This story continues where "Our Secret" left off. It follows our incestuous couple but expands to explore the other residents of Misty Valley ( MVC ).
Chaos Theory says that widely disparate actions can have huge unintended consequences. Years ago I saw a demonstration of a chain reaction using ping pong balls and mouse traps. A room of mousetraps had two ping pong balls each. One ping pong ball is tossed into the room full of mouse traps. That ball sets of a trap that tosses its two balls in the air. They hit more traps sending more balls in the air setting off more traps and so on.
In the next several stories let's explore the chaos of human interaction. Our figurative ping pong balls will be the denizens of Misty Valley. We will explore the effect their progressive life style has on each other and those they meet.
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Tommy wound his way up California Highway 17 in the driving Spring rain. The rainy season was almost over but Mother Nature was sending yet another deluge through the Santa Cruz Mountains. The rich greenery on the surrounding hills gave testament to a good rainy season. One of the many benefits of living in this corner of paradise was the richness of the scenery. No matter which way you looked, there was a postcard worthy view.
He exited on Mount Hermon Rd and began the climb to Big Bear. In 1974 Big Bear was a community of less than 2000 people nestled among the redwoods north of Santa Cruz. So far, it had maintained its bucolic nature. In the tourist season, some of them would make their way up the Hill to buy their clocks made from slices of redwood trees. There were tours run from the Santa Cruz Boardwalk on Monterey Bay into the wine country in the surrounding hills. The indigenous population endured this invasion and pocketed the dollars it brought.
However, this was April! Despite the rain, the temperature hovered in the mid 70's. Tommy knew that when the rain stopped the temperature would climb into the low 80's.
This love of the natural look carried over into life styles. Santa Cruz County was home to the last remnants of the hippy culture. They were older, grayer now with mortgages and jobs they hoped were socially relevant. The wine they drank had corks instead of screw caps and their marijuana was of the finest quality. The sexual revolution had been fought and won. Instead of casually hopping from bed to bed, casual nudity became the symbol of the rebellion against societal norms.
Tommy accepted seeing his mom and dad nude as no big deal. They routinely moved about their home in various stages of undress. His mom had a penchant for panties with no bra. A bib apron might be all she wore while cooking. The large redwood hot tub was nude only.
By the time Tommy turned eighteen, he had seen everyone in his tight knit subdivision nude in either his or their hot tub. It was no big deal! That was until puberty raised his awareness of the lush differences in the female form. His mom became the embodiment of sexuality and the image for his masturbatory fantasies.
It probably would have been no more than an eighteen year old's fantasy until the culture of reefer, wine and nudity combined into one afternoon of illicit sex with his mom. She was high on reefer and wine. What started as drunken request for Tommy to shave her pussy ended in mind blowing sex and, ultimately, the birth of Angela, the child conceived by mother and son.
He idly wondered what his mom would be wearing. He felt that familiar stirring in his groin. His mom was almost 40 and still struggling to lose the weight she gained when Angela was born. Those pendulous breasts had swelled from 38D to 40DD. Nevertheless, he thought that she was still the sexiest woman ever.
Tommy negotiated the turn onto Highway 9. On either side of him, the redwoods hugged the narrow two-lane road. They towered majestically tens of feet overhead. The rain had let up and the sun began to peek out. The effect was as though a golden mist hung over the road. Tommy turned onto Misty Valley Lane. He drove past the unattended gatehouse and up the tree lined road that formed their slice of this paradise. At the top of the cul-de-sac was his home.
There were three homes in the cul-de-sac. They each set on about an acre of land surrounded by evergreens. On a plateau just behind the community, stood the unfinished skeleton of the Community House. The unfinished lots formed a rough horseshoe around it. The encircling Santa Cruz Mountains formed the perimeter of the isolated community. The developer had planned seven more in this hundred acre valley but his financing had fallen through. His intent was to have a secluded upscale gated community.
Tommy Corcoran's mom and dad were the first residents, followed by Hank and Amelia Cotton, then Kate and John Azaria. It was Hank, a retired Midwestern banker, who proposed buying the undeveloped land as an investment. The Misty Valley Cooperative was incorporated in 1960. With the unprecedented population explosion in the late 1960's and 1970's in the county, the land was worth millions.
The semi secluded hamlet encouraged an alternative life style. Casual nudity and marijuana growing were the norm. Until his death, Hank was known for his potent home brew. It was a concoction of fermented cannabis, honey, milk and clover. It went down smooth. The fire it lit in your abdomen suffused through one's body and was capped off by a mellow alcohol/THC high. In her early 50's, Amelia was still vital and maintained the brewing tradition.
John and Kate were southern California transplants. John ran a marketing consulting business and spent long periods travelling. Kate was an animated, voluptuous Hispanic. Her dark eyes, black flowing mane added to her sultry sexiness.
Tommy's mom was a blond, blue eyed version of Kate. They both were proud of their sexuality and flaunted it. They both tended to parade around the enclave in the least amount of clothes possible. Needless to say, they became fast friends. They shared a love of marijuana, local wines, and nude beaches.
However, mom was having image issues as she tried to lose the baby fat she had leftover from her pregnancy. Chrissie, his mom, claimed that the weight gain and breastfeeding the baby made her look and feel like a cow!
Tom felt his cock swell as he recalled watching her breastfeed Angie. At four months, Angie would lay one arm languidly over Chrissie's breast as she hungrily suckled. He could only watch when Dad was not around. His dad did not get angry that time he witnessed Tommy watching Chrissie breastfeed Angie; he questioned the appropriateness of a son being present!
This from the erstwhile 60's hippy who espoused familial nudity as a sign of trust and openness in the modern family, this from a college professor in the esoteric field of information technology. The man who pushed his students and family to open their minds to new ideas!
Even now, his anger rose as he flashed back to his father sanctimoniously ushering him out of the room. It was only his mother's pleading eyes, her finger raised hurriedly to her lips, her silently mouthing the words: Our Secret. That was the only thing that kept him from hurling the words that would have pierced his father like a fight of arrows: She is my baby, not yours!
Tommy was snapped out of his reverie by the sight of Mom's best friend, Kate, waving frantically from her driveway. Tommy slowed and lowered his car window.
"I need your help!"
Tommy pulled up to the curb. He unwound his tall, lanky frame from his Volkswagen Bug. Kate watched with concealed lust as the muscular nineteen years old approached her. She watched him grow from mewling precocious toddler to this strapping example of manhood. She always felt conflicted when she was around him.
On one hand, he was the son of her best friend. She had changed his diapers, babysat and did all of the things a play aunt would do. She felt as close to him as a real aunt. He was the child she never had.
On the other hand, he had developed a disturbing sensuality. At some point, she realized that her heart beat a little faster, her nether regions got a little moist whenever he was around. She was intensely ashamed of his effect on her. She charged it off to hormonal flow. There were times she ached for a child of her own.
She and John had no children. Early on, it had been a bone of contention between them. John wanted be more financially secure before they started a family. She finally resigned herself to not having that house full of squalling babies that she ached for. She transferred her mothering instinct to this member of her extended family. As he matured, her maternal instincts about Tommy developed into a repressed sexuality.
"What's up, Aunt Kate?"
"I'm getting some mud movement from the berm behind my house. Could you check it for me?"
One of the challenges of living in paradise was mudslides. Heavy rains could cause the hills to liquefy and slide. Most homes had either a wood or an earthen berm that held back and/or redirected minor slides.
"Show me where."
Tommy followed Kate up the slightly inclined driveway, through the 8-foot high wrought iron gates. The gateway opened on a small courtyard surrounded by the stucco walls of the house. To the right was the door leading to the garage. To the left was a sliding glass door that opened on the bedroom. Another sliding glass door gave access to a combination living room/dining room. Just beyond that was the kitchen. It let on to a deck, beyond which was the saturated hill.
The whole house was in earth tones and gave the effect of an old style Spanish hacienda.
The roll of Kate's well-formed hips mesmerized Tommy. Her Hispanic heritage showed in the fullness of her hips and breasts. Her luxuriant black mane tumbled to just below her shoulder blades. The arousal he had in the car thinking of his mom was brought to full rigor by the sensuality of his mature neighbor.
Kate was aware of Tommy's eyes boring into her ass. She intentionally exaggerated the natural roll of her hips. She intentionally wore no panties or bra when she planned this scene. She chose the mid thigh shift because her husband, John, said it accentuated every curve. She wanted to make the blood of this man-child boil.
She was a hopeless flirt. This type of teasing reinforced her feeling of sexuality, confirmed that even at 41; she would turn a young man's head.
An inch thick layer of mud covered the ice plants. The mud was oozing around the edges of the berm. It was flowing slowly toward the redwood deck.
"Aunt Kate, I'm going to have to check the integrity of the berm. It looks ok from here but I want a closer look!"
