a
leak. I smiled at myself, standing knee-deep in the stream, my dick
out, watching the arc of my stream as it splashed into the water.
"How pleasant," I thought, and closed my eyes, feeling the breeze and
listening to the forest sounds. An image of Jean and my mom, tanned
legs stretched out, flashed and without choosing, I fell into that
reverie. They were both very attractive women and I'd become
fascinated, even mesmerized, with my sister Jean in the past year.
Actually, fascination is not a strong enough term. Our natural
affection and apparent mutual horniness had led us into "almost doin'
it" several times but so far we'd restricted ourselves, mostly just
talking about it with an occasional sexual foray into limited but very
intimate touching. Except for the time she gave me a blow job...or
the time I kissed her pussy. Yeah, I guess you could say that was a
tad more than intimate touching, huh?
I slowly became aware that I'd stopped peeing and was standing there,
holding a now-erect cock in my hand. "You're hopeless, Billy," I
concluded, "a hopeless horndog."
Turning back to get my boots, I stepped on a round river rock that
suddenly turned, dumping me on my ass in the stream. "Shit!" It was
summer, but the runoff was cold!
I got up slowly, looking down at my soaked shorts, water running out
of my shorts, down my legs and thought, "No way I'm going for a long
walk this way. Guess I'll go back and change."
Returning home, Jean and Mom were no longer sitting on the back deck,
so I stripped off my wet clothes on the side deck and before going in
to change, I decided to take a soak in the hot tub. "They must have
gone to the tennis courts," I reasoned.
As I was folding back the cover of the tub, I heard the back slider
door open and then close followed by Mom's voice. I was startled, not
so much that I'd be caught bare assed - that was no huge deal -
although I don't think my mother had seen my bare butt in a while.
What startled me was a word or two I'd overheard. Sounded like
"something horny." I couldn't imagine my mother and my sister having
a conversation that included the concept of horny. Shows how much I
knew.
I stepped into the tub, making no effort to be quiet, but I guess the
noises I made were masked by their own conversation, for they didn't
acknowledge my presence as they settled into the lawn chairs, just
around the corner of the house from me.
The acoustics made no sense, but I was aware I could hear them
clearly, even the tinkle of ice in a glass. Just as I was about to
speak up to them, to let 'em know I was there, I heard Mom say, "So,
how long has this been a problem?"
"The horny thing?" Jean asked.
"That's the topic, I think," Mom replied with a smile in her voice.
A chair scraped and then it was quiet for a long ten seconds. Mom was
patient, I knew. Finally Jean replied, "Gee, I don't know, but I've
been aware of these, um...feelings for the last couple of years.
Another pause, briefer. "But now it's..." She stopped.
"More intense?" Mom offered.
"Yeah. Sure is. Sometimes it seems that's all I think about."
"Some older people would say that's not a problem...that's a
blessing!" Mom laughed. Then asked, "So then, what IS the problem?"
"Golly, Mom...you know. I'm, uh, itchy and restless and I have
these...you know, urges. And then I begin to think I'm bad. That
these thoughts are wrong. I just feel bad and I'm all mixed up."
I heard the chair squeak and envisioned Mom leaning over to lay her
hand on Jean's thigh. "Baby, we've talked a little about this before,
but I guess it's time to share in more detail. Remember what I told
you, girl? Those are natural feelings. They're right and they're
good. There's nothing dirty or wrong about sexual feelings. It's
your humanness shining through. Most of the discomfort and emotional
pain people experience about sexual things arise in their own heads.
Keep it in the forefront of your mind, baby. Sex is not a moral
issue."
"Mom, I get that. Or at least I think I do. I accept myself and I'm
happy to be a woman and I'm really happy that I have you for a mom.
It's just that...well...it's not an intellectual thing. Cripes, it's
not even an emotional thing!"
"What thing is it, baby?"
"It's a physical thing! You know. Horny!"
As if slapping her forehead, mom said, "Oh! I'm beginning to get it.
You're *horny*. I mean, *physically* horny, and it's bothering you,
right?"
Where was Mom when I was suffering from an ingrown hard-on? How come
we never had this kinda talk? Probably because I never told the
truth, I thought as I sank deeper into the hot tub. I *should*
announce myself. This was sneaky. Yet, it was probably too late to
speak up now, I reasoned, so I just sat there quietly and listened.
My mind can rationalize almost anything.
"*Bothering* me is an understatement. I'm a nervous wreck and don't
know what to do about it."
"Does masturbation help?" asked Mom reasonably.
"Sometimes." Then Jean laughed and added, "And then sometimes it
seems to just feed the fires!"
Mom gave a wry laugh and said, "I know what that's like."
"You too?" Jean asked with a note of incredulity in her voice.
"Well, it's not so bad now...but I remember..."
Jean interrupted, "So, what'd you DO? What do I do?"
"Baby, I've tried not to tell you how to live your life. I've tried
to give you principles by which to live. That's still true. Just
WHAT you do is up to you, but there *are* guiding principles."
"Such as?"
"Remember I told you that among adults, sexual activity is not a moral
issue, that whatever they do is okay if they follow a few rules.
Remember the rules?"
"Uh...that we talk about it and not hurt each other?"
"Yes, that's part of it. There must be mutual consent. For that to
happen, you've *got* to talk about it. When I was young, it seems
that the rule was something like it's okay to do it, just don't talk
about it. Kinda the Braille approach to negotiation."
Interrupting again, Jean asked, "Are we talking about *doing it*?"
Mom laughed again, that throaty, sexy laugh, and said, "Well, that's
only *part* of it. We're talking about sexual activity, whatever it
is. Doing it - intercourse if you will - is just one of the sexual
activities to which I'm referring. Actually, I'm talking in a broader
sense. Whatever it is we do with each other sexually, we need to talk
about it, to negotiate. We need to make sure it's okay and that we're
on the same page. Probably one of the biggest mistakes we make in
human relationships is to assume we know what the other person is
thinking, and then worse, to *act* as if our assumptions were
correct."
"Okay, I'm with you so far. What else?"
"Of course, we need not to hurt each other, or allow ourselves to be
hurt."
"Hurt? Like in getting a disease? Or hurt as in physical hurt?"
Jean giggled. "Like spanking?"
"Both. We'll return to things like spanking in a minute, but it's
clear, I hope, that you've got to be very, very careful. Sexually
transmitted diseases *are* a big deal. You've got to be willing to
talk to your potential sexual partner about their sexual history as
well as your own. You have a right to ask for proof of a recent AIDS
test and, when you're sexually active, you've got to be willing to
show your own proof."
Then, signaled by her low laugh, I detected that Mom was switching
mental gears.
"But what I was thinking about at the moment was sexual *play*."
"Play?"
I knew what *I* thought of when sexual play came to mind, but I
couldn't imagine what my conservative mother was alluding to.
I heard Mom take a deep breath and then let it out slowly, as if
preparing to launch into a difficult topic.
"Baby, I always knew we'd have this conversation, but I hadn't planned
on it this soon. I kept putting it off, I suppose waiting for the
right moment. I guess this is it."
"What, mom?"
"I've always told you that we're only as sick as our secrets, that
honesty will set us free. Still, there are parts about being an
adult, and more, being a parent, that seem to require some measure of
restraint. I always thought I'd tell you some things when you had a
need to know."
"Mom! You're beating around the bush. That's not like you. Like you
always say to me, 'Spit it out.' You were talking about sexual play.
What do you mean?"
"Yes, play - as in erotic power exchange. You know, your dad and I
tease each other about this when we think you two aren't around, but I
know you've overheard us, haven't you?
"Uh...I guess...maybe a couple of times."
"A couple of times per week would be more like it," Mom suggested,
laughing. Then, a little more seriously, she went on, "Your dad is a
very strong man, even a dominant man. I consider myself a strong
woman - and I am - but when your dad and I play, he's the dominant
partner, the Top if you will."
"And?"
"I meant to have this talk with you someday. Now appears like a good
time. When we play - and we play a lot, your Dad and I - I enjoy
being the little girl. I like to be told what to do. Perhaps it
gives me permission to do the naughty, the forbidden, things I'd
really like to do anyway. Then, I like to be tied up at times. I
love the feeling of helplessness. And - this is a little embarrassing
- I like to be spanked!"
"Really? Bare bottom? How embarrassing. Does it hurt?"
"No, baby, that's the point. It's pleasure. I love it. It's a huge
turn-on. The whole thing works only if there is trust and love and
understanding, and most important, communication. Without that, we're
left to our own imagination, and for me, that's a dangerous place to
hang out.
"Oh, if he struck me in anger, it would hurt. I'd really hurt. But
it's done with love and I love it...I love the intense sensations. I
once heard a woman describe herself as a sensation slut and that gave
me a shiver, because...well, because I could relate."
"Wow. That's...uh, far out. I mean, that's really neat, Mom! I had
no idea. Tell me more."
"Baby, I'll tell you as much as you want to hear, but first I want to
get on with the principles of good sexual behavior, okay?"
Rats! I thought my parents were so conservative that they'd never
done anything and now I was hearing of an exciting side of their
personalities of which I knew almost nothing. I wanted to hear more.
"Okay. No hurting then. Of course, that seems only right. What's so
difficult about that?"
"Usually not much, but sometimes we really have to look within
ourselves and question our motives...to be careful we're not hurting
someone when we think our motives are good. I don't know about you,
but my ego often wears blinders."
"Yeah, I can see how my ego gets in the way sometimes too. What
else?"
"Well, the next thing is a bit more abstract, but we've got to be
careful not to be exploitive."
"Mom, I know what "exploitive" means, but how's it apply in this
case?"
"Let me give you an example. Let's say you've agreed to have sex with
someone - and *having sex* doesn't necessarily mean having
intercourse. I regard all sexual activity as "having sex." Okay? A
sexy conversation can be viewed as having sex. Mutual masturbation
can be viewed as having sex."
"Okay, I get it...it's a definitional thing."
"Yes, and for purposes of our conversation, that's how we'll define
it. Anyway, let's say you've talked this over with someone, you both
want it and you agree you're not going to hurt each other. Now here's
the rub. You're 18 and he's...let's say he's 12."
"Mother!"
"Get off your high horse, miss. It's happened. Lot's of times. But
that doesn't make it right. He's too young. He might think he knows
what he wants, but he can't really know. If you had consensual sex
with him, that'd be exploitive."
Jean laughed and said, "All right. So I can't get it on with Johnny."
Johnny was the boy next door. At 15 he was a year younger than I. I
held my breath.
"Johnny's a cute kid and he *looks* older than he is. Heck, he looks
older than Billy, but I know he's not as mature. I'd put Johnny on
the borderline...as least as far as age was concerned. But I'd not
pick someone like him for different reasons. I think of him as a
kiss-and-tell kind of guy. You've got a reputation to take care of,
girl."
"Okay. Johnny's out." Jean then laughed and added, "He doesn't blow
my skirt up anyway."
By this time, I was almost frozen in my fascination. I couldn't
believe how open and candid my mom and Jean were being with each
other. I wished I could be that way with my dad, but I thought of him
as too stern, too busy, too unavailable. I wondered if Mom would ever
let me chat with her? Cripes, every time I thought I was so
sophisticated, so cool and knowledgeable, I discovered how little I
knew. There was probably a lesson in there somewhere, but I was too
caught up in the excitement of my eavesdropping.
Mom continued, "Let's not get too abstract here. We're talking about
*your* problem. What I'm trying to tell you is this. Being sexual is
okay. More than okay, it's good. You've just got to be careful in
life. You've got to take care of yourself as well as be respectful of
those you care for. This make sense?"
"Hmmmm...I guess, in the abstract. I mean, I'm so darn horny and
masturbating does help, but not for long. I feeling a deep need for .
. . well, I not really sure for what, but I think I'm ready to start
letting down my defenses around the boys."
"Baby, it's been my experience that beyond some emotional point, my
well-considered intentions go out the window. My, uh...my pussy
thinks for me. So you might think you're *starting* to lower your
defenses and suddenly you'll find it's a done-deed, a fiat accompli.
Now, I'm not saying that there's anything really wrong about that,
save for a couple of big considerations. Like sexually transmitted
diseases - which can affect anyone - and the really big one,
pregnancy."
"God, Mom...I wasn't thinking..."
"That's just it, baby. You weren't thinking and when *it* happens, it
won't happen because you've given it a lot of thought. Believe me, it
happens! And our awareness is largely after the fact. Our denial is
nothing more than a head-in-the-sand stance, a refusal to see life as
it really is."
"You sound like you've been there."
Jean said this with a provocative tone of voice, as if daring Mom to
tell the truth. And then I wondered, "Had *my* mother really
experienced anything like this, or was she preaching from some how-to
book?"
Mom paused, then replied, "I have. It's no big secret and I'll share
it with you, but not right now. It's tough enough staying on the
topic. And the topic is: Sex and Birth Control! It may not be clear
to you, but it is to me. It's time for you to see a gynecologist -
you can see mine if you want - and get on the pill."
"Gee, that sounds like I'm admitting I'm planning on, you know..."
"No, it's admitting that you're a sexual being, a human being and it's
just good sense. Jean, you're just like me and sooner or later it's
gonna happen."
And then, as if to honor the statistical unlikeliness of such a
possibility, Mom added, "Even if it turns out you don't need it."
"Mom, are you giving me permission to get sexual?"
"You're almost an adult, Jean. You don't need my permission. I know
that you're going to do what ever you need to do, permission or not,
and that's especially true for sex. I just want you to be a
responsible woman."
"You have this conversation with Billy, Mom?"
My ears shot up. How did *I* get into this topic?
Mom laughed again, seemingly not shocked. "No, I haven't, and I can
tell from his sheets that it's time. I had hoped that his dad would,
but I don't think that's going to happen. I know you and he are very
close. You two ever talk about sex?"
I held my breath.
Jean exhaled loudly. "Yeah. Quite a bit, Mom. I trust Billy and I
think he trusts me. He's my closest friend."
I didn't think Mom knew just how close.
"I understand that. My brother Jim was my closest friend. Still is
for that matter, except for your dad. We shared all our secrets with
each other. I'd expect no less from you two."
"Mom, did you...well...did you ever have any *special* feelings about
your brother? I mean, any sexy thoughts?"
"Of course, baby. Anyone who would tell you that he's not had
thoughts about family members is in denial or lying. It's natural."
And then, as an afterthought, Mom added, "Jean, I'm baring my soul to
you and I'm feeling a little uncertain myself. I don't want to drift
into revealing the confidences of others. But I'll tell you about
*me*. Yes, I've had lots of sexy thoughts."
"I sometimes...." and she trailed off.
"Sometimes have thoughts about Billy?" asked Mom.
"Whew!" An explosive gust of air and then a long pause.
"Uh...yeah...and even feelings, I mean sexy feelings." And then Jean
rushed on, "He's a neat guy. He good looking and well built. He's
kind and thoughtful and he knows my moods better than anyone... and
when he gives me a hug..."
"Get's your juices flowing, eh?"
"Mom!"
"Jean, Jean...remember, I've been there, done that. It's natural,
baby."
"You and Jim?"
"Sure. He still turns me on. Don't tell your dad, though, okay? I
mean don't tell *anybody*!"
"I won't tell if you won't tell."
Then after a another short pause, Jean added, "But there *is*
something I'd like to tell you, Mom. Actually something I *have* to
talk about and you're the only person I can talk to."
I could hear the wind blowing in the oak trees. Where was Jean going
with this, I wondered?
"I have a confession to make. I just gotta share this you or I'll
bust. I feel so darn guilty, I can't stand it."
Mom's voice got softer. "What ever it is, Baby, it's okay. I'll not
judge you. My job is just to love you. There is nothing, absolutely
nothing under the sun you can tell me that will change that."
Without pause, Jean blurted, "Billy and I have had sex, Mom! I don't
mean that we've *done* it...you know, had intercourse or anything like
that, but we have touched each other."
Oh-shit-oh-dear! At this point I felt a leaden weight in my stomach.
Busted! Grounded! Probably forever, if I wasn't run out of town on a
rail first. Jig's up. I waited for my Mom to scream.
Instead, Mom said, "I'm not surprised. In fact, I'd have been
surprised if you hadn't. You know, I live here too. I'm aware. I've
seen you two. I've seen how you act around each other. I even told
you that you remind me of myself...especially when I found your
panties in his bed."
Jesus! I thought I had hidden those. I immediately wondered, how
might I lie my way out of this one? When I'm confronted, blind-sided
like this, the *last* thing I think about is telling the truth. My
first instinctual response, after suppressing a survival desire to
run, is to make up a story, one that'll get me off the hook. Then
later, I have to spend so much energy backing out of the corner into
which I've firmly implanted myself.
"How do I remind you...you and Jim...your brother? You mean . .
you've had similar...?"
"Sure. Shocked?"
"Kinda...but not really. Actually, I'm pleased. Even thrilled. I
don't know...kind of makes *me* okay."
"You *are*...you are okay. And I love you, Jean."
Jean started to cry and I could hear Mom making comforting sounds.
The next little bit was lost to my ears. I envisioned Jean crying
into Mom's shoulder...Mom patting her.
Then Jean blubbered, "Oh, my...I don't know why I'm doing this, but
I'm so relieved and so happy. I feel so loved."
"Want to tell me what you've done, Baby?"
"You won't get mad?"
"No, this isn't about getting mad and you're not being grilled. What
we all need are safe places. Places where we can share our secrets.
Believe me, the more you share with me, the better you'll feel. Just
keep in mind, I love you and I'm not judging you. I don't so much
need to hear this as you need to share it."
I was feeling like a shriveled-up prune by now, wanting to run and
hide, disappear from the face of the Earth. Glancing down I noticed
my dick had disappeared!
Jean rushed on, "Well, it started off as an accident. At least, I
think it was an accident. Anyway, we were doing the laundry and Billy
got hard - he was looking down my shirt - and then he rubbed off on
the table looking at me, and then later we talked and he showed me
his... and I couldn't help it...I showed him mine, and..."
"Whoa. Slow down a little. Take your time. Breath."
Jean was on a confessional express and couldn't be slowed.
"Mom, I'm so excited, I want to get it all out at once. Anyway, Billy
was always listening to me pee in the downstairs bathroom - I knew
that. I didn't understand it, and I knew it was naughty, but I guess
it thrilled me. He said it turned him on. Sounds dumb but I guess
that made it exciting for me. Anyway, when we went to Fourth of July
Lake last year, I let him watch me pee one day. God! Is that kinky
or what?"
"Oh, I don't know. Sounds like a chip off the old block."
"Dad?"
"Yes, but we're not talking about your Dad. We're talking about you.
Again, I'll tell you things about me, but your Dad's stuff is his
stuff. I feel free to talk about myself, but not your Dad and not my
brother. Understand? Now, anything else?"
"Yes. It get's a lot more intense. Like, I love flashing Billy, you
know? I flashed him wearing next-to-nothing at Victoria's Secret.
Wow, Mom. I felt all squishy inside. I know it gets him hot and that
gives me a sense of power. Makes me hot too. Weird, huh?"
"No. Not at all weird. That's what exhibitionism is for some folks,
Jean. Just another sexual game. More and more it seems, you're just
like me!"
"Well - this is getting more intense, Mom - one day I took his thing
in my mouth! I don't know how it happened. It just did."
Mom didn't gasp. She laughed. "You mean you sucked his *cock*, don't
you?"
I gasped. Jean gasped.
"Yes...I guess that's what I really mean. It's just that I'm not used
to saying...things like that...and when I hear *you* say it..."
"So, tell me, what's Billy's part in this? He the victim or the
perp?"
"Hah! Billy the victim? Hardly. He may act soft sometimes, but he's
tough as nails. I don't want you to think that he took advantage of
me. He didn't. I wanted it. All the time, I wanted it just as much
as him. Even more I bet!"
"So did that stud-son of mine touch you, get you off?"
"Oh yes! Several times. We even had phone sex once. What a hoot!
And a couple of weeks ago I asked him to trim my...my pussy...my pussy
fur. There! I said it. PUSSY!"
"Did he?"
"Trim my pussy?" Laughing. "No, we never got to it. Once he got
down between my legs...well, one thing led to another and he... he
sniffed around and..."
"He went down on you, right?"
"How'd you know?"
"He's his father's son."
"And that's pretty much it, Mom. I've *wanted* to do it with him.
All the time. But we haven't. I'm afraid to. I want to and I'm
afraid to. But I love getting sexual with him. God, he thrills me!
I wish there were some way we could just play with each other, satisfy
each other, and not really, well, you know...not really do it."
By this time I didn't know whether to strut or flush myself down the
drain. I just shut my eyes and scrunched down further.
"Baby, I'm glad for you - glad for your emerging sexuality and mostly,
for your willingness to tell the truth. Incest is *really* a loaded
topic. We can talk about the philosophical issues, and mostly, that's
what they are, philosophical issues. We can talk about the
practicality of your situation...or the lack of it.
"I'm not going to tell you that you're right or that you're wrong.
It's not about that. It's about feelings. And, as I've often told
you, feelings aren't right or wrong either. They just are. The only
intrinsic evil I see in life is an incapacity to love. Still, I want
you to promise me something...that you'll go slow, really slow with
this."
Jean cried some more. I got all choked up.
"Oh, God, Mom. I feel so much better. I still don't know what to
*do*, but I feel better, so much better. Thanks."
"Good. Now the next thing we've got to do is drag Billy out of the
closet. If he's anything like you, he's dying his own deaths."
Little did they know. Death sounded like a viable option at that
moment.
"What can we do? I mean I can talk with him. I *will* talk with him.
He's got to know that I told you our secret. But then what? Will
*you* talk with him, Mom? He has the same fears and the same concerns
I have. I know. We talk about it. And I know you'd be *so* much
better than Dad."
"I suppose I *could* - might even be fun - and Jim might be better.
Except he's away on a trip and won't be back for too long. Let me
think about this, okay?"
I could hear them pushing back the deck chairs as they stood up, ready
to leave. Suddenly, unplanned and completely unbidden, I called out,
"I'm in the hot tub. I've been here all along. I heard the whole
thing. I'm sorry."
Christ! What did I *do*?
Two heads looked around the corner at me scrunched down in the tub,
almost out of sight.
I ran on, "I'm sorry for eavesdropping. I didn't mean to be a snoop.
When I came back, you weren't here and I just jumped into the tub . .
. then you came out and began talking about sexy things. I lost my
head. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to listen to your private
conversation."
Jean and my mom looked at each other. Jean was red. No more than me.
My mother broke the tension. She looked at Jean and said, "Well, I
guess this resolves *who* is going to talk with Billy."
Then looking at me, one hand on her hip, she smiled and asked, "Well,
stud...ready to spill the beans?"
Chapter 17 Mother Confronts Billy
My mother said something to Jean in a low voice, then nodding her
encouragement, gently pushed her away. Jean glanced at me, eyebrows
furrowed in a worried expression, then back at Mom. Our mother, in a
slightly louder voice, said, "It's okay, Jean. It'll be okay. Now go
on in and let me talk to Billy."
I suppose one of the more dreaded expressions I might hear from my
mother would be, "I'd like to talk to you." I immediately
catastrophize, leaping far into the future, thinking of what bridge I
might live under and if I can really stay alive selling pencils. If I
sank any lower into the hot tub, my head'd be under water.
Mom walked over to the tub and said, "Well, this caught us both by
surprise, didn't it?"
I made a millisecond eye contact and numbly nodded.
"Billy, we have to talk and there'll never be a better moment than
this. Don't you agree?"
Again, the acquiescing nod, still not meeting her eyes.
"Tell you what...you get dressed - get warm - and we'll also sit on
the back deck. It'll be private."
And then she added with a chuckle, "Unless someone's sitting in the
hot tub."
After donning sweats, I walked the final mile to the guillotine and
waited for Mom. How could things have gone so wrong, so fast, I
wondered as I sat there, remembering that a short while ago everything
had been normal? Or had it? I suppose not. My addict's mind wanted
to think that nothing was wrong, but the more-normal kid who lived in
my head suggested otherwise.
"For Christ's sake, Billy. You've been trying to get into Jean's
pants for months - your sister for cripes sake! And you think that's
normal? And then Jean tells Mom and *she's* gonna think it's normal?
Yeah, right."
My impending suicide was thwarted by Mom sitting next to me and laying
her hand on my arm, saying. "Try to calm down, Billy. It's going to
be all right. Believe me."
Do they tell you to be calm before your exiled? Gonna be all right
under the goddamn bridge?
I tried to talk and croaked instead. "Uh...I don't know what to
say...I didn't..."
"Didn't plan this?"
"Plan it? I couldn't have imagined it!" Then I looked at her and
added, "I don't know what to say."
"Try starting with the truth, why don't you?"
"The truth? You KNOW the truth. Jean told you the truth. It's true,
what she said. Except that she took too much responsibility for what
we did. I was the one that was pushing it all the time."
"Billy, Billy...I'm not sorting out who did what. And I'm *not*
attempting to apportion blame. It's not a blame thing...at least as
far as I understand it. But I need to know more. That's why we're
talking."
I glanced at her. She gave me a soft smile and squeezed my forearm.
I still didn't know what to say so I did what I did best. I just sat
there like a lump.
"Son, I always knew I'd have these personal talks, these talks about
sexuality with Jean and I suppose I assumed that your dad would do the
same with you. I know now that that's probably an erroneous
assumption. Your dad is very smart and he's well educated and quite
articulate, but as you know, there's an unapproachable emotional side
that shields him from things like this. I'm afraid he'll never get it
together to chat with you. So, like it or not, you get me."
"Mom, you know I can't talk to dad about things like this. Cripes, I
don't know how I can talk to *you* about it."
"We'll do okay, Billy. Let's start with general things. I gather you
don't disagree with Jean's story, at least not in most ways."
I mumbled, "No, I agree...at least mostly."
"Do you have anything to add? Anything that might help me see things
better?"
I was about ready to admit I didn't have a thing more to say, that
there was nothing I could add to the story. Instead I began talking.
"Mom, I can't tell you how much I care for Jean. I'd do anything for
her and I never wanted to hurt her. Oh, there's a part of me that
thinks of sex all the time - and Jean's a sexy girl, I can't deny that
- but below that, I care for her too much to ever allow myself to hurt
her."
"I know that, Billy. I never doubted that."
"You see, we just became really close, really good friends. I needed
someone to talk to about...about my own feelings. I knew Jean would
never make fun of me and that when the chips were down, she'd support
me. As I would her."
"I know that, too."
"We talked about it and talked about it. We didn't fit any mold of
how a brother and sister oughta be, at least about sex, but it just
happened that way. We thought that if we always told each other the
truth and if we always cared for each other, we'd be all right"
"Go on, Billy."
"Gee, Mom...the rest is about...you know...sex."
Smiling, she said, "Yes, I'm getting that."
"But, I feel funny. Talking about sex with you, I mean."
"Billy, you heard me tell Jean that sex is not a dirty subject.
Private, certainly. And at times, very intimate. It's true that we
don't talk about it with just anyone, but not because it's wrong, or
bad or dirty. It's private. Well, this conversation is private.
What you say here will stay here. No one else will hear what you tell
me unless you tell them. I know kids think that *they* invented sex,
that their parents got off the sexual boat yesterday...and mostly
that's not the case. At least not with me. I'm a sexual woman. I
was a sexual girl and not much has changed. They still do it the same
way last I heard."
I could feel my face burning. I didn't look at her and mumbled,
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Guess so, SHIT!"
My head shot up and I turned to look into her flashing eyes.
"Don't patronize me, Billy...don't be so damn superior. I don't know
everything, but I'll bet a nickel I've seen more, imagined more and
done a darn sight more that you've ever thought of. I'm an intensely
erotic woman and proud of it! You could do a damn sight worse than
talking with me, dude."
My mouth fell open. I stared at her, astonished, open eyed. I
stuttered.
"So let's start over, shall we? I'll respect you. I expect no less
from you. Okay?"
Finding me tongue, I stumbled over my words. "I'm sorry Mom. I
didn't mean that...I never thought...Cripes, I don't know what I'm
trying to say. But I AM sorry for my attitude. Forgive me, please?"
"Forgiven. Now let's get down to plain talk. Don't beat around the
bush. Whatever words you'd use with your buddies, with Jean, you can
use with me. Don't give me any of that penis-vagina crap. Say it
like it is, okay?"
Wow. Where did this woman come from anyway? I've never seen her like
this.
How do I talk with her? I mean, how can I turn around a life-time of
behavior?
"Well...okay, I'll try...no...I'll DO it. What were we talking about
anyway. I forgot."
"I think you were trying to tell me that you wanted to screw your
sister."
Gulp. "I hadn't thought to say it in just those words...but yes, I
guess that's about it. But I didn't! We never did it. Honest!"
Softer, "Yes, I believe you, Billy. You don't have to convince me.
What I'm more interested in is how you support each other, about how
caring you are for each other. I'm far less concerned about
conventional morality than I am about our capacity to love and care
for each other. No matter what you two have done, if you've done it
with honesty and love, things will be all right. I just don't want
you to sweep it under the rug, that's all. So tell me, where do you
see this going?"
"In the long run? I've no idea, Mom. It's pretty clear to me, all I
can handle, the only thing I can control, is my actions right now.
I've been told over and over to do the footwork and let go of the
outcome, that there's no way I can control the outcome of anything.
So, I've no idea where this is all going. But I do know this. I
*can* control who I am and what I do today."
"And what does that mean to you? In terms of you and Jean?"
"Well, it means that I can show up each day and tell the truth. That
I can think of Jean's welfare more than I think of my own. That I can
be a man today. Or at least try to be."
"You know, kid, I think you may have a chance. A chance in life that
is. It may surprise you, but I've been watching you a long time and I
think you're a good guy at heart. More, you're a good guy in your
actions. So, tell me, how do you see yourself...no, how do you FEEL
about yourself and your sexuality"
We'd been talking just long enough for the terror of the moment to
have abated in me. My mouth wasn't as dry and I could breathe in and
out, even unconsciously. I'd slipped into that place where I wasn't
considering what I was saying. I was just letting it happen. Of
course, had I seen this, I'd have frozen.
"Mom, I know I've never received any judgmental stances from you or
from Dad. You never told me - us - that sex was bad or a moral thing.
Yet, I've received that message repeatedly from lots of other places.
You know...school, TV, and especially church...places like that. I've
never attempted to weigh you against them, but I suppose I *have* been
influenced by those messages, those shalt nots."
"Yeah, it's impossible not to hear them. They're there and on all
levels. You okay with it now or are there still demons to be reckoned
with?"
"Mostly I think I'm okay. At least, I'm not aware of any really deep
issues. I suppose there are the superficial, social-shame issues.
You know, the fear of ridicule or rejection if I break social taboos.
I'd be red-faced if I left my fly open, but I wouldn't be emotionally
crushed and wouldn't think I was a bad or evil person."
"Boy, your mind floats away, doesn't it? At times, you're so darn
cerebral, Billy. Let me ask this. How do you feel when you spring a
woody around Jean? Or when you have a wet dream?"
"It's still difficult to forget you're my mother. I keep forming
phrases in my mind that I hope won't be too offensive. I'll try to be
real, Mom. How do I feel about a woody? When it's Jean? At first I
was embarrassed. Then I came to accept it. More, to enjoy it. I
began to look forward to the sexy feelings I'd get around Jean. I was
always trying to look up her dress or catch a glimpse of her
breasts...uh, tits."
"Sounds pretty normal to me."
"Anyway, whatever it is, I was stuck with it. Jean told you. We
sorta drifted into being more open and even a little sexual with each
other. I felt wonderful. For the first time in my life I could be
honest with another person about my sexual feelings. I loved it."
"And you wanted to jump her bones?"
"Yeah. Something like that. I admitted to her right away that I
wanted to...you know."
"Fuck her?"
"I think that's the expression I used, yes."
"And she didn't want to?"
"No. She wanted to. And I wanted to. But both of us were scared.
She more than me. I told her that I supported her all the way, but
that I was so terminally horny, that if she ever gave in, I'd give in.
It was kinda a threat, huh?"
"Or a promise."
"Hmmmm, hadn't thought of it that way. Whatever. We've played
bathroom games. I love watching her. I know she told you. We've had
oral sex - once for her and once for me. And, oh yes, we dry humped
once in the grass on the hill above the house. We both seem to enjoy
the thrill of seduction, of almost doing it. That make sense?"
"Billy, you don't have to tell me every little detail, although I must
admit that I enjoy hearing about it. Brings back memories. Really
what I wanted to do is gauge how open and honest you kids were with
each other. To get an idea if you might hurt yourselves or each
other."
"And what do you think, Mom? We a danger?"
Laughing, "Probably are, but I must say, you're both psychologically
more healthy than most adults I know. Certainly better adjusted that
I was at your age. I'm impressed with you. Still, I'm concerned for
both of you. This is dangerous stuff. You know that, don't you?"
"Intellectually I do, but emotionally somehow I think I'm okay. I'm
not trying to argue with you. Just trying to tell you how I feel."
"Yeah, I can see that. So what I'm going to do for the moment is
nothing. I still think there's the potential for harm here, but I'm
not going to fall back on some shame-based sanctions. I love you two
guys and I trust you. Trust that you'll try to act honorably. But
please understand, I'm not telling you that everything's all right,
that there's no problem, no worry. What I am telling you is that I
understand what you're feeling and what you're facing. I want you to
continue to show caring respect for Jean, and she for you. I know you
have no control over you sexual feelings. They're just there."
She put her hand on my arm, I guess for emphasis. "Around me, you two
guys can be yourselves. You don't have to hide your affection. My
brother Jim is cool. I'll talk to him. He'll understand. It's your
dad I'm less certain about. So prudent judgment would suggest that
you stay underground around him, at least about the sexual stuff
between you and Jean. Okay?"
I sat there, more dazed than not. I couldn't believe how we'd gone
from some place of utter fear to rational communication. About sex.
With my Mom!
"Mom, right now I'm so confused. It's clear, I need help. I'll do
whatever you tell me to do. I'll do it your way."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, guy. How about a compromise?
Let's do it *our* way. And for that to happen, we've got to keep
avenues of communication open. You've got to be able to talk to me
and I've got to be able to talk to you, each of us without
apprehension. This can't be the last talk we have on the subject. Do
you agree with that?"
"Agreed, but I know if I wait until the moment *seems* right, I may
wait forever. Let's make a date. Right now, for later. Tomorrow
say? Even if it's just a brief check in, I'll feel better if I know I
have a date to talk with you...about sex. Okay?"
"Boy, a date with my son!"
"I'm not gonna bring flowers or anything."
Continue...
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