Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 FISHING FOR THE POCKET TROUT

   by Holly Rennick

   AUTHOR'S NOTES

   A rewrite of my earlier SEVEN SEAS.  Same plot.  Same characters. 
Hopefully a better author.  It's not against the rules to re-title an old
tale, is it?

   I've tweaked this version by upping Sara's age a year, leading to your
next reading assignment, the sequel SEVEN SEAS FOR FOUR.  There will be a
quiz.  You may opt, however, to critique the work with a discussion partner
and grade each other.

   FISHING FOR THE POCKET TROUT

   "Arctic Summer" was hardly exciting television, but Rob had enough theme
park excitement for today.  The TV was more just Mom's excuse to rest her
feet after their non-stop foray through Seven Seas Adventureland.  The
distance from any actual salt water led Rob to question the name, but he'd
allow that it was an Adventureland.  Does the Arctic Ocean count as one of
the Seven Seas?  The North and South Atlantic, North and South Pacific and
Indian Oceans still leave two to go.

   It's interesting about the narwhals, Rob notes, how their tusks gave
rise to belief in unicorns.  It's interesting how the female caribou shows
the male she likes him, but then makes him chase her.  There's a lot more
than just ice up there.

   The family had rendezvoused at Pirate Trove Cafe for Buccaneer Burgers,
the distinction being buns adorned with skull and crossbones.  A real
pirate eatery should serve rum or something, Rob judged, but the Pirate
Trove menu only had Coca-Cola products and tall beverages about fruit. 
Who'd want flaked cinnamon in whipped orange juice?  Not him, for sure.

   Sara and Dad wanted to stay for the Flagship Light Spectacular, but Mom
was shot and Rob hadn't protested at heading back a bit early.

   He hadn't protested one bit, actually.

   They'd had a fun day, Rob and Mom together at Seven Seas, shrieking or
laughing, depending on the ride.  Submarine Escape had been a bit lame, as
he could see the giant squid's pneumatic tether.  Spytower Tree Fort
involved precarious walkways from which no one could actually fall.  It
seemed unwise, however, to bounce at the halfway point.

   The two held hands in anticipation of each Tunnel of Mystery terror. 
Mom shrieked when the coffin squeaked open as their boat drifted into the
deathly darkness.  When he, himself was starting to wonder where's the
electricity, a blast of chilly air made them jump enough to rock the boat.
They laughed at the B movieness of it all.

   Rob wouldn't normally hold his mom's hand, of course, but here at Seven
Seas, you don't know anybody and it's more fun to be scared with another
person, even if she's just your mother.

   At the tunnel exit, Rob noticed her nipples.  He'd of course seen the
same around the house.  Mom's were big; Sara's were hardly. 
Fifteen-year-old boys note such things, though they're more on the lookout
for ones not in the family.

   He'd peeked down lots of necklines at school.  The lab bench in science
was the best place.  The water fountain was the other.  He'd strategically
bumped girls in the hall; some would hold their books down by their sides
to get you to.  His buddies liked to talk big, but truth be told, none had
done much more.

   Before today, though, he'd never seen Mom's where everybody else could,
too.  Dad might have had an opinion, but Dad was with Sara.  Everybody
seeing didn't bother Rob as long as nobody knew she was his mom.

   Actually, he sort of liked them public.  It wasn't as if there weren't
lots of others at Seven Seas, but it was nice how much he could see through
her shirt.  It wasn't a different bra, was it?  Didn't seem to be.  Maybe
she just had it on tighter.

   Maybe Mom's aren't sexy, but they can be interesting.

   To Rob's surprise, she'd pulled him back to the queue.  "That was really
fun!"

   When you find a short line at Seven Seas, he agreed, go for it twice.

   The embarkation employee must have remembered them.  "Another sail,
landlubbers?" her college-girl enthusiasm apparently a Seven Seas job
requirement.

   Rob couldn't see her nipples because of her sailor suit.  Probably like
Mom's, though, side-ways glancing Mom's way for confirmation.

   As the two again approached the coffin, Mom declared that here's where
every girl gets a kiss, even if she's really old.  Moms especially need a
kiss in mysterious places, her ruling.

   "You're not that old," what he knew she was fishing for.  Moms like to
hear it.

   He'd kissed her plenty of times before; all boys kiss their moms.

   That's when he'd felt the breast against his arm.

   "Made my day, sailor guy," she laughed as they drifted onward into a
dinosaur diorama.

   Made mine, too, thought Rob.  In just a couple of minutes, he'd seen her
nipples in public and gotten bumped on the boat.  Not bad at all.

   After the Tunnel of Mystery, Mom seemed closer behind him in the lines.
You can't avoid lines in an Adventureland.  It wasn't exactly on purpose
when he stuck his elbow back, but it wasn't exactly by accident, either. 
By the third time it was easy to anticipate where a quick brush would find
her.  Do it lightly so you don't have to excuse yourself.  The lighter the
better, actually.

   The accidental brushes became straight on when she took his elbow.  Her
nipple felt like a gumdrop, distinctive even under her bra.  He liked the
way she was shaped, just a little to the outside.  He liked the way he
could stay against her longer.

   When Mom turned to watch the Jolly Roger crew bear the brassbound chest,
Rob could feel how the inside of her bra dipped to where the halves
connect. He'd always thought you'd feel a girl by reaching down, but maybe
what you do is enter from the middle.

   Rob imagined helping 'Ahoy, I'm Crystal' change light bulbs in the
skulls.  Maybe he'd just unhook her so it didn't matter which way he
reached in.

   He got his arm all the way against Mom's far cup during the "Yo, ho,
ho," and then all the way back over the near one during, "And a bottle of
rum."

   He'd not have though she'd be interested in pirates, being born in
Kansas.

   Maritime Missile promised to be an "Interstellar Voyage from Island
Earth." Weak, Rob thought, for an ocean theme park.

   They kissed final farewells before boarding.  She kind of likes kissing,
Rob decided, prolonging it as best he could, as he was against both
breasts.

   Harnessed side by side, their knees touched at launch.  He'd not exactly
thought of her breasts in terms of the rest of sex, she being his mother
and everything, but it was sort of different with her knee against his. 
Boy, would he give himself a great one, once they got home and he was in
his room!

   Maybe getting hard from Mom's knee was more about catching up from
having felt her breasts, he wondered.  What's sexy about a knee?  As he
couldn't both grasp the handhold and cover his lap, he only hoped she'd not
open her eyes in flight.

   He was pretty sure she didn't.  He'd summarize their star route if she
asked, but maybe need to add some filler as he hadn't paid close attention.

   It's weird about your mom's knee, Rob wondered.  She's just your mom. 
It's just a knee.  How come you get hard?  Her being Mom doesn't mean that
it doesn't make you think about the rest of her body, he concluded. 
Knowing about her bra makes you wonder more about her body.

   They again kissed after regaining their terrestrial legs him careful to
pull back his waist.  It would be a give-away, crossing your hands below
your belt, he recognized.

   Fortunately all she asked was why comets are so many colors?  They're
covered with ice, he thought, but maybe also something else.

   Then there was the Twister!

   Rob knew that twisters have little to do with oceans -- tornadoes occur
inland -- but the ride was cyclonic.  They should call it the Hurricane, he
told Mom.

   Mom wanted to hug the pole, leaving him to wrap from behind, his arms
under hers.  Nobody was really going to fly away, thanks to the belt around
the pair of them.  'Ahoy, I'm Todd' gave Rob a grin before he cinched.

   Rob hoped the whirl made Mom not realize how often the storm drove her
against his wrists.  It's one thing to brush a little as you stand in line.
It's something else to be squishing.  It's good she was just focused on
survival.

   More than that, though, he hoped Mom couldn't feel his front side.  As
much as he'd like to feel up 'Ahoy, I'm Crystal,' he'd hardly want her
feeling him back.  He was pretty sure that Mom wouldn't notice, though,
given the combination of the storm and her being a mom.  There wasn't much
he could do about how sometimes she'd bounce side to side and then change
to up and down.

   On their way to meet Dad and Sara, they passed an organ grinder cranking
NepTUNES.  'Ahoy, I'm Stephen' has a cush job, thought Rob; he'd not even
have to know music.

   Rob thought Mom needed more room when her knee bumped his under the
Pirate Trove table.  When he shifted to give her some, though, her leg
followed.  It seemed rude to keep scooting, though, and it wasn't as if
their knees hadn't touched on the spaceship.

   As there'd been no break in Mom's discussion with Dad about the
evening's schedule -- if anything she started talking quicker -- maybe
Dad's not supposed to know, Rob wondered?

   Her knee gave him a hard-on like on the missile, but at least now he had
the table for cover.

   Dad's not knowing seemed strange at first, but today seemed different
ever since the boat ride.  Mom and Dad do all sorts of things together, go
to plays and stuff, right?  So maybe once in a while Mom likes being a
little different.  It's probably good for her, even, being more laid back.
A vacation's a vacation, after all.

   Was Mom's blouse bunched to hide her nipples?

   Mom's parting instruction to Dad and Sara was for everybody to meet at
the light show.  "They say it's really spectacular." If they miss each
other, just meet back at the hotel afterwards.  The shuttle's every 30
minutes.

   "Plus we're doing the Looper again, right Dad?" Sara added.

   After Sara and Dad departed, Mom thought it might be fun to do the boat
ride one last time.  "The one with the casket," as if he didn't remember.

   Rob was pleased with her choice, triply pleased, actually.  He'd maybe
score another feel.  Her suggesting meant she'd not caught on.  And once
Sara and Dad took off, Mom quit hiding her nipples.  That was the best
part, actually, that she didn't care if he saw.

   They're maybe some of the nicest ones at this place, he allowed, bumping
her a little extra to make sure.

   'Ahoy, I'm Crystal' remembered them.  "Knew you'd be back, mates."

   Even through her sailor suit, Rob could see her nipples.

   Rob watched the couple in the boat ahead start making out even before
leaving port.  The girl must know that everybody could see her boyfriend's
hand, but why should she care?  Nobody knows anybody here.

   "This is where we kiss, right?" he reminded Mom as they approached the
coffin.

   Mom seemed pleased he'd take the initiative.  "Our last voyage, Mr. 
Sailor Man."

   He agreed.

   "On this boat," she clarified.

   The girl in the boat ahead was on her date's lap, straddling and facing
back, actually.  She wants me to watch, Rob realized when she caught his
eye and grinned.  Rob hoped Mom didn't notice the extra undulations.

   Rob kept Mom's kiss going so she wouldn't look forward, but also because
reaching around so his arm draped her chest worked like a charm.  If
anything, the way she turned made her easier.

   He liked that maybe the boat behind thought Mom was his date.

   "We've seen most of the oceans, don't you think?" Mom reflected on
debarkation, the constellations of overhead lighting illuminating her
front. "The ones here, anyway."

   The driver of the hotel shuttle -- sort of a steamship on wheels-- was a
black girl in an admiral's hat.  Why do black girls wear white bras, Rob
wondered?

   Mom's prompt doze on his shoulder allowed his arm's return to the pirate
valley, his association, that is.  Nothing obvious to the other riders,
nothing that would wake her.

   He imagined himself and Mom as survivors cast upon a desert island. 
He'd find bananas and coconuts.  Mom's clothes would be torn, but she'd
have her bra, the kind that swoops to where the halves connect.  Maybe he'd
have to hold her from behind during a hurricane.  There'd be a tropical
moon and they'd sleep beneath the palm trees.  They might be castaways for
a long time.

   When Mom's hand fell against his pocket, Rob worried it might move
toward his condition from too much imagination.  And indeed, when the bus
took a particularly sharp lurch, a pinkie rode against the edge of where he
most didn't want it.

   What if she wakes up and sees where she is?  Fortunately the next lurch
moved her hand away.

   When the driver announced, "Shore leave," Mom yawned broadly.

   Rob liked how the driver called him, "Capitan," as they stepped off.

   Probably the same reason white girls wear black ones, he answered his
original question.

   That was so close, where Mom's hand almost got!

   In the elevator he stood the way that worked so many times that day and
by the second floor was riding over the summit and down the inner gradient.
Mom's really tired, he figured.  Do all girls' nipples get hard when
they're sleepy?  He wished their room was on the fifteenth floor, not the
fifth.

   At their door, Rob worked the electronic key.  Mom was never good with
things mechanical.  There's a little box inside the door, Rob pointed out,
so it doesn't get lost.  Mom thought that was a good idea.

   The two busied themselves unlacing shoes.  Arches pay a price for
adventure noted Mom in her mom way.

   In the shower, Rob once more navigated distant oceans.  How would the
suds roll down Mom if she asked him to wash her hair?  That wouldn't be on
the desert island, of course, but maybe when they were in port.

   He'd sure scored some good ones, but the elevator was maybe the best
because of how many times he'd gone back and forth.  There's something
sweet about repetition.

   ***

   Rob's in his PJs watching Arctic Summer when Mom emerges from the
bathroom, her nightgown the flannel one with the high neck, easy to pack.

   She's missed a button.

   "We saw it before, right?" she asks.  "About penguins, right?"

   Rob clarifies that it's new one, this one about the Arctic, not the
Antarctic.

   The polar ecosystem utilizes twenty-four hours of summer sun, the TV
says.  She'd not thought much about polar ecology before.  It apparently
involves plankton.

   It sure looks like the one about penguins, except for no penguins. 
"It's really icy both places," she agrees, leaning over her bed to rummage
through the suitcase.

   She can feel his eyes drift from the TV.  She's hardly surprised.  Lots
of girls show at a place like Seven Seas.  Mothers too, at least those sans
spouses for a few hours.

   "Now where's my paperback?" re-checking the little pockets around the
side.  It's true she'd been reading one back home, but it was exactly like
Tom Clancy's others.

   She'd not minded Rob's attention in the park, so why change now?  Until
the others return, it's more like she and Rob are still in the park.

   "I'm pretty sure I brought it.  It was just getting exciting.  Oh,
well."

   It isn't clear to her what happened in the cafe.  Did her leg bump Rob's
or did his bump hers?  It doesn't really matter.  The touching was arousing
-- she wasn't quite sure if that's what she could call it, him being her
boy -- but not as much as him not giving it away.  If she called it,
"interesting," would that be better?

   Anyway, what's the big deal about touching?  They'd been doing it all
day, same as everybody else at Seven Seas.  It's not about who'd bumped
first; it's that it kept happening.

   It got a bit dicey, though, that last trip through the tunnel.  Not
about Rob's design -- she'd expected it by then, kind of planned for it,
actually -- but about the boat in front.  Did the girl even have time to
come?

   She'd prolonged the kiss so Rob wouldn't see.  The last ride should be
special, of course, but not because they were behind somebody else.

   The longer kiss worked out nicely for getting felt, actually.  So what
if the riders behind probably smiled at Rob's success?  They wouldn't have
known he was her boy.  What's more erotic?  Watching it in the boat ahead?
Having the boat behind watch you, even if you're hardly doing anything? 
The second one, of course, though maybe some wouldn't agree.

   Did the guy in front even care if his girlfriend came?  Probably not,
but the parking lot's a million acres.  They'd just find an empty corner
and do it right before he drove her home.  That's assuming they're locals,
of course.

   Mom has pulled her shoulders back when they docked, if for no other
reason than to show 'Ahoy, I'm Crystal' and the girl up front that she'd
had a fun ride as well.

   'Ahoy, I'm Crystal' gave a thumbs-up, ignoring the other triumphantly
repositioning her bra.  Is a thumbs-up what she gives mothers who bring
their boys?  Does she think we had sex, too?  She called us, "mates,"
didn't she?

   The thought's unsettling, but Mom likes its girl-to-girlness.  She'd
raised her own thumb to say yes to something.

   There'd been the time in line when the mom with two kids watched Rob's
technique.  She knew she didn't have stand so close and probably guessed
that Rob was her boy.  She'd smiled.

   On the shuttle bus, Mom's thoughts were adrift -- the two of them on the
transatlantic liner, only the sea surrounding.  No one will know them at
the Capitan's Masked Ball.  She'll help Rob with his tie.  After the tango,
they'll stroll arm-in-arm under Virgo the virgin, her sign.  In their
stateroom, he'll undo her pearls.

   Had the driver seen her hand on his leg and known she wasn't really
dozing?  Maybe like 'Ahoy, I'm Crystal,' all the staff think everybody
comes here for sex.  That organ grinder -- probably a music major, given
today's economy, she reckoned -- had been playing the theme from Love Boat,
had he not?

   Of course we don't come for that, but then again, it's nice that maybe
somebody thinks so.

   Do tourists ever make love on the shuttle bus?  Nobody could see except
maybe the driver with her mirror and she doesn't care.

   Her best ride was the elevator, Rob being so much more confident. 
That's so funny, paying to be on all those fancy ones and liking the
hotel's most of all.

   Do tourists ever...?  No, that's ridiculous.  You'd never know when the
elevator door might open.

   In the shower she'd wondered what she'd look like through the opaque
glass.  She'd almost called Rob to toss her more soap -- "Just look in the
little basket." -- but she already had three bars.

   There'd be so many decisions.  How far behind the glass should you
stand? Too near and it's like it's not there.  Too far and it's like it's
not glass.  How should you face?  What if you opened the glass and had him
do your back?  Should you have him turn off the bathroom light?  Yes. 
Where does your back stop?

   Such silly thoughts, these.

   Mom now closes the drapes to help the screen, she tells Rob, and engages
the door lock.

   She knows that Rob sees how the missed button reveals a hint of inner
bosom, but before he can look further she clicks off the light. 
"Reflection makes the TV hard to see," as if she's an eye doctor.

   Given the light around the drapes and glow from the screen, the room's
hardly dark, but it seems more secluded.  More like a stateroom.  Their
stateroom after the Capitan's Masked Ball.

   Noting how the TV's aimed more toward his side of the room, she
stretches out beside him.  Her powder flecks his bedcover, but she figures
they wash everything after each check-out.  They should, anyway, given the
price.

   Maybe she shouldn't be on his bed, she worries, but families bunch up in
hotel rooms, don't they?  She's just on his bed, not in it and everybody
knows the difference.  It's not like they're going to spend the night
together, though of course they technically are.  Her nightgown's
high-necked, not some summer thing, though maybe she should have, it being
summer.

   It's fun to be like this, actually, an adventure in an Adventureland,
right?

   She lies on her stomach.  Would he rub her feet?  Sure.

   Too quickly done, but it feels nice.  Nobody can say she hadn't used
them enough today.

   She watches something incomprehensible about blue ice.

   "How 'bout my legs a little," something more comprehensible.

   He lifts the hem above her calves, but she doubts enough to see her
panties.  If the mirrors were different, maybe she could tell.

   At least she doesn't have flabby legs.  Daily walking pays off.  She
debates telling him higher, but chickens out.

   "Maybe I'll get one of those Coco Knights tomorrow, you think?" he
interrupts her line of thought.

   "A what?"

   "You know, the drink with the sword struck in top."

   Probably more emulsifier than coconut, she guesses, but why not?  We're
at Seven Seas.  She'll get the one squeezed from organic apples.

   Would he do her back, up by the shoulders?  Sure.

   Mom knows he's pleased by the absence of bra strap.  She's pleased
herself.  For a girl, getting your back rubbed without a bra is better than
your front rubbed with one on.  Either way can be stimulating, of course,
but your back's never going to get sore.  Not that she'd gotten sore today,
of course.  At lease he's got some finesse.

   She's pleased when Rob rounds the sides of her ribs, but doubts it means
much.  She'd let him massage where she's smushed out -- just the edge and
it's through her gown, after all -- but doesn't tell him to.

   Even still, she finds it arousing.  For her of course, but also for him
as well.  She pointedly watches the screen when he furtively bunches the
bedcover over his lap.  Age fifteen, she sympathizes, has its awkward
moments.  Several awkward moments today, the poor dear.  Maybe he'd not
gone much around her sides, but he'd been thinking about it.

   Rob's crossing his lap at the rocket splashdown aroused her more than
knowing why.  Rob's bunching the blanket is special the same way.

   She can't just say to do her butt.  All you can do is fold your hands
under your head and see, she guesses.

   Rob reaches up and parts her hair.

   "Have enough shampoo?" an unexpected inquiry the very moment she's
thinking maybe he'll take the initiative, not be so fifteenish.

   She'd used most of the little bottle.  "Barely.  Why?"

   "I know where there's more."

   Oh, my!

   But anyway, almost asking doesn't count.

   After he's gotten her relaxed, "relaxed" being generic for imagining how
bubbles might feel, Mom insists on doing him in return.  That's what she
tells him, anyway, "relaxed."

   He says he's fine, but agrees when her breasts sway.  It's rather fun
convincing him.

   The narrator speaks about icebergs as she does his shoulders.

   The two of them recall the Looper, how they almost fell out because it
wasn't supposed to go so high.  Mothers are big about safety.

   She'd gotten scared in the Twister, so it was good he was with her.  Rob
adds how much wilder it is with your eyes open.

   She doesn't add how he'd almost pulled her bra off or how she'd worked
her butt against him.  What would she say?  "Got you back, buster?"

   "Tomorrow we'll try it again," she rules with a dramatic shiver of
dread. "After all, I am from Kansas.  We'll ask the guy to strap us
tighter."

   Neither mentions the Tunnel of Mystery, but she knows he's remembering.

   The TV voice-over says, "Having no predators, polar bears do what they
want when they want." Lucky them, Mom thinks.

   She goes to Rob's butt.  Why not?  A polar bear would.  If she'd done
Rob first, he'd have known you're supposed to.

   She notes with some accomplishment the way he's scrunching the mattress.
It's not like it's her fault, though.  She's just rubbing low on his back
and he's thinking about whatever boys think about.

   There on the shuttle bus -- to her credit, right?  -- she hadn't let her
hand drift onto his fly, though the more she thinks about it, the more she
thinks she could have.  The driver probably bet to herself that she'd do
it, but then that's how they think here.

   "Fishing for the pocket trout", they used to call it.  Do trout swim to
the sea or is it the salmon?  The type of fish doesn't matter, actually.

   Is it that strange to be pretend-fishing so close to home?  Maybe now
and then your body forgets you're just imagining, but your head knows it's
not for real.

   At Rob's age, he's only beginning to feel the physical part, doesn't
even know about the rest.  Does he have pubic hair, though of course he
must?  She's only too aware, of course, he gets erections.  Does he get
them as often at school?  What does he think about when he masturbates?

   Someday she'll find condoms in his pocket.  He's just being responsible,
she'll tell herself.  Finish the laundry and return the items.  What else
can a mom do?

   Is Rob hugging the mattress because of the girls at Seven Seas?  There
were some cute ones.  Is it from watching them doing it in the other boat?
Maybe Rob's rubs and kisses, sweet though they were, weren't even about
her. How would a mom even know?

   Some smart-ass will probably screw him in a place like the Tunnel of
Mystery.  "Okay, Kyra.  I'll go talk to him and get him to ride.  You take
the one behind.  Wanna bet he's a virgin?  You get next dibs." That's the
part that bothers her most -- some girl using him for practice.

   What does he even know?  Does he remember those preschool years, bathing
together?  Her friend Ali walks naked in front of her kids, but that seems
a little bold.

   She watches Arctic Summer seal pups attack a beached fish.  How mother
seal beckons with a slap of her flipper.

   "Is that a trout?"

   Rob says not, but as with many things, the species is hardly Mom's
point.

   It's not that she needs the physical.  Of course not.  Henry's good at
it, better than lots.  Wives talk.  After two nights with kids in their
room, he'll want to fuck before they're unpacked.  Maybe she'll get to
choose how.

   Everything was so pretend today in the park, and anyway, everything was
accidental.  Accidental or at least sort of explainable.  A mom's
relationship with her boy is a subconscious interplay related to Freud or
something.  She took psychology and once knew.  It's really quite normal,
she's pretty sure, that it can make you feel tingly.

   Right off she'd loved the nursing part.  At church, they'd pipe the
service into the nursery.  Once when Henry's brother Martin was mixing
Sofia's bottle -- just the two adults and two infants in the nursery --
she'd pushed up both cups and they'd discussed baby clothes.  Wear them six
times and they're outgrown.  Look all you want, Martin, we're in church. 
You think I pop both cups when I'm by myself?  She hopes he at least
remembers.

   Life would be easier if she could just say, "Fuck everything." Had she
seduced Martin, nobody but Ali would have ever known.  She'd have kept
playing tennis with her sister-in-law, even.  According to Ali,
brothers-in-law are easy because nobody wonders why they're around.

   Maybe, "Hey Martin.  Our shower's wacky.  Maybe you could stop by
tomorrow morning and see what's wrong.  Don't mention it to Henry, though,
'cause he'll think calling you means I don't think he'd know how."

   Silly plan.  Martin's hardly a plumber either.  And no, she doesn't want
to go to bed with Martin.  It would be nice to be flirted with a little,
though.

   And no, Rob's no longer an infant.

   Maybe it's easier to think things here, though, because it's Seven Seas.
And what's wrong if bits of today were a little arousing, even?  A theme
park adventure, so to speak.  It's not as if she had an orgasm or anything.

   The article in Modern Mother said that fantasy's good for our mental
health, though it didn't get to about what.  We know.  She doesn't buy
every issue, just the ones with good recipes.

   It's all so silly, thinking about all this, but Mom still weighs the
practical.

   Sara won't settle for missing the light show and that's at least another
hour.  Anyway, the door's chained, per the instruction.  If Henry asks,
just say they'd watched some TV about ecology.  Sara's more likely than her
dad to notice the little things, but she's just twelve.

   No, the practicals at a place like Seven Seas aren't much of a problem.

   There's the big practical, of course, but even then, Henry wouldn't
suspect and it would be sort of fun getting back into the nursery routine.
Chat during the sermon.

   "Yo, ho, ho," she concludes Rob's massage, snuggling against his
shoulder to watch a bit more documentary.

   The screen's the porthole from their stateroom.

   Televised First Nations hunters spear a mammal that meets their
nutritional requirements.  It's from Canada, Rob informs her, given the
reference to First Nations.

   American Indians down here eat too much junk food, she tells Rob.  It's
a growing problem; there was a thing on the TV about it.

   What if she were a First Nations Mother, whatever they call themselves
up there?  First Nations Father is away hunting walrus.  First Nations Son
is shivering because he didn't eat enough blubber but she's warm because
she did.  The TV said that First Nations families share a common pallet,
didn't it?  The polar bear skin is soft against her skin and First Nations
Daughter, accustomed to the swish-swish rhythms of igloo night, won't wake.
Tonight's the night for First Nations Son to become like a First Nations
Brother-in-law.

   First Nations Daughter is about Sara's age.  If First Nations Daughter
wakes up, she'll learn a sacred secret of First Nations Women.

   Should you rub noses before the swish-swishing?

   "How long are the men away hunting," she asks, but Rob doesn't know. 
Maybe a few days.

   "I mean the ones that don't stay to guard the house," she adds in case
she'd said it wrong.

   But it's such a stretch, her being a First Nations Mother.  They
probably never take baths.

   "Suppose cruise ships go up there?" she wonders out loud.  "You know,
the kind with a scientist to explain everything."

   Rob isn't sure, but it's something he could find out.

   "They have telescopes," she adds for good measure.  "The nights are
really long."

   "In the winter, for sure," Rob specifies.  "Most tours are probably in
the summer, though."

   He'll say no way to tango lessons.  It would better to teach him herself
when he didn't have some excuse.

   Mom misses the, "Their harpoons reflect generations of adaptation to
sub-zero survival" footage as she hunches her shoulders to better gap the
undone button, on the other hand, pulling them back strains the buttons
above and below.  It's hard to know which to do.

   Fearing her courage may falter, she inspects his hand as if it's maybe
in need of lotion.

   The way Henry explains an empty creel, a fish can just swim away. 
Fishing depends on what the fish decides.

   Mom yawns, closes her eyes and lets Rob's hand fall near the undone
button.

   ***

   Rob can't believe his luck at the park, but here he's without the
security of the masses.  He'd never get to be with a girl his own age when
she's asleep.  How much luck's he got left?

   But maybe he should just stick with watching TV.

   Or maybe he should check their schedule for tomorrow's events.  They'd
missed the Battle Royal, for example.  According to the guidebook, a French
warship is sunk twice daily in a spectacle of splash and smoke.  Cannon
fire's safer than being not an inch from the open button.

   He's imagined Mom in bed before, of course, what she and Dad do.  Does
she like it?  Everybody says they love it, but maybe that's an
exaggeration. Probably they like it more when they're about twenty.  For
sure, 'Ahoy, I'm Crystal' would.

   Mom breathes with reassuring depth and he reaches for the button. 
She'll never know.

   Mom was probably pretty sexy when she was twenty and it's not like she's
really a different size or anything.  She still wears the parka she had in
college.  "Can't get wool like this any more," she says.  Maybe girls don't
change that fast, once they hit twenty.

   Next time she tosses out one of her little maybe-I'm-too-old lines,
though, he'll not tell her how he knows she's not.

   The buttons part one by one.  Barely touching's the key, same as in the
park.  Feeling a girl up's a cinch if you know how, he'd tell his buddies,
leaving them to think he'd done it to 'Ahoy, I'm Crystal.''

   At first there's not much more than a square inch of skin.  The next
button wins a slope of flesh.  Another and a tug reveals the tissue's paler
and softer.

   A final button, a sideways slip of flannel and a nipple emerges.

   She rolls her shoulders ever so slightly and he retreats.

   It's difficult not to return, however, to something so erect.  If she
wakes, he'll feign watching TV and she'll assume the buttons came undone by
themselves.  Nightgowns could do that, perhaps.

   It's easy to slip the gown around Mom's shoulders.  What's happening
now, he realizes, is what happens in bedrooms.  That guy in the boat never
got the girl's top this far open.  "Gotta' fool around in a boat 'cause you
can't get her on your bed, huh?" Rob would like to tell him.

   Did Mom maybe see what they were doing?  At the time he'd thought not,
but maybe moms know more than they let on.  Maybe they're more sexy than
he'd thought.

   He lays a fingertip on her collarbone, then ventures downward.  She's
softer than he'd have guessed, but her nipple's harder.  You don't want to
squeeze, but at the same time it's pretty difficult not to.  Just not too
much, he compromises.  It's all about being careful not to wake her.

   The way she breathes raises her chest toward him.

   It's going to be hard acting like he'd been watching TV if she wakes up,
but maybe she won't tell Dad.

   Her hem's by her knees and slack enough to come farther.  Rob weighs the
possibility, then pulls it upward to reveal a white swath of cotton.  Given
how easily it's moved, he lifts it to where her panties span her hipbones.

   The wrap of the fabric shows how much this part of a girl is
three-dimensional.  Not as much as a guy, of course, but definitely
three-dimensional.

   Knowing this stuff makes you feel older, he recognizes.

   Rob can feel that it's fluffy beneath the cloth.  Further down he finds
the indentation and follows it to where the walls sandwich his finger.  He
must have hit a nerve or something, the way once she'd squeezed in, but it
only takes a moment for her to relax.  The moistness through the cotton is
a good sign, really a good sign.

   Is her rocking just his imagination?  No, it's because he's at a place
her body likes, even when she's sleeping.  They still have their reactions.
It's like on the elevator-- all about lightness and repetition.  A
fingertip up and down the crease is what gets the best response.

   Mom's wiggle proves that a girl can like what she doesn't even know
about.  How often is a guy going to be with a girl as asleep as this? 
Maybe once in a million years.  You could do all sorts of things.

   He pushes the front of his pajamas against the fabric triangle.  This is
going to be a whole lot better than doing it by himself; that's for sure!

   If Mom wakes up now, he'll be in major trouble, but probably she won't
tell Dad

   When he comes -- he's lost his defense about that outcome -- his PJs
won't keep the proof from getting on her panties, but maybe she won't
notice the evidence when she wakes up.  He'll put his pajamas through the
laundry as soon as they get home.  A wet spot on her panties will be more
of a problem, though -- you want to make your mark but you don't want to
leave it.

   And then he realizes that he can come inside her, all the way inside
her!

   Coming inside solves the evidence problem.  It's what he'd do if they
were marooned on a desert island.  It's what his hard-on's been telling him
from the very start, that it's going to be so sexy!

   No pajamas.  No panties.  No nothing!  And it's going to be so easy!

   One thing's for certain -- even if Mom does wake up, she'll never tell
Dad if he does it inside her.

   ***

   Mom's managed to hold motionless as each button opened.  She peeked at
the end, though, at her breast backlit by Arctic wilderness.  Pretty sexy,
she allows, but that's maybe because of her chemistry.  It's hard to last
this many hours.

   She knows he's untying his drawstring, his eyes on hers at every step.
The slightest flutter might send him away.

   It's not until she feels the thumbs hook her waistband, though, that she
knows it's actually going to happen.

   She hopes she'll maintain the charade.  Him being so oblivious to her
acquiescence, though, she can at least widen her knees.  Her margin of
error -- she'll need it when she comes -- will be his disorientation. 
First-time euphoria outweighs first time endorphins, as they say.  She'll
be settled back by the time he comes down.

   "By the time he comes down!" She'd not been looking for a double
entendre.  And she is indeed on her back.  Is it weird to make jokes about
sex with your son?  Maybe you're just trying to not tense up.

   She'll yawn that she slept like a rock and act like her disarrayed
nightgown is what always happens when you sleep.  She'll hop to the shower,
never looking back, and let Rob fix his pajamas.  She'll never have to
admit anything.

   He'll look at her differently from now on, of course.  What boy
wouldn't? He'll never know, though, how better he'd have done had she done
it back.

   She'll look at him differently, too.  If you stay totally still, they
say you can feel the sperm swim.  She'll wonder, though, how the rest would
have felt if she'd been an octopus, not a jellyfish.

   Or worse after he's had girlfriends, he'll realize she 'd been awake and
always wonder what he'd done to make her pretend it didn't happen.

   Is that what she wants?

   They've spent all day telling each other things.  Sex is a special way
of being together, the most special way, right?  It's a process, not just
an act.  It wasn't as if they hadn't been having sex since the first ride,
the deciding-about-it part, anyway.  What's there to decide?

   Mom smiles as if awaking and watches the mating of white mammals until
her own lover-to-be sees her eyes.

   She stabs at the remote and an authoritarian voice blares the
consequences of increased petroleum extraction on tundra ecology.  As she
was never much good with things mechanical; it's Rob who punches the "Off."

   ***

   Sara and Dad wait forever for Mom to unchain the door.  "Dozed off," Mom
explains, clutching her nightgown buttons.  Her hair's wet.

   Mom asks if the light show was good and when Dad asks about her and Rob,
she mentions a TV show about polar bears.  A mom could come all the way to
Seven Seas and watch educational TV, but Sara's surprised that her brother
would.

   Rob's sleeping on the bed they have to share.  Hotel rooms have two beds
unless you pay more.

   Sara showers to get the cotton candy out of her hair, but all the
shampoo's gone.  Criminy!

   As she pulls open the covers, why's there talcum's on the bedspread?

   And why are Mom's undies on the floor by Sara's bed?  Only a mom would
have white ones.  Sara would get the dickens for not putting hers in the
laundry.  Maybe it's okay at a hotel where a maid picks things up.  She
tosses them into Mom's suitcase when no one's looking.  Perfect shot!

   But wait!  Hadn't Mom's suitcase been on her bed when she let them in?
She'd put it on the floor before Dad noticed.  Where'd she been sleeping,
then?  Moms are mysteries; for sure.  Like how she sat so close to Rob when
they ate burgers.  How come he had a boner when he stood up?

   Maybe it will make sense when her brain's not still riding the rides. 
She'd had a fun day, her and Dad at Seven Seas.

   When she has to share a bed with her brother -- the last time was when
they drove to Ohio -- and then when he's asleep -- that's when she can play
with his penis.  The trick's being ready to escape.  The book at the store
says that boys get hard in their dreams.  With Rob, though, touching seems
to helps the dream.  It's fun to make him get that way when he doesn't even
know.

   The girls at camp who giggled about "hunting the weasel" had no idea
she'd already caught one.  She'd just held Rob's through his pajamas, but
it wouldn't take much to get them open.

   "Wouldn't be that hard!" She gets her own joke.  Oh yes it would!  It's
fun to watch him at breakfast, so clueless.  She could ask how he slept,
but that might seem an odd question from a little sister.

   Tonight, though, Rob's facing away and by his breathing, maybe not
enough asleep.

   And anyway, tonight she doesn't need a brother.  On the Looper, she'd
known every time Dad glanced down her shirt.  It's fun being in a
regular-sized bra, her pink one in this case because the straps show. 
She'd leaned Dad's direction, even, and inhaled.  When she sat on his lap
at the Flagship Light Spectacular, it was fun how his arms wrapped highe
than her stomach once the show started.  Is a lump in their trousers still
involuntary when they're awake?

   When the fireworks started, she'd leaned her head back on his shoulder
and covered his arms with her own.

   It will be easy to work tomorrow so Mom and Rob will be on other rides.
She and Dad will ride the shuttle bus by themselves because that's where
nobody can see but the driver and the driver's cool about it.

   No, tonight she doesn't need to play with her brother's penis.  Not
after she'd sat on Dad's lap and knows she'll be sitting there lots more
tomorrow.

   She'll order a Tropical Twist at the restaurant; it's neat how they
swirl the foam.  Plus maybe she'll get Dad to buy her one of those little
sea horses.

   Across the width of their mattress, Sara realizes that Rob's trembling.
The wimp only went on Maritime Missile once.  She'd ridden it four times
fearlessly and she's just thirteen.

   THE END

   ****

   Holly on the Web

   Wherever you found this story on the web, thank you to the server.  My
problem is that I've no systematic way to update the various servers.  As
literary errors (or just lame word usages) are made known, I'll repair that
which is salvageable on /~Holly_Rennick.  If you take
the time to read me, don't wade through an early version.

   You can contact me via the site's message form.
   Holly