Note: The following story is entirely fictional and all of the characters are over 18 years of age.
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Hello. My name is Miguel and I live with my mother in the city of Boston. My father passed away when I was quite young and the two of us have been on our own for as long as I can remember.
My mother was rather young when she had me, thus, growing up, she seemed more like a big sister than a mother. A big sister, that is, who worked, paid the bills, kept me fed and raised me single-handedly.
One of the many reasons that I adore my mother is that she was always brutally honest with me, especially when it came to finances. If we couldn't afford something, she said so and why. If we could, and it made sense, she always spent the money.
This past summer I graduated from high school and turned eighteen. For many residents of Boston and the surrounding towns, summer means time spent on Cape Cod. However, even a modest weekly rental is very expensive. I would be leaving for college soon, so early in the summer my mother posed an idea.
"I'm not sure we can afford an entire week, but how would you like to go to the Cape for a long weekend, before you leave?"
This was classic Mom. She always spoke about what "we" could afford.
Although I had worked for the past two summers, the funds for this vacation would come entirely from her. It was understood that almost all the money I earned was put away for my college education.
To me, staying on the Cape was always something that "other" people did, families with two incomes that lived in the nicer suburbs, or the upper-crust of Boston.
We went to the beach, North or South, almost every weekend in the summer, but it was always for day-trips requiring a long drive back to the city at day's end.
"Mom, that sounds great!" I said.
Her eyes lit up and she went to work.
Mom settled on a modest three-bedroom ranch in a town called "Dennis." Supposedly, the house was within walking distance of the beach. Mom explained that this town was in the middle of Cape Cod, so the trip should take less than two hours. For city-dwellers like us, it could have been Mars.
"Since there are three bedrooms, I'm thinking of inviting one of my sisters, as well, as long as you don't mind."
I had no objection, and after a few calls, Mom found that her sister, my Aunt Lola, was free that weekend, but couldn't come until Sunday, because of work. My Aunt Lola was a couple of years younger than my mother. Still single, she worked as a hairdresser in the neighborhood where she lived. I would drop by the salon from time to time, ostensibly with a message from my mother, but really just to get a look at all of the gorgeous girls who always seemed to fill the place.
On a Saturday, just before Labor Day, we loaded up our car and headed south.
As Mom predicted, we arrived in just under two hours and wound our way through the narrow streets until we found our place. As we got out of the car and stretched, I noticed how quiet it was. Living in the city, one gets used to a certain level of background noise, from traffic, sirens, alarms, airplanes, etc.
Here, a hundred miles from home, it seemed as quiet as the Moon.
Up and down the street, we could see other families emptying their cars and hauling their things into their places. Mom explained that this was a weekly ritual called "changeover," and we were part of it, now. She had read a bit and she was proud of her new knowledge, having become quite the expert on the Cape since she had booked our modest little house.
We entered the house and had a look around. We saw a nice living room with a sofa and some comfortable looking chairs, and, absurdly, a fireplace that I doubt worked. The large kitchen got a nod of approval from Mom, and there was a sliding door that led outside to a deck, next to the house.
Like kids at camp, we rushed to claim our bedrooms. We laughed at the third bedroom. It was tiny with a single small bed, so we decided that that had to go to Lola, since she would be the last to arrive. The other bedrooms were similar, with twin beds in each. I could see that the owner had set the place up for maximum occupancy. I also knew that unbeknownst to the owners, gangs of college kids were sometimes known to fill places like this with up to twenty people at a time, to defray expenses.
Still, the place was clean and neat. Being the man, I said I'd take the bedroom in the front of the house, and Mom was happy with the one in the back.
After unpacking, we walked out on to the deck and then into the backyard. Although still small, the backyard was much larger than our tiny one back in the city.
Then we saw something strange. An eye-level fence bracketed, not the yard, but the rear of the house. We moved over to the door and unlatched it. It led to a private area with an outdoor shower.
"Isn't this great?" Mom exclaimed.
Mom then proceeded to explain that showers such as this were used when people returned from the beach, if they wished to rinse the sand off before entering the house.
Pointing to the soap and shampoo on a little shelf, Mom winked and said "But they can be used anytime."
There was only one shower inside (like in our house), but I suddenly liked the idea of showering outside. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more it excited me.
The afternoon stretched ahead of us so we changed into our bating suits and walked the short distance to the beach. Mom was exhausted from the drive and she promptly dozed off in her chair. She had applied sunscreen, so I wasn't worrying about her burning, but I decided to keep an eye on her, anyway. Meanwhile, I set about scouring the beach for some nice bodies. After a bit, I looked over my dozing mother.
Mom had worn her floppy hat, because she was afraid of getting wrinkles on her face. At the age of 37, her skin was still smooth and soft. Now late in the summer, her skin was deeply tanned. I could only see the lower half of her face, her very cute nose and her full lips, as usual, painted bright red. Mom was wearing a green bikini.
As I looked over her body, I noticed again how proportional everything seemed. He breasts were not large, but they were round and firm. Her legs were not long, but they were shapely. Her hands were beautiful, topped off by long nails, painted bright red. Mom painted her toenails as well.
After a short nap, Mom declared that she was hot and needed to hit the water in order to cool off a bit. I declined, but I enjoyed the view as she picked her way down to the water's edge. I had always liked watching my mother's full rear end, especially when it was in motion like this.
