Bac to Normal

Mom looked good in her new swim suit, she decided. She was in a state of utter relaxation in Dad's fishing boat: reasonably in-shape tummy exposed, only slightly jiggly arms resting over and along the prow of the boat, hair tied back in a lazy bun, bun held together by a pencil dad kept in his tackle box, bare feet crossed and resting on a seat cushion opposite her, big fancy sunglasses - an indulgence she'd permitted herself while wrestling with this year's bout of pre-lake-vacation travel prep anxiety - resting comfortably on her nose, permitting her to gaze up unsquinting at cream-colored clouds and warm blue sky, and to really bask oh so completely in her own hypnotic repose. The chic two-piece halter top swimsuit didn't hurt either. For helping her feel sexy. Strong. Good about things.

Dad's voice, suddenly, asked her something. She'd missed what he'd said.

"Hm?" Mom's head un-lilted. She peeked at him over her sunglasses.

"I asked if you were planning to fish?" he chuckled. "Since we're out here, y'know, fishing?"

"Am I not fishing?" she replied calmly. Her reel was leaned at arm's reach to Dad. He had helped her bait the hook, and then let her cast it out. Then she'd gone and laid down, leaving it in his care. To her, this was fishing. As Tracy might have put it, she'd done a thing, and that counted.

"Hn," Dad snorted collegially. He wasn't upset with her. Just a little bummed, perhaps. But he was clearly enjoying their shared silence on this beautiful lake. The way the water lapped at the hull, making that lovely clap-gurgle every now and again. The way the tree-line mirrored itself along the shore, and how there were two of that great bluff to the Northeast. He could settle, if this is all fishing with Mom would ever be. She did look awfully good, just laying there like that. He'd bagged a looker. His own dad would've been proud. Hell, he'd have been insufferable. Never could resist the urge to flirt with a pretty lady.

"Are you just going to stare?" Mom smirked at him.

Dad almost flinched. He hadn't realized her eyes were open. "I'm not staring," he lied, but lowered his own sunglasses to show his eyes wide-openly staring at her, "I'm fishing."

Mom scoffed, uncrossed and recrossed her ankles, and then sighed and told Dad to come snuggle with her.

"You know the second I get up, that's when they'll bite."

"So then I'd be doing you a favor," Mom shrugged. She knew how to shrug in a way that flattered her breasts. It'd seldom failed to elicit Dad's appreciation.

"Golly," Dad sighed at his wife's perfect boobs in their halter top. "I suppose you would be."

He got up from his seat. He approached Mom. The boat rocked a little as his weight crossed the deck. Dad normally had terrific balance on the lake, but here was an unignorable indicator that the drugs were taking effect. He wobbled a little, and half-stumbled into the bench seat beside Mom.

"Hey handsome," she said.

"Beautiful," he said.

She mounted his lap, grabbed his head, and kissed him with all the easy sun-drenched passion of a girl on a tropical honeymoon. She ground her chic cheeky bottoms into his groin.

His cock took a second to respond, but just a second. When it was clear Dad was starting to cringe and wince at the off-angled way she'd pinned his hardening junk, she sat up a bit so that she could reach underneath and readjust. Dad had to help her help him. His swim trunks had that mesh lining that they both hated but that Dad didn't feel comfortable not having - especially given how often they swam together as a family, he felt he needed the itchy mesh insurance policy against accidentally exposing himself to his children. When his cock had been comfortably adjusted to midline, ready to be humped (and to hump in kind), Mom sat her full weight back down and resumed grinding pleasurably, drug-addledly, into the very penis that had birthed her two new favorite sexual partners.

"God," Mom sighed.

"Mhm," Dad said around a mouthful of her slightly sweaty, sunscreen-flavored nape.

"I just love us so fricking much."

"Mm?" Dad snorted. He unlatched from her shoulder, wiped the spit from his lips, and gave Mom a look. "'Fricking?'"

"Sorry," Mom blushed. "I suppose I've been spending a lot of time with Tracy."

"You sure have."

"Do you know what she calls her vagina?"

"W-what?" Dad sort of flinched a little bit. Even his cock twitched. Mom felt it, but filed the feeling away for later appraisal.

"Her p-word!" Mom laughed.

"P-word?... As in...?"

"She doesn't like 'pussy.' And she doesn't know what else to call it. So," Mom batted idly at a piece of hair on the back of Dad's head that was refusing to lay down, "she calls it her p-word for now."

"And you know this how?"

"What?" Mom sat back a little so she could meet Dad's quizzical look in the eye. "Are you uncomfortable with me having a close, nonjudgmental relationship with my own child?"

"I'm just... I guess what I'm having trouble understanding is ... ," Dad struggled to explain. He let go of one of Mom's hips so he could he could talk with his hand while he spoke. He kept his hand down at her side, where she couldn't even really see it, but he gestured with it all the same because it helped him talk and think at the same time. "How exactly does our daughter's nickname for her - " open palm, closed palm, reopened, closed, as if beckoning the word to his hand - "genitals? Come up in normal, everyday, mother-daughter conversation?"

"I don't know," Mom shrugged. "You don't think you could talk about this kind of stuff with Seay, too?" Mom answered his question with a question.

"Ask my kid what he calls his wiener?"

Mom crinkled her nose at Dad. She erupted into laughter.

Dad suppressed a chuckle. Mom's mirth was just so vibrant, and so close to his face, and so deliciously sitting on him. He was embarrassed. And a little anxious, if he was being honest. Mom was planted firmly, exquisitely, on his erection. If he accidentally thought the wrong thought right now, accidentally wondered too curiously about his little girl's fully developed, adult vulva. Or worse, his little boy's beautiful, rock-hard, full-grown penis. Mom would feel it immediately. And golly, the DRUGS. The DRUGS they were on. Was that why Dad had this uncharacteristic impulse to be so forthright? So curious? So... open-palm, close-palm... eager to connect?

"You aren't a LITTLE bit curious?" Mom asked Dad as she was coming down. But Dad's pink-cheeked confusion and emphatic head-shake 'no' only sent her back up into hysterics.

"Did you ask me over here just to talk about our kids' genitals and laugh at me?" Dad frowned. "Because I thought I came over here for a little loving. And I left our fishing rods - yours AND mine - unattended over there."

"You did come over, you did come over for loving," Mom giggle-cooed, and caressed and stroked Dad's back reassuringly. She slowed her breathing, swallowed her last few hiccups of after-laughter, and now relaxedly dangled her arms about Dad's shoulders. "I am loving on you," she smiled, and smooched him.

"Hm," Dad snorted. "Good."

"But can I tell you something?" Mom grinned as she pulled back from a follow-up kiss.

Dad braced himself. "What?"

"Wait," Mom frowned. And she grabbed Dad's head again. She squinted into his eyes, assessing for something. "Are you feeling anything yet?"

"Y-yeah," Dad tried to nod. "You saw me just about fall over in the two steps it took me to get over here."

"I mean, emotionally. Spiritually. Are you feeling... What are you feeling?"

"Huh?" Dad tried to cock his head. "You know I don't know how to talk about that kinda crap. I told you. I'm feeling the drugs, alright? You asked. I answered. Now what's so serious that you need to interrupt a perfectly good make-out session to tell me?"

"Hm," Mom slowly nodded, and released Dad's head. "I think you are feeling it. You just don't know how to give language to it."

"I don't know how to what-now?" Dad chortled. He had coffee breath. Mom loved how it stank.

"I want to tell you something. Something honest. And as a compromise, how about before you respond," Mom subtly wiggled her hips, letting Dad know she hadn't forgotten why she was sitting where she was sitting, "we agree to make-out, nonstop, as passionately as we ever have in our whole beautiful perfect lives together, for one minute?"

"Th-that... might depend on what you have to say," Dad frowned. Mom flexed and relaxed her ass muscles on Dad's boner. Dad grabbed her hips and pressed her incredible butt-meat more firmly into him. "B-but it's a compromise I can, I guess, agree to."

"Good," Mom said. And she took kind of a nervous breath. She sat back again. She put her hands on Dad's chest. She spread her fingers. She unspread them again. She looked up into his squinting, half-sunblinded face. He'd removed his sunglasses. Mom had relocated hers to the top of her head. They looked naked-eye to naked-eye into each other's hearts. "I want to finally tell you something about me that I've been wanting to tell you for a long time, but I could never could find the right moment. It's about... my past. My family, growing up."

Dad said nothing. Mom could tell he wanted to. His lips had twitched, like he had a comment or a question. But he was being polite. And he was possibly just eager to get back to kissy-smoochy time with his hot, horny wife. She looked incredible in her new two-piece.

"Mom and Pop and me. We... well, you know how we moved around a lot. Especially before my brother was born. But so, they were kind of the only 'lifelong' friends I had up until I left for college. Everyone else," Mom sighed, reflecting, and used her own hand to wave off a feeling of some sort, "was temporary."

Dad squinted at this. Where was this going? What had Mom waited until decades into their marriage to tell him, now? Here? Out on the lake in broad daylight? While they were both high on some drug Mom had gotten off a couple of miscreant college kids? (Rob had told him plenty about the kinds of mischief he and Kris's two houseboat guests got up to. His niece and that greaseball boyfriend of hers. And that was only the stuff Rob knew enough about to tell. Like he'd told Dad, 'You can bet they get up to plenty worse they just don't tell us about.')

"And so," Mom finally went on. She'd needed a second to prepare this next bit. It was something she was clearly not eager to share, so much as unburden herself of. "You know I was close with them."

"Closer than I knew anybody could be to their own parents."

"Right," Mom winced. "Well. You see. That's just the thing. We weren't... normal-close. We were... special-close."

"Special-close," Dad agreed. He'd never actually gotten to meet Mom's parents. His in-laws. They'd disappeared - presumed dead - in a boating accident, late into his and Mom's courtship. He'd had the ring and everything, ready to ask Mom's dad's permission for her hand, but then -

"Honey," Mom said. "Clark. Look at me. Listen."

"L-Lace," Dad said. They so seldom used each other's names, it was jarring, almost sacrosanct-feeling, to hear his said now. It brought him to attention. He looked. He listened. At Lacy. To Lacy. His wife.

"We were - special - close," Lacy said again. And her breath quivered. Her stomach fluttered. For a second, it was like she might throw up on the both of them. But Clark looked. Clark listened. But he didn't respond. "Do you... need me to explain what I mean by special?"

Dad blinked. His lips did that thing again, like he definitely had a thought, or a question. But again, they relaxed back into his usual calm, resting, slightly-pursed state. Like the lips of a man who was looking at, listening to, his beloved, as she told him something important. Something he perhaps already understood, but definitely did not want to jump to any wrong conclusions about. So yes, he needed her to explain. He nodded to her. Please explain.

"It was... well, I'll just say it. We were - my family was - we were open about sex." Mom looked frustrated with herself even as she shared this immensely freeing truth. "Not just open. We were... God, can I just say it? You promised to make out with me, remember." Mom pointed at Dad. Lacy pointed at Clark. "You can process after. But I'm just going to say it, and I need you to be ready to honor our deal, okay?"

Dad nodded again. A little more uncertainly than before. But he did nod.

"Sex. We had sex. It was just - sex was just - just... part of it, for us. Okay? It wasn't anything bad or gross. Okay? I was eighteen when it started. It just became part of how we loved. And - and - it sounds a little scary, I know, but please. Please please believe me, Clark. It was okay. At first, it was confusing for me, too. And it took time for me, a LONG time, for me to fully let myself believe that having sex with your own family could be - could be - safe? Or that... how Mom and Pop and I were... that it could be how a family lived. And loved. And stayed together through thick and thin. But time went on. And it tested us. And we did our best. And... it was lovely, you know?" Mom was crying. She wasn't sure when she'd started crying. But she missed her parents so much. "It turned out, for us, that was a n-nice way to live."

"Right," Dad nodded, sort of. Mom had said the thing he'd been afraid to ask her to clarify for fear of her saying it. The conclusion he had not wanted to jump to, in the event he was mistaken. His cock, nestled beneath his wife's glutes and groin, stirred uncertainly. "Right," he said again.

"Okay?" Mom frowned at him. He was saying 'right,' but he didn't look okay. Her poor Clark. She'd waited so, so long to tell him. Too long, maybe. She had envisioned every conceivable response he might have. 'Right,' had been a plausible outcome.

"With... both of them?" Dad asked.

"W-what?" Mom blinked. She suppressed a laugh of surprise, of embarrassment. "Well, yeah," she shrugged. She knew that even with her sunburn and her tan and her light layer of blush and foundation, there was no hiding how absolutely beet red with self-consciousness she was right now.

"Sexual how?" Dad asked.

"Clark," Lacy scoffed. "Do you really need the particulars?"

"N-no," Dad shook his head apologetically. "I don't mean - I mean, what I'm asking is, Lace -?" Dad shook his head again, this time as if trying to shake an etch-a-sketch, to clear his mind, to get a fresh start on whatever he really meant to say. "Did they... take advantage of you? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Oh, Clark," Mom whispered, and realized in an instant - for the umpteenth time in her life, but still - how dead certain she was she'd married the right man. "No. They didn't hurt me, sweetie. They loved me."

"I... " Dad started to say, but could only gape at her. At the lake and sky all around her. At his own reflection in her twinkling, misty eyes.

"To be clear," Mom cleared her throat. It wasn't time to cry yet. That could wait for after the kiss. Ideally. "I've never lied to you about my Mom and Dad. They really were just the best, just truly wonderful human beings. Imperfect, sure. But good, fundamentally. They would have adored you. They DID adore you, from how much I talked about you."

"Lacy, I," Dad tried again. Got a little further into an actual sentence this time. "I am not sure how to handle this... particular bit of... news."

"You're doing great, honey," Mom assured him. "Shall we start our one-minute make-out now?"

Dad wasn't sure what to say to that. Clark wasn't either. But then Mom - and Lacy - decided for all four of them. She suddenly reached up, fiddled with the knot behind her head - and cheekily undid her halter top. She let it fall away from her breasts, where it dangled, still cinched around her middle by an additional clasp at the small of her back. Dad looked down at his bounty. Gee golly but he'd bagged a looker. And presently, Mom hoisted one of her luscious breasts up toward him. Seated on him like this, it wasn't much effort to get her nipple to his face. Dad sniffed it, for some reason. It smelled of woman, of the animal called woman.

And down below, Mom felt the immediate effect this particularly dose of pheromones had on the animal called Dad.

Dad sucked Mom's tit. He sucked its animal funk into his mouth, and tasted that sure enough, Mom had a flavor. It was eggy and bitter and sweet all at once. It both did and did not match the aroma of her. The stink of her. It was prettier, mostly, if a little blander. Like skin tended to be. Like nipples could be. But past flavor was texture, was the meat comprising her tit, was the slightly harder stuff inside her nipple, was the stippled surface of her areola. For some reason Dad thought of rain on lake-water. That chorus of plip sounds. That greying of everything around you. That nagging sense that maybe you should get back to shore soon.

Dad felt the drugs. It was hard to put into words. His hands moved around his wife, felt her meaty landscape, and so as they searched for the words she became the words. Dad had the sense that the lake, this boat, Mom's mouth, all of these were places outside of time, outside of lived experience. Too whole, too humongously good, to fit with the rest of life's hurried, forever-half-finished-feeling, fuck-it forward marching. Out here, under Mom's meat and bones and lusty heat, inside her mouth, there was no urgency. The news his wife had just shared, but a lapping, lulling, gently rocking truth that could be felt, just felt, with no thinking necessary. She'd had some kind of sexual bond with her parents. He had already known of Lacy that she'd slept around a little by the time she'd met him. He had too, so it had struck him as immaterial. So this was just kind of an addendum to that. Or an appendix, Dad's left hand said, feeling at the spot it seemed to think Mom's appendix might have been.

Mom started licking and nibbling Dad's ear. He'd always loved this. Sometimes she could get him to cum just from playing with his ear. Especially if she was humping him at the same time, which of course she often was.

Just then, Dad spied a favorite bird of his some seventy yards off, standing stock still in the shallows on its tall grey sticklike legs. He recognized it in an instant. The Great Blue Heron. Gangly, long-beaked, with sleek grey-blue plumage, thin black slicked back crest, and a great white breast bearded in wispy, wizardly feathers that twitched and fluttered in the wind. it seemed to be aware of him staring at it. Herons were wary, with eyes like a natural combination of binoculars and microscopes.

And then Mom turned Dad's face back to hers so she could smoosh their tongues back together.

That the sun and sky would hold in place the lake, which would in turn uphold the boat, which would situate their bodies - Mom's mouth - just so, right here, where each oral cavity adjoined the other's, became one two-tongued, four-lunged cavity, welcomed his animal to hers, was not - was not - a thought in need of finishing.

"You're high," Dad told Mom, watching the way her face lit up as he tweaked her right nipple. Pinched it. Kind of hard.

"You are too," she assured him.

Somewhere in Dad's mental face, the one just inside the one Mom was kissing, a whole muscle group relaxed. He hadn't even realized how hard he was clenching it. But it was okay now. It felt better, now.

Some thought slipped from his mind, dripped away half-formulated, slap-gurgled at the hull of him and then returned to whence it came. Back out into the sunshine, maybe. Or straight down into the cool murk.

The news his wife had just shared could simply stay with them, live here with them, be here where Mom had decided to give it to him, perhaps leaned against the inside rail of the boat alongside the fishing reels. Dad glanced at the fishing reels. Mom glanced, too. Dad eyed the ends of their lines, far out away in the water, pristine and new and untouched, until Mom could stand it no longer and whined at him and they went back to relishing each other's coffee breaths.