“And when did yours start, my dear perverted mother? We’ve only been 18 for a couple of weeks, and I’ve seen you eyeing Henry like a piece of meat for at least a year now. You’ve been way too excited, and understanding, with all this talk of his dick.” Rheta was right, I realized upon looking back over this conversation: Mom was more into it than she should have been. Which made me wonder, had Mom been eyeing me so luridly over the past while? I certainly hadn’t noticed, but clearly my sister had.
“I don’t have a crush on your brother,” Mom said in a suspiciously even tone. “What you think you’ve seen is simply me realizing that Henry is growing up and that I’m proud of the man he’s becoming. My so-called eagerness is just the mom in me happy that you’re confiding in me about such things and my trying not to screw it up by overreacting in a way that would have you close off yourself from me.”
“Oh, Mom, that’s so sweet,” Rheta said. Did she not pick up on the subtle tone Mom was using? “But that doesn’t answer my question: how long have you wanted to fuck your own son?”
“I don’t appreciate that tone, missy,” Mom said in her most mom voice. “Nor do I appreciate being called a pervert. The love I have for both you and your brother is strictly maternal. Am I blind to the fact that Henry is a handsome young man; no I am not. But I do not have lustful thoughts about him, thank you very much.”
“Me thinks the lady doth protest too much,” Rheta quoted Shakespeare, very much saying what I was thinking myself. “But I’ll take your word for it,” she quickly added; clearly Mom was not impressed. A minute passed where they seemed to be judging each other, and I was tempted to peak through the blinds on the window and see their stare off. Finally, Rheta broke the silence, “But to answer your original question, I think that Henry very much enjoyed that slutty display you insisted we give him. I mean, did you see how quickly he sat back down in that chair; he was probably trying to hide the erection he was sprouting.”
This caused both of them to start giggling again. I knew that I should have stopped listening a long time ago and ignore what I’d heard so far, but as an 18-year-old virgin, my hormones wouldn’t let me. As I waited for the giggle fit to cease, I slowly crept myself towards the window; hoping to catch a peek at them in this lustful conversation. As I pressed myself against the wall at the window’s edge, barely pulling the blinds back so I could look out, I was surprised by the way the conversation next steered.
“Who do you think he was looking at more, me or you?” my sister asked. Despite her earlier claim, Rheta was clearly becoming comfortable with this conversation, and the incestuous nature of its topic.