My Sister Jean
Chapter 16 - Jean's Confession
It was a warm morning, the type of warmth you know will
precede a hot day. I was aware of a vague malaise, a sense
of lethargy that was rooted in the sameness of the last week
of uncharacteristic heat. Normally the cooling breezes of
the Pacific, ten or fifteen miles over the coastal range,
held off the valley heat. Must be some kinda low trapped
right here, I concluded.
Still, I was feeling a bit restless and decided to take
a hike into the Open Space District contiguous with our
home. I wondered idly if Jean would like to go with me, but
she wasn't in her room and the downstairs was equally quiet.
Grabbing a hiking stick from the bamboo rack, I walked out
on the trellised deck in the back and found my mom and Jean
sitting in the half-shade, looking out over the pond. They
were leaning toward each other, apparently having a
whispered conversation.
Both were wearing white shorts and T-shirts, probably I
thought, to play tennis. It wasn't the first time I'd
observed just how much alike they looked. Both were tan and
fit, each with long, attractive legs. And that surprised me,
for I'd not really thought of my mother in any way but as my
mom.
"Hi, ladies. What's happenin'?"
Mom hesitated a moment, finishing something she was
telling Jean and looked up. "Hi, yourself, dude. You look
like you're going to take a walk."
"Yeah. Anyone wanna walk with me?"
Mom answered, "A little later perhaps? I'm too settled
right now."
Jean smiled and said, "Me too, Billy. A little later?"
It was never easy for me to hear "No" as an answer, but
I knew that's just the way it was this morning. I told
myself it didn't have anything to do with me; they just had
other things on their minds.
Looking up at the early morning sun over the Eucalyptus
trees to the east, I replied, "It's a little warm now. But
it's gonna be hotter'n the dickens in a few hours. You know
me and the heat. Think I'll go for it now. Catch you
later."
I loved the miles of Open Space above our house and I'd
rather walk with someone, but in the face of my
teenage-impaired tolerance for delayed gratification, I just
couldn't wait and took off up the hill into the redwood
grove. Even in the relative cool of the morning, I seemed
to seek out the shaded spots as I unconsciously choose to
walk down into the wooded ravine rather than up to the open
country.
I'd discovered this trail - I thought of it as mine -
my secret trail, until the Open Space people had widened it
and made it more attractive. At first I had a resentment.
I just knew that it'd be overrun with hikers now that it was
no longer a secret. I needn't have worried. In the years
since it'd been open up, I'd not seen a single person. So
it had again reverted to being "my trail."
The stream at the bottom was running full and on an
impulse, I pulled off my boots and dropped my feet into the
coolness of the runoff. As often happens around the sound of
running water, soon I had to take a leak. I smiled at
myself, standing knee-deep in the stream, my dick out,
watching the arc of my stream as it splashed into the water.
"How pleasant," I thought, and closed my eyes, feeling
the breeze and listening to the forest sounds. An image of
Jean and my mom, tanned legs stretched out, flashed and
without choosing, I fell into that reverie. They were both
very attractive women and I'd become fascinated, even
mesmerized, with my sister Jean in the past year. Actually,
fascination is not a strong enough term. Our natural
affection and apparent mutual horniness had led us into
"almost doin' it" several times but so far we'd restricted
ourselves, mostly just talking about it with an occasional
sexual foray into limited but very intimate touching.
Except for the time she gave me a blow job...or the time I
kissed her pussy. Yeah, I guess you could say that was a
tad more than intimate touching, huh?
I slowly became aware that I'd stopped peeing and was
standing there, holding a now-erect cock in my hand.
"You're hopeless, Billy," I concluded, "a hopeless horndog."
Turning back to get my boots, I stepped on a round
river rock that suddenly turned, dumping me on my ass in the
stream. "Shit!" It was summer, but the runoff was cold!
I got up slowly, looking down at my soaked shorts,
water running out of my shorts, down my legs and thought,
"No way I'm going for a long walk this way. Guess I'll go
back and change."
Returning home, Jean and Mom were no longer sitting on
the back deck, so I stripped off my wet clothes on the side
deck and before going in to change, I decided to take a soak
in the hot tub. "They must have gone to the tennis courts,"
I reasoned.
As I was folding back the cover of the tub, I heard the
back slider door open and then close followed by Mom's
voice. I was startled, not so much that I'd be caught bare
assed - that was no huge deal - although I don't think my
mother had seen my bare butt in a while. What startled me
was a word or two I'd overheard. Sounded like "something
horny." I couldn't imagine my mother and my sister having a
conversation that included the concept of horny. Shows how
much I knew.
I stepped into the tub, making no effort to be quiet,
but I guess the noises I made were masked by their own
conversation, for they didn't acknowledge my presence as
they settled into the lawn chairs, just around the corner of
the house from me.
The acoustics made no sense, but I was aware I could
hear them clearly, even the tinkle of ice in a glass. Just
as I was about to speak up to them, to let 'em know I was
there, I heard Mom say, "So, how long has this been a
problem?"
"The horny thing?" Jean asked.
"That's the topic, I think," Mom replied with a smile
in her voice.
A chair scraped and then it was quiet for a long ten
seconds. Mom was patient, I knew. Finally Jean replied,
"Gee, I don't know, but I've been aware of these,
um...feelings for the last couple of years.
Another pause, briefer. "But now it's..." She
stopped.
"More intense?" Mom offered.
"Yeah. Sure is. Sometimes it seems that's all I think
about."
"Some older people would say that's not a
problem...that's a blessing!" Mom laughed. Then asked, "So
then, what IS the problem?"
"Golly, Mom...you know. I'm, uh, itchy and restless
and I have these...you know, urges. And then I begin to
think I'm bad. That these thoughts are wrong. I just feel
bad and I'm all mixed up."
I heard the chair squeak and envisioned Mom leaning
over to lay her hand on Jean's thigh. "Baby, we've talked a
little about this before, but I guess it's time to share in
more detail. Remember what I told you, girl? Those are
natural feelings. They're right and they're good. There's
nothing dirty or wrong about sexual feelings. It's your
humanness shining through. Most of the discomfort and
emotional pain people experience about sexual things arise
in their own heads. Keep it in the forefront of your mind,
baby. Sex is not a moral issue."
"Mom, I get that. Or at least I think I do. I accept
myself and I'm happy to be a woman and I'm really happy that
I have you for a mom. It's just that...well...it's not an
intellectual thing. Cripes, it's not even an emotional
thing!"
"What thing is it, baby?"
"It's a physical thing! You know. Horny!"
As if slapping her forehead, mom said, "Oh! I'm
beginning to get it. You're *horny*. I mean, *physically*
horny, and it's bothering you, right?"
Where was Mom when I was suffering from an ingrown
hard-on? How come we never had this kinda talk? Probably
because I never told the truth, I thought as I sank deeper
into the hot tub. I *should* announce myself. This was
sneaky. Yet, it was probably too late to speak up now, I
reasoned, so I just sat there quietly and listened. My mind
can rationalize almost anything.
"*Bothering* me is an understatement. I'm a nervous
wreck and don't know what to do about it."
"Does masturbation help?" asked Mom reasonably.
"Sometimes." Then Jean laughed and added, "And then
sometimes it seems to just feed the fires!"
Mom gave a wry laugh and said, "I know what that's
like."
"You too?" Jean asked with a note of incredulity in her
voice.
"Well, it's not so bad now...but I remember..."
Jean interrupted, "So, what'd you DO? What do I do?"
"Baby, I've tried not to tell you how to live your
life. I've tried to give you principles by which to live.
That's still true. Just WHAT you do is up to you, but there
*are* guiding principles."
"Such as?"
"Remember I told you that among adults, sexual activity
is not a moral issue, that whatever they do is okay if they
follow a few rules. Remember the rules?"
"Uh...that we talk about it and not hurt each other?"
"Yes, that's part of it. There must be mutual consent.
For that to happen, you've *got* to talk about it. When I
was young, it seems that the rule was something like it's
okay to do it, just don't talk about it. Kinda the Braille
approach to negotiation."
Interrupting again, Jean asked, "Are we talking about
*doing it*?"
Mom laughed again, that throaty, sexy laugh, and said,
"Well, that's only *part* of it. We're talking about sexual
activity, whatever it is. Doing it - intercourse if you
will - is just one of the sexual activities to which I'm
referring. Actually, I'm talking in a broader sense.
Whatever it is we do with each other sexually, we need to
talk about it, to negotiate. We need to make sure it's okay
and that we're on the same page. Probably one of the
biggest mistakes we make in human relationships is to assume
we know what the other person is thinking, and then worse,
to *act* as if our assumptions were correct."
"Okay, I'm with you so far. What else?"
"Of course, we need not to hurt each other, or allow
ourselves to be hurt."
"Hurt? Like in getting a disease? Or hurt as in
physical hurt?" Jean giggled. "Like spanking?"
"Both. We'll return to things like spanking in a
minute, but it's clear, I hope, that you've got to be very,
very careful. Sexually transmitted diseases *are* a big
deal. You've got to be willing to talk to your potential
sexual partner about their sexual history as well as your
own. You have a right to ask for proof of a recent AIDS
test and, when you're sexually active, you've got to be
willing to show your own proof."
Then, signaled by her low laugh, I detected that Mom
was switching mental gears.
"But what I was thinking about at the moment was sexual
*play*."
"Play?"
I knew what *I* thought of when sexual play came to
mind, but I couldn't imagine what my conservative mother was
alluding to.
I heard Mom take a deep breath and then let it out
slowly, as if preparing to launch into a difficult topic.
"Baby, I always knew we'd have this conversation, but I
hadn't planned on it this soon. I kept putting it off, I
suppose waiting for the right moment. I guess this is it."
"What, mom?"
"I've always told you that we're only as sick as our
secrets, that honesty will set us free. Still, there are
parts about being an adult, and more, being a parent, that
seem to require some measure of restraint. I always thought
I'd tell you some things when you had a need to know."
"Mom! You're beating around the bush. That's not like
you. Like you always say to me, 'Spit it out.' You were
talking about sexual play. What do you mean?"
"Yes, play - as in erotic power exchange. You know,
your dad and I tease each other about this when we think you
two aren't around, but I know you've overheard us, haven't
you?
"Uh...I guess...maybe a couple of times."
"A couple of times per week would be more like it," Mom
suggested, laughing. Then, a little more seriously, she
went on, "Your dad is a very strong man, even a dominant
man. I consider myself a strong woman - and I am - but when
your dad and I play, he's the dominant partner, the Top if
you will."
"And?"
"I meant to have this talk with you someday. Now
appears like a good time. When we play - and we play a lot,
your Dad and I - I enjoy being the little girl. I like to
be told what to do. Perhaps it gives me permission to do
the naughty, the forbidden, things I'd really like to do
anyway. Then, I like to be tied up at times. I love the
feeling of helplessness. And - this is a little
embarrassing - I like to be spanked!"
"Really? Bare bottom? How embarrassing. Does it
hurt?"
"No, baby, that's the point. It's pleasure. I love
it. It's a huge turn-on. The whole thing works only if
there is trust and love and understanding, and most
important, communication. Without that, we're left to our
own imagination, and for me, that's a dangerous place to
hang out.
"Oh, if he struck me in anger, it would hurt. I'd
really hurt. But it's done with love and I love it...I love
the intense sensations. I once heard a woman describe
herself as a sensation slut and that gave me a shiver,
because...well, because I could relate."
"Wow. That's...uh, far out. I mean, that's really
neat, Mom! I had no idea. Tell me more."
"Baby, I'll tell you as much as you want to hear, but
first I want to get on with the principles of good sexual
behavior, okay?"
Rats! I thought my parents were so conservative that
they'd never done anything and now I was hearing of an
exciting side of their personalities of which I knew almost
nothing. I wanted to hear more.
"Okay. No hurting then. Of course, that seems only
right. What's so difficult about that?"
"Usually not much, but sometimes we really have to look
within ourselves and question our motives...to be careful
we're not hurting someone when we think our motives are
good. I don't know about you, but my ego often wears
blinders."
"Yeah, I can see how my ego gets in the way sometimes
too. What else?"
"Well, the next thing is a bit more abstract, but we've
got to be careful not to be exploitive."
"Mom, I know what "exploitive" means, but how's it
apply in this case?"
"Let me give you an example. Let's say you've agreed
to have sex with someone - and *having sex* doesn't
necessarily mean having intercourse. I regard all sexual
activity as "having sex." Okay? A sexy conversation can be
viewed as having sex. Mutual masturbation can be viewed as
having sex."
"Okay, I get it...it's a definitional thing."
"Yes, and for purposes of our conversation, that's how
we'll define it. Anyway, let's say you've talked this over
with someone, you both want it and you agree you're not
going to hurt each other. Now here's the rub. You're 18 and
he's...let's say he's 12."
"Mother!"
"Get off your high horse, miss. It's happened. Lot's
of times. But that doesn't make it right. He's too young.
He might think he knows what he wants, but he can't really
know. If you had consensual sex with him, that'd be
exploitive."
Jean laughed and said, "All right. So I can't get it
on with Johnny."
Johnny was the boy next door. At 15 he was a year
younger than I. I held my breath.
"Johnny's a cute kid and he *looks* older than he is.
Heck, he looks older than Billy, but I know he's not as
mature. I'd put Johnny on the borderline...as least as far
as age was concerned. But I'd not pick someone like him for
different reasons. I think of him as a kiss-and-tell kind
of guy. You've got a reputation to take care of, girl."
"Okay. Johnny's out." Jean then laughed and added,
"He doesn't blow my skirt up anyway."
By this time, I was almost frozen in my fascination. I
couldn't believe how open and candid my mom and Jean were
being with each other. I wished I could be that way with my
dad, but I thought of him as too stern, too busy, too
unavailable. I wondered if Mom would ever let me chat with
her? Cripes, every time I thought I was so sophisticated,
so cool and knowledgeable, I discovered how little I knew.
There was probably a lesson in there somewhere, but I was
too caught up in the excitement of my eavesdropping.
Mom continued, "Let's not get too abstract here. We're
talking about *your* problem. What I'm trying to tell you
is this. Being sexual is okay. More than okay, it's good.
You've just got to be careful in life. You've got to take
care of yourself as well as be respectful of those you care
for. This make sense?"
"Hmmmm...I guess, in the abstract. I mean, I'm so darn
horny and masturbating does help, but not for long. I
feeling a deep need for . . . well, I not really sure for
what, but I think I'm ready to start letting down my
defenses around the boys."
"Baby, it's been my experience that beyond some
emotional point, my well-considered intentions go out the
window. My, uh...my pussy thinks for me. So you might
think you're *starting* to lower your defenses and suddenly
you'll find it's a done-deed, a fiat accompli. Now, I'm not
saying that there's anything really wrong about that, save
for a couple of big considerations. Like sexually
transmitted diseases - which can affect anyone - and the
really big one, pregnancy."
"God, Mom...I wasn't thinking..."
"That's just it, baby. You weren't thinking and when
*it* happens, it won't happen because you've given it a lot
of thought. Believe me, it happens! And our awareness is
largely after the fact. Our denial is nothing more than a
head-in-the-sand stance, a refusal to see life as it really
is."
"You sound like you've been there."
Jean said this with a provocative tone of voice, as if
daring Mom to tell the truth. And then I wondered, "Had
*my* mother really experienced anything like this, or was
she preaching from some how-to book?"
Mom paused, then replied, "I have. It's no big secret
and I'll share it with you, but not right now. It's tough
enough staying on the topic. And the topic is: Sex and
Birth Control! It may not be clear to you, but it is to me.
It's time for you to see a gynecologist - you can see mine
if you want - and get on the pill."
"Gee, that sounds like I'm admitting I'm planning on,
you know..."
"No, it's admitting that you're a sexual being, a human
being and it's just good sense. Jean, you're just like me
and sooner or later it's gonna happen."
And then, as if to honor the statistical unlikeliness
of such a possibility, Mom added, "Even if it turns out you
don't need it."
"Mom, are you giving me permission to get sexual?"
"You're almost an adult, Jean. You don't need my
permission. I know that you're going to do what ever you
need to do, permission or not, and that's especially true
for sex. I just want you to be a responsible woman."
"You have this conversation with Billy, Mom?"
My ears shot up. How did *I* get into this topic?
Mom laughed again, seemingly not shocked. "No, I
haven't, and I can tell from his sheets that it's time. I
had hoped that his dad would, but I don't think that's going
to happen. I know you and he are very close. You two ever
talk about sex?"
I held my breath.
Jean exhaled loudly. "Yeah. Quite a bit, Mom. I
trust Billy and I think he trusts me. He's my closest
friend."
I didn't think Mom knew just how close.
"I understand that. My brother Jim was my closest
friend. Still is for that matter, except for your dad. We
shared all our secrets with each other. I'd expect no less
from you two."
"Mom, did you...well...did you ever have any *special*
feelings about your brother? I mean, any sexy thoughts?"
"Of course, baby. Anyone who would tell you that he's
not had thoughts about family members is in denial or lying.
It's natural."
And then, as an afterthought, Mom added, "Jean, I'm
baring my soul to you and I'm feeling a little uncertain
myself. I don't want to drift into revealing the
confidences of others. But I'll tell you about *me*. Yes,
I've had lots of sexy thoughts."
"I sometimes...." and she trailed off.
"Sometimes have thoughts about Billy?" asked Mom.
"Whew!" An explosive gust of air and then a long
pause.
"Uh...yeah...and even feelings, I mean sexy feelings."
And then Jean rushed on, "He's a neat guy. He good looking
and well built. He's kind and thoughtful and he knows my
moods better than anyone... and when he gives me a hug..."
"Get's your juices flowing, eh?"
"Mom!"
"Jean, Jean...remember, I've been there, done that.
It's natural, baby."
"You and Jim?"
"Sure. He still turns me on. Don't tell your dad,
though, okay? I mean don't tell *anybody*!"
"I won't tell if you won't tell."
Then after a another short pause, Jean added, "But
there *is* something I'd like to tell you, Mom. Actually
something I *have* to talk about and you're the only person
I can talk to."
I could hear the wind blowing in the oak trees. Where
was Jean going with this, I wondered?
"I have a confession to make. I just gotta share this
you or I'll bust. I feel so darn guilty, I can't stand it."
Mom's voice got softer. "What ever it is, Baby, it's
okay. I'll not judge you. My job is just to love you.
There is nothing, absolutely nothing under the sun you can
tell me that will change that."
Without pause, Jean blurted, "Billy and I have had sex,
Mom! I don't mean that we've *done* it...you know, had
intercourse or anything like that, but we have touched each
other."
Oh-shit-oh-dear! At this point I felt a leaden weight
in my stomach. Busted! Grounded! Probably forever, if I
wasn't run out of town on a rail first. Jig's up. I waited
for my Mom to scream.
Instead, Mom said, "I'm not surprised. In fact, I'd
have been surprised if you hadn't. You know, I live here
too. I'm aware. I've seen you two. I've seen how you act
around each other. I even told you that you remind me of
myself...especially when I found your panties in his bed."
Jesus! I thought I had hidden those. I immediately
wondered, how might I lie my way out of this one? When I'm
confronted, blind-sided like this, the *last* thing I think
about is telling the truth. My first instinctual response,
after suppressing a survival desire to run, is to make up a
story, one that'll get me off the hook. Then later, I have
to spend so much energy backing out of the corner into which
I've firmly implanted myself.
"How do I remind you...you and Jim...your brother? You
mean . . you've had similar...?"
"Sure. Shocked?"
"Kinda...but not really. Actually, I'm pleased. Even
thrilled. I don't know...kind of makes *me* okay."
"You *are*...you are okay. And I love you, Jean."
Jean started to cry and I could hear Mom making
comforting sounds. The next little bit was lost to my ears.
I envisioned Jean crying into Mom's shoulder...Mom patting
her.
Then Jean blubbered, "Oh, my...I don't know why I'm
doing this, but I'm so relieved and so happy. I feel so
loved."
"Want to tell me what you've done, Baby?"
"You won't get mad?"
"No, this isn't about getting mad and you're not being
grilled. What we all need are safe places. Places where we
can share our secrets. Believe me, the more you share with
me, the better you'll feel. Just keep in mind, I love you
and I'm not judging you. I don't so much need to hear this
as you need to share it."
I was feeling like a shriveled-up prune by now, wanting
to run and hide, disappear from the face of the Earth.
Glancing down I noticed my dick had disappeared!
Jean rushed on, "Well, it started off as an accident.
At least, I think it was an accident. Anyway, we were doing
the laundry and Billy got hard - he was looking down my
shirt - and then he rubbed off on the table looking at me,
and then later we talked and he showed me his... and I
couldn't help it...I showed him mine, and..."
"Whoa. Slow down a little. Take your time. Breath."
Jean was on a confessional express and couldn't be
slowed.
"Mom, I'm so excited, I want to get it all out at once.
Anyway, Billy was always listening to me pee in the
downstairs bathroom - I knew that. I didn't understand it,
and I knew it was naughty, but I guess it thrilled me. He
said it turned him on. Sounds dumb but I guess that made it
exciting for me. Anyway, when we went to Fourth of July
Lake last year, I let him watch me pee one day. God! Is
that kinky or what?"
"Oh, I don't know. Sounds like a chip off the old
block."
"Dad?"
"Yes, but we're not talking about your Dad. We're
talking about you. Again, I'll tell you things about me, but
your Dad's stuff is his stuff. I feel free to talk about
myself, but not your Dad and not my brother. Understand?
Now, anything else?"
"Yes. It get's a lot more intense. Like, I love
flashing Billy, you know? I flashed him wearing
next-to-nothing at Victoria's Secret. Wow, Mom. I felt all
squishy inside. I know it gets him hot and that gives me a
sense of power. Makes me hot too. Weird, huh?"
"No. Not at all weird. That's what exhibitionism is
for some folks, Jean. Just another sexual game. More and
more it seems, you're just like me!"
"Well - this is getting more intense, Mom - one day I
took his thing in my mouth! I don't know how it happened.
It just did."
Mom didn't gasp. She laughed. "You mean you sucked
his *cock*, don't you?"
I gasped. Jean gasped.
"Yes...I guess that's what I really mean. It's just
that I'm not used to saying...things like that...and when I
hear *you* say it..."
"So, tell me, what's Billy's part in this? He the
victim or the perp?"
"Hah! Billy the victim? Hardly. He may act soft
sometimes, but he's tough as nails. I don't want you to
think that he took advantage of me. He didn't. I wanted
it. All the time, I wanted it just as much as him. Even
more I bet!"
"So did that stud-son of mine touch you, get you off?"
"Oh yes! Several times. We even had phone sex once.
What a hoot! And a couple of weeks ago I asked him to trim
my...my pussy...my pussy fur. There! I said it. PUSSY!"
"Did he?"
"Trim my pussy?" Laughing. "No, we never got to it.
Once he got down between my legs...well, one thing led to
another and he... he sniffed around and..."
"He went down on you, right?"
"How'd you know?"
"He's his father's son."
"And that's pretty much it, Mom. I've *wanted* to do
it with him. All the time. But we haven't. I'm afraid to.
I want to and I'm afraid to. But I love getting sexual with
him. God, he thrills me! I wish there were some way we
could just play with each other, satisfy each other, and not
really, well, you know...not really do it."
By this time I didn't know whether to strut or flush
myself down the drain. I just shut my eyes and scrunched
down further.
"Baby, I'm glad for you - glad for your emerging
sexuality and mostly, for your willingness to tell the
truth. Incest is *really* a loaded topic. We can talk
about the philosophical issues, and mostly, that's what they
are, philosophical issues. We can talk about the
practicality of your situation...or the lack of it.
"I'm not going to tell you that you're right or that
you're wrong. It's not about that. It's about feelings.
And, as I've often told you, feelings aren't right or wrong
either. They just are. The only intrinsic evil I see in
life is an incapacity to love. Still, I want you to promise
me something...that you'll go slow, really slow with this."
Jean cried some more. I got all choked up.
"Oh, God, Mom. I feel so much better. I still don't
know what to *do*, but I feel better, so much better.
Thanks."
"Good. Now the next thing we've got to do is drag
Billy out of the closet. If he's anything like you, he's
dying his own deaths."
Little did they know. Death sounded like a viable
option at that moment.
"What can we do? I mean I can talk with him. I *will*
talk with him. He's got to know that I told you our secret.
But then what? Will *you* talk with him, Mom? He has the
same fears and the same concerns I have. I know. We talk
about it. And I know you'd be *so* much better than Dad."
"I suppose I *could* - might even be fun - and Jim
might be better. Except he's away on a trip and won't be
back for too long. Let me think about this, okay?"
I could hear them pushing back the deck chairs as they
stood up, ready to leave. Suddenly, unplanned and completely
unbidden, I called out, "I'm in the hot tub. I've been here
all along. I heard the whole thing. I'm sorry."
Christ! What did I *do*?
Two heads looked around the corner at me scrunched down
in the tub, almost out of sight.
I ran on, "I'm sorry for eavesdropping. I didn't mean
to be a snoop. When I came back, you weren't here and I just
jumped into the tub . . . then you came out and began
talking about sexy things. I lost my head. I'm sorry. I
didn't mean to listen to your private conversation."
Jean and my mom looked at each other. Jean was red.
No more than me.
My mother broke the tension. She looked at Jean and
said, "Well, I guess this resolves *who* is going to talk
with Billy."
Then looking at me, one hand on her hip, she smiled and
asked, "Well, stud...ready to spill the beans?"
