I’m Viv, and my mom and I have always been really close. With only a very few exceptions -- all of which involved a short “tape delay” in my reports to her about my budding sex-life with her other children years ago -- there really hasn’t been anything that we haven’t been able to talk about. In a very frank and open manner as equals. Somebody once said that we were so tall because we stood on the shoulders of giants. That is certainly true in my case. When I was young, I lived in my parent’s house. Then I went off to college, I had my own house and started my own branch of our family. I shared houses with other members of my family, one of the most fun was an old beachfront hotel we bought together, living in a part of it and operating the rest as a business.

When we moved to the Caribbean, we invited mom and dad to visit and when they liked it -- duh, it was beachfront on a tropical island in the Caribbean, what’s not to like -- we invited them to stay. At first they lived down the road a bit. Then when they got older we got a big house together. It was in that big house that we share that the story I am relating took place. Mom and dad have always been truly in love with one another. I thought it was very unusual when I was a teenager, because the majority of my friends’ parents could barely tolerate or speak civilly with one another. Many of them were divorced, others probably should hve been -- it would have been far less stressful -- some of their parents had been married and divorced several times.

We had of course talked about sex, but I wasn’t of an age that mom felt comfortable sharing all of her knowledge with me. So as a result, I spied on my parents. I learned so much more by observation than by conversation. I learned that their love for one another manifested itself in a very healthy sexual relationship. One that I went on to emulate in a great ways that at first made both of them rather uncomfortable. But ways they grew to accept. In point of fact, what I was doing it was actually quite logical and just following their lead.

So we’re here we were, Mom and I were in the kitchen making breakfast, and I had noticed that she hadn’t been herself lately. So I struck up a conversation with her concerning this observation. It was more than a year ago as I write this. So I don’t remember exactly the way the conversation started but The information that I was seeking came out very quickly. Due to some new physical limitations on her part, she was not able to engage in some of the sex acts that she and my father truly enjoyed.

We continued discussing this subject, and for the most part, it boiled down into a couple of specific infirmities. She got dizzy when lowering her head onto his lap to perform fellatio while sitting on the sofa or the bed. A couple of favorite places to do it because it was far more personal than her down on her knees in front of him on the sofa which had its own issues concerning joints. No, not the rather large one being slapped across her face that she very much enjoyed sucking on. But the two joints located between her hips and ankles.

They also found that her grip was suffering due to arthritis, and the topical medications that she used to relieve the pain of that arthritis were not conducive to being used shortly before handling my father’s wedding tackle -- although in fact when I was a younger woman I engaged in erotic play that included the liberal use of that analgesic ointment -- I do recall, however, my brother Van being none too enthralled with having his foreskin very lightly coated with wintergreen oil. I remember it is a fun game. One that my sister Ann and I first played as a twosome pretending to circumcise each other by placing a little Bengay on each other’s clitorises. It was a pretty intense game, but then I’ve always been pretty intense.

We of course had to include Van in this game. Since mom and dad hadn’t seen fit to have him strapped to a board as a defenceless infant while a healthy part of his anatomy was chopped off -- so that as an adult he might feel less pleasure and have less control over his own sexuality -- we would have to do it for him. Although in a playful and not a permanently damaging way. This is one of the ways that I just don’t fit in. I got kicked off Esoterica.kam for telling this story about consensual sex play with an over the counter medication that harmed absolutely nobody. Yeah, I’m the weirdo, because I lick my sister’s clitoris and suck my brother’s cock and chose not to sexually mutilate my infant son in a society where normal people do exactly the opposite.

So, after mom and I made breakfast and everybody sat down together and enjoyed the food that we had made, and more than that each other’s company, I found a moment to have a short conversation with Van. Yes, that would be the same Van I just mentioned, my brother Van, my lover Van, the father of my children Van. That Van, the Van who doesn’t like Bengay spread lightly on his foreskin, penile shaft, or scrotum. -- Well, you know, we played some castration after a final blowjob games too --.

“Van, mom and dad have a problem that I want to help them out with.”

“What is that?”

“It’s something that I, or maybe we, could probably help them out with.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Mom’s grip is weak, and she gets dizzy spells when she lowers her head too much. Especially when it moves around.”

“Well, Viv, I’m not certain what it is that she needs a strong grip for. And it seems to me that if lowering her head is an issue, you probably could figure out a way where you didn’t have to do that at all, or very often.”

“That’s exactly the situation. I figure that if the rest of us take care of things for them, then they won’t be required to do things that they’re either physically not able to do, or that it are uncomfortable for them to do.”

“Sounds perfectly logical to me.”

“So, Van, I figured that I could just do some stuff for mom. Stuff that she would normally be doing. In order to make things easier on her.”

“Pretty much the same thing you’re doing now.”

“The same thing that both of us are doing right now.”

“Yes, Van, and your point is?”

“That you are special.”

“Yes, I rode this little short bus.”

“I know, Viv, I was there too.”

“In the white shirt with the really long sleeves.”

“With lots of buckles.”

“Van, l just wanted to wanted to make sure it was okay with you. And I might ask you to do something as well, we’ll see.”