Chapter 15: Mud and Mother

Thursday afternoon arrived hot and humid, the kind of oppressive late-summer weather that promised storms. Mom announced she wanted to tackle the garden beds before they got baked in from the Summer, and Emma immediately volunteered to help.

“I’ll join too,” I said, looking up from my laptop.

Mom smiled. “Perfect. Let me get changed.”

Twenty minutes later, we were all in the backyard wearing our oldest clothes — Mom in threadbare jean shorts and a tank top, Emma in cutoff shorts and a sports bra, me in gym shorts and a t-shirt that had seen better days. The garden was a mess of overgrown weeds and unruly bushes, clearly neglected from the last few weeks of sex and cruises. And the weather predicted a storm by the weekend.

We worked in comfortable silence at first, pulling weeds and stringing grownets. The physical labor felt good after so much mental and emotional intensity lately. I watched the beads of sweat form on the soft skin of my mother and sister, and they started to glisten from the humid air.

“So,” Mom said after about twenty minutes, “how are you two really doing? With everything?”

I knew she meant the lifestyle, the family intimacy, all of it. Emma and I exchanged glances.

“Honestly?” Emma said, yanking a stubborn weed. “I’ve never been happier. Or more confused.”

“Confused how?” Mom asked.

“Just ... trying to balance everything. Like, I love what we have as a family. I love the freedom and honesty. But sometimes I wonder if we’re going to get caught, or if this will all blow up somehow.”

I nodded in agreement. “Same. The highs are incredible — feeling this connected to you guys, getting to meet all of these people and have sex with them, how much I’ve been forced to be honest about myself. But boy does it come with a lot of fears.”

Mom sat back on her heels, wiping sweat from her forehead. “You think I don’t have those same fears? Your dad and I talk about it all the time. But here’s what we keep coming back to — this is real. What we have is love and choice and honesty. Whatever consequences come, we’ll face them together.”

“You really believe that?” Emma asked.

“I do. Because the alternative — going back to shame and hiding and pretending we don’t want what we want — that’s worse than any consequence. And such missed opportunities!” Mom smiled at us and stretched against the afternoon warmth, showing off a bit for us, those visible curves glowing in the sunlight. “Not to mention all the fun exercise we get to have! I haven’t felt this fit in years!”

She grabbed her breasts with those thick gardening gloves and mreowed at us, giggling. But her expression quickly turned soft, those brown eyes glancing between me and my sister. Her eyes glistened with sudden emotion, and she touched my check, the glove fabric rough.

“You two have grown so much this summer. You’re not kids anymore. You’re adults making choices.”

“Even me?” Emma asked. “I’m still fifteen — I’m not feeling that adult in my choices.”

“Especially you. You wouldn’t believe the wisdom that you carry. You knew what you wanted before any of us had the courage to admit it. You’re growing into such an amazing woman, Emma.”

She snuffed and wiped a tear off her face, which just smudged a bunch of dirt across those lovely aged freckles. Even with her laugh lines and streaks of grey, she was so utterly and completely gorgeous. I felt such a power of sexual attraction to this woman that I was almost knocked over by it.

God, how I wanted to fuck my mom. I can’t believe that that was a thought that I was thinking. Not just thinking it, I wanted to climb the house and shout it across the neighborhood. My cock was rigid and thick with desire, and I’m sure I’d turned completely red in the face.

Emma turned to me and just burst into laughter. She gave me an elbow and a look that was just raw “you horny perverted motherfucker, you want to fuck our mom!”, which, uh, is a whole lot of stuff to say with just a look.

But Mom? She just smiled lovingly at us, and we all returned to weeding. The sun beat down, she was humming some cheerful song, and I could tell in that moment, that she was so stuffed with pride that there wasn’t a single part of her that wasn’t happiness. Magical.

The conversation continued, meandering through topics both mundane and profound. Emma talked about starting sophomore year, nervous but excited. I mentioned possibly taking a gap year in college, maybe upping my workload at Blackwood. Mom shared her hopes for the retreat — wondering at the full scope of this movement Richard had built, what it meant for our family to be part of this new big thing.

The conversation was interesting enough that we didn’t notice how the sky had been darkening steadily, the sunlight all but blocked. Just as we started looking up from distant rumble of thunder, the first drops fell — fat and warm, spattering us.

“Should we go in?” I asked.

Mom looked at the sky, then at us, then grinned. “Just a Summer cloudburst. We could stay out. It’ll pass soon and I’m sweaty, it’ll feel nice.”

Emma laughed and held up a hand. “I’m game, let’s stay out. I love that plan.”

The sprinkle became a steady rain within minutes, soaking us thoroughly. Our clothes clung to our bodies immediately—Mom’s tank top becoming nearly transparent, revealing the outline of her bra underneath. Emma’s sports bra did little to hide her hardening nipples. My own shirt plastered to my chest and abs.

“This is actually kind of nice,” Emma said, tilting her face up to the rain.

I flicked muddy water at her from a puddle that had formed. She shrieked and retaliated, and suddenly we were wrestling in the increasingly muddy garden, laughing like children.

Mom joined in, all three of us slipping and sliding, getting progressively filthier. Mud smeared across our skin, our clothes, our faces. Emma tackled me and we went down together in a puddle, both of us laughing breathlessly.