Incest/Taboo Nora in the Sun

Her body rocked gently, back and forth while I worked the tanning oil into her skin. Her flesh moved... slightly, gently. I glanced toward her front, the way she propped herself up with her arms crossed beneath her. Her breasts swayed under her, the red of her bikini bra peeking toward me. I looked farther down, past the small of her back and watched her ass, each cheek lightly shifting beneath her bikini bottom as I moved her neck from side to side.

I felt myself screaming internally as I stared, frustrated, aroused, trying to savor the maelstrom of the physical sensations of my mother's skin, with the movement of her ass, the uncontrollable thoughts of the way mom will melt when you squeeze her-

Mom suddenly shifted, snapping her head to look directly at my shorts. I jumped back as if shocked. She flipped over, sat up. Gasped. "Brett!" she yelled.

My cock strained at the fabric of my trunks. It propped itself up, impossible to hide. I was frozen, too, completely unable to react or respond or to even hide the erection that practically throbbed through my shorts. I tried mouthing something, to say anything, but I couldn't even do that.

Mom was frozen too. Her sunglasses were askew from how fast she moved. I could see her eyes, darting between my cock and my face. Her mouth kept trying to form words, but nothing came out either.

"I'm sorry," I managed to sputter, but mom jumped up, spun around, and started walking down the beach. My erection deflated. All that I had left was a sickening sense of shame and fear.

"Oh my god!" I heard her yelling. "What the fuck was - Oh my god! How could -- what!?"

I jumped up and sprinted after her. "Mom, I can explain!" I tried catching up, but she was walking, fast. Her face wouldn't turn to mine. I tried to persuade her, to claim there was some kind of misunderstanding. "Mom, I was just -- it's normal! Come on, mom, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

She spun around and faced me, pointing at me, her eyes wide with wariness, anxiety, her cheeks red with what I could only understand as confusion and fear. "What the hell was that, Brett?"

"I just..." I swallowed as she looked deep into my eyes. Her eyes searched mine. I tried composing a lie. "This kind of thing happens, mom!" I gestured wildly, shouting, "look, I'm in college! College guys get random boners! Alright? You didn't think I stopped having hormones, did you? This kind of stuff just happens, mom! It's random! Alright? Chill!"

Mom's eyes narrowed, her brow furrowed. She moved herself to one side, then another, keeping her gaze firmly on me. It was her look that she used to see if I was lying. Unmistakable from years of trying to pretend I had already done my chores. Mom opened her mouth, her eyes locked with mine, and slowly, carefully asked, using my own words, "It's random? It just happens?"

This was it. Her unbreakable lie detection technique. The one that always resulted in a fair, just grounding. I was a goner.

My head spun, trying to think of something that worked. All I could do was nod. Keep it short. Relax my shoulders. The way an expert liar would.

"It just happens," I repeated, hoping I looked serious, calm, and convincing. "Completely random." I kept my eyes fixed on hers as well. She stared at me, her dark eyes searching through my soul, her lashes low as her narrowed and suspicious glare tore through me.

I did everything I could to keep from looking at her body, to drift down at her gorgeously decorated breasts, at the way her soft legs drifted up to her apex... the red of her swimsuit that would have drawn literally any man who could breathe to stare at her.

But I kept my gaze firm. I looked only into her eyes.

If mom was anything like I knew her, she could completely tell I was lying. Bold faced. She never missed it before. How could she miss it again? She could absolutely tell I was trying to hide that I knew exactly what I was doing... and exactly what I wanted. That I touched her -- and wanted to touch her more.

The moment seemed to deafen me with the kind of silence only extreme regret could bring. Not even the waves seemed to make noise. It was over. I was doomed to a lifetime of shame and a hellishly embarrassed week before eternal exile from my family back at home. I was certain. Mom now had every reason to hate me.

But she relaxed her shoulders. She took a deep breath, and took a step back. "Alright," she said, straightening, her glare easing, but not completely departing. "I believe you. It was just something random." She carefully adjusted her hat. She breathed, carefully, calmly, her full chest moving with shallow, measured breaths, her dark, long lashed eyes looking directly into mine, her face hard to read. My mother's cheeks were pink.

We split for a while, keeping a solemn distance from each other. As we crossed each other along the beach, swimming or walking, I'd look her way sometimes, and she'd look my way. Or so I guessed. Her sunglasses seemed to hide where her eyes went, but I could swear as I swam through the ocean that her face seemed to follow each direction I went.

Of course, I watched her. She lay on the beach, sitting up occasionally, drinking water, oiling herself a little more, brushing sand from her long, full thighs.

I couldn't believe the way the day was going. I almost lost everything.

This is it, I thought. I'm chilling out. I'm done with the way I felt. I'm going to drop it. Now. For real this time. I'm not a freak, I reassured myself. It was just a fluke. College guys go through this kind of stuff sometimes. Getting horny. It just happens. Randomly.

The beach kept us busy for hours. At some point, mom moved herself up closer to the tree line, allowing the lengthening shadows of the day to cover her. I assumed she took a mellow nap, letting the surrounding heat of the sun and the cool noise of the palm forest lull her into a deep, and peaceful sleep.

If there was a woman out there who deserved a vacation like this, it was her. I promised myself that now, I wouldn't ruin it for her. My anxiety dissipated. The mood changed. She didn't seem tense anymore. Things were normal again.

I occasionally dropped by and grabbed a handful of the oil, quickly slathering it on myself. Mom laughed at me as I tried to reach the limits of my flexibility behind me. "You'll get a bright red diamond back there," she giggled. "Guess how I know it'll be a diamond?"

She laughed again, throwing her head back, her neck pulling taut as she reminisced. "Your dad had a summer job in college. Life guard. Never listened to me about sunscreen. Sometimes he would show up at my dorm while I did my summer semester and he'd take off his shirt and," she snorted with laughter, "there would be this horrible, bright red burn on his back! A perfect diamond!"

It was nice to see her laugh, but the thought of dad shirtless around her in a college dorm didn't exactly give me butterflies.

The sun was starting to approach the hills to the west. Mom called me from the beach, right as I was practicing a mindful, meditative float in the near-still ocean, trying to make sense of the Oedipus complex that had probably just wandered its way out of my subconscious. I cursed Freud and wondered when I was going to try and kill my father.

"You're dad's on his way back!" Mom's voice carried over the water. "Come on, let's go!" I pretended not to hear, but only for a moment. It was time to go back. Back to reality. I had to get my shit together, for sure.

We walked back, steps apart. Mom didn't take my arm when I offered it. I wasn't sure if she even saw me offer it, but the way she walked slightly ahead of me stung. I did my best to avoid looking at her. The temptation was there. For sure. I could have looked, but I didn't. It was better that way.

We made it back to find dad passed out on the couch, bags of produce surrounding him. He was red from the sun, and snored softly while a Mexican soap opera played on the TV, actors accusing each other in an endless stream of yelling.

"Wow, Ross, groceries?" My mom shook him, smiling brightly. "How thoughtful!"

Dad blearily raised his head and half slurred. "I thought you'd... cook something for us. A family... dinner." He took a deep breath.

Mom sorted through the groceries and laughed quietly while I set the table. "Don't bother," she whispered to me, almost delighted at my dad's ridiculous shape sprawled out on the couch. "He didn't bring anything except peppers." She covered her mouth and tried to keep from laughing.

"I'll get something from the village," I volunteered.

She smiled at me and patted my cheek. Like things were normal. "That'd be great dear. Nothing too spicy. Get some cervesas for your dad too. He'll like that."

I came back a little while later to see mom and dad sitting on the couch together, watching the TV. It was weird to see them sitting, side by side again. I felt a little pang in my heart but didn't really think much of it. Maybe I was glad that they were finally having a half-decent time.

"Dinner," I called, trying to be cheery for the sake of continuing the family peace.

"Thank fuck," said dad loudly, jumping up. Mom's eyes followed him. She was actually smiling. I felt a little relief that she was feeling better around him this time. Maybe he actually apologized. "Sorry about the peppers, everyone," he shrugged, sitting down as I brought food wrapped in foil out of a bag. "Those vendors really know how to pitch a product. Even if they don't speak English."

We ate in relative peace, mom brightly smiling as we enjoyed the fresh food from the village -- doused in lime, in herbs, the cool beers I bought from a man with a cooler freshening all of us with a little dose of alcoholic happiness. We finished up and mom got up to clean, talking about the lovely beach I found, while dad rubbed at his head, undoubtedly trying to stave off the hangover that was already at his gates.

Mom brought him to the couch and sat him down, stroking his forehead and saying quiet things to him.

It was weird to realize all over again a fact I knew since birth. Mommy and daddy were married. Mommy loved dad. Dad loved mom. Those were the immutable, undeniable facts of life. Dad mumbled something to her and mom giggled, nuzzling his neck. They were together again.

I stepped out to the patio as the sun set over the hills behind the villa. The ocean darkened. The scenery didn't really do it for me now.

It was lonely.

I walked for maybe fifteen minutes before realizing I forgot my phone on the counter. I could at least pass the time with it, I thought to myself.

How fucking miserable. Buck up.

Suddenly, I realized I was an adult, enjoying an entirely different country. Two different countries, if I went north to Chetumal in Mexico. There, I could find a night life, temporary friends, dancing, pretty girls, more than enough booze to make me realize that I was actually fine. The thought excited me. I wasn't going to let these little feelings take me down -- I was going to seize life, to enjoy myself, to get rip-roaring drunk and to go find some lovely Latina girl to lose myself in.

But I had to get my phone first.

I jogged lightly, looking into the lit-up living rooms of the villas that lined the beach. One of them was probably my family's. I saw a familiar light ahead, an open sliding glass door, the balcony on the second floor. It was probably the one we stayed at, but as I approached, the sound of my mom and dad yelling at each other confirmed it.

"No, for fuck's sake, Nora! You really want to complain now? You really want to make a big fucking deal over this now?"

"It's our vacation, Ross! The only one we've had in years! Can't you just give your job a rest for one night and spend some time with me?" Mom's voice carried angrily over the sand. I looked around, hoping nobody was close enough to our house to be able to hear what was going on. Thankfully, there was nobody except me along the beach.

"You don't get to fucking tell me when I can and can't work," shouted dad. "I'm my own man, Nora, and I'll spend my time whatever way I want!"

"You're my husband, Ross! We're supposed to be, MARRIED." The words gave me a sinking feeling. Whatever peace our family had for a whopping two hours was gone already.

Dad snorted, a derisive laugh smacked over the noise of the ocean. He went quiet for a second. Then he added, "You probably don't even realize who paid for this villa, you ungrateful fat bitch."

Something fell to the ground -- I heard a glass shatter on the tile inside. Mom didn't have a reply. Just the tinkling sound of glass.

"God damn, Nora. Clean that shit up," dad hissed. "Whatever. I'm going out."

Mom's reply seemed so small. So sad. "What, back to drinking?"

"Out. Anywhere. Just out." Dad's footsteps faded. Then the front door made a noise as it opened, and made a loud bang as it slammed shut.

Rage, hot and red like coals ground against my insides. I wanted to run around the sides of the villa and up to dad -- to sock him in the fucking jaw. To beat him down. Force him to apologize.

I was old enough. Big enough. Bigger than him.

I felt my fists clench, tight, my fingernails cutting into my palms as I moved toward the side where dad would come out. But there was a sob.

Mom was crying.

All the rage left me. I jumped forward and up the patio steps, ducked through the sliding glass door. Mom was standing listlessly in the kitchen. A shattered glass and a puddle of water lay at her feet. She looked up and sniffed, raising a couple hands to rub at her eyes.

"Well," she said, softly, "it was nice while it lasted." She looked back down at the shards, glimmering in the orange light of the kitchen. "At this rate, we'll have to replace the whole kitchen."

I got a text from dad. 'checking out a concert in mexico. mom had a headache so not coming. feel free to drop by too. she can be a downer so its up to you.'

he ridiculous lie seemed to glow brighter on my screen than everything else. Obviously his goal wasn't to work, otherwise he wouldn't be going to a concert. What kind of fucking asshole had the gall to treat her the way he did? And to accuse her of being the downer? It didn't make a lot of sense, but then again, not much on this vacation did.

After helping mom clean up the broken glass, I went to my room and let the new tangle of emotions sweep me away. Mom was unhappy, on several levels. Dad was a moron, who clearly didn't give a shit about anyone but him, even on a supposed 'family' trip. I obviously had my own weird kink that nearly fucked up my entire life today. One of the three, at least, could be changed.

I was a new man. On a miserable trip.

I put on some headphones, turned on some music and tried to let the lyrics give me advice, but there wasn't much coming from an idiot with face tattoos. I played some games on my phone, insulted my friends on chat, tried to pose as smart on a few forums. Every word, every text, every little light coming from my smartphone didn't do anything but tap at what felt like an incredibly meaningless time.

There was a whole week ahead, too.

I realized how dirty and gross I felt. Physically, I mean. Being in the sun all day, dousing myself with salt water again and again, the tanning oil, the sand, the heat and sweat, I hadn't cleaned it all off in the excitement of actually having a family dinner that didn't break completely down. It was time for a shower.

Finally. A civilized activity that wouldn't be ruined. Privacy. Cleanliness. A chance to wash away everything. Physically, I mean.

I gathered a couple clothes from my suitcase and put my headphones back on. Maybe my tattooed friend through the earbuds had some kind of encouragement on another one of his albums. I cranked it up. Let it blast. Let it go way, way too loud. Let it block everything out.

I opened the bathroom door slowly and wandered in, mouthing the words, feeling the coolness of the bathroom tile under my feet, enjoying the slight humidity and floral scents that came in a place like this. I kicked aside some cotton pile I probably left there from last night's shower, letting the deafening wall of noise shut out every other sense, and every hint of every thought. All that was left was music.

Fresh clothes on the counter. I tore off my shirt. Pants off. Underwear, gone.

The music stopped being helpful. A deep, dark depression washed over me. Covered my head. Darkened my sight.

The loneliness was back, for all of us. Mom was alone with dad. I was alone with both of them. Dad was alone with his arrogant, idiot mouth. I stared at myself in the mirror. Took a deep breath and tried to appreciate the way I looked after starving myself for a month hoping to get beach ready. Hoped mom at least appreciated that somebody was putting forward a little effort for the vacation.

Mom.

The sadness, loneliness, the depression, it all swirled around remembering her sad look in the kitchen. Her reaction at my idiocy on the beach. The way she slept, her head on my lap, the peaceful look I couldn't see when she was awake.

The picture of her glorious, pale bright skin in the sun.

The picture of her red bikini, the sun sash, her eyes peeking over dark glasses, the open smile, the way her teeth sparkled.

The way she felt, under my hands. The way her ass lifted, firm, pillowy under the red bikini. The way I held her neck, gripped it... the way she gasped... The way she gasped last night. The way we undressed at the TSA checkpoint. The way she let you touch her. I pressed my eyes closed, trying not to let my rapidly rising erection get too far.

I shook my head and looked down. My cock betrayed me, of course. It was hard as a rock, and I already felt an ache in my core. The drive to move my hips forward at the thought of her white, lovely flesh. Whatever morals I thought I was holding on to were gone. Vaporized by the simple, single desire of my cock.

"Fuck." I grabbed myself unconsciously. Jerked. My cock felt like it was humming with pleasure -- rapidly rising. A weird thump in my earbud pulled my eyes open, even with my head down. But as I looked up, I noticed something weird.

The mirror was lightly fogging. I realized that the humidity in here was higher. As was the temperature.

That pile of clothes that I assumed was mine from this morning... everything was much too thin. The clothes were unfamiliar. They were...

Feminine.

I felt a sense of horror pulling upward from my gut. My hands went up slowly. Tapped pause. My deafeningly loud music stopped.

The sound of running water. The shower. Soft, wet footsteps.

I turned my head slowly and... saw.

This was the kind of place that had an open shower. The floor drain was in the center of the room -- the shower head came out of the wall and whoever used it could walk around freely, enjoying the space and the room that came with the open shower concept.

And under a stream of water, under the light steam that gently coated the mirror...

Was mom. All of her.

I couldn't even breathe.

Breasts. Heavy. Huge, the sides dripping with water from the shower. The sharp curve of her back. Two cheeks, a slim line marking her bottom, the cute little horizontal curves that betrayed a truly heart-shaped ass... She had her back partially to me, but I could tell her eyes were closed as she savored the water.

I couldn't see all of her -- especially not her front. But I didn't need to, to see what most men could only dream of. Her pale skin was barely tinged by the sun from earlier -- the tanning oil had done its job.

It was like the sweet, delicate, barely pink, creamy flesh of a white peach. Her skin was dotted with droplets. The steam blended the edges of her. Her hair, long, dark, stuck along her back and moved according to the angle of her spine.

I had to leave. I wanted to. I needed to. But I couldn't let this sight go. And how the fuck could I possibly leave without her hearing me?

Her arms went up. Shampooing her hair. Her pale fingers curling through them, her breasts lifting as her shoulders went up. A pale dot of pink appeared, faded in the steam, the sweet point of her right nipple peeking in and out of the mist. The image seared itself, burning into my mind.

She gave a deep sigh. Her breasts fell with the soft noise she made. My cock throbbed.

I had to get out. I leaned forward to pick up my clothes. If I turned the doorknob slowly, I could get out without her noticing. If I just kept myself quiet, I could get out, wait my turn, and pretend this never happened.

The plan could have worked. It should have. Anyone could step outside, as silently as they accidentally went in, right? My hand was on the door handle. I had everything. I was so close. The knob turned.

It would have worked. If she hadn't turned around.

Mom angled to the side and let the shower pour over her face. She gave a little sigh, and then turned toward me, eyes still closed, both of her breasts angling upward, the coral pink of each nipple like a soft ruby in ivory.

But she opened her eyes. Looked right at me. Looked down, to see my throbbing penis below the clothes clutched in my hand. She looked back up at me, stunned, shocked, frozen. Opened her mouth.

I expected her to scream. To yell. To say something. Anything.

But she didn't. We locked eyes. Her form was still. The brushing sound of the shower rained down on her. The water cascaded from her breasts, down her soft, white tummy, along her belly button. Rivulets of water curved around her hips, inside her waist, between the soft plush of her legs.

And between her legs...

Was the most immaculate triangle of hair. Trimmed. Exact. Short. Barely hiding...

Something delicately pink.

I didn't mean to, but I dropped everything I was carrying. I couldn't help it. Now there was nothing to cover me. I was completely naked. So was she.

Mom's mouth was still open. Her eyes went up and down the length of my body, lingering at my waist. She looked back up at my eyes. Down to my hard length. Back to my face. Down to my cock.

I tried to move. I really did. My hand turned the handle, but I couldn't look away. Mom's unbelievably sexy body shone in the falling water. Mom's mouth closed. She looked at me, asking with her eyes why I was still there. Why I was in the bathroom she was showering in. Why I was still looking at her. Why I wouldn't leave. Her eyes went back down to my cock. And stayed there.

"I'm..." all other words completely escaped me.

But that one word was enough. It broke the spell. Mom wordlessly covered her chest with one arm. Her coral areolas disappeared. Her other hand went down, covering the pinkness, the dark triangle between her legs. She turned herself to the side, trying to keep me from seeing any more of her body, and went toward the bathroom door, intending to go past me.

I was stuck in place. She got closer, her eye on the door. I quickly opened it as some last, desperate attempt at courtesy.

She tried going past without looking at me at all. But she was on a crash course.

She got closer. And closer. Her side was about to move against mine. I reflexively pushed back to the counter, trying desperately to give her more room, but it was no use.

Mom got too close. Her wet body, her shoulder, her side, her hand, the edge of her breast, they all made contact, her soft form pressing against mine, our skin crackling with electric sensation. Her momentum meant she pressed against me. And I felt the softness of her breast against my core. It gave like I knew it would. And then she was past me, and out the door. My eyes followed her. Each cheek of her round, pale bottom moved up, and down in sequence. Nothing could hide that from me.

Her footsteps made soft, wet taps through the house, and faded as she ascended up the stairs. I couldn't move, but I wanted nothing more than to stand below the stairs, to watch each of her butt cheeks rise, one after the other. To see a hint of the pink between her legs. To see more.

All that was left was the sound of the shower. Still running. And the sound of my heartbeat, crashing against my eardrums.

I stood alone in the bathroom, naked as the day I was born. Images of her skin, her nipples... the subtle hint of her apex held themselves above everything else in my mind. I now realized, with every, possible fiber of my being, that I wanted to return to my mother. To go back.

To be deep within her womb again.
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