Chapter 8

When I woke up, I was flat on my back, with Aunt Karen laying beside me; she had one leg draped across both of mine and her hand was under the sheet, which was pulled up to our waists, holding my dick. I couldn't see her face, just the top of her head, which was sort of laying on my chest.

Deciding I could get used to waking up to a naked woman stroking my stiffening dick, I stroked Aunt Karen's bare back. She responded by squeezing my dick and bending so that her head moved a few inches down my torso and closer. She was going to suck me, again! At least, that what it seemed like. I moved my hand from her back to the top of her head and, sure enough, she turned and rolled, pulling her knees under her to sort of kneel, curled forward, at my side, with her head just above my cock, which she had pushed the sheet off of.

Aunt Karen was holding my dick in her fist, pointing it straight up, and was lowering her head, with her mouth open, when Mom came into the bedroom.

"Kristin is gone."

Mom's flat declaration made both of us look her way. She was standing in the open bedroom door, watching us. And she was dressed. Completely dressed, in Capri pants and a short sleeved, button down top. I hadn't seen her fully dressed in two days; it seemed sort of odd.

I didn't really comprehend what she had actually said until Aunt Karen suddenly released my dick and, jumping back, away from me, pulled the sheet up to cover herself.

"Gone?" Aunt Karen asked.

"Yes," Mom nodded, gravely.

"What about the movies?"

"She said she would destroy them."

"Do you believe her?" Aunt Karen was out of the bed, now, wrapping the sheet around her body like a sarong.

Mom shrugged. "What can we do, if she lied?"

"But she's really gone?"

Mom nodded.

"What happened?"

"I got up to use the bathroom and, when I was done, Kristin called me out into the lounge. She was already dressed and had her bags packed. She pulled these clothes," Mom looked down at herself, "out of my suitcase and made me put them on. The two of us took her bags downstairs, to where a cab was waiting. She said ... She said she had some sort of emergency. She said she would destroy the videos and that we should enjoy the rest of our vacation. She ... She's gone."

Mom turned away and went back out to the front room.

"Just like that?" Aunt Karen gave me a single glance and hurried out to follow Mom.

I admit it. I was disappointed. There was a whole list of things that Kristin had pretty much said she was going to make us do. And now we never would. Not unless ... Maybe one or both of them would decide that, now that the ice had been broken, we might as well continue to fool around, at least for the rest of our time in Panama.

Mom stuck her head back into the bedroom and said, "You should take a shower."

Judging by the way she looked at my naked body and said, "And for the love of all that's holy, please put on some clothes," I could pretty well guess that the sexy times were over for good. I would never have sex with either one of them, again. I would never get to touch them, or even see their naked bodies. I had seen the last of their tits. It was thoroughly depressing.

As it turned out, I was almost, but not quite completely, right.

Mom and Aunt Karen sat down with me, on the evening that Kristin left, and explained that, even though all three of us had been forced to ignore our natural inhibitions, now that Kristin was gone, such behavior was no longer necessary and would not continue. Both were very somber, during our conversation, and I did my best not to stare at the wonderful tits I now knew were hidden under their clothes.

And then, the next afternoon, right after lunch, we went back to the beach. The very same beach that Kristin had forced us to lay out on.

"The thing is, Danny," Mom explained, when she saw the expression on my face, when I realized where the taxi had dropped us off, "there's not much point of hiding what you've already seen. And, now that I'm starting to see some results, I like not having any tan lines. Of course, if it bothers you..."

I was a young man, with my whole life ahead of me. But, no matter what I do or how long I live, high of the list of things I will ever accomplish will be keeping my eyes focused above Mom's shoulders, as I shook my head, and saying, "No, I don't mind," without my voice cracking.

Mom nodded, gravely. Acting as if it were a perfectly normal thing to do, she untied the single strap that held up the floral beach cover-up that she was wearing, letting the light garment fall to her feet. She bent to pick it up, draped it over one arm and, untying the strap behind her back first, and then the one behind her neck, removed her bikini top.

My topless mother walked across the fairly crowded beach, carrying the bag with our towels, and looking for an open space big enough for the three of us, seemingly oblivious to the stares her impressive anatomy drew from more than a few of the other sun-worshipers there.

I turned away, when I saw motion in the corner of my eye. Aunt Karen had let her cover-up drop to the sand, as well. She blushed, when she saw me turn my attention to her, but, with a shrug and a smile, quickly removed her own top before bending over to pick up her dress.

"Shall we join her?" she asked, as I was burning the memory of her swaying, pendulous breasts into every cell of my brain.

I swallowed, but couldn't speak. I had had sex with both of them; I had seen and touched every bit of their bodies. I had even licked the very best parts. But, now that they were denied to me, the sight of them made my heart pound and my throat tighten up.

The same was true, ten days later. I spent several hours, every afternoon, trying not to get caught staring at their bare tits and their barely covered asses. I failed, more often than not but all Mom ever did, when she caught me, was to scowl and roll her eyes. Aunt Karen usually blushed but, as her skin darkened, that became more and more difficult to see.

And that was all that happened. Away from the beach, we all dressed in typical tourist garb. We spent our time out of the sun swimming in the hotel's pool, where they both wore both halves of their bikinis, or seeing some of the sights of the island or just sitting in the lounge chairs on the patio, outside of our room, and reading.

We spent the last day of our vacation on the mainland. We checked into a hotel in Panama City, took a tour of the canal and went to bed early, to get up in time to catch an early flight back to Miami and, about twelve hours later, finally get into our car at the Des Moines, Iowa, airport.

Life was back to normal. The only thing that seemed to have changed was the color of Mom's and Aunt Karen's skin. We dropped Aunt Karen off at her house, on the way home, Mom did the laundry and, the next morning, got up and went to work.

Aunt Karen continued to stop by our house, two or three times a week, to eat with us or just to hang out and watch TV. Mom went to work, every day, and I did my chores.

My second year of high-school started, about a month after we came home. There were more than a thousand girls, in my school. Hundreds of them were pretty, dozens were exceptionally so, and quite a few were genuinely beautiful. But, when I lay in bed, at night, and jerked off before going to sleep, there were only two women that I fantasized about.

I had come in Aunt Karen's hand, throat and pussy. I had come in Mom's pussy twice in one afternoon, and in her ass once. I had some pretty fucking amazing memories, but Kristin had hinted about all the things she was going to make us do with, and to, each other. Even though she was pretty hot and I'd licked and even fucked her, Kristin never even made a cameo appearance in my fantasies. They were all centered around the things that I had fully expected I would be doing, before she left so suddenly.

One afternoon, in the middle of October, I was sitting around the house after school, when Mom got home from work. Immediately, she started to bitch at me. She bitched because I hadn't taken out the trash, even though it was less than half full. She bitched because my homework wasn't done, even though I still had the whole weekend ahead of me. She bitched about the chores that I wasn't even supposed to do, until the next morning.

She was stomping away, grumbling about how slow her computer was and that it was probably my fault, when my patience wore out. I opened my mouth and was just about to say something sarcastic that would only get me into more trouble when, for some reason, I completely shifted mental gears.

"Mom, what's wrong?"

Mom froze, in the door between the kitchen and the family room.

"You don't want to know."

"I do." I sounded sincere because, somewhat to my own surprise, I was. "Tell me what's bothering you. Maybe I can help."

Mom seemed undecided. She stood, with her back to me, for several long seconds.

Finally, unable to think of anything else to do, I said, "I love you."

The tension drained out of her. I hadn't really been aware of how hunched up her shoulders were until they sagged down to a more normal, relaxed position.

When she turned around, she wasn't crying, but she looked like she might.

"Do you really want to know what's wrong?"

I nodded. "Yes, I do."

With a sigh, Mom pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down, facing me.

"We laid of sixty-eight people, today. Sixty-eight. And I had to tell every one of them. It was so ... so easy, on paper. But when they came into my office ... They were real people, with real families and real problems and I had to just sit there, across the desk from each one, and tell them about their newest problem. And, except for the first two or three, they all knew." Mom closed her eyes and shuddered. "I hate my job."

"Are you going to look for something else?"

Mom nodded, gravely. "But there's not much out there. And looking for a job is always so stressful."

"Is there anything I can do?"

Mom slowly shook her head, a few times, then stopped to look at me, her forehead creasing in thought.

"There might be something..."

"What? I'll be sixteen, in a couple of weeks. I can get a job, to bring in some more money, if that will help. Or I can help out more at home. Or..."

Leaning forward, Mom reached out and laid a finger on my lips.

"Nothing as bad as that. I just ... There's something you did, once. If you could do that, again. It would ... It would help so much."

"Sure," I said, even though Mom's finger was still pressed to my lower lip. "Whatever you need."

I racked my brain, trying to figure out what I had ever done for her that could be of any help, now.

Mom gave me a timid smile and, taking her hand away from my face, stood. She went to the pantry and came back with a bottle of oil. It was the good stuff - extra virgin olive oil imported from Italy. Mom paid something like twenty dollars, for just a small bottle, and only ever used it to drizzle on salads or to finish off some fancy recipes.

"What's this for?" I asked.

Instead of answering, Mom stepped back and took off her jacket. She was still dressed in the woman's suit she had worn to work, with a charcoal-gray, narrow, knee-length skirt, and a matching jacket, which she carefully draped over the back of a chair.

To my surprise, she unzipped the skirt, pushed it down to her knees and, bending over, stepped out of it. Wearing her blouse and a short, beige slip, Mom turned to face the table. She spread her feet apart, bent over at the waist and laid her crossed arms on the edge of the table. Turning her head towards me, she laid her face on her arms and said three words that, despite our experiences in Panama, were very near the top of any list of things I would least have expected to hear.