"She's getting married!?" I shot back at Mom when she told me the news. "They've only just started going out."
"I know, I know," she agreed. "It seems sudden but she says she loves him."
To say I was pissed was an understatement. The last few months at home with just my sister and Mom had been nothing short of wonderful and now that was under threat I was feeling especially sorry for myself that things would change.
You see circumstances had conspired to a point where it was assumed by Mom and my sister Bridget that I was gay. I know. That doesn't alone seem like a cause for celebration (not that there's anything wrong with it), but when put into context of the peripheral ramifications, it had been a blessing.
My father had proclaimed 'it' before he decided to leave us and take up with his secretary. In one of his drunken rants, he'd accused my mother of being frigid, my sister of being a slut and me (I guess due to my lack of interest in sport and awkwardness around girls) of being gay.
Mom had been quick to defend us during the ugly scene. Declaring her love for her children no matter their lifestyle even though I knew myself, every one of his assertions had been false.
For starters. Mom definitely wasn't frigid. Just one part of the evidence being, arriving home unexpectedly in the middle of the day months before, I'd found the house quiet. Her car had been in the drive so I knew she was home and walking from living room to kitchen only then heard the noise from the laundry. I called but no one answered and ventured further only to stop before reaching the doorway.
Headphones in her ears explained her lack of response to my call but they weren't what occupied my mother's attention. With the dryer on, even from where I stood the room was welcomingly warm. On the tips of her toes, at first I reasoned she was attempting to climb upon the agitating washing machine but that didn't explain her leggings down mid thigh. With her white cotton panties clinging tightly to her ass, my mother had mounted the corner of the machine and was grinding her groin against the vibrating tub.
In my eighteen years to then I'd never seen anything so bizarrely out of the ordinary nor as overtly sexual. It must only have been seconds I watched; her torso leaning forward to project her ass out towards me all the while keeping what I assumed was her clit on the edge of the white good, her pelvis thrusting back and forth. These were not the actions of a 'frigid' woman.
I don't think I'd ever achieved such a quick erection. A part of me wanting to pull it out. To go to her and aid her satisfaction. To join in on my mother's orgasm when it came. But the sensible part of me told me to get the hell out of there. I'd seen enough already to fuel a thousand masturbation sessions and quietly backed away before my presence was noticed. The perfect crime.
And my sister was certainly not a slut. Only two years between us, we were inseparable as children and thick as thieves as teens. We knew all of the other's secrets and delighted in keeping them from our parents. If she was "sleeping around" as my father had put it, I would've known. My awkwardness with other girls was only matched by hers for boys of her age. Neither of us sharing a kiss with the other sex until we tried it out on each other. For experimentation purposes only of course. We weren't going to admit to each other there was more behind it. Ever.
And me. Well. I was about as gay as a box of hammers. That is to say, not at all. But from the moment my father accused me and left our house, I noticed certain behaviour by my Mom and Bridget change. Without going out of my way to refute my father's assertion, they I think, assumed there to be some truth in the misconception. As days passed we became closer as a unit. They shared more with me and I noticed they weren't as prudent in covering themselves with clothing. Was it them believing I wouldn't be looking at them in a sexual way that they felt less need for modesty? I didn't know. But whatever, I delighted in seeing more boobs in only a bra. In just underwear being worn around the house for longer durations and the odd occasion of my mother with a towel around the waist coming from the shower, breasts exposed as opposed to the traditional wrapping around the bust.
If the only price I paid was being assumed homosexual for the constant near nudity of two beautiful women, (be they family) I was more than willing to comply.
Which brings us to my sisters impending marriage.
She had been seeing the guy for only a couple of months which made a wedding all the more out of the blue and had me wondering if a pregnancy was involved. I put it to my mother subtly but she assured me it wasn't the case. On the contrary, she implied they were in fact saving themselves for the marriage. This caused me to think maybe that was the reason for the haste!
"In a week!" I lamented when Mom told me of the date.
"His family are paying for everything apparently," she went on. "They've booked out a resort in the north of the state."
My mental anguish reflected in my physical state and Mom noticed my slumped shoulders and pouting lip.
"Oh come here Baby," she held out her arms and gestured for me to approach. The action caused her sweater to rise up an inch or so. Just enough to enable a peek of crotch. Her grey leggings tight over the triangular mound of pussy. The very leggings she had worn that fateful day in the laundry. I tried to put it out of my mind as I accepted her embrace but with her arms around me, my own holding firmly on her back, bra strap detectable, the awareness my cock was so close to her was unavoidable.
She's your mother, she's your mother. I told myself, but the months of fantasizing leading up to the contact had me uncontrollably swelling in the most unfortunate region.
"You're going to miss her aren't you?" Mom whispered close to my ear, her breath in my hair before pulling back her head to look me in the eye.
Our groins not touching, if she didn't move she'd be unaware of my problem I reasoned.
"Yeah I guess," I admitted, subtly inching my hips away from her as my cock twitched spontaneously.
"Well I will too!" She confessed. "It'll be a big change for us. No more Mommy sandwiches for one!"
The comment caught me by surprise and bombarded me with nostalgia. Childhood memories of Sunday morning sleep-ins where Bridget and I would climb into Mom's bed and cuddle. Innocently wrapping ourselves around her, front and back in what she laughingly described as a sandwich. An act not repeated for well over a decade and to be brought up now, befuddling.
"Mommy sandwich!" I smiled.
"You don't remember?" She laughed. "You and Bridget used to jump in bed with me and we'd snuggle. So tight!" She added, and as if to emphasize, pulled me closer into her body, wriggling in my arms.
I giggled along with her and for a moment forgot about 'my problem' until it demanded its presence be acknowledged. With her torso to mine she raised a leg and pressed her inner thigh to my side as if to mount me, mimicking the cuddle. A vision of her masturbating with the washing machine came to mind and my cock lost all anonymity, announcing its arousal by poking her in the belly. So sexual had been her initial contact I was actually a little surprised when her demeanour changed dramatically.
The laughing dissolved, replaced by silence and a confused smile. "Oh!" She finally muttered and turning red I grimaced and extracted myself from her hold. For a moment she seemed to be in a battle with her eyes not to look down, but losing, and before I could figure out a way to obscure my erection, her gaze landed on my cock. "OH!" She repeated.
I could've died right there and then. It would've been more preferable than dealing with my embarrassment. Wearing a short t-shirt and loose track pants, there was nowhere for my dick to hide and I quickly turned to head as rapidly from the kitchen as able.
"I just remembered I have to call someone," I lied as I made my way as directly as possible to my room.
