"Come on, mom, I'm hot. Let's go inside."
She blinks a couple times under her sunglasses, waking up from a dream. By some genetic grace, she could stay out in the sun all day without burning. She often did, which gave her a very dark complexion for someone of our ancestry. I am not quite as immune to the sun so alternating sunbathing and the occasional dip in the pool for a couple hours was more than enough to drive me back indoors.
She eventually arouses enough to speak. "Alright then," she says, groggy but not annoyed. How could anyone be annoyed with the sun caressing their exposed skin in such a sultry manner? She grabs her book off the table between us and stands up. She adjusts her bikini top, which had ridden down a little, and we proceed into the hotel.
Inside, she takes the first turn in the shower. After a while of waiting on the bed looking through my phone, I hear the water shut off and, a bit later, she walks out. She has a plush, white towel covering her chest down to her mid-thigh, and another wrapping the hair on her head.
"You're up," she asserts.
I comply silently and walk past her into the bathroom. I close the door and take off my trunks, remembering, as I do, when my mother first saw them. I was already eighteen at the time but she made some comment on how the red and white striped shorts fell a little high on my legs. She, having been raised Catholic, was not used to men wearing swim trunks down to mid-thigh. I had to awkwardly tell her that this was a perfectly normal thing nowadays and that guys no longer had to wear swim shorts down to their knees.
I brush off the awkward memory and get into the shower. Being out by the pool always turns me on. Even if I'm the only one out there, the smell of the chlorine and my own sunscreen gets me worked up. It must just be the association I have with those smells and seeing beautiful women spilling out of their swimsuits.
Being outside with my mother didn't help. She insisted on untying her bikini top in the back so she wouldn't get unsightly tan lines and I was tasked with applying sunscreen to her back. Sometimes, when getting her sides, I would accidentally brush one of her breasts, pressed between her body and the tanning bed.
Yep, I was hard.
I unceremoniously rub one out down the drain, rinse and dry off, and get dressed. I notice that the door is slightly ajar. Oh no, what if my mother had walked by and seen me? The thought of it excites me in spite of my embarrassment. The odds are low, I assume, so I push it from my mind and come out. My mom is almost finished getting dressed. She is facing the mirror and is just putting on her bra. I catch a glimpse of her small breasts, all but a small triangle is dark from a couple months of summer sun. I pretend not to notice as she quickly finishes dressing and I ask her where she wants to go for dinner.
"That ramen place across the street is apparently pretty good," she says.
"You mean Marukame? Yeah, my friend and I went there last time we were here and it was really good."
"Alright, sounds like a plan!"
We put our shoes on and go down to the lobby. She is wearing jean shorts that were very short for someone making comments about my swim trunks and she has on a loose, white, v-neck though which her bra is only barely visible. Her tennis shoes are plain, white, and nondescript. She didn't put much thought into her footwear as she prefers going barefoot, but the streets of Waikiki are no place for a naked sole. We walk to the restaurant and talk about how beautiful the sky was with the sun going down. Technicolor clouds are always lovely but they are somehow even lovelier when you're on vacation in Hawaii.
We get to the restaurant, order our food at the counter, get it from the chef further down the line, and walk it to our table, a thoroughly Japanese affair.
"This is really good," she says with a mouthful of udon, a bit of noodle and a few drops of broth trying to escape down her chin.
"Yeah, it's as good as I remember. And the Coke here is really good somehow. Isn't it weird that some places have Coke that's just so much better than normal?"
She nods in compliance, savoring her noodles, and we finish our meal in the silence that truly good food brings on.
"Do I want to go to Duke's after this?" I pipe up, my bowl emptied, "I wouldn't mind a few beers right now."
"Sure, honey, that sounds good."