Some things never change. Like the way Mom and Dad went at each other, for the example generating this story.
You would think, end of the work week, Friday night would be worn out for the folks. This became true, only to the extent that they wore one another out. Every weekend of my growing up went like that. Every morning of the weekend, Mom would be up, making breakfast, humming and singing snippets of pop songs from her youth. Dad would always be really hungry. We'd all do our stuff until lunch, and then after lunch--both days most weekends--they'd go adjourn for a long and loud afternoon nap.
And then Mom would be making dinner, practically floating across the kitchen floor. And then again late even on Sunday night.
By the time I was twelve or thirteen, I'd figured out what was going on.
I vividly remember the night when Erin, my little sister, came bursting into my bedroom, whispering her shout, "Aaron? Aaron? should we call 911? It sounds like Dad's murdering Mom."
I faked a haughty Continental laugh. "Mother is enjoying what the French call the little death. Meaning she likes being speared by Father. She's enjoying those same scintillating sensations as when you rub yourself between your legs."
She'd blushed clear up her forehead, before scrambling back to her room.
But that was ages ago. Yet once again I was certain I would be able to smoothly fall asleep, only to be interrupted by the noise of my parents.
This time, I was sharing a room with my sister. We each had our own big bed. I lay there in the dark, Erin the only one asleep in all the cabin. Except, I gradually realized, she wasn't. I lay there, trying not to touch my enthused self.
But then I started hearing this squishing sort of sound, and I couldn't quite figure it out. Figure out what it was. Erin choked back some sounds, and I realized I was listening not only to my parents fucking, but also my sister masturbating the next bed over. Finally they finished soon enough; Erin kept on going, closer, getting ever closer.
By that point, I had a firm hand on my firmness. Thankfully I'd gone to bed wearing socks. I quietly shucked one off and had it at hand when I made my solitary mess.
I was home for the summer after my first year of college. I was ready to lie around and do nothing. Maybe find a job. It was also the summer after Erin had graduated high school--she was already accepted to the state university I went to, a couple hours from town.
Mom had decided it would be our last family vacation before Erin too flew the coop, so there was no way I could get out of it. We drove a few hours to one of the fantastic state parks. There were two bedrooms. The two of them hogged the big room with the pair of queen beds. Erin and I split the smaller pair in the other bedroom.
Where we masturbated quietly, and separately.
Mom and Dad were in the kitchen, working up a serious breakfast. They were harmonizing on old show-tunes as they worked. It was an awkward meal. By that point, it was clear to me that Erin had realized that not only had I heard her enjoying herself, but that I knew she knew I'd jacked-off in a sock.
Our cabin came equipped with a full kitchen, and though we had tons of stuff in the fridge, Mom decided it would be nice to go up to the lodge for lunch. After two semesters of cafeteria food, I was not about to argue. Our state parks were renowned for their food. Though their budgets had been slashed all to hell, they still employed actual chefs to run their restaurants. Graduates of Culinary Arts schools. The fare was the usual stuff, but it was done with flair--you couldn't ask for a better cheeseburger. The fries made you grateful for your taste buds.
Mom and Dad ordered their drinks and immediately headed to the buffet. I chose to order off the menu. It wasn't that I was sick of steam tables; I wanted to survive the afternoon, and the all-you-can-eat option carried a heavy weight. I ordered the club sandwich, which came with chips so I wouldn't get sick of the fries.
Erin was coming back from a look at the buffet. "That sounds great," she looked at me, turning to the waitress, "I'll have the same."
Their version of the club had the turkey and bacon, but also country ham and two types of cheese. The lettuce was an actual bib leaf of something other than crappy iceberg; it was too early for the local season, but the slices of tomato were still fresh and juicy, obviously not from some warehouse in California.
Our sandwiches arrived correctly quartered. Instead of one dill pickle spear stuck on the side of the plate, there were two, halved and interleaved between the spread apart sections of sandwich. The center of the plates were mountains of gorgeous potato chips. The rippled variety, totally crisp, huge top-of-the-bag chips.
As the waitress walked away, Erin looked at me. "Aaron, this is a lot of food."
"But such delicious food," I answered, picking up my first quarter and taking a big bite.
We slowly made our way through our food, while Mom and Dad kept running back to the buffet and returning with plates laden with something different from the previous ones. I foresaw a long afternoon nap in their future. Which would doubtlessly get pretty noisy at some point.
I stuffed myself, hoping to sleep through all that, willing to sacrifice an afternoon of my vacation. My sister seemed similarly reconciled.
The funny thing was that when we were back outside and waddling to the car, Dad nodded as Mom announced that next they were going to try out the golf course. Their clubs were in the trunk. It was an astonishing turn of events, particularly when they said they were driving straight there. We were welcome to join them--neither of us golfed--or else we could walk back to the cabin.
It was barely fifteen minutes by foot, but it was all up and down.
Back in the cabin, I hogged the couch. Erin didn't care, draping herself over the arms of one of the overstuffed chairs. I was trying to read a book, but the words started swimming. Between the meal, the hike home, and the hour of the afternoon, I was starting to drown.
My sister was reading a magazine, but instead of the usual crisp snap of turned pages every minute or so, it was like her eyes had sunk into the inner margin.
I yawned loudly and stretched. "Might be naptime for this big baby."
"Ready to nap together?" she nodded.
"You bet, if I can manage to escape the clutches of this sofa." We groaned and snorted laughs as we ungainfully got up from the goddamn furniture.
In our room, Erin approached her neatly made bed. Mine was still the swirled nest I'd risen from in the morning. My plan involved just kicking off my shoes and flopping down on top of the rumpled bedding. I'd gotten my shoes off, when I was distracted by a little metallic snapping sound.
Actually, it was the sound of a tight snap being undone. Mostly back towards me, my sister slid her jeans down and off her bare ankles. She turned to stare at me staring at her.
"What's the matter?" she asked with a slight quaver. "Never seen a girl in her panties before?"
I diverted my eyes, and it took me half a minute to look back and reply, "Well, never seen my sister in her panties."
"Guess there's a first time for everything," she gave a little wink before turning back to turn down the bed. She scrambled up and under the covers, sitting up on one side of the bed. She patted the other side. "Come on," she said.
I was totally confused, and I suppose my eyes spoke that truth.
"You said you wanted to take a nap together," Erin stated factually, "and I'm definitely not sleeping over in your mess of a bed."
And then she added, "And by the way, no pants allowed in my bed. And certainly no socks." I couldn't quite decide if her smile had turned an ironic bent with that final remark.
I'd been given my orders, and there seemed no option but to comply. I'd meant napping together in the same room, but the misunderstanding was already in play.
Using my feet to peel off the other's sock was easy. I was embarrassed when I pulled down my pants and remembered my underwear. I left my arms dangling as I stepped out of the pants, my wrists crossed as my hands hid my crotch like a shy young girl.
"Oooh!" Erin clapped, "I was betting on boxers, and instead it's sexy-boy bikinis!"
I was truly mortified. Like I was one of those boy-band sluts who modeled the damn things in magazine ads.
"When I was a boy, underpants were white. And then they started adding colors, which was cool. I need some new ones, so I go to the store and grab a pack--I wasn't aware they were making them in different styles now, with different cuts."
"I'm teasing, Aaron. I bought some once which turned out to be thongs. Why would I want a string up the crack of my ass? Us girls spend half our lives pulling our panties out of our butts. Not to mention, you actually got the bod to do them skimpy things some serious justice."
I was blushing all over the place, so I figured the best bet would be for me to slither under the covers myself. I sat up against my pillow just like Erin. We sat like that, like we were awaiting room-service bed trays. But almost immediately, my sister started slinking down, head-to-pillow. I didn't know what else to do, so I followed suite.
We lay facing each other. Erin kept trying to get more comfortable on her pillow, inching over until our noses were nearly touching. She gave a broad smile, then leaned in and gave me a chaste kiss on the lips. "First time for everything, right?"
.... There is more of this story ...