Chapter 5

I had known both of these women for years and years, but I don’t think I really understood how close mother and daughter were. I was handicapped by the fact that I had not raised a child of my own for sixteen years. Sure, I’d helped out with Harper, but it was still very different than having my own daughter. I’d never dealt with feminine hygiene, or puberty, or periods. I’d never had to discuss dating and when that would (or would not) happen. I’d never had long conversations about boys and what they were like and wanted from a girl.

But Hannah had done all those things. I’d had glimpses of the results of all that, but not the whole show. So I wasn’t aware that a mother and daughter can become very close, when it comes to having frank discussions about relationships between the genders.

When we appeared, clothed again, I was invited to dinner. That was a more normal kind of thing, and I was reaching for normal, just then. It got abnormal when when I found out that, apparently, there wasn’t anything they couldn’t talk about together. Harper talked about what she was happy and unhappy with, in terms of the painting. Then, calmly, she said,”Bob got hard again, right at a critical part of shading his penis in the painting and I had to stop.”

“Don’t be too surprised,” said Hannah. “Men have pretty short fuses, generally. And you were naked, which didn’t help him have control.”

“I asked him if I could make it soft again, you know, like you did,” said Harper, as if it was the same thing as helping me button my shirt.

“Oh?” Hannah’s head came up and her eyes came to pin me to my chair.

“He wouldn’t let me. He wouldn’t even let me come ask you if it was okay.”

“So what happened?”

“He did it himself,” said Harper, reaching for the bowl of green beans right beside me.

“And you watched?”

“Of course,” said Harper. “How often does a girl my age get to see something like that?”

“I would hope that’s a very rare occurrence,” said Hannah. “You’re very young, Honey.”

“I know,” said Harper, throwing her mother a bone. “It was just too interesting to miss. I think I got a little turned on.”

“That’s normal, too,” said Hannah, which caused me to drop my fork.

She looked at me and said, “Is that all that happened?”

“I’m really sorry,” I moaned, avoiding the question. “I didn’t expect it, and it just happened.”

“You’re a man,” she said. “I’d have been surprised if it hadn’t happened, under the circumstances. Like I said, it’s good to know you’re not gay.”

“Gay?” Harper stopped eating and looked at both of us with interest.

“I was a little concerned about him,” said her mother, as if talking about my sexual orientation was a common event in this house. “ He never goes out on dates.”

“I noticed that. But you never go out on dates either, Mom, and I never thought you were a lesbian.”

“That’s complicated,” said Hannah. “Maybe some day I’ll talk to you about that, but not until you’re older and have more experience with men. Now, let’s eat. Bob’s probably tired and would like to go home.”

The rest of supper was uneventful. When it was finished, Hannah asked Harper to take care of the dishes.

“I want to talk to Bob before he leaves,” she said.

“Sure.” Harper looked at me. “Thanks a lot for posing for me. It really helped and I learned a lot. I’m not sure your portrait is a representation of my best work. If I can’t fix it, would you be willing to pose one more time?”

I blinked. I was adrift on heaving waves, way out at sea, with no land in sight. I wasn’t having any trouble staying afloat, but I was still concerned.

“You can talk to him about it later,” said Hannah.

She went with me to the front porch and leaned against the handrail.

“Bob, Bob, Bob,” she said, softly. “What are we going to do with you?”

“I have no freaking idea,” I sighed. “I feel like this is all a long dream.”

“Nightmare?” asked my best female friend in the world.

“No, I wouldn’t characterize it that way at all,” I said. “I just don’t understand how all this happened.”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Go ahead,” I said.

“It may not help.”

“What the hell,” I sighed. “Go for it.”

“About two years after Denny died, I decided that I’d mourned long enough and that I needed to try to move forward. I started looking around at the men in my life, again.”

“The men in your life?”

“Men at work, customers, guys I ran into on a semi-regular basis, stuff like that,” she said.

“Okay.”

“I wasn’t ready to actually seek any relationship, but I knew I had to move on eventually.”

“That makes sense,” I said.

“Then I realized there already was a man in my life, a man who I already had a relationship with, and who I liked a lot.” She stared at me. “It was a guy named Bob Oberon.”

“Me? Really?”

“Except that I never got a single feeling that you were interested in me, she said. “As a woman,” she added, softly.

They say the truth will set you free, so I gave that a shot.

“I hid it,” I said. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate it if you knew I was thinking about you as anything other than a friend.”

“Always the gentleman,” she sighed. “I suppose that’s one reason I admire you so much.” She blinked. “Want to know something?”

“Sure,” I said.

“One time I was fooling around on the computer and looked up your name.”

“My name?”

“Your last name: Oberon. It means a woodland clearing, where the fairies dance. Oberon means dancing and flowers, things that glitter and sparkle. It’s supposed to evoke the sweet scent of flowers, the music of flutes and bells. Oberon is the original man, who needs to be celebrated with garlands, joy and a lust for life. You didn’t know that?”

I stared at her. I did manage to shake my head.

“It was so different than how you acted, that I started watching you. And I realized that you had danced around our lives ever since I’ve known you. Even before I married Denny, you were there, being your sweet self. Your glitter and sparkle is muted, but it’s there. You’re caring and loving. You’ve been with us when we needed you, like flutes and bells urging us to keep moving.”

I kept staring. I was dumbstruck.

She crossed her arms under her breasts. I shamelessly looked right at them before dragging my eyes up to her face. It was obvious she knew exactly where I had been looking.

“Sorry,” I said, automatically.

“I was worried you might be gay, but I have to admit I did notice you looking at my boobs sometimes.”

“They’re very nice boobs,” I said, lamely.

She laughed.

“Thank you for letting me get a little closer to you today,” she said.

“You’re welcome.”

“I hope we might be able to be friendly like that again someday?”

“Oh, hell yes,” I said.

“Good. Now, about Harper.”

“Harper?”

“How did you feel about how she acted today?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I know my daughter. I couldn’t believe she wanted to be naked in front of you ... with you.”

“I hear that,” I sighed.

“She’s smack dab in the middle of puberty. She was curious ... wanted to do things with you ... like I wanted to do things with you.”

“You did?”

“I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t wanted to, Bob.”

“Of course.”

“I think Harper has a crush on you.”

“That’s silly.”

“Why? I have a crush on you. You mean a lot to her, Bob.”

Her casual admission that she had a crush on me slammed into me, but like a gust of wind, passed. I’d think about that later. It didn’t keep me from continuing the conversation.

“That’s fine, but like I told her, I’m twice her age. I can’t be her boyfriend.”

“Of course not. But you are a man in her life whom she trusts and loves.”

“So, you want me to let her down easy?”

“I don’t think it will come to that. What I was thinking was that we might let her experiment with a man under controlled circumstances, like we did today. Eventually she’ll lose interest in you as she transfers that interest to boys her own age.”

“Experiment? Are you crazy?”

“No. She’s going to get this kind of experience sooner or later. All girls do. I’d rather she get it with someone I trust.”

“Okay. I’m going to have my mental breakdown, now,” I said. “I think I want to do that at home, though. If I don’t call you in the morning, could you send an ambulance over? Tell them to bring a straitjacket.”

“It’s not that bad,” said Hannah. “I realize things are happening very quickly, but we’ve also wasted a lot of time, Bob. I don’t want to waste any more.”

With that she came to me and kissed me on the lips. It was a gentle kiss, the kind you give someone who’s been hurt, a kind of healing kiss. But it also lasted a heck of a lot longer than a peck and had a sexual component that affected me strongly.

So strongly that, as I left their front gate, I had another fucking boner.

I went home and took a shower. I didn’t really need one, but standing under the hot water was relaxing. Of course the fact that I masturbated might have been part of why I was so relaxed when I stepped out of the stall.

This time I felt no guilt as, with my eyes closed and water beating down on my head, I remembered Hannah saying she had a crush on me, and imagined her naked, on the bed, as Harper painted her. In my little fantasy I was standing there, watching and, for reasons I didn’t spend a lot of time inventing, Harper didn’t mind at all when I approached the bed and fucked the living crap out of her model. Then, later that night, as I was falling asleep, I continued that fantasy while I jerked another load out. Except this time Harper said she needed a break and her mother said, “I’ll take over for you, Dear,” and got up and started painting while I fucked the shit out of her daughter.

I said there was no guilt, and that’ s true ... while I was having the fantasy. The next morning I felt a little like a closet satyr.

I had some things to do around the yard, so I did those chores. I was hosing off the mower when I saw a figure bouncing down the street and recognized the jogger as Hannah. She was wearing bright blue spandex shorts with one of those tops that looks vaguely like a V which could be a demented swim suit that barely covers the loins but completely obscures the breasts. It was also made of spandex, but was a vivid rose color. The overall effect was that the top was like an arrow pointing to her sex, but she was securely covered in two layers of cloth.

Her hair was up in a long ponytail and she looked like her image belonged on the cover of one of those sports magazines as the model for the teaser, “ Running in your thirties” or maybe, “Have a baby, then run a marathon!”

I’d seen her in this outfit before, and others she had for running, too. She’d tried to get me to go with her hundreds of times, but I always turned her down. Part of that was that she was in better shape than I could ever hope to be, which meant I’d be running behind her, which meant I’d be watching those hips rising and falling and seeing her butt packed into those tight shorts, and that wouldn’t be healthy for me. Or at least that’s how I’d felt about it all those years. Knowing that there had been information I wished I’d had then, I thought it might not be so bad to lust after her while exercising. Except it would kill me to try to get in as good a shape as she was in.

She slowed to a stop and walked in a circle with her hands on her hips. While this outfit fit her like a second skin, it also never telegraphed her nipples. Nor had it ever even suggested a camel toe. It was actually quite modest as it screamed for the observer to celebrate her healthy sexuality. She didn’t seem all that out of breath, but there was a film of sweat on her face and the little stray hairs above her ears were stuck to her moist skin.

“‘Sup?” I said, turning off the hose.

“Went for a run,” she said, still making circles.

“I see that.”

“Didn’t help,” she said.

“Help what? I asked.

“Can I use your shower? I’m all sweaty.”

“Did you bring something to change into?” I asked. I was a bit surprised by her odd behavior.

“I’ll borrow something from you.”

“Sure,” I said.

“Thanks. You smell like gasoline.”

“I just mowed the lawn,” I said.

“No girl wants to be around a guy who smells like gasoline.”

“Oh? And just what does your majesty suggest I do about that?”

“You need a shower, too,” she said, reaching for my arm.

She was ... driven. That’s the only word I can think of to describe how she was acting. She gripped my elbow firmly enough that I winced a couple of times as she pulled me into my own house and through the bedroom to the master bath. She had actually helped me install my new shower when I renovated that bathroom, so of course she knew it would hold us both at the same time, with room to spare.

As I say, she seemed driven, in such a way that speaking didn’t seem to be appropriate, so I just went with her. When we got there she practically ripped my shirt up and off my arms before saying,” You do the rest.” Then she commenced to get untangled from all that spandex. By the time she stood up from leaving her running togs in a shiny puddle on the floor, I was standing there trying to figure out where to put my hands. I had an erection to be proud of and it jutted from my groin like a howitzer seeking a target.

“Good,” she said tersely as she glanced at it.

Then she opened the stall and turned on the water, leaning in, standing on one dainty foot, with the other leg stretched out behind her for balance, as she stuck her hand in the falling water until it was the right temperature. I just stared at this gorgeous woman who felt no compunction about letting me see her this way and planned on things getting a lot more personal.

When the water was the way she wanted it, she stepped in, then turned to me and leaned out, staring in my eyes. Hers were full of tears, one of which had spilled over and run down her cheek.

“Hey,” I said, softly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes I do,” she said. “ I’m not crying about Denny. He’d want me to be happy. I’m just so sad that we wasted all that time.”

“Oh,” I said.

“And we’re not wasting any more.”

“Yes ma’am, I said.

Then we took a shower together.

If you’ve ever seen videos of people swimming with dolphins, you’ll see them riding the beasts, and hugging them, or maybe just standing there while the dolphins swim between their legs or brush up against them while they stroke the animal’s sides. It’ s a very touchy/feely kind of thing and it looks almost sensual. Everybody is smiling and the dolphins are chittering and it makes you want to be there. Assuming you’re not afraid of dolphins or water.

The shower we took wasn’t like that. Or it was, but it also seemed to have elements of swimming with sharks in it as well.

By that I mean she was hungry, almost voracious. There was lots of stroking of silky, smooth hides but her teeth also got involved, nipping at my skin wherever her mouth happened to run into it. She actually seemed to be trying to leave hickeys on my skin, like she was marking me as her territory or something. Eventually my lips and teeth came into play as well. I sucked the ever-loving crap out of her nipples and gave her three hickeys on her neck. She knew I was doing it and arched her neck, giving me room to continue. Her nails left streaks of pink down my back as she rubbed her body against mine so violently that it was like she was trying to make our bodies merge into one.

Then, too impatient to even pause long enough to dry off, she ran with me to my bed, gasping aloud, and jumped to twist in the air, landing on her back with her long, firm, runner’s legs spread and her arms out to me.

There was no foreplay, or at least what foreplay there was happened in the shower. I jumped too (less gracefully, I suspect) and landed with my knees between her calves and my hands beside her hips. It became obvious Harper had invented at least one thing about her mother in the portrait she’d drawn ... pubic hair. Hannah’s glistening labia and mound were just as bare of hair as her daughter’s loins. Perhaps in tune with her more mature appearance, the mother’s labia were bulging, where her daughter’s had been tightly closed. These lips were loose and flushed and stayed open as the finger she’d pushed into her vagina upon landing came out to circle her clit. I could see that clearly, too, standing up proudly.