Antiques 1

Dad reeled his line in. I'd already stowed my rod away. The fish just weren't biting today. This didn't bother me. I hated to fish, though I didn't let on to dad about it. I no longer enjoyed catching and killing things. I was a hypocrite about it, however. I didn't mind eating what others had caught and killed—as long as it came to me cooked on a plate or I picked it up raw under cellophane at the grocery store. I'd toyed off-and-on with vegetarianism but it never stuck.

Now I was engaged to a girl who had no such qualms. She loved a good steak as much as any alpha male I'd ever known. Medium-rare steaks, burgers, lampchops, a rack of babybacks...Still and all, Kristie barely weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. She still had the lean, athletic body of a cheerleader, five years after she waved her last pom-pom, did her last sideline somersault.

"This little filly of yours...," dad said, likewise stowing his rod along the hull of the old rowboat, "...she's quite the little flirt."

"You sure hit it off with her. Mom? I'm not so sure..."

"You know women. When it comes to other women. But Kristie's...What's the word I'm looking for?"

"Fun-loving? Gregarious?"

"That, yeah."

"She's loves people, dad!"

Dad looked the length of the gently rocking boat at me. "Seems to me what she likes, son, is MEN."

"That too."

"Kristie have a lot of ex-boyfriends, does she?"

I swallowed some beer. Nodded. "Lots. Tons of friends all around. Christ, when I was at college with her before she knew I even existed she was dating the captain of our football team. She dated a couple of different players."

"You OK with this?"

I nodded again, beer foam at my lips. "That was then. This is now. We've talked about things. I'm cool with it."

Dad shifted on the wooden bench seat. "Son, don't take this the wrong way. You've got my genes and I'm speaking as much about myself with your lovely mother as with you and Kristie. But from a looks standpoint...seems to me she's marrying a little beneath her station."

"Tell me about it. I pinch myself every morning when I get up. Kristie Wholefield engaged to ME? Marrying me? It's too good to be true, dad."

"And you know what they say about things that're too good to be true..."

"Dad, let me blunt with you. And I don't want to get, you know, too deep into personal stuff, private stuff, but...Kristie agreed to marry me on one big condition."

"What's that?"

"That our marriage always remain an open one."

"Open?"

I swallowed the last of my tepid beer. I could've used another. "It means that...you can continue to have relations with people other than your spouse. You can sleep with other people if you want." I waved my empty beer can. "This wouldn't apply to me. I don't want this from my standpoint. But...it's something Kristie insists on, so..."

"And Kristie always gets her way."

"Not always."

"You two ever fight?"

"We've had our share of disagreements, but..."

"You always give in?"

I really could have used that seventh can of locally brewed Double S Lager now. "Pretty much. Kristie is...I feel lucky to have her, you know? Like you say."

The smile that broke across my father's face, like the sun emerging from behind a bank of silvery clouds, surprised me. He said: "I'd like to spend a little time with Kristie. Alone. Get to know her better. Figure out what makes her...tick." Dad glanced at his Tag. "It's too late today but how 'bout tomorrow, after breakfast, you take your mother out for a long drive in the country?"

"That's fine, dad, but Kristie's probably gonna want to go along. She wants to see the scenery."

"Let me take care of that," dad said bluntly. Then he smiled again: "You don't mind sharing Kristie with me this one time do you? It's not like you're married to her yet. And even if you were, based on what you just told me..."

I was so nervous by now my hands had begun to shake. Dad the super-salesman. Dad the conniver, the subtle arm-twister. The entrepreneur. The ball-buster. Dad the rich capitalist. I swallowed—cotton.

"That would be up to Kristie," I replied.

"You sound offended."

"I'm not."

Dad laughed. "Guess I'll have to track down that bottle of Viagra Marjorie keeps hidden from me. Cause of my heart, you know. That and other issues..."

"Fine, dad. Horn in on my future wife why don't you?"

Dad shrugged as if to say: Big fucking deal! "One afternoon of fatherly delight out of what I sincerely hope will be decades of blissful marriage between you two? And lots of grandkids?"

"Yeah, right." I'd folded my arms, was looking off to starboard, or wherever, across the calm expanse of Beaver Lake. "You better clear all this with Kristie is all I'm saying."

Dad straightened his back, arched it. Then he leaned in. "Son, you know I could talk an Arab out of his last towel. Now—"

"Dad!" I blew air, shook my head at the racist comment. Christ, old man! Knock it the hell off!

Dad leaned back, his smile having dissolved. He lifted his chin. Looked across at me down his pronounced Roman nose. "I find it interesting, son, that you're less outraged by my proposal to fuck your fiancé than you are by my politics. I find it very telling." He paused. "Now why don't you row us back home for dinner before your mother gets her panties in a knot?"

Mom looked across at me. She'd stopped coloring her hair, had let it go silver. But somehow this made her look even sexier, more beautiful. Helen Mirren in her prime didn't hold a candle to my mom. Dad had married well 30 years ago.

We were in her car—her E-class. She could have driven any luxury car she wanted (dad piloted a Bentley) but she was a practical, unpretentious woman and a mid-grade Mercedes was plenty enough for her. Now she looked over at me as we drove though the winding hills and the first hint of fall foliage.

"What's your father up to?" she asked.

I played dumb. I shrugged. "Who knows? He has his doubts about Kristie, I think. He's worried about me. He wants to get to know her better..."

Mom was still looking at me. "He wants to bed her, you mean."

"Mom! What are you talking about?"

She turned her blue eyes to the winding road again. "I know your father. He's insatiable, incorrigible. Someone once said... 'Just like anybody who's ever had enough...he wants more!' That's your father. Those two have been flirting with each other ever since you walked in the cabin door yesterday."

"Dad is dad," I said inanely, not sure where this was going.

"Yeah." Mom pronouncing it like a bad taste in her mouth. We drove in silence for awhile.

"We don't have to be the innocents in this," she said a few minutes later.

"In what?"

"I was just thinking. It's been awhile since..."

I gripped the steering wheel tighter. Yesterday in the boat my hands had started to shake. Now at least I had something solid to hold onto. To grip. My breath was coming faster. I said nothing.

"Maybe we should do a little turnabout-fair play."

I didn't respond.

"I know a place we could go," mom continued. "It's a house out in the country I've been trying to sell. But with the crash it's just sitting there." She looked over at me again. "I have the key. It's fully furnished. Stop!" mom pointed. "There's a little general store up ahead. They sell wine there. You're tense, I can tell. We can pick up a bottle of Riesling, have a few glasses, go to bed and spend a nice intimate afternoon together. It's been a long time, son..."

I pulled into the store's gravel driveway.

"Do I still have it?" mom asked. She was leaning against the headboard, completely naked, legs spread, knees slightly raised. I brought her the last pour of pale-gold Riesling. I too was naked. But still too nervous to be completely hard.

"You're beautiful, mom."

"I'm old."

"No you're not."

"I'll be 50 next January."

"That's not old."

"Stop flattering. It's unbecoming of you. I'm going to finish off this wine then I'm going to pleasure you and make you hard."

"I am hard."

"Harder! So you don't make me feel like I'm incapable any longer of turning a man on."

"You're a tremendous turn-on, mom." I got on the bed and began kissing her thighs. I kissed up her still-taut belly to her sagging breasts. I kissed her breasts. I sucked her nipple, the nearer one. She suckled me, drily, while she sipped her wine. Tears came to my eyes I was so happy.

Mom set her empty wine glass down. "Let's do 69, like the old days. Lets pleasure each other. Then I want you to put it in me and fuck my brains out. I haven't been fucked in...ages. And no, I'm not on the pill and no I'm not menopausal yet. But it's a safe time of the month so...relax about it, OK?"

"I'm relaxed."

"No you're not. Eat me! Pleasure me!"

Mom remained in the bottom position while I awkwardly rotated into the top position above her. She lifted her head up and bent my cock down and took it into her warm mouth. While I dove between her legs, lifting them from behind her knees. I licked and sucked her, her juices delicious. I pushed my hands underneath her and squeezed the soft flesh of her bountiful middle-aged ass. I could have remained like this for hours. This was truly heaven.

After a few minutes of oral bliss, however, mom patted my skinny ass. "You're gonna cum in my mouth if I keep this up. Turn around and put it in me. I don't care how long you last, just fuck me hard. Fuck my brains out! Enough with the oral, OK? You really love to suck don't you? Tits, clits?" Mom laughed. "I worry about you sometimes, son. You know what they say. Fuck me, darling!"

Somewhat reluctantly I switched poles again, and moved forward between my mom's legs. She guided me into her, her legs now rising to circle my back. I plunged in until our bushes met. Mom was old-school. She had an untrimmed triangular one, golden-brown, no grey. Yet.

She shouted, "Oh my god it's been such a long time!" Though whether she meant sex with me or simply sexual intercourse with a man—any man—I couldn't say.

I kneaded her soft and liquidy tits as I fucked her. I leaned my head down as hers rose off the pillow and we kissed, on the lips, our tongues sliding past one another. We kissed the entire time we fucked. My orgasm therefore was a silent one. Breathless, tasting of lipstick.

I rose up, still inside my mother but my body motionless.

"Did you finish?" she asked.

I nodded. "Sorry."

"That's OK."

Mom smiled, half-smiled, trying to put the best face she could on it. Suddenly, staring down at her, she looked old. "You always were a quick-cummer," she said, uncharitably. "I assume your slutty fiancé knows about this?"

That same day, late in the afternoon, Kristie and I were walking along the trails that circled Lake Beaver in a meandering sort of way. We were holding hands. Every so often we'd come across a sign that read: "Watch Out for Ticks! Lyme Disease Can Kill!"

"So where did you and your mom go today?"

I shrugged. "Upstate. Apple country."

"You just drove around?"

"No, we stopped. For lunch and stuff. Country stores...antique shops."

"Did Marjorie buy anything?"

"Nope."

"Nothing?" my fiancé asked doubtfully.

"Just looked. Nothing caught her fancy, I guess."

"Not even a basket of apples?"

"It's a little early in the season yet," I lied. "Too tart." I was anxious to get the suspicions off of me. "What about you and dad? What did you do all day?"

"We talked a lot," Kristie nodded. "He's a really fascinating guy. I mean a real American success story."

"He's that all right."

"I don't care for some of his politics, but that's OK."

"Me neither."

"Can I ask you something?" Kristie, the former cheerleader, was almost a head shorter than me. She was looking up. "He told me that yesterday, out on the boat, you told him about our marriage arrangement."

I played dumb. "What arrangement?"

"That it'll be an open marriage, like we've discussed a million times. Why would you tell your dad that?"

Another shrug. I almost wished we were back to talking about me, mom and underripe Macintosh apples. "He knew," I lied.

"How could he know such a thing without you telling him?"

"I mean it kinda came up. Modern marriages and all and what's yours gonna be like..."

"Because he was like... 'Hey, if it's gonna be an open relationship...why not?'"

"Why not what?"

Kristie didn't answer. She walked on, head down. "He offered me a job, you know."

"What!"

"A job at his company, his main office. I would be, like, his assistant at first. Learn the ropes. But he said the sky's the limit. I could be a VP some day. Maybe even run the company."

I looked down at Kristie in disbelief. "My dad offered you this?"

"After we had sex, yeah. He told me you were cool with this; you knew it was coming. The sex part I mean."

"I wasn't cool about it!"

"He said he made his intentions clear to you on the boat yesterday."

"He—" I'd run out of words. "He's...he's crazy my old man!"

"I don't think he was kidding, though. About the job. We had sex then I lit up a J and—"

"My dad smoked pot with you?"

"You're more concerned about him sharing a joint with me than the fact that we were naked in bed together at the time and he'd just fucked me?"

"I...No! I...It's just that I can't see my dad smoking...smoking pot, that's all."

"I don't think he offered me the job just because he was high and everything. Or in love."

"Love?"

"Well, he said he adored me. He said he wanted me in his life."

"He'll be your father-in-law."

"I don't think that's the sense he meant it in, y'know darling? There's another tick sign. Jesus! Are they really this bad out here? Maybe we should turn back."

"We're halfway around the lake now. It's six and a half dozen of the other."

We stumbled on. Kristie drew breath, started to speak. Stopped.

She began again.

"Your dad told me something else."

"What?"

"About you and your mom."

I felt something crawling up my skin. I cringed. Said nothing.

"He told me that once, back when you were in college and home for the summer...I didn't know you then...he walked in on you and your mother having sex. Sexual intercourse. Did that happen?"

I said nothing in reply. Nothing.

"He said that's the reason he never wanted you in his company. You go on, get your law degree, do whatever. Go to work as a commercial real estate attorney for your mother's firm, if you want. But not with him. Not at Blacklake Securities. He said he still loved you, both of you, but he could never forgive you and your mom for betraying him like that."

I bristled, a little. "My father is, always has been, a serial adulterer. He's—"

"Be that as it may...you committing incest with your own mother?"

"I don't like the word commit. It wasn't a robbery...or a murder. Or—"

"Still, dear. I sure learned a lot about you today. You and your family."

It was getting dark. We probably shouldn't have taken the long trail around Lake Beaver. The temperature was falling, rapidly. Kristie kept rubbing opposite arms to try and keep warm as we walked.

"So today," Kristie resumed. Icepick in my ear. "You and your mom. Did you have sex with her? Maybe upstate in one of the houses she has on the market according to your dad? How many times have you fucked her in your life? Did you fuck her today? Mommy?"

"Kristie...!" I blew air. The lakeshore had come into view. I was tempted to go running into it, the black lake, fully clothed. Dive in. Drown.

"Was it revenge sex? You and your mom figured out—you already knew, of course—your dad and me would be getting it on while you were away? And you two incestuous love birds decided, fine, we'll fuck each other to spite them?"

"Having sex with my dad is incestuous."

"We're not married yet, darling. The wedding's still three months away. Besides, we're not related, your dad and me."

"Still..."

"What kind of son has sex with his mother on a regular basis?"

"It isn't on a regular basis."

"You just admitted it!" Kristie missed her calling. She's the one who should have gone to law school. She should have been a prosecutor! "Fess up, my dear! Did you fuck mommy today? Did you? A revenge fuck? For old times' sake?"

"Kristie, we took a drive upstate. Innocent stuff. We went antique shopping..."

"And usually when people go antique shopping they bring home antiques," my cross-examiner maintained. "Where are the antiques?"

Where indeed.