Chapter 12: Surprise Under the Pillow

After our last near-hit-near-miss encounter, my sister and I had almost no time to consider our lives much less our sexual attraction. The demands of school and our otherwise busy social lives grabbed all our energy and attention. The glances and poignant smiles served to remind us frequently of the pull we'd come to acknowledge but our natural cautiousness coupled with our jam-packed lives served to buffer our lusty appetites. Yet we had opened a door of intimacy that was never to close for all the days of our lives. In a dozen small ways, we were more affectionately connected, open and trusting than we even knew.

Our mother, sensitive to the moods in our family, had not failed to notice that our one-time sibling abrasiveness and competitiveness had given way to a softer connection. I suspect she was relieved. I wondered if she might see anything beyond the surface. She did so often.

Pouring orange juice one morning at breakfast, Mom commented, "I want to tell you kids that it's so much more peaceful around here since you two became friends. My brother Jim and I did the same thing when we were about your age."

The same thing. What'd she mean?

Mom chatted on about her teenage life. Jean and I looked at each other, then she glanced at Mom and, looking again at me, raised an eyebrow as if to ask, "Do you suppose Mom and... ?"

For a moment I was shocked. Mom? Then remembering the lusty sounds we sometimes heard coming from my parent's bedroom, I smiled to myself. Jean and I had then decided that our parents probably had done "it" more than twice. Shrugging my mental shoulders, I thought, "Why not?"

Returning to the present, I became more aware of my mother, of her dress. She was wearing a light robe and several times as she was gesturing I'd seen her breasts move under it. I thought, "Christ, Billy, you are a real perv. Your own mother!"

In a silent mime, Jean's eyes opened in astonishment and she put her finger tips across the surprised "Oh" of her open mouth... just as Mom looked up.

"What?" Mom asked.

Quick to recover, Jean replied, "Oh, I just remembered that I forgot my French book at school."

Jumping in, attempting to divert Mom's attention, I asked, "Did you and your brother fight a lot, Mom?" I wasn't interested in their fighting as much as the possibility of their connection. Not that I expected she'd tell us much, but perhaps we could beat around the bushes a little.

Laughing, she remembered, "Sure. Just like most brothers and sisters I guess -- but you know, we really loved each other."

Jean and I looked at each other again. You know, that silent "look" that says, "Hmmm." Then I looked at Mom's breasts. Jean glanced at Mom and then slowly shook her head in silent remonstration.

Continuing, Mom added, "You know your Uncle Jim. He's a strong, take-charge kinda guy now, but he was a little younger than me when we were kids. Still is for that matter. Why, there was a time when I could beat him up." Then, looking off into some unfocused middle distance, she shook her head and added ruefully, "That didn't last long. He grew up fast!"

Jean snorted her juice through her nose, remembering, I supposed, the play on words we'd often used, about my "growing UP." Picking up her napkin, she dabbed her face and fake sneezed to cover her embarrassment. "And then what happened?" she asked.

"Oh, you know. I used to bully him and then he grew up, more than just physically. He matured and became a man, like over night, and then he started to tease me, even though he was younger."

"Did it bother you? That change I mean?" I asked, thinking of how my relationship with Jean had changed in a similar way and wondering just what had gone on in Mom's younger life. The truth was, I'd ceased to think of her as a chaste, puritanical person sometime ago. I knew she was sexual with our Dad but I suppose I thought he had been the first and the last, her only. That limited view of my mother's humanness was slowly giving way to a more realistic acceptance of her as she probably was. The thing was, I didn't know how she was. I was more than casually interested... more than I wanted to admit to myself.

Mom continued, "Well, at the time I didn't want your Uncle Jim to know, but secretly, I was pleased. I mean, he was so strong and so smart. He could just fix things and he began to take care of me. I liked that." She paused, buttering her toast. "Once there was this guy -- a real jerk, obnoxious and mean, who was always teasing the girls -- saying dirty things about them. Well, this guy said something about me once -- in front of a bunch of guys -- something dirty I think. Jim heard about it and walked right up to the guy -- who was bigger than him by the way -- and said, Don't ever talk about my sister, ' and without another word, smashed him right in the nose."

Jean gasped, "Really, Mom? Uncle Jim?"

"Yep. I was there. Saw it all. The guy fell back. He grabbed his nose. It was bleeding all over the place. He was crying and saying he was going to kill my brother. Jim walked up to him again and again, without another word, punched him right in the stomach. Down he went. Stayed there too, cryin', slobberin' and cursin'. But he didn't get up. Your uncle said, Yeah, yeah. You'll shit too, if you're well fed. Get up if you want some more, asshole.'"

Then hearing the words of her own account, Mom reddened and glancing at us, added, "Oops. Pardon my French."

"Far out," I said, even more impressed with my uncle.

"Oh, my... I never heard that story," said Jean. "That's really something." And then turning to me with a smile, she asked, "Would you fight for me, little brother?"

"I guess. I mean, I might," and then turning to Mom added, "If she wasn't so darn strong and mean already!"

Jean threw her napkin at me and yelled, "You shit! I am not! MOM, make him stop!"

Covering my head with one arm, I held up the peace sign with the other hand and quickly said, "Sor-ry. Didn't mean it. Honest. Peace. Peace?" Then, turning to my mother, I added in a stage whisper, "She's cute when she's mad, isn't she?"

Mom leaned back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. Her eyes and voice softened. "You two remind me so much of me and Jim, I can't get over it." Her nipples were poking through her robe. I tried not to stare. I failed.

The voice in my head asked, "Did you and Uncle Jim fool around, Mom?" But the voice that came out of my head asked, "You guys ever double date, Mom?"

She smiled that special smile of remembrance. "Sure. Lots. We'd share all our stuff with each other. He always had an opinion of the guys who'd ask me out. Some were OK and some were not. And he'd always ask me about the girls he dated. Things like... " and then she suddenly stopped talking, seemingly embarrassed.

Stepping into the embarrassed silence, I said, "That hasn't changed. If it wasn't for my wise counsel, Jean'd date some real weirdos, I can tell you that."

Jean surprised me, for she didn't argue. "Yeah, Billy knows a lot about the guys that I don't... that girls don't in general." Turning to me, she added, "I appreciate your caring, Bro."

Jean was picking up on the direction this was taking. We worked well together that way. But we knew Mom was no patsy and we didn't want to be too obvious. We just knew she'd shut up like a clam if she picked up on what was in our heads -- my head anyway.

"Mom, could you talk to Uncle Jim about... uh... about your feelings and... " she finished lamely, "and... things?"

Mom, sensing Jean's discomfort, forgot her own and laid a hand on her arm. "Sure, baby. We could talk about everything. That's why it was so special."