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Katya
An Inquiry Regarding Nature
by Vivian Darkbloom
"Mom, I need you need to tell me about the birds and the bees,"
said Katya.
"Birds. Bees." Isadora chewed her pinky fingernail in response.
"Can't you ask your father? I'm so terrible at this sort of
thing."
"But mom. Don't you think it's time we had a heart-to-heart
girl-to-girl chat? Mothers know best what their daughters need to
hear."
"Well, dear. I'll certainly try. Ok, here goes." She cleared her
throat, and sipped from her tall glass of iced black tea, brewed
the night before from dark curling leaves imported from Nepal,
chilled overnight and served with slices of real lemon.
In the balmy globally-warming weather, it seemed to be the family
custom to lounge about the house clad in nothing but underwear.
Having recently arrived, I was still overdressed, in tennis
shorts and a tank-top. At least, my white shorts matched their
white panties and bras. Except in the case of Nicole who was not
wearing a bra. She read a book, out of sight on the floor behind
the couch.
The piano music of Robert Schumann soothed gently in the
background.
"Ok," began Isadora, "First of all there are birds. They have
feathers, and they go `tweet tweet,' except ducks, which go
`quack.' What else? They have wings and feathers and down, so we
can have pillows and down quilts, because you can get down from a
goose but you can't down from a mountain unless you can fly,
which is why birds have wings so they can fly, unless they're
ostriches, who hide their heads in the sand instead of flying, or
dodoes, which are extinct so they don't fly either.
"And then they lay eggs, so we don't know which came first,
the robin or the egg, but the chicken crossed the street because
it thought the sky was falling when the robin came bobbin' and
the fox got into the henhouse and poached all the eggs so the
yolks would be squishy but the whites would be firm, and they
would go good with hash brownies. I mean, browns. Potatoes, I
mean, not the Alice B. Toklas kind."
She fell silent.
"That's it?" demanded Katya.
"Did I leave something out?" Isadora implored frantically.
"Well, yeah!"
"I don't know!" Isadora chewed her pinky nails once more. "I must
have missed that day in school, in the truancy of my youth. I'm
just so terrible at explaining things!"
"Maybe, what about bees?" persisted Katya.
"Bees, bees, bees. Ok dear, I'll tell you all about bees. That's
right, bees. Here goes." She sipped her iced tea nervously. "To
be or not to be, that is the beebop of all being. To be is to do,
or not to do, do be do be do. . ."
"Mom. That's Shakespeare."
"Really? I thought it was Sartre."
"Who?"
"A really depressing philosopher guy."
"Mom, concentrate. Could you just tell me about bees?"
"Hey! I'm getting there. Ok, first of all, bees live in hives,
only not the kind of hives you get when you break out in hives,
but these kind of squarish boxes that farmers put on trucks and
then they buzz all around and make hay while the sun shines, only
I'm not sure if they make hay, and they might fly around at night
only I've never seen because at night it's too dark, only they
might sting if you step on them in the grass, so you should be
sure to be careful walking around in the clovers at midnight
because they might be trying to figure out which side of the
international date line they're on. Oh, and they have these
yellow stripes around them and they're fuzzy like velvet, only
it's not real velvet but this kind of insect sort of stuff that
grows like hair, only it's not hair but this velvety sort of
stuff, and they make honey so they can put it into little jars in
the store."
I was beginning to understand why Isadora would be gone so late
on the nights she did presentations.
"Um, mom."
"What!? Baby, I'm trying to do it right, only I just don't watch
the nature channel enough. I probably left something out. I know!
About that little dance that bees do to give directions, only the
male bees never stop to ask. Or all that stuff from winged
migration, how they land on these barges in the middle of the
ocean and stuff. Ok, did I mention everything?"
"Mom, you left out the biggest part."
"Biggest part. Like the webbed feet? Or was it about the wild
parrots and the honey farmers that didn't have enough clover
because all the birds were eating it? Now I'm just making stuff
up." She buried her face in her hands. "Oh, Katya, I'm such a
failure. I knew there was a reason I should have renewed that
subscription to the National Geographic. Aside from all the booby
shots."
"Wasn't there something else you forgot to mention?"
"Oh, I know. About the penguins on the Antarctic, only they don't
have penguins on the Arctic, maybe because there are no ants in
the Arctic, and the penguins need ants for when they go on
picnics. Was that it?"
"Mom, you know, about how they have little birds, you know, and
stuff?"
"Little birds?"
"Like, you know, the little birds that came from mommy's tummy,
and then they found it in the cabbage patch or something?"
"Daughter, what on earth are you talking about. Where did you
learn such nonsense?"
"You know mom, weren't you supposed to get to the part where they
have sex?"
"Sex?"
"Well, yeah."
"You want me to tell you about sex?"
"Like, duh!"
Isadora cheered up considerably. "Well. Why didn't you just say
so? Whole different rainbow. That's no brainer. Just, all this
nature channel stuff, I never can keep track of. Only. . . if you
wanted to know about sex, then why did you ask about birds?"
Katya executed a perfect, long-overdue, well-deserved eyeroll.
"Mom, please."
"Ok, so you want to know about sex. Well, this is a topic we can
straighten out right away. Speaking of straightening out," she
stared at me. Katya followed suit.
I blushed under their burning gaze. In visual range of the
watchful orbs of mother and daughter, I broke out into a cold
sweat, then a warm sweat, then a stinkingly horny old hot sweat,
and minutes ticked by as she sat there, sipping her cool ice tea
and making me sweat with their sultry stare.
Struggling for composure, I lifted the tall, dewdrop-beaded glass
of iced tea to my lips.
"I think we need a demonstration model."
My mouthful of cool Nepalese infusion sprayed sputtering across
all in front of me, in an atomized stream of evenly distributed
droplets.
Isadora gasped. "So sorry you spilled your tea. You know, those
shorts will stain. I think we need to wash them."
"It's quite all right," I said.
"No, no, I insist. Here, stand up!"
I had stood up already in a fluster. "And we'll just toss them in
the washing machine. . ." she was there in front of me, and
deftly yanked them down, gently resting her forehead against the
sensitive front side of my underpants for support as she
disentangled my shorts from my ankles.
Katya, hair neatly back in braided pigtails, watched curiously
from behind her mother.
"Um," I protested.
"Come on," said Isadora, "Katya, won't you toss those in the
machine?" She handed the soiled article to her daughter, and we
filed into the laundry room, Katya, me, and Isadora, bumping into
a slapstick silent-film chain collision as Katya halted to put up
the lid, then Isadora bumped me from behind, pushing my growing
fullness into the indentation between Katya's small shapely
eleven-year-old buns.
Katya winked back at me with an evil smiling memory of fondness.
I stood pressed, flower-like between the two, fitting comfortably
lengthwise between Katya's young buttocks, while Isadora leaned
past us for the detergent, supporting herself against my back by
pushing against me with comfortably soft breasts, a yummy
squishiness which reminded me of giant warm marshmallows.
After click-filled dial-turning we remained to watch the
fascinating filling of the water, the frothing of iridescent
bubbles, feeling the soft tender sensuousness of skin on all
sides, the surge of life-force through thin undergarments.
Katya turned round, so now she was facing me, slender legs
spread. My loving fingers held and caressed the sprightly
musculature of her shoulders. Her large, beautiful eyes glazed up
at me with sweet sugar as she registered my presence at the
threshold of her sexual cavity, pressed into her by her mother's
gently twisting pelvis behind me.
The machine reached its fullness and began to agitate, adding an
additional element of vibration to the chain of shared
sensuality.
"Um, don't you think we should let the washing machine do it's
thing?" Asked Katya.
"Of course," replied Isadora in a hushed whisper behind me. As
she released me from the vice-grip of her thighs, her pebble-hard
nipples brushed my mid-back. She seemed to be really getting
turned on by the way I was touching Katya.
Soon we found ourselves once more in the upstairs bedroom, calmly
sipping iced tea. It was the master bedroom, where Isadora slept,
with a huge king-sized bed in the center. Outside the screen door
across the balcony, a flock of birds had descended a nearby tree,
and the yard was filled with their squabbling.
"So, where were we?" asked Isadora.
"You were going to tell me about sex," said Katya.
"Right," replied her mother. Isadora came over, sat next to me on
the soft velvety couch real close, and put her arm across my
shoulder, the softness of her legs and knees pressed against
mine. She looked into my eyes profoundly, and I was lost in the
swirls of glittering ocean-swept melancholy in her soulful
long-lashed deep dark gaze, the vast unspoken universes of her
welling irises, her kissably moist lips, and the graceful curve
of her nostrils.
As young and beautiful as she was, she could have been a
supermodel, with a tall figure graced with elegantly proportioned
curves, without being overly heavy or light. The gentle touch of
her warm breath against my cheek filled me with desire, and as my
eye fell to her neat white cotton panties, the aching longing to
be inside of her blazed into passionate flame.
"I'm sorry to ignore you so," she explained to me, "But my
daughter is in need of my wisdom. I would be abandoning my
parently duties to ignore my offspring in such time of need. I
wouldn't want to be accused of negligee, you understand."
"Negligence?"
"Whatever."
"Sure," I said. "No problem. I can just take off and leave you in
your privacy, if you like."
"Except, you'd be in your underpants, since your shorts are in
our washing machine."
"Yeah, well. . ." I fumbled.
She glanced down at my lap, prodding at the thin white cotton
folds with a forefinger. "Plus, now it appears your underwear is
getting a little stain. We better wash those too!"
Nicole's head popped over the back of the couch, as she looked on
in curiosity.
"Stain. . ." A rising tide which had started our recent pressing
by the washing machine, now rekindled by curious motherly
fingers, rendered the details ostensibly concealed by the cotton
covering my crotch in full relief, and in the daylight one could
plainly see the single tiny stain at the head of the snake.
"Gosh, that darned iced tea!" I protested, blushing.
Knowing, skeptical, high-pitched sexual laughter arose on three
sides of me.
"That damned global warming," I said, dripping with sweat.
Must've been about a million degrees in there. "I think I need to
go blow up some Humvees."
"Good idea," replied Isadora, "But first we need you here to help
with the demonstration."
"I'm more of an idea-guy," I said. "All that practical stuff
isn't really my style."
"I see," said Isadora, continuing to fidget with my fiddlestick.
"Well, something tells me you'll catch on real quick."
I wasn't so sure, but I wasn't about to go running off in my
skivvies.
"You know, it's really not fair," I said. "The three of you
ganging up on me like this."
Isadora shrugged. "The family that preys together, stays
together."
"Amen."
Then, fortunately, she left me alone for awhile, walking over to
Katya. "Ok darling daughter. For this part of the explanation, I
want you to stand up."
She did.
Isadora carefully and lovingly undid the (unnecessary) bra, then
slid down her daughter's panties, gently massaging down the legs
as she went, so soon the young girl stood, slim and bare, a
twisted braid resting on each slender shoulder, her whole lovely
flush young surface of skin exposed to the the warm summer air.
My hips twitched involuntarily magnetism, drawn toward the beauty
my eyes now beheld before me. I could not help but stare at the
beautiful bare crepe folds where her wonderfully shapely thin
legs, rising from delicate toes, crimson-painted tonenails, and
gangling ankles to spindly knees and thighs, met in the glorious
terseness and propensity of her simple flower.
Her mother knelt with the reverence of a good Catholic before the
sacred alter of her daughter's radiant purity. Like a sideways
eye, the tantalizing vacancy between her legs gazed and winked at
me.
Nicole had hopped over the back of the couch, and sat by my side,
watching intently. Her hand had stolen inside my briefs, and I
felt tiny fingers softly kneading my delicate tissues.
She grabbed my hand and thrust it inside of her panties, wherein
I discovered with my curious fingers many delightful tactile
sensations, the pliant moist squishiness of various folds and
openings reminiscent of a previous meeting.
She gave a little sigh of contentment.
Chapter 5
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