The Mother: Hannah
My trademark long hair is cut short. I have a new look, something that makes me appear younger with more style. It's a Saturday afternoon and I've arrived home with shopping bags and lunch. I'm married to my laboratory job so I rarely go shopping, but I've had the urge the last few days.
I await my son's reaction when he comes down the stairs. He's not coming down for me, he's coming down because I bought cheeseburgers and fries.
"Did you do something?" Matthew asks, squinting at me.
I flip my hair back. "Like it?"
"You look different."
"Good, I hope?"
He looks at me for a second. "It looks great."
Matthew takes the food and arranges the dining table, while I take my shopping bags upstairs. I'm in such a hurry to change my clothes because the food is fresh, that I leave my bedroom door open. Almost everything comes off. Then I take my top off.
Something -- perhaps my mysterious insatiable sexual desires as of late -- has me eyeing a particular shopping bag. In my undressed state, I look inside the bag and marvel. Don't ask me why a single, middle-aged woman would need these things. It was an impulse purchase. I'm a lab geek. I don't need sexy lingerie.
I hear Matthew coming up the stairs and I should cover myself. Or at least close the door. But I don't. The same compulsion that urged me to get a haircut and buy undergarments wants me to be seen. Matthew is a handsome 19 year old man. He's seen tits before. But never mine.
When the footsteps get closer, I don't move. I'm captivated by the idea of him seeing me topless while holding new undergarments. I let my guard down and lower my hands. I've never been an exhibitionist, it was never my fantasy, but this intrigues me.
Matthew comes to the door and I pretend it's an accident, even moving my hands to cover my chest. He's surprised, of course, then apologizes and walks away. What did he want? I get dressed and go downstairs to find out, with fire between my legs.
*
Sunday morning we attend a casual family gathering. There's at least 20 people stuffed in a suburban house. I brought presents for nieces and nephews, along with a big salad I made before coming here.
I'm wearing my normal clothes for going out. Something simple, reasonably priced, but nice to look at. Something that screams middle-class white woman.
Beneath my top, I'm wearing the erotic lingerie that I bought yesterday. If I paid that much for specialty items, then I refuse to let them sit in the closet. The erotic undergarment feels sensual against my skin as I hug family members. It's wrong, but harmless. It's not like they'll find out that my bra is sheer.
The party is a standard affair. We have different parties every few months, so seeing them is normal. We talk about typical things, catching up and so forth.
In the middle of the party, my sister (who is a dermatologist) hands out boxes of free samples for skin care. The interested relatives are happy to take their share. My box is heavy and I ask Matthew to put it in the trunk of my car.
When I bend over to close the box, I realize Matthew has a view down my blouse. If he's looking, I'd be mortified. I stand upright and Matthew is tense. He definitely saw the sheer fabric of my bra. We both know it.
When he takes the box to the car, I go upstairs to the bathroom, lock the door, then sit on the toilet. I'm fingering myself to the point of orgasm -- not because I want to -- because I have to. My body is screaming for me to cum. Being caught by my son was like fireworks. If he had a deeper view down my blouse, he could have seen my nipples through the see-through fabric.
After I cum, I realize there's a problem with me.
The Colleague: A Woman Named Daria
Something is different about Hannah this morning. Her hair is straightened and cut shoulder length. Her glasses are a thinner frame. She's wearing a little more makeup. Above all else, her attitude is zestier than usual.
We're in the lobby where people are getting their keycards ready to swipe. Everyone is a professional. People have their coffees and colleagues are chatting with each other.
"Beautiful hair," I say.
She smiles and gives it a fluff. "I treated myself to a makeover last Saturday."
But I know it's more than that. There's a change in her step. A sway in her hips. A boost in her confidence. My first assumption is that she has a new lover in her life. Great sex does miraculous things to a woman, but if she's seeing someone, she would have told me.
"Whatever you've done, I love it."
"Thanks. I feel young again at 45 years old. Can you believe that?"
After using keycards to access the government building, we grab coffee and continue talking. She tells me about her weekend, how she had an impulsive shopping and makeover spree. I pry for details, but she struggles to articulate. She thinks it's a mid-life thing, that her heart is craving adventure.
"Makes sense," I say. "Hey, people like us enjoy life more as we get older."
She smiles, "Well, if you're ever interested, I'll take you shopping sometime. I found some nice places at the mall."
I accept the offer and we make our way to the labs.
***
An asteroid crashed in the mountains of California three months ago and we're tasked with analyzing it. To the average person, it's boring, tedious work. But for us, it's the most exciting thing in the world. We're exploring the foundations of another planet and we're dealing with unique elements.
I'm summoned to the director's office. I walk past armed guards, which always puts me in place -- in a good way. I enjoy having an important duty.
As usual, the director is curt:
"Sit down and read that document. Then we'll talk."
My boss is a fact-based person and doesn't like things editorialized. I sit by the boss's desk and read the cover of the folder.
~~~
CLASSIFIED
Code Name: The Power
[The first few pages of the document are legal formalities, threats of prison time for revealing this information, followed by a description of the asteroid crash.
There are two statements in the folder, which I presume are what makes this document classified. I read carefully.]
Ashley Gupta:
A meteor struck the mountain a few miles away from our cabin resort. We were at a retreat for tech leaders and my mother is a corporate executive. Families were encouraged to come, that's why my brother and I went. We're college students, for the record.
When the impact happened, it sounded like a bomb. It was scary but these tech people were buzzing with anticipation because they wanted to see it. Anything science related gets them going. My mother included.
For context, my mother is a prominent member of this company. She's in line to become CEO someday. She has goodwill with key shareholders and she's respected in the company.
Anyway, the next morning they altered their hiking route so they could see the aftermath of the meteor. Some joked that they wanted to take pieces of it as a souvenir. I don't know if anyone did that, I wasn't there.
The next day, my mother talked to me in private. She asked if I felt different, physically speaking, if I came into contact with any exotic plants or was bitten by an insect. I said no. My mother said she was experiencing physical changes. I pressed for more information, she admitted experiencing intense arousal.
Later that day, my mother was preparing to give a speech to colleagues and shareholders. Her reaction was so bad that she begged me for help. I never saw my mother that desperate in my life, ever. She was nearly in tears. I used my fingers on her genitalia to make her feel better, but it wasn't enough. I had to use my mouth. I gave her oral sex.
It happened twice that day. This lasted privately for a month. My mother begged for relief every morning before she went to the office. The same thing when she came home. She'd remove her suit and demand relief, then she'd express guilt. Sometimes she'd cry.
My mother wanted the same things from my brother.
Manjinder Gupta:
[The lead-in to Manjinder's side of the story is the same, but here are key excerpts]
I helped Ashley with our mother, both in the morning and night. This includes having sexual intercourse with our mother, wearing a condom.
What I thought was interesting was that my mother insisted on giving me oral sex, before and after intercourse. She said doing it made her feel better. It was bare contact, without a condom. After sex, she swallowed my ejaculation. She felt relief when doing it.
Another thing that's interesting is that mom kept trying to have sex without the condom. Sometimes she'd try to pull it off, or she'd desperately plead with me to remove it. After her orgasm, she'd thank me for keeping the condom on. She'd say that she didn't know where those impulses came from.
To this day, none of us know where these impulses came from. We'll never go public with this information. It would destroy our family's reputation. Our best guess is that the meteor crash was the cause. My mother didn't touch anything, but she went close to the crash site.
~~~
When I close the document, I think critically. Classified documents are thoroughly vetted for accuracy. A prominent family in the tech industry would have no reason to lie. And if it's shown to me, there must be a reason.
Hannah? I think of my best friend. Both of us work closely with fragments of the meteorite. I wonder if this is the reason for her sudden make-over. The theory makes sense, but it's just that -- a theory.
"The daughter, Ashley Gupta, contacted local researchers," the director says. "That's how the investigation started. A different lab is running blood tests on them."
"Where's the mother's account of events?" I ask.
"Still being worked on. Apparently the mother was too ashamed to go on record. I don't blame her. The good news is, the mother appears to be recovering. The nymphomaniac tendencies are reportedly winding down."
"Nymphomaniac. That's a strong word."
"What else would you call fucking your own son and daughter?" the director says.
"Agreed. Will this be shown to everyone in the lab?"
"Not yet. For now, I'm only showing you. You already know the reason."
Of course I know the answer. And my boss knows, that I know.
"Hannah?" I ask.
"You were overheard speaking with Hannah about her sudden makeover. We did some research. Did you know she ordered sex toys and subscriptions to online porn? I bet she didn't mention that."
The boss seems fine with acknowledging they spy on our internet and credit card history. All part of the job, I think to myself.
