Chapter 10

June 17, 2017 (Saturday)

Dear Ms. Diary,

With florid fantasies of Dad and his cock, I worked myself through three orgasms, finally dropping off sometime after midnight this morning. I woke up groggy before 8, donned a T and a loose short, and headed to the kitchen. As soon as I hit the entryway, I stopped ... and started shucking clothes. I had forgotten! However, the sight of Mom standing by the sink in her altogether and my shirtless Dad sitting at the table (the lower portion of his anatomy, except for his feet and lower shins, was blocked by the table and chairs) provided a powerful reminder.

“Good morning, Shaggy,” greeted my dad. “I see you forgot.”

“Yeah, I woke up too soon. My brain is obviously not fully engaged, yet.”

Mom chimed in, “I do like this outfit better than the one in which you arrived,” and she grinned.

I blushed and looked down, noticing that the blush extended to my breasts.

Mom cackled, then said, “While I like your mature mien and how you seem to be fazed by little, I do like to see you blush!”

I glanced at Dad, who was looking at me and whose eyes looked like they had glazed over. I flushed again and quickly seated myself.

Mom cackled. Again.

“I’m surprised the table didn’t rise before you, Beth,” she said and cackled at her wit.

Dad interjected, nearly shouting, “Sandra!”

That just increased Mom’s levity from cackling to guffawing. Though my brain was not humming when I hit the kitchen entrance, the previous 30 seconds had kicked it into high gear, and I quickly figured out Mom’s meaning and Dad’s reaction.

I chanced a risqué response, “Is it that big?”

Dad’s loud response was overridden by Mom falling to the floor, kicking her heels, and giving the loudest – and longest – belly laugh I’ve ever heard from her. Dad had started to get up from his chair when she “fell,” but her laughter overcame his knee-jerk response to her possible injury before his cock rose above the level of the table – though I could see some pubic hair, and he sat back down, his face red.

“Okay,” said Dad after Mom’s laughing had reduced in intensity, “that was clever ... and quick ... on both your parts. I knew I would one day rue having intelligent family members. However, must our manners follow our clothes in this household policy change?”

My mother’s laughing, which had nearly stopped, took off to new heights. Perhaps two minutes later, she finally got enough control to speak. “No, Dear. Our manners have not disappeared. The new policy simply allows revealing more... [the pause was more than six months pregnant] of our intelligence and wit. I’m sorry if you cannot keep up with the distaff side of your immediate family, but I suspect you’ll get used to this.”

She then returned to laughing, though at more moderate intensity. I joined my laughter with hers.

Dad threw up his hands, scooted his chair back, stood up, and retreated to their bedroom. I got a very brief view of his cock and a good view of his great ass. Hmm, this clothing-optional thing might be more difficult than I thought. I suppose that, like Mom says Dad will, I’ll get used to it, but I got pretty horny watching Dad walk the 10 feet or so until he disappeared out of the kitchen.

Before I finished my cereal, Dad came back into the kitchen fully dressed. My immediate reaction was that Mom and I had crossed a line, but he announced that he was going to look into one-way glass for the kitchen and living room. “Do you want to go, Sandy?”

“No, that’s more up your alley and I’ll get started on the house cleaning.”

Dad walked behind my chair, put his arms around me from behind, and kissed my hair.

Into my ear, he whispered, “I love you, Sweetie, but this is going to be difficult for me. You look so much like your mother, and I’m gaga over her.”

I twisted around and threw my arms around his waist and buried my face in his chest. “I love you, Dad. Thanks for all this.”

At typical speaking decibels, he asked, “What’s on your docket, today?”

“I’ll help with the house and then I’m going with the gang, minus Rhee, to the mall.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“No, Gracey’s mom is taking us.”

“Okay, have a good time. I won’t be back before you leave, as I don’t know how long this will take and I’m going to the gym afterward. While your mother and I discussed changing the glass due to the new house policy, we hadn’t looked into it. I think the security lighting on the eaves will make one-way glass work as a way to hide our policy from the outside world at night, but I’m not sure of that. I’d prefer not needing to have the drapes always closed and we don’t want to be titillating the neighbors.”

“Okay. See ya, later.”

After spending a couple hours cleaning house, I got dressed to go to the mall. I quickly pondered that Mom and I had spent all morning doing normal household things, but we did it in the buff. That’s pretty damned cool!

Mom met me at the foot of the stairs after I got dressed; she was, of course, wearing her birthday suit still.

“Mistress, two things: 17th and no is the first. Oh, well three things. The second is that Charlie was quite worked up last night and I think that your lovely body was part of it.”

I blushed and stammered, but Mom continued.

“The third is that I wanted to thank you, again, for Thursday night. That was the best sex I’ve had in a long relationship with Charlie that is mostly stellar in the sex department.”

She then ducked her head, staring at the floor.

I stared at the top of her head for a bit, stammered, then got myself together.

“So, am I right, Supplicant, to infer that you enjoyed that so much at least partly due to the exhibition aspect? That you would like there to be more such?”

Mom, er ... Supplicant, hemmed a bit, then raised her head, looked me in the eyes, and responded, “Yes, Mistress.”

My phone indicated an incoming text, so I dug it out of my pocket and saw Gracey’s text that they were almost here.

I replaced my phone and said, “We’ll have to see about that, Supplicant. They’re almost here, Mom. I gotta go.”

“Okay, Honey, see you later.”

As I climbed into the back seat of Gracey’s mother’s car to join Liya there, I gave everyone a sunny “Morning!”

Gracey and her mother chimed back at me, but Liya responded, “Wow! Someone must have had a good night. You seem like you’re flying. And do you intend to cause a riot at the mall?”

I was nonplussed.

“What?”

“Girl, with those shorts – and I think that ‘shorts’ is too conservative a term for that clothing item – and those legs, you are, fer sure, gonna cause a stampede by every hetero Y-chromosome person in the place! And I’m not gonna protect you from those panting, tongue-lolling trolls!”

I looked down ... and felt my whole body flush. I hadn’t been aware that I had put on my very short, nearly Daisy Duke-type shorts. I had never before worn them in “public.” The tips of the front pockets protruded beyond the end of the “legs” – and that is way too liberal of a term for something that was, at best, a few inches long – of the pants.

“I didn’t realize,” I stammered. “Can we go back so that I can change, Mrs. García?”

“Oh, no, girl! You’re gonna live with it,” Liya shot back.

Gracey’s mother snickered and responded, “I don’t see any need for that. You look fine, Beth,” and then she snickered again; Gracey guffawed.

I hung my head. I was not going to live this one down anytime soon.

Liya wrapped her arms around me and cooed, “Oh, poor thing. You’re embarrassed, but I’m loving it. You’re always so with it, that this doesn’t happen very often.” Then she whispered in my ear, “I’ve always suspected you had an exhibitionistic alter-ego and I think it’s great that you’re letting it out to play. You should have gone with a halter top, rather than a T, though. That would have completed the look right fine!”

[Aside: I do not think I have let you know, Ms. Diary, that my best friends are at least as smart as I am. Liya is, I think, the smartest student in our grade, probably in our school, and is certainly the most well-read. That intelligence drives her wicked wit, which does not take prisoners, even of her friends. She might very well be nearly friendless if she hadn’t glommed onto us, but we appreciate her incredible cleverness, even when it’s pointed at one or all of us. And we know she just likes exercising her wit with others who get it and appreciate it. She has an incredible ability to tell other kids things that are cutting, but in such a way that the recipient often does not realize it. Of course, she isn’t intentionally hurtful, except to the assholes in our class and school ... such as Bradley. That is hilarious. Of course, it seems obvious to me she uses her wit quite a bit to cover her insecurity. I’ve been trying to work on that, but... ]

I whispered back, “I don’t have enough to hold up a halter top.”

She came back, “Poor, baby. You can’t have it all. You’re already the prettiest girl in the school, and you’re smart and athletic. You don’t need Rhee’s boobs. Of course, Rhee doesn’t need Rhee’s boobs, but them’s the breaks. Some of us have to get along with just plain and smart.”

“What,” I screeched out loud. “You’re not plain at all!”

Gracey chimed in from the front seat, “Is she on that ‘I’m just plain’ thing, again? Liya, you’ve got incredible eyes and a gorgeous smile. You’ll never be plain! I’ve certainly told you that a time or two. What’s got your ego depressed? Did Brett not talk to you, again?”

My head shot up and I glanced at Gracey and then stared at Liya. Was she interested in Brett, too? I thought I was the only one who could see past his shyness and too-skinny body. Leave it to our resident genius to have picked up on the possibility that is Brett.

I put my arms around Liya and said, “Come on, girl. He’s just very shy, particularly with girls, and even more particularly with attractive girls. I’ve known him longer than any of us and he’s always been that way. Since I’ve talked to and with him since we were in first grade, he’ll occasionally talk to me, though I don’t know that I’ve ever had a conversation with him that lasted more than a few minutes.”

Liya whispered, “Thanks,” in my ear.

“All right, girls,” announced Mrs. García, “we’re just about there.”

We arrived at the mall shortly before 11:30 and Gracey’s mother said she would be by to pick us up around 4:00, but that she would text Gracey when she had a more specific ETA. We piled out of the car, thanking Mrs. García, and hustled to the food court. We decided on Chinese, got three entrees and a gob of rice, and shared around, chattering all the while about little of consequence.

As we were busing our table, Bradley Whitford came up to me. Yes, that Bradley.

“Hey, Beth,” he said, “how are you?”

I was a bit flabbergasted that he’d talk to me and completely ignore my friends, but answered, somewhat curtly, “Ok.”

“Do you want to check out the new iPhones? I hear they’ve got some fancy new features and a better camera.”

“Uh, no, thanks. I’m good. Liya and Gracey and I were gonna do, you know, girl things.”

“Yeah. You know, you should hang out more with your kind.”

I don’t know if it was just me, but it seemed like the world went silent. I balked, but then quickly got mentally upright again, my dander rising. “My kind? I think I hang out with my ‘kind’ most of the time.”

Bradley glanced to my left where Gracey’s and Liya’s chins were just snapping back up, and I could see Liya preparing to take it to him. I continued

“Yes, my kind. You know, people with important features, like brains that work, and personalities open to cool and interesting things, even if they’re ‘different.’”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the beginnings of Liya’s world-class smirk and Gracey’s flashing eyes.

“Do you have a problem with smart people? Or fun people?”

Bradley opened his mouth, closed it, muttered something that sounded like “bitch,” and started to turn away.

“Oh, no you don’t, Braaaad-ley,” said Liya. “I’ve wondered what the hell you’re about. Now, I see. I’ll remind you that there are waaaay more Spanish speakers on the planet than English speakers and that when Europeans were mired in the Dark Ages and superstitious claptrap, the Library at Alexandria was larger than all European so-called libraries put together. What was white Europe’s response? Thanks to Rome, at least partly, the Library was trashed; the center of Western learning and knowledge, trashed, just because their superstitions did not allow them clarity of thought. You’re scared! Women and ‘people of color’ now greatly outnumber old, white men here in the US and those parts of the electorate are using that new-found power. You’re losing power and you’re lashing out. As Beth said, open your mind, use your brain. Don’t let that inner ugliness overcome that outer shell of pretty. I don’t hold much hope, but weirder things have happened.”

Bradley gawped like a fish; my friends glared at him. Again, he opened his mouth, closed it, and, quite surprisingly, turned away without trying for the last word. I turned to my friends.