The Trouble with Mom

by Rebecka

Joy was 12 at the time. I was 14. Mom was 30.

Mom's name is Julie and she is divorced from Joy's father. Mom never talks about my dad. I've only met him once, and that was by chance at a Wal-Mart. Mom was aggravated that I had met him and griped about it for days afterward. Joy was 6, and doesn't remember.

We live in Chicago now. When this story took place, we were still living in Indiana, 200 miles away from where we are now. Mom was an assistant manager at a wholesale outlet (you'd recognize the name if I said it), and worked crazy hours. Joy and I got into constant trouble, but no more than a couple of adolescents living with a single parent.

What happened was this: Mom came home unexpectedly one night and caught Joy and me in bed together. We had been having sex with each other for about a year, and Mom had never suspected. How she hadn't guessed in all that time, what with the guilty behavior, the sudden explosions of giggling when one of us would look at the other, the times she came home in the morning to find us in the same bed together, stuff like that; well, it's a mystery to me.

"Brandi! Joy!" Shocked silence, and then frenetic squealing and scrambling as Joy and I erupted out of our sixty-nine positions and tried to get as far away from each other as possible. Joy fell out of the bed; I almost did. I yanked the sheet up to my chin, hiding myself; Joy landed in a sprawl on the floor, completely exposing herself before jumping up and running out of the bedroom. Mom stared after her for a moment, then at me, open-mouthed.

"Mom, it's not what you think!" I said stupidly.

"What is it, then?" she croaked back at me. One hand was at her throat, the other didn't seem to know what to do with itself and just fluttered before her. Her purse was on the floor. She still had her coat on. It was January, and freezing outside.

"Not what you think," I persisted. I felt alternately flushed red to the roots of my hair, and bleached white as a sheet. I don't know what I was, other than terrified.

Mom swallowed, sort of a strangled sound. "How long has this been going on?" She looked again at the open door, and then back to me.

"About a year," I admitted.

She repeated the words, dully. "Why?" she wanted to know.

"I don't know. It just happened. It wasn't Joy. It was me." Try to save one of us, anyway.

Shaking her head, Mom stood in the doorway for another ten seconds, her eyes unfocused, blinking in rapid bursts. "Go to bed" she said suddenly. She backed out and closed the door. I sat there, numb, wondering if she'd remember her purse. She did, and the door opened again. "Don't talk about this with your little sister," she surprised me by saying. I guess she was as scramble-minded as I was. She closed the door again and I laid down and pulled the sheets up around me and didn't even put on my nightshirt. Sleep was a long time coming.

The next morning, Mom was quiet. Joy and I were quiet. Breakfast was a quiet affair. Whenever Mom wasn't looking, Joy or I would raise our eyebrows questioningly at each other and shrug because neither of us had an answer for what was going on. I expected to be grounded for life. I wasn't. I expected to be spanked over my mother's knee. I wasn't. I expected Joy to be spanked, at least, because she was two years younger than me, and still technically within Mom's spanking for punishment-age group, but she wasn't. In fact, Mom said nothing and did nothing. When she left for work and Joy and I headed for the bus stop, both of us were bursting with questions.

"Did she say anything to you?"

"No. You?"

"No. Do you think she's mad?"

"Of course she's mad. Didn't you see her face?"

"She looked really confused to me. I expected to be spanked."

"So did I. I expected us both to be. I kept expecting her to come in during the night and drag me over her knee."

"Would you have let her?" Joy asked curiously.

"I couldn't have stopped her. I had it coming."

"So did I," Joy admitted. "I can't believe we didn't get spanked."

We had spoken too soon.

When we got home that afternoon, we straightened up the house, made our beds, did our homework, made Mom her favorite dinner, and otherwise acted like repentant little waifs. It did no good. The minute Mom walked in the door, she marched into the kitchen, grabbed me by the arm, and dragged me off to the living room. "Keep cooking," she ordered Joy.

Stumbling along behind Mom, I looked back at Joy, who stood at the stove with a wooden paddle in her hand, eyes big as dinner plates. "Oh, no!" we mouthed together. Then I was through the dining room and into the living room and . . . well, I'd rather not describe what happened next. Suffice it to say it was humiliating. Joy went next.

Later that night, I texted Joy on her cell phone. We weren't allowed to talk.

RU OK?

BUTT HURTS. U?

ME 2. MOM RLY MAD

TMSIDK-OW!

TTLY

(Continuing in English, for the texting impaired)

Brandi: What did she say to you? She told me I had let her down and disappointed her totally.

Joy: Me too.

Brandi: She threatened to send me away to live with my father. That's how upset she was.

Joy: She said the same thing to me. She doesn't mean it, but I'm terrified she'll tell Dad.

Brandi: She doesn't know where my dad is (I don't think), so I don't have to worry about that. I'm grounded until the end of the school year though. Bullshit!

Joy: Me too. I am so depressed.

Brandi: It's just not fair.

Joy: It's not. Let's run away and go to California.

Brandi: I'm for that. How much cash you got?

Joy: That could be a problem. You?

Brandi: We'll steal it from Mom.

We didn't of course. We behaved ourselves and were perfect little angels for the next two months. Every day without Joy got worse until I was ready to bust into tears just seeing her. Joy was the same. We didn't dare do anything after school and couldn't do anything at night because Mom worked only days now, threatening to quit if she had to work nights. She kept her position but gave up the differential pay that went along with working 4 to 12, and midnight to eight. She made sure we knew the reason bills got harder to pay and why there was less good stuff to eat. And forget allowances: that went to buying milk and bread every week. It really sucked.

"Joy," I said one afternoon. We were walking home from the bus stop. It was raining and miserable and we both had our hoods up and our hands stuffed in our pockets.

She waited for me to go on, and when I didn't, she said: "Yeah?"

It took a while to say the words. Finally, they came out. "I don't know how much longer I can take this, Joy."

She didn't ask what "this" was. She knew what "this" was. Plaintively, she asked: "What can we do about it?"

"I don't know," I admitted miserably. "I just know I have to kiss you when we get home or I'm gonna die!"

I heard Joy give a strangled little cry from inside her hood. "This is so unfair," she sobbed. "I want you more than anything in the world. Mom just doesn't understand."

Against my better sense I pulled my right hand out of my jacket pocket and shoved it into the left pocket of Joy's coat. Who cared if anyone saw. No one would think anything of it. We were young. We were sisters. It was OK. Desperately, we intertwined our fingers and gripped each other's hand tightly. It was the first time we'd touched in two months.

"I don't care what Mom does to us," Joy muttered bitterly.

"Neither do I," I agreed hotly. "She can go fuck herself." The comment hardened my resolve and I pressed my lips together into a straight line. "When we get home-" I shut up just in time to keep from humiliating myself as Johnny Kincaid and his friend Steve came running up from behind and grabbed us. Caught off-guard, both Joy and I stumbled forward and squealed.

"You jerk!" I yelled, punching at Johnny and missing. Johnny lived across the street and two houses down. Laughing, he knocked back my hood and gave a fake "oof!" when I caught him with a second punch in the ribs. Like I could hurt anyone. I laughed, despite myself. I had the hots for him too. Joy looked embarrassed and somewhat put out.

"You guys wanna come over?" Johnny asked.

"No!" Joy and I chimed in together. I blushed a little, but Joy just looked mad. As much as I might want to mess around with Johnny Kincaid (he had just started showing an interest in me while I had been lusting after him for years), I wanted to be with Joy a whole lot more and told Johnny we might come over tomorrow instead. We walked the half-block to our house while Johnny and Steve crossed the street at an angle, continuing to call to us and clown around

"What?" I protested weakly as we walked up the sidewalk. "You like boys too." Joy looked at me acidly. "Well, you do," I complained. The minute we walked through the door, all thoughts of boys were wiped from our minds. I pushed the door closed with my foot and didn't even bother dropping my backpack to the floor before I had Joy pulled tight up against me, her head tilted back, and my mouth glued to hers.

"Oh, Brandi," she moaned.

"Oh, Joy," I moaned back. I didn't care when her cold hand yanked out my shirt and ran up the gooseflesh of my stomach to my left booby and grabbed hold of it. I just forced my tongue deeper into her mouth and kissed her harder and moaned in ecstasy when she pushed up under my bra and touched my bare breast and hard nipple for the first time in two months. I forced my hand inside her shirt-she giggled at the cold touch of my fingertips--and laid claim to her own small booby, twisted her left nipple with my fingertips until it was hard as a pebble. God, how I wanted it in my mouth.

"I want to do it right here," she panted.

Between kisses I told her she was crazy.

"Please?" she begged. "We did it before!"

"That was different," I explained, kissing the side of her neck. Despite what I said, I was two seconds away from forcing her to the floor and ripping her clothes off. And I mean that literally. I gasped as she shoved her hand down the front of my jeans.

"Joy!" I gasped again as a finger pushed its way inside of me. I struggled to get my legs apart at the same time that I struggled to get her hand out of my panties. "Are you crazy? Stop it!"

Panting, she ripped the coat back over my shoulders, went to work on the buttons of my shirt, even as she tried to get her right hand back down the front of my jeans. Failing that, she yanked free the tongue of my belt, got it undone, and went to work on my button and zipper.

"Oh, what the hell!" I grunted, giving up. Helping get my jeans off of my hips, she trust them down to my knees and reinserted her middle finger while yanking my coat down my back and off me with the other hand. It felt like I was being raped. It made me want to giggle. I was breathless with relief, consumed by need. I wanted her naked on the hard foyer tiles, squirming under me as I ate her out-she would definitely be the one on the bottom today; I meant to ravage her completely-yet my little sister was the unexpected aggressor, telling me that she was even more desperately horny than I was.

"We need to lock the door," I panted as she yanked my shirt back over my shoulders and attacked the base of my neck. She loved the base of my neck. I had to worry about hickies when she attacked my neck.

"Fuck the door," she grunted.

I shimmied out of my shirt and helped her free hand find the clasp of my bra and pop it open. My bra was off me a moment later. Her left hand grabbed my right breast and started to knead it roughly. I groaned, and then flinched when her fingertips tried to disconnect my nipple.

"Ow, Joy! That hurts." My shoulders drew forward protectively as giggling, she really twisted my nipple. Gasping, I balled my hands into fists and ground my teeth together. She had never hurt me tike this before. I liked it. But then she released my nipple and placed her hand over my breast and squeezed it lovingly, while her tongue went into my mouth again. It occurred to me that I was naked from the knees up and I hadn't so much as gotten a button open on Joy's shirt. Her fingers inside me--and now there were three of them--had me squirming relentlessly.

"This really has me hot," I admitted breathlessly. "You taking charge like this. I like being the girlfriend." Her middle finger was intent on working its way into my uterus. I could feel it massaging the nub of my cervix. It felt really good. I was splay-legged and hunched with my chin over her shoulder and my hands bunched into fists against her waist. She kept kissing the side and nape of my neck, making me crazy. "I want out of my jeans," I huffed.

"I like you the way you are," she disagreed. Her left hand released my breast and clamped onto my right butt cheek, helping move my hips in a counter-rhythm to the probing fingers inside me. She was really driving me crazy. I stopped thinking about being the one on top and wanted her atop me on the floor, holding my legs tight against my sides as her tongue did unspeakable things to my insides. Joy was usually the gentlest of lovers; today I could imagine her using her teeth on my defenseless-

"Oh!" I gasped as the fingers of her left hand slid between my butt cheeks and found the button of my asshole. "Joy! What are you doing?" In the past, our assholes had always been an off-limits, though enticing treasure. No longer true, evidently, as her middle finger slid effortlessly into me up to the second knuckle.

"You like that?" she asked unnecessarily. My gasp of pleasure had thoroughly embarrassed me. I was glad I couldn't see my face. It must be beet red. My hips now squirmed uncontrollably from competing directions of attack.

"You are so bad," I panted. I spread my legs as she put her foot between them and forced my panties and jeans down around my ankles. Somehow, I managed to kick out of my tennies and she helped me out of my jeans by stepping on the bottoms of my pant-legs. I stood there completely naked now, except for my half-off, twisted ankle socks. If Mom could see me now, I thought wryly.

Joy forced me onto my back on the floor-I gasped as my flesh came into contact with the cold ceramic tiles-smilingly removed her panties and knelt over me in a sixty-nine position. She intended to eat me out completely clothed, shoes and coat and all. She removed my ankle socks before folding my legs back against my sides, so that I was completely naked and vulnerable. I was shivering continually and convulsively, and not from the cold tiles against my back. My hormones were in estrogen-overdrive. Settling into position, Joy said to me: "I bet you won't ever forget this afternoon, will you, Brandi, ever?"

I answered by raising my head and kissing her soft, hairless lips.

* * *

"What are we going to do about Mom?" I asked. It was an hour later and we were in bed. Joy was naked except for her skirt. I liked that she still had it on, through everything we had done. I could taste her on my tongue, every time I swallowed. My tongue ached from all the exertion I'd put it through. My jaw muscles ached as well. Between my legs felt raw. A wonderful feeling.

"I don't know," she sighed. "But I'm not going back to the way it was. I'll run away from home first."

"Joy!" I exclaimed, shocked. The was no kidding in her voice. "You'd leave me here?"

Now she was shocked. "No way! We'd run away together, silly."

"Oh," I answered, relieved. "You know what happens to young girls that run away, though, right?"

She nodded morosely. Neither of us wanted to end up a prostitute. "So what do we do?"

I considered the problem while I played with her tiny nipples. She was on her back with me curled up beside her and tucked under her left arm. Normally it would be me holding her. I liked it this way. It made me feel secure.

"I'm not letting her keep us apart again," Joy said forcefully. I leaned over her and put her small pink nipple in my mouth and sucked it gently. She ran her left hand through my hair, stroking the side of my face with her other hand. I kissed her left breast, barely a third the size of my own, all around the nipple and placed my mouth over the purple bruise that I'd given her earlier. I had a huge hickey of my own on my right shoulder: payback for the one I'd given her. She shivered delightedly and broke out in gooseflesh when I teased her nipple into painful hardness with my tongue. Joy loved having her nipples sucked. I sucked her left one again.

"Do you think I'll start soon?" she asked.

I looked up, surprised. "Why'd you ask that?" Joy was only twelve. I hadn't started my period until I was thirteen and a half. I hoped she wasn't looking forward to it, as I'd looked forward to mine. What a pain in the ass.

"I don't know." She shrugged. "I've just been feeling kinda funny the last few days. Kinda cranky. You get cranky before your period."

I giggled, which made her giggle in response. "I can tell you definitively that you have not started yet," I assured her, giggling again, which made her giggle again, which sent us off into a giggle fest. The truth was, Joy was lucky not to have tackled me three days before, or I'd have completely grossed her out. I bleed a lot on my period.

I leaned farther over, switching my attention to her right nipple. At the same time, I let my left hand drift down her right side, up and over her stomach, my fingertips finding the hem of her skirt and pulling it up over her waist. She spread her legs in anticipation, bringing her heels together. I slipped my middle finger inside her and played with the bump of cervix. She shuddered convulsively and moaned. I wanted back between her legs with my lips and tongue-God, I wanted so badly to kiss her wet lips and suck on her tiny clitoris--but knew we hadn't the time. Mom would be home in less than an hour.

"Mmmm," Joy moaned. Her back arched and she moved in every direction at once, spasmodically. I'd moved that way quite a few times myself; Joy and I knew exactly how to give the other the most pleasure. I inserted a second finger inside her and worked her hard little nipple with my teeth. She jumped and yelped when I bit down on her a little too hard.

"Payback," I whispered, laughing. She banged the back of my head with her fist and called me an asshole. I kissed her nipple and then bit it again, not so hard this time; she moaned and writhed beneath me, her breathing becoming strenuous. I could see the thud of her heartbeat against her rib cage. Her hips scribed the same circle as the tips of my fingers. If I kept this up, in thirty seconds I'd be atop her with her legs trapped beneath my arms. Oh, what I would do to her helpless little thing then.

"Please," she moaned. "I want you inside me."

I sucked her nipple and rotated her hips for another ten seconds, and then moved into position atop her, pulling her legs up and under me and spreading her wide with my fingertips. She was so wet, glistening pink and pretty, waiting for my tongue. I trapped her thighs more tightly against my sides, spreading her impossibly wide, and ran my tongue the entire length of her slit, from clitoris to asshole. A moment later, her face was buried between my own lips, her tongue delving deep inside me, making me shudder even as my mouth sucking on her clitoris made her shudder violently beneath me. I pushed my tongue as deeply inside her as it would go, and kept it there, licking her humped little mound of flesh while she did the same to me. And this was how Mom found us two minutes later when she walked into Joy's bedroom.

* * *

"I can not believe you two girls!" Mom ranted. It was ten minutes later and Joy and I sat on either end of her bed, wrapped in our robes. Joy's hair was a disaster, and I guess mine was too. Mom marched back and forth from one end of the bed to the other, her face crimson and looking ready to explode.

"You're sisters for God's sakes!" she yelled.

Both of us flinched. "Mom-" Joy said defensively.

"Don't you Mom me, young lady! Don't you dare Mom me!" Her arms were clamped over her chest, her hands fisted against her ribs. Each step she took was a threatening thud. My heartbeat and breathing were both erratic. How, I wondered, had we let her catch us again? As scared as I was, however, I just went ahead and said it.

"Mom. Joy and I are lovers. Nothing you can say or do is going to change that. If you try to keep us apart again, we'll run away from home."

Startled, Mom almost tripped over her feet. "Wh-what?" she stammered.

I looked at Joy to see if she would back me on this. With her lips pressed together into an almost invisible line, she nodded curtly and stood up. To my astonishment, she unbelted her robe and let it fall off onto the floor. Shoulders squared, her back arched defiantly, her small proud breasts thrust forward valiantly, she brought tears to my eyes. I joined her in standing up and proudly displaying my body.

Mom gawked. She blinked rapidly. A blush rose out of her chest and progressed right to the roots of her hair. "How...I don't...you..." Still blinking, she closed her inoperative mouth and looked back and forth between the two of us uncomprehendingly.

An idea began to form, but even before it took on more than a ghostly outline, I saw Joy move forward out the corner of my eye, and knew exactly what she planned. I held back, knowing that Mom would almost certainly panic as it was. Grim-faced, Joy moved to within a foot of our mother, took her right hand in both of hers and placed it gently atop her left breast. Mom appeared to have an aneurism.

"Joy!" she choked out. Joy resolutely held her hand in place. It was an event I wish I had a picture of: Mom's disbelief, and Joy's utter calmness and determination.

"I never thought I would ever actually say this, Mom," Joy said in a soft voice. "But Brandi and I have talked a hundred times about how to get you in bed with us."

It was everything I could do to keep from gasping and looking like a startled doe. We had talked about Mom a total of three times, over two years. (We'd been aware of our attraction to each other since forever; we'd only admitted to each other how we felt two years ago. We'd shared our first kiss a year after that, so it was hard discussing an idea so far out there, even to incestuous sibling girls, like hoping to win the lottery, or to getting married someday. In fact, either of those options seemed imminently more possible than becoming lovers to our own mom.)

Mom just stared at Joy, open-mouthed. I don't think she was even breathing. Her eyes were so big. Slowly, cautiously, Joy removed her right hand from atop Mom's and reached out. Mom shrank away but did not take the step backward to put herself out of reach. Instead, she watched in dumbfounded amazement as the hand coming toward her hovered above, and then settled onto her left breast. She made a noise in her throat something like a human mouse-squeak. Encouraged, Joy cupped Mom's left breast possessively.

"Will you have a cow if I kiss you?" Joy asked.

Mom made that noise again, louder. I watched a shiver run down her spine. She was breathing through her mouth, her chest rising and falling as though she'd just run up the stairs to the second floor. Her eyes were huge, her face crimson. Joy leaned forward, tilted her head to the side, and brought her lips into contact with Mom's. Mom's mouth finally closed. Her eyes were anything but closed, but though I couldn't see them because of her position, I knew Joy's were.

It was surreal: my little sister kissing my mother. I gulped loudly, aware suddenly that I was a bystander, not sure if I was a participant or spectator in this, not sure what to do next. I felt like an intruder. My face began to flush and a stabbing pain of rejection hit my heart. Tears filled my eyes. I wanted to run to my bedroom. Somehow, Joy sensed this.

Suddenly, so suddenly that it caught Mom and I both by surprise, Joy broke the kiss and turned her head to look at me. Her eyes became alarmed. "No!" she said in a hiss. "Don't you think that, silly! Get over here." She flicked her head and I scurried forward, relieved, but also mortified that she had read my distress so clearly. I wiped my eyes with the backs of my hands and smiled bravely as I stopped beside her. Joy's hand left Mom's breast, found my left hand and gripped it tightly. "You stupid," she scolded, kissing me gently. The next thing I knew, I was kissing Mom.

* * *

At seven-thirty that evening, we all sat around the dining room table, eating a makeshift dinner. Joy wore her usual nightshirt and panties, I had on my tank top and pajama shorts, Mom wore a lavender robe over her silk pajamas. The pajamas Joy and I had combined on for her last birthday. We all were quiet. I now had the taste of both my sister and my mom on my tongue. It was delicious. I smiled to myself, deliciously.

The truth was this: Incest ran in the family. Mom had been in an incestuous relationship with her sister Angie growing up, starting when she was twelve and her older sister fourteen, just as Joy and I had done. The same as us, her mother had found out and took the same measures Mom had with us. The difference was, Mom and her sister were too cowed by my strong-willed Gram to get back together again. For eighteen years, she'd lived with a hole in her heart.

"You know that's why I had you," Mom said glumly.

I stopped with a forkful of macaroni and cheese at my mouth. We had each made our own dinner. Confused, though aware she was talking to me, I said: "What?"

Mom pushed a slice of carrot around her plate. She'd made a Caesar's Salad for herself. Her expression was so sorrowful.

"I became very rebellious. Angie handled it a lot better than I did. The first opportunity I got, I let a boy jam me in the back seat of his car and fuck the living daylights out of me."

"Mom!" I protested. Joy's eyes, staring down at her bowl of Chef Boyardee Mimi Ravioli, were as big as dinner plates.

"Don't worry," Mom said with a little smile, "It wasn't your father. I didn't fuck him until three years later."

Joy choked on her mouthful of ravioli and coughed explosively into her hand. I gawked at Mom, open-mouthed. Mom maintained her sorrowful little smile and concentrated on the slice of carrot.

"I won't bore you with all the trivialities of my sex life," Mom said, her tiny smile widening. "The point is, I haven't been happy since the day Mom caught me and Angie in bed. What's maddening is that I acted in the exact same manner with you two." Her smile was gone. Her lips were trembling. She put down her fork and picked up her cup of coffee with a hand that trembled also. Reaching out, I ran my hand down the length of her left arm and gripped her hand in mine.

"It'll be all right," I whispered. Joy made her put down her cup of coffee and took her right hand on both of hers and squeezed it tightly. Mom was crying openly now, tears flowing down her cheeks, sobbing pitifully. Knowing exactly what she needed from us, I stood up and motioned for Joy to help me get her upstairs and into bed, where we made love to her all the rest of the night.

* * *

It was Saturday afternoon, two days later. The three of us had just returned from seeing Brokeback Mountain. We had argued all the way home about who was hotter: Heather Ledger, or Jake Gyllenhaal. Personally, though I didn't say it, I thought Michelle Williams was the hottest person in the movie. I love Michelle Williams.

There was an unfamiliar car in the driveway when we got home. Scowling, Mom parked behind it and then looked at the house. The car was obviously a rental.

"Who is this?" Mom asked, mystified. I fought with everything I had to make my expression as mystified as hers.

"I don't know. Did you invite someone over?" I sensed, rather than saw, Joy eyeing me suspiciously. She wasn't in on the plan. This was all my idea. God, I hoped it didn't backfire on me. Getting out of the car, I scanned the front windows to make sure someone wasn't looking out at us. I should have told her to park on the street, not in the driveway.

Falling in behind Mom, Joy and I walked to the foreign car and inspected the inside through the windows. Either her luggage was in the trunk, or she'd already taken it inside.

"I don't understand this," Mom said. Joy, her brow furrowed and her head canted to the side, stared at me remorselessly. I smile back at her tightly, and eyed the house. She understood instantly. Her eyes got so big. Wow, she mouthed.

Irritated and baffled, Mom lead the way to the front door, digging her keys back out of her purse. Mom always puts her keys in her purse and has to dig them back out again. She was just putting her key into the knob when the front door opened and swung wide to display our Aunt Angie standing there, a discreet, tentative smile on her face. My mom was shocked.

"Angela?"

"Hello, little sister. Long time, no see." Aunt Angie lived in Mexico City. She worked at the embassy there. She is divorced, also. Except for her longer, slightly darker hair, and the fact that she was two inches taller, she looked like a two year older version of Mom.

Mom blinked rapidly. She shook her head. She was too shocked to be joyful yet. "Angie, what are you doing here?" Suddenly she became alarmed. "Did something happen? Are Mom and Dad all right? Are you-?"

Laughing, Aunt Angie shook her head and took Mom's arm and drew her into the house. "Nothing's wrong," she said.

Breathless, knowing my face was turning crimson, I quickly closed the door and bolted the deadlock. Mom didn't notice, but Joy certainly did. Wide-eyed, open-mouthed, she looked from me, to Mom, to Aunt Angie in a continuous closed loop.

"Then why are you here?" Mom asked. Already, I could see the hope dawning in her eyes. Her face began to flush expectantly.

"Brandi called me." Aunt Angie's eyes flicked over to mine and she smiled. "She related quite a tale of family intrigue and begged me to fly up here and set things right with you."

"Set things right with me?" Mom echoed. Her voice cracked like a thirteen year boy's. She was blinking again. And to her amazement, Aunt Angie put her hands on her shoulders, drew Mom to her and kissed her like a long lost lover.

* * *

This was four years ago. I'm 18 now, Joy 16 and Mom and her sister 34 and 36, respectively. Aunt Angie quit her job with the State Department and now works for a big public relations firm downtown. Mom got a promotion at her job and is now the manager of her store. She makes almost as much as Aunt Angie.

There are four bedrooms in our house. For propriety's sake, each is occupied by the clothing and essentials of the four occupants of the house. Only two of those bedrooms are occupied at night, however: Mom's or Aunt Angie's; mine or Joy's. We alternate week on and week off. This week Joy is sleeping with me, Mom with Aunt Angie. Occasionally, not as often as myself or Joy would like it, only one bedroom is occupied at night.

Have you ever seen four women making love? No, neither have we. We usually don't have the lights on when we do it. The best, of course, is when Mom and Aunt Angie allow us to lay them side by side on the bed, and have us make love to them between their legs. Joy and I enjoy this almost as much as we enjoy eating each other. You never really know your Mom, however, until you sixty-nine with her.

THE END