Chapter 16: Jean's Confession

It was a warm morning, the type of warmth you know will precede a hot day. I was aware of a vague malaise, a sense of lethargy that was rooted in the sameness of the last week of uncharacteristic heat. Normally the cooling breezes of the Pacific, ten or fifteen miles over the coastal range, held off the valley heat. Must be some kinda low trapped right here, I concluded.

Still, I was feeling a bit restless and decided to take a hike into the Open Space District contiguous with our home. I wondered idly if Jean'd like to go with me, but she wasn't in her room and the downstairs was equally quiet. Grabbing a hiking stick from the bamboo rack, I walked out on the trellised deck in the back and found my mom and Jean sitting in the half-shade, looking out over the pond. They were leaning toward each other, apparently having a whispered conversation.

Both were wearing white shorts and T-shirts, probably I thought, to play tennis. It wasn't the first time I'd observed just how much alike they looked. Both were tan and fit, each with long, attractive legs. And that surprised me, for I'd not really thought of my mother in any way but as my mom.

"Hi, ladies. What's happenin'?"

Mom hesitated a moment, finishing something she was telling Jean and looked up. "Hi, yourself, dude. You look like you're going to take a walk."

"Yeah. Anyone wanna walk with me?"

Mom answered, "A little later perhaps? I'm too settled right now."

Jean smiled and said, "Me too, Billy. A little later?"

It was never easy for me to hear "No" as an answer, but I knew that's just the way it was this morning. I told myself it didn't have anything to do with me; they just had other things on their minds.

Looking up at the early morning sun over the Eucalyptus trees to the east, I replied, "It's a little warm now. But it's gonna be hotter'n the dickens in a few hours. You know me and the heat. Think I'll go for it now. Catch you later."

I loved the miles of Open Space above our house and I'd rather walk with someone, but in the face of my teenage-impaired tolerance for delayed gratification, I just couldn't wait and took off up the hill into the redwood grove. Even in the relative cool of the morning, I seemed to seek out the shaded spots as I unconsciously choose to walk down into the wooded ravine rather than up to the open country.

I'd discovered this trail - I thought of it as mine - my secret trail, until the Open Space people had widened it and made it more attractive. At first I had a resentment. I just knew that it'd be overrun with hikers now that it was no longer a secret. I needn't have worried. In the years since it'd been open up, I'd not seen a single person. So it had again reverted to being "my trail."

The stream at the bottom was running full and on an impulse, I pulled off my boots and dropped my feet into the coolness of the runoff. As often happens around the sound of running water, soon I had to take a leak. I smiled at myself, standing knee-deep in the stream, my dick out, watching the arc of my stream as it splashed into the water.

"How pleasant," I thought, and closed my eyes, feeling the breeze and listening to the forest sounds. An image of Jean and my mom, tanned legs stretched out, flashed and without choosing, I fell into that reverie. They were both very attractive women and I'd become fascinated, even mesmerized, with my sister Jean in the past year. Actually, fascination is not a strong enough term. Our natural affection and apparent mutual horniness had led us into "almost doin' it" several times but so far we'd restricted ourselves, mostly just talking about it with an occasional sexual foray into limited but very intimate touching. Except for the time she gave me a blow job... or the time I kissed her pussy. Yeah, I guess you could say that was a tad more than intimate touching, huh?

I slowly became aware that I'd stopped peeing and was standing there, holding a now-erect cock in my hand. "You're hopeless, Billy," I concluded, "a hopeless horndog."

Turning back to get my boots, I stepped on a round river rock that suddenly turned, dumping me on my ass in the stream. "Shit!" It was summer, but the runoff was cold!

I got up slowly, looking down at my soaked shorts, water running out of my shorts, down my legs and thought, "No way I'm going for a long walk this way. Guess I'll go back and change."

Returning home, Jean and Mom were no longer sitting on the back deck, so I stripped off my wet clothes on the side deck and before going in to change, I decided to take a soak in the hot tub. "They must have gone to the tennis courts," I reasoned.

As I was folding back the cover of the tub, I heard the back slider door open and then close followed by Mom's voice. I was startled, not so much that I'd be caught bare assed - that was no huge deal - although I don't think my mother had seen my bare butt in a while. What startled me was a word or two I'd overheard. Sounded like "something horny." I couldn't imagine my mother and my sister having a conversation that included the concept of horny. Shows how much I knew.

I stepped into the tub, making no effort to be quiet, but I guess the noises I made were masked by their own conversation, for they didn't acknowledge my presence as they settled into the lawn chairs, just around the corner of the house from me.

The acoustics made no sense, but I was aware I could hear them clearly, even the tinkle of ice in a glass. Just as I was about to speak up to them, to let 'em know I was there, I heard Mom say, "So, how long has this been a problem?"

"The horny thing?" Jean asked.

"That's the topic, I think," Mom replied with a smile in her voice.

A chair scraped and then it was quiet for a long ten seconds. Mom was patient, I knew. Finally Jean replied, "Gee, I don't know, but I've been aware of these, um... feelings for the last couple of years.

Another pause, briefer. "But now it's... " She stopped.

"More intense?" Mom offered.

"Yeah. Sure is. Sometimes it seems that's all I think about."

"Some older people would say that's not a problem... that's a blessing!" Mom laughed. Then asked, "So then, what IS the problem?"

"Golly, Mom... you know. I'm, uh, itchy and restless and I have these... you know, urges. And then I begin to think I'm bad. That these thoughts are wrong. I just feel bad and I'm all mixed up."

I heard the chair squeak and envisioned Mom leaning over to lay her hand on Jean's thigh. "Baby, we've talked a little about this before, but I guess it's time to share in more detail. Remember what I told you, girl? Those are natural feelings. They're right and they're good. There's nothing dirty or wrong about sexual feelings. It's your humanness shining through. Most of the discomfort and emotional pain people experience about sexual things arise in their own heads. Keep it in the forefront of your mind, baby. Sex is not a moral issue."

"Mom, I get that. Or at least I think I do. I accept myself and I'm happy to be a woman and I'm really happy that I have you for a mom. It's just that... well... it's not an intellectual thing. Cripes, it's not even an emotional thing!"

"What thing is it, baby?"

"It's a physical thing! You know. Horny!"

As if slapping her forehead, mom said, "Oh! I'm beginning to get it. You're horny. I mean, physically horny, and it's bothering you, right?"

Where was Mom when I was suffering from an ingrown hard-on? How come we never had this kinda talk? Probably because I never told the truth, I thought as I sank deeper into the hot tub. I should announce myself. This was sneaky. Yet, it was probably too late to speak up now, I reasoned, so I just sat there quietly and listened. My mind can rationalize almost anything.

"Bothering me is an understatement. I'm a nervous wreck and don't know what to do about it."

"Does masturbation help?" asked Mom reasonably.

"Sometimes." Then Jean laughed and added, "And then sometimes it seems to just feed the fires!"

Mom gave a wry laugh and said, "I know what that's like."

"You too?" Jean asked with a note of incredulity in her voice.

"Well, it's not so bad now... but I remember... "

Jean interrupted, "So, what'd you DO? What do I do?"

"Baby, I've tried not to tell you how to live your life. I've tried to give you principles by which to live. That's still true. Just WHAT you do is up to you, but there are guiding principles."

"Such as?"

"Remember I told you that among adults, sexual activity is not a moral issue, that whatever they do is OK if they follow a few rules. Remember the rules?"

"Uh... that we talk about it and not hurt each other?"

"Yes, that's part of it. There must be mutual consent. For that to happen, you've got to talk about it. When I was young, it seems that the rule was something like it's OK to do it, just don't talk about it. Kinda the Braille approach to negotiation."

Interrupting again, Jean asked, "Are we talking about doing it?"

Mom laughed again, that throaty, sexy laugh, and said, "Well, that's only part of it. We're talking about sexual activity, whatever it is. Doing it - intercourse if you will - is just one of the sexual activities to which I'm referring. Actually, I'm talking in a broader sense. Whatever it is we do with each other sexually, we need to talk about it, to negotiate. We need to make sure it's OK and that we're on the same page. Probably one of the biggest mistakes we make in human relationships is to assume we know what the other person is thinking, and then worse, to act as if our assumptions were correct."

"OK, I'm with you so far. What else?"

"Of course, we need not to hurt each other, or allow ourselves to be hurt."

"Hurt? Like in getting a disease? Or hurt as in physical hurt?" Jean giggled. "Like spanking?"

"Both. We'll return to things like spanking in a minute, but it's clear, I hope, that you've got to be very, very careful. Sexually transmitted diseases are a big deal. You've got to be willing to talk to your potential sexual partner about their sexual history as well as your own. You have a right to ask for proof of a recent AIDS test and, when you're sexually active, you've got to be willing to show your own proof."

Then, signaled by her low laugh, I detected that Mom was switching mental gears.

"But what I was thinking about at the moment was sexual play."

"Play?"

I knew what I thought of when sexual play came to mind, but I couldn't imagine what my conservative mother was alluding to.

I heard Mom take a deep breath and then let it out slowly, as if preparing to launch into a difficult topic.

"Baby, I always knew we'd have this conversation, but I hadn't planned on it this soon. I kept putting it off, I suppose waiting for the right moment. I guess this is it."

"What, mom?"

"I've always told you that we're only as sick as our secrets, that honesty will set us free. Still, there are parts about being an adult, and more, being a parent, that seem to require some measure of restraint. I always thought I'd tell you some things when you had a need to know."

"Mom! You're beating around the bush. That's not like you. Like you always say to me, 'Spit it out.' You were talking about sexual play. What do you mean?"

"Yes, play - as in erotic power exchange. You know, your dad and I tease each other about this when we think you two aren't around, but I know you've overheard us, haven't you?

"Uh... I guess... maybe a couple of times."

"A couple of times per week would be more like it," Mom suggested, laughing. Then, a little more seriously, she went on, "Your dad is a very strong man, even a dominant man. I consider myself a strong woman - and I am - but when your dad and I play, he's the dominant partner, the Top if you will."

"And?"

"I meant to have this talk with you someday. Now appears like a good time. When we play - and we play a lot, your Dad and I - I enjoy being the little girl. I like to be told what to do. Perhaps it gives me permission to do the naughty, the forbidden, things I'd really like to do anyway. Then, I like to be tied up at times. I love the feeling of helplessness. And - this is a little embarrassing - I like to be spanked!"

"Really? Bare bottom? How embarrassing. Does it hurt?"

"No, baby, that's the point. It's pleasure. I love it. It's a huge turn-on. The whole thing works only if there is trust and love and understanding, and most important, communication. Without that, we're left to our own imagination, and for me, that's a dangerous place to hang out.

"Oh, if he struck me in anger, it would hurt. I'd really hurt. But it's done with love and I love it... I love the intense sensations. I once heard a woman describe herself as a sensation slut and that gave me a shiver, because... well, because I could relate."

"Wow. That's... uh, far out. I mean, that's really neat, Mom! I had no idea. Tell me more."

"Baby, I'll tell you as much as you want to hear, but first I want to get on with the principles of good sexual behavior, OK?"

Rats! I thought my parents were so conservative that they'd never done anything and now I was hearing of an exciting side of their personalities of which I knew almost nothing. I wanted to hear more.

"OK. No hurting then. Of course, that seems only right. What's so difficult about that?"

"Usually not much, but sometimes we really have to look within ourselves and question our motives... to be careful we're not hurting someone when we think our motives are good. I don't know about you, but my ego often wears blinders."

"Yeah, I can see how my ego gets in the way sometimes too. What else?"

"Well, the next thing is a bit more abstract, but we've got to be careful not to be exploitive."

"Mom, I know what "exploitive" means, but how's it apply in this

case?"

"Let me give you an example. Let's say you've agreed to have sex with someone - and having sex doesn't necessarily mean having intercourse. I regard all sexual activity as "having sex." OK? A sexy conversation can be viewed as having sex. Mutual masturbation can be viewed as having sex."

"OK, I get it... it's a definitional thing."

"Yes, and for purposes of our conversation, that's how we'll define it. Anyway, let's say you've talked this over with someone, you both want it and you agree you're not going to hurt each other. Now here's the rub. You're 18 and he's... let's say he's 12."