TABOO TALES(erotica)

She had started crying while she was telling me, and her driving was getting erratic, so I asked her to pull it over, while a knot of cold fear and hot shame and guilt built up in my stomach. Charlie, now mother, God, how do we get through this?

I took the wheel of the Saturn and drove back to the old place on full auto-pilot, parked the car and ran inside to my mother. She looked shockingly old, thin and drawn, and one look at her told me she was nearly done; I had seen it too many times before to not recognise the signs. I lost it at that point, the years I had been away a huge gulf between us, time and togetherness I would never recapture, and now there was no time left to try and make it up to her…

The guilt tore at me as I realised Lori was right; she’d been right, I should never have gone away, now it was too late…

After the tears, mother said she had some plans for all of us, and gave us the gist of it. She and Charlie had planned to retire to Maine, we had holidayed there in the past, and it reminded her so much of the coastal woodlands and fields around where she had grown up, outside Barnstaple in Devon. She wanted to sell up and go there, and see and smell the sea one last time. I agreed, of course, what else was I going to do?

We held the funeral the following week. Charlie’s remains were cremated and scattered over the gently rolling hills by one of his air force friends, from the cockpit of an old Curtiss biplane, just as he’d wanted.

I had located and purchased through an agent a nice house just outside Bar Harbor, Maine, with superb views of the majestic coastline for mother to enjoy. The cost wasn’t an issue, as my trust-fund had yielded an amazing amount of money, enough to keep us all in comfort for the rest of my life, plus I had made additional financial arrangements to care for my family, as if I had known, even then, that they would need me someday. It still tore at me, though, that I had left them behind to start a new life, but they had never let me go…

I guess the stress of the funeral, and the upheaval and prospect of moving to Maine was too much for her, because mother passed-away in her sleep two days after the funeral.

Now we had to organise another funeral. Lori was nearly out of her mind with grief, and I was too paralysed with guilt to function rationally, but we somehow stumbled through the whole circus all over again, then I was left with the problem of what to do next.

I contemplated taking Lori back to London with me, but she flatly refused, instead she insisted we make a clean break from Iowa, as had been originally planned, just get rid of the old place, and move to the house in Maine, at least for now. Lori wouldn’t live in the family house anymore; there were just too many associations with mother and Charlie.Content provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

It seemed a logical move, so we left instructions with a realtor to dispose of the house, and upped-stakes and moved to Bar Harbor, and got down to getting to know each other all over again.

At first it was strange, just the two of us, but we adjusted; I did most of the cooking, shopping and cleaning; Lori was too listlessly uninterested in anything, and had taken to sitting silently, draped in bathrobes and sweatpants, in mother’s old green recliner, feet tucked under, only shuffling in to meals when I called her, and then retreating to her room, to cry, I supposed.

I would hear her sobbing at night, but I hadn’t the courage to go and comfort her; what would I say, without sounding like a complete hypocrite? My own guilt kept me from even making the attempt, though I spent more than a few evenings sitting by myself looking through old family pictures and snuffling.

And so it went on, the silences growing louder and more oppressive, the gulf between us widening with every passing day. The house had an almost palpable air of gloom and sadness, our loss hanging in the air, unspoken, heavy, and stifling.

Gradually, though, slowly, Lori began to re-emerge, to talk to me about Charlie and Mother, their life without me being there (but not digging at me for leaving), High School and her thoughts and feelings about college, but thankfully she didn’t reproach me any further, at least not verbally. I think she knew how guilty I was feeling, and she was too sweet- natured to belabour the point, but I would occasionally catch her looking at me reproachfully, and then look away. But she had said her piece, on the way back from the airport, so that was the end of it.

But she was still hurting, and sometimes the least thing, one of mother’s hair barrette’s falling out of a box, or finding one of Charlie’s old combs or shirt buttons in a drawer, would set her off into a fit of the blues, and she would end up back in that recliner chair, sobbing. I would leave her there, incapable of comforting her, and too guilty to try.

I had tried to apply subtle pressure on her to find some interests, or to perhaps go to college in New York or California; I could afford her tuition, and to fully support her while she studied, but she said she would rather find a local job; the academic life was not for her. It was her decision, but at least she would always have me if things got desperate, and she would have this house, I had made sure of that.

Eventually, she began to come further out of her shell, smile briefly at some of the things I would say to try and cheer her up, at my ‘English’ way of expressing myself, and to pick up her life and take an interest in things again. She stopped moping around in slippers and old bathrobes, and I even saw her one evening wearing jeans and a plaid shirt instead of her usual black sweats.

I had brought my laptop, and would work in the evenings, writing up or commenting on the case notes the departmental secretary would email me, and sometimes Lori would sit and watch me work, very occasionally bringing me a coffee, and slowly re-connecting with me, as I was trying so hard to do with her. She would read some of the notes over my shoulder, and ask questions about the surgeries I had performed or the decisions I had made, sharp, intelligent, insightful questions, and talk with me about how much I loved it, her lively natural curiosity slowly returning.

Finally, one fateful evening, while we were watching TV and having a maudlin conversation about Charlie and Mother’s favourite TV programmes, she grimaced and threw the remote onto the chair.

“OK, fuck this moping around indoors, we need to go out, let’s go get shit-faced, I’m ready to cause trouble!” she blurted out.

I had guessed she’d had something on her mind; all day she had been looking at me enigmatically, and would start to say something, then break off and go quiet again. I would ask her “What’s up Lori?” and get a mumbled “Nothing….”

I could tell that something had been on her mind for a couple of days now, and several times I had caught her looking at me speculatively, but this sudden impulsive decision to cut loose was unexpected, to say the least. As a doctor, however, I felt it was probably healthier than the overwhelming darkness and gloom of late, so I agreed, and we decided to find a local bar, do some dancing, maybe get some food, and celebrate Mother and Charlie’s lives a little.

Lori ducked upstairs to get changed while I went looking for some shoes and the car keys, and when I came back into the room, a vision stood before me. She had changed into a white, clinging jersey mini-dress with a high neckline, but plunging almost to the floor at the back, and a hem-line that only just covered the curve of her buttocks, and topped-off with 5-inch heels and smoky eye-shadow.

“You like?” she asked, pirouetting like a dancer. “Er…. wow”, was all I could say, especially as I could see every curve and outline of her wonderful body, which led me to conclude that she had ‘gone commando’ as the phrase puts it.

“You do know where you are, don’t you?” I asked, “The local constable will probably arrest you for being indecently dressed if he sees you in that get-up, not to say giving the Boston geriatric expatriates a heart attack!” I said, adding “besides, you look absolutely naked under that thing”, to which Lori gave me a sly grin and slid the skirt up.

Holy Christ, she was naked…

“Lori, what in the name of all fuckery do you think you’re doing, you’ll get arrested!” I gasped, shocked that my (not so little) little sister was showing me ‘the goods’, (and turning-up the heat under me as well, if I’m completely honest!)

“Fuck it, I’m a party girl out on the town, what can they do to me?” she flipped back at me, and cheekily thrust out her bottom to display her magnificent backside even more prominently. Figure-wise, she really was her mother’s daughter, I remembered how svelte Mother had been, how men always checked her out when she wore jeans, and Lori had inherited that curve in full.

“Oh, I don’t know, get raped in some bar, get banged-up on a prostitution charge, or worse!” I replied.

“I like the getting banged-up bit, you English have such apt expressions sometimes!” she threw back at me with a louche, wicked grin. “Anyway, do you like what you see?” she asked, once again pulling her skirt up to her waist and turning a complete circle once again. She looked like she had just stepped off the set of a porn movie, and by now I was struggling to manage an increasingly unruly erection, sister or not…

“Lori, stop it, get something a little more decent on, for Chrissake!” I managed to choke out, older-brother protectiveness finally losing out to increasing horniness, enjoying the sight of her magnificent, tight, rounded buttocks jiggling slightly with every movement, and the equally alluring sight of her recently waxed pudenda, the lips innocent of a single hair or blemish. She grinned at me again, her eyes travelling to my groin, where I knew my arousal was plain to her, even from across the room

“You were checking me out at Des Moines International, you’re a blond, and as I have a thing for fair-haired men, you can have a good look for free; in fact, now you’ve seen the rest, you can see the best!”

With that, she whipped her mini-dress over her head and turned to face me, arms crossed behind her head. My eyes were riveted on the most magnificent pair of jutting breasts, crowned with coral-pink nipples and areolae, and compounded by her tiny waist, which made them seem much larger than they were, which was saying something, believe me! Her pose had the effect of thrusting those beauties out even further, and with her glorious buttocks thrust out and her flat stomach rounding down to the mystery between her legs, she looked like every man’s perfect porn fantasy, mine included!

“I’ve got a pair of . 38’s, and by the look of your pants, you’ve got a real gun in there, you gonna prove me wrong? Fair’s fair, I showed you mine, you have to show me yours!” she ginned at me.

“Come on Davey, I need some fun, and you need to unload, why not combine the two, fun and unloading, maybe all over my face?”