by Mat Twassel
(7/26/00)

It was the Sunday before Labor Day, a cheerfully sunny late morning, and Laura and I were sipping coffee, reading the newspaper, and discussing whether Labor Day was meant to honor the workers or the mothers. Laura was singing a little ditty she made up, The Workers and the Mothers Should Be Friends, when our son, Richard, came inside from mowing the lawn.

"Speaking of the fruits of labor," Laura said. "Would you like some lemonade, honey? You look all hot and sweaty."

"No, thanks," Richard said. "I'm just going to take a shower. Um, Dad, you said I could have the car tonight if I mowed the lawn, right?"

"As long as you get back safe and sound at a half-way reasonable hour," I said.

"No sweat," Richard said, and he sauntered off towards the bathroom.

"He takes a lot of showers these days," Laura said as we listened to the bathroom door slam shut.

"Well, there's a lot more of him to keep clean," I answered.

Laura sighed.

"What?" I said.

"Nothing, nothing. I was just thinking about the days when I'd give him his baths. He was so cute. So soft and smooth and cuddly. So... so everything. My last little baby. What ever happened to those days?"

The phrase "down the drain" popped into my mind, but it didn't seem to fit. Laura had a little tear in the corner of her eye. I wasn't sure if it was a tear of happiness or a tear of sadness. "Do you think you might want another baby?" I asked her.

"Oh," she said, suddenly looking at me. "Oh, goodness."

I wasn't sure whether that meant yes or no. Or something else.

"Another baby," Laura said, as if mulling it over. "No, two babies is enough. Was enough. I haven't the energy. But you're so sweet. Come here and sit by me. Let me kiss you."

I sat by her and let her kiss me. Sweet kisses. The kind we shared when we were new to each other, still getting to know each other. When our babies were far in the future. Soon the kisses grew more serious. Laura's sighs turned to moans. She glanced towards the hallway, the bathroom just out of sight. Richard's shower was still going strong. Laura sat back and sighed deeply. Her robe slipped open. She took my hand and moved it to her belly. "Touch me here, just for a second," she said. I made medium slow circles on her bare tummy just below her belly button. Cute little belly, at once soft and firm, same as it ever was. I smoothed my hand down that gentle curve until my palm covered the hill of her plump mound outside the flimsy panties. She arched up, quivered. "Sweet," she said. "So sweet." My middle finger began to stroke the soft slot through the damp fabric. Gently Laura took my hand and moved it aside. She snuggled into my arms. Her next kiss was hot and lush and slightly salty.

"We have such good children, don't we?" she said.

"Yes," I replied. "But maybe we could pick another one up at the store. Maybe they're running a Labor Day special."

"Mm," Laura said. "We do need a few things. I think we're out of bread."

"I was thinking more of..."

"And milk. And raisins for your Wheaties. Do you want to go? I'll make a list."

"Maybe we could both go," I suggested. "Like we used to."

"I need to take a shower," Laura said.

"By the time Richard gets out there won't be any hot water. Not enough, anyway."

"But I smell," Laura said.

"You don't," I said. "You smell fine. Come with me? Please."

"I'm not even dressed yet," Laura said.

"Slip into something," I pleaded. "I'll leave a note for Richard. Hurry." I grabbed her hand and pulled her into me and kissed her hard. "Hurry," I whispered, slipping my hand inside her panties, kissing her while my finger worked. "Hurry, before everything is gone." I stopped, leaving her trembling on the edge. "Slip into something; I need you with me. Let's go."

"You write the note," Laura said.

"You smell so good," I said to Laura, sniffing my fingers. "So good."

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she said as she buttoned up her blouse. "My hair isn't even brushed."

"You're my brave girl," I told her as I walked her out to the car. From the rear curve of our driveway we could see a crescent of cool green lawn.

"I can't believe..."

"The grass smells nice. Richard did a good job."

Laura took a deep breath. "It is nice," she said, "Not like spring, but still nice. Spicier, a little like apples and clover."

"A little like you," I said as I kissed her. I sucked her tongue into my mouth. She clung to me.

"What did you say in the note?" she asked in the car. We were underway, almost there.

"That we love him to pieces and we're going to the store and we'll bring him home a special treat."

"Mm, a special treat." Laura put her hand on my thigh. "Sounds like a nice note," she said. "What kind of special treat did you have in mind?"

"I don't know," I said. "I wasn't really thinking. Chocolate chip cookies? Anyway it might not matter. We'll probably be back home before he's out of the shower."

The parking lot of Riller's Market was nearly empty. "Not many Sunday morning shoppers," I said to Laura. "Everyone's probably resting up for Labor Day." Laura was brushing her hair. "It looks fine," I said. "Wildly beautiful." She gave me a doubtful look. I kissed her.

"I know I can't trust you," she said. She frisked a strand into place. Shook it out.

"My mane," I said.

I kissed her again. We hadn't had this many kisses in a long time. "Let's get this over with," she said. Then she laughed. "I'm hopeless."

"Shall we split up," Laura said once we were inside.

"No way," I said.

"Okay, but let's not linger."

"Since when have I ever lingered? What do we need?"

"Milk," she said. "Two percent."

"I like whole milk better."

"Two percent," Laura said, lifting the gallon into our cart.

"Raisins," I said.

"Golden or regular?"

"Golden."

"The regular are ten cents cheaper," Laura said.

She put the box in the cart next to the milk. "What else?"

"Bread," I said. "Crusty French bread."

"Whole wheat," said Laura. She added two loaves to our cart. "And maybe a fresh vegetable."

She wheeled the cart, I followed behind. Full bins of fresh produce. Shiny eggplants with sleek mauve skin dark as the inner curl of a Lake Superior wave. Improbably bright orange carrots rubbing up against each other. Peppers red, yellow, and green, glossy and swollen like women's bottoms. Mounds of ripe plump tomatoes. Snug white onions. Crates of sleeping corn. Bulbs of garlic pale and small as a small boy's balls. Pears like breasts. Apples like breasts. Melons like breasts. Oranges and apricots and plums and peaches like breasts. Laura was looking at a display of baby potatoes.

A young woman with a cell phone was blocking the tray of cucumbers. Her cell phone was white as were her cotton shorts. She had a nice ass. "I'm sorry, am I in your way?" she asked. She looked like she had been crying, like she was about to burst into tears again.

"I just need to get a look at the cucumbers," I said softly. The woman made some room for me, but not much. I noticed she had two cucumbers in her cart, which was otherwise empty except for a small bottle of olive oil. Extra virgin olive oil according to label. Her cucumbers were darkest green, smooth but for a few mottled bumps, slightly bowed, and up-tilted at the tips. The woman had her back to me. I couldn't make out what she was whispering into the phone. She moved off down the aisle as Laura approached, a bunch of red grapes in one hand, a bunch of green grapes in the other.

"What do you think of these?" she said. "They're not too sweet and not too tart and very juicy."

"How do you know?"

"I snuck a few." She grinned.

"What about these cucumbers?" I said.

"Some nice ones," Laura said.

"Some naughty ones," I said. "Maybe you could pick one out. Maybe you could pick out an especially naughty one."

Laura wrinkled her nose. "Don't even think about it," she said.

"Have you ever... thought about it?" I asked Laura.

"Not until now," Laura said.

"I think it might be fun."

"They're too big," Laura said.

"They are?"

"Definitely."

"I wasn't sure."

"Take my word."

"But maybe... maybe as part of a Labor Day celebration. Please?"

"You can buy the cucumbers, but we're not doing that with them."

"Why not?"

"Maybe I'd rather have the real thing."

"But aren't you curious? With a lot of oil I think it might be fun."

"Oil? What kind of oil?"

"Olive oil, extra virgin. No cholesterol."

"Not today," Laura said. She pushed our cart on down the aisle towards the checkout.

We passed the ice cream, frozen foods, fudge sauces and chocolate syrups. Check-out was just ahead. Only two lines were open, both busy. Laura maneuvered our cart into the shorter line. The check-out girl was just bagging a man in tire sandals. Ahead of us stood the cell phone woman's cart. As before, all it had in it was the pair of cucumbers and the small bottle of olive oil. The cell phone woman was no where to be seen.

The checkout girl looked at us. Cute girl, redhead, with freckles and a big smile. Pretty eyes. She looked vaguely familiar. Maybe because she looked a lot like Laura when Laura was in high school. Her name tag said "Moira."

"We seem to be blocked," I said to Moira.

"I think the woman left," Moira said. "She went running out all of a sudden."

"Do you think she'll be back?" Laura asked.

"Hard to say," Moira said. "Why don't you just push her cart aside? Someone'll take care of it."

"They are nice cucumbers," Laura said, lifting them out of the cart. "Maybe I'll just take them." She set them on the conveyor in front of the bread and milk and raisins which I'd unloaded.

I watched the checkout girl take the cucumbers, put them on the scale. They were pretty fat around. She rung them up.

"We might as well take the olive oil, too," Laura said. "Olive oil goes good with cucumbers." Laura handed the small bottle to the checkout girl. I moved the empty cart out of the way.

We were almost home when I asked Laura why she'd changed her mind about the cucumbers. "I'm not sure I changed my mind," Laura said. "But you didn't get the kind of milk you wanted, or the golden raisins, or the French bread. I thought you could use a special treat. But I'm not promising anything. Maybe I just hate to see food abandoned."

"Oh-oh," I said. "I forget to get Richard's special treat. Should I go back?"

"He'll be disappointed," Laura said. "Those cucumbers really distracted you, didn't they?"

"I was just..."

"Or was it that checkout girl. You thought she was cute, didn't you?"

"She was cute. She reminded me of you."

"Ha!" Laura exclaimed. "She had red hair. Freckles."

"Yeah, but something about her. Something innocently sexy about her, the same way you were in high school. The same way you still are."

"Speaking of sexy, I can't believe I told her those cucumbers were sexy. I feel so embarrassed."

"You didn't say 'sexy.' You said they were 'nice.'"

"I did? Are you sure?"

"Sure."

Laura shrugged. "You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"

We pulled into the driveway. "So what should I do about Richard's treat?" I asked.

"Just give him a few dollars. He'll be happy enough picking out his own treat."

"But you think he'll be disappointed?"

"Yes, but not too disappointed."

Later that afternoon I baked a grape cake while Laura helped Richard wash and wax the car.

"He's in a good mood," Laura reported. "He walked over to the park to shoot some baskets. He was whistling."

"I didn't know he could whistle."

"I didn't either," Laura admitted. "It's a funny whistle. Like a baby bird cheeping for food. Speaking of food, the cake smells really good."

"It has to cool," I said. "Meanwhile, maybe we should try out the cucumber."

Laura laughed. "Sliced thin with mustard and mayo and lots of dill?"

"You know what I mean."

"I do?"

"Come on, you promised."

"That's not how I remember it."

"Just pick one out and let's go upstairs. I'll bring the oil."

"Maybe you'd better bring a towel, too."

We climbed the stairs slowly. "So Richard is a good waxer?" I asked.

"Very good," Laura said. "We used some of your underwear," she added, and then she laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, nothing really. I was just thinking what the dried wax looked like when it was rubbed off."

I didn't say anything, I just took Laura's hand and led her into our bedroom. Laura let me undress her. I took it very slow, enjoying each fresh inch of nakedness. The afternoon light sliced through our bedroom. "Lie on the bed now and close your eyes," I told her. Laura did as I asked.

"Do we need the towel?"

"Not yet," I said.

I stood next to the bed for a while, watching her, the dark halo of hair around her serene face, the steady rise and fall of her breasts, her trim tummy, the curves of her calves, the innocence of her girlish knees, the shy dent of her sex under the puff of dark hair. She moved her hands behind her head, took a deep breath. Her full lips parted slightly.

"You are so beautiful," I whispered. "Keep your eyes closed, and draw up your legs. I want to watch you open."

Shyly she raised her legs. Sure enough her sex lips slipped apart. A spot of excitement dwelled in the center. Her thighs began to tremble. She let her legs spread wider. She put her heels together. The skin of her sex lips darkened. Mauve. She was open now, and deeply wet. I watched the mucous well up in the little hole. A tiny glistening pool of cunt juice. I longed to put my finger there. My tongue. But I refrained. Just my eyes, fastened to the throb of that ineluctable mystery.

"Roll over now."

She did. I warmed a palmful of olive oil in my hands and worked the slipperiness into her upper back and shoulders. I worked hard, moving the muscles and tendons against the bone. I knelt above her, not touching her body except with my hands, my fingers, but putting a lot of weight into it, moving slow, like the press of sun against hot beach sand, my push and pull as inexorable as tides, though sometimes I used my fingernails, long swoops down her spine, light getting lighter, lifting off just before the dimple above her buttocks. Two or three or four of these swift journeys, random as the cries of lonely shore birds, and then I'd resume the hard work at the upper back, the neck, shoulders, and central spine. A film of oil covered her back. Her breathing slowed. I moved with her breathing, making my motions a part of it until the bed groaned and Laura lay near sleep.

I let her lie there for a peaceful minute before drizzling oil on the upper part of her bottom, a little on each side. She tensed briefly, then relaxed. The oil flowed slowly towards the crack. I added more. A short twist of the bottle, bottom to top, bottom to top, and two honey-colored gulps oozed down just above that adorable dimple.

"Maybe we need the towel now," Laura said. I put it under her. Then I worked the oil into the flesh of her ass. I gripped the muscle and squeezed hard with both hands. She sighed but let me have her. I spread her cheeks. Glistening oil flooded the furrow. I kneaded her hard, prying the firm globes apart and then letting them relax together. Apart together, apart together. Her sex lips squeaked as they separated, and fresh oil seeped between the small petals, then gushed out as I pushed the flesh close. I let my thumbs slide near the tender center wrinkle, not quite nudging the very edge of its rim, the smooth oval halo. Her padded flesh was so slippery there it took an effort to keep her open for more than the merest instant, but keep her open I did, by dint of will and work, until extra virgin olive oil filled the shy heart of her asshole. The surface of it, anyway. Some of it may have trickled in. I added more. Laura moaned. I could see the squeeze, the way she worked herself, the tremble of her want.

And then without warning I abandoned her middle, moved my oily hands down her long legs. Gripping the big muscles of her slender thighs, I soothed them with long slow strokes all the way from swell of bottom to back of knee. I worked as deep and hard as I could, coating her and coaxing ease inside. I did the same to her calves and ankles, her shins and arches. I pinched her toes, not sharply but firmly, working oil into each one, working oil into the dry skin of her heels, working it there and everywhere until the oil wasn't oily, until the skin was soft and moist and supple, and again she was almost asleep. I let my fingertips whisper over her body. I let them linger here, skid there. A small scratch. A slight pinch. A gentle prod. Flickers of motion, like movies in the air are light.

It was time. Again I had her roll to her back. She opened her eyes. She looked dreamy, semi-dazed. "Love," I said. "Only that." She smiled and closed her eyes and drew up her knees. She let me guide her legs apart. I took the cucumber from beside the bed and touched it to her inner thigh, one side then the other. She shivered. I rubbed the up-turned tip against the tender skin of her inner thighs. She sighed and squeezed her eyes and frowned, and I could see the pulse in her eyelids and I could see the deeper pulse in bloom of her cunt. I touched the tip of the cuke to the trembling flower. Nudged it gently. Twisted it not quite a quarter turn. Right then left. The fat head poked its way into the yielding hole. Less than an inch, but in.

"Oh honey," Laura said. Her eyes were open. She was looking into my eyes. "Oh my honey boy, my big honey boy."

I took cuke out of her, spread olive oil from my palm around its upper half until the dark green glistened. I toweled off the bottom half so I could grip it better and moved it back between her legs. Laura looked on with interest. I eased the vegetable into her. I twisted it slowly and pushed gently, and in it went, a slow sinking, like quicksand swallowing up its prey.

"Full," Laura said. "So f-f-full."

I fucked the cucumber further in. Another inch. And then another. Her cunt lips hugged the slow slide.

"Oh," Laura said. "Oh. I feel like I'm..."

The cuke was in about four inches now. Almost to its widest part. I eased it out and then back in. Her cunt lips lapped the shiny skin. I pushed the upper part of the cucumber down, so that the bulge inside pushed up. The inner skin was stretched wide, her fat little clit completely exposed. Holding the cuke steady with one hand, I traced my fingers over the slippery surfaces of Laura's sex. With my thumb and forefinger I pinched her clit. I kept the pressure on, circling and pinching, until the ripples began in her belly, waves of release, and she screamed, and her climax pushed the cucumber completely out of her cunt. Immediately I pushed two fingers in. The spasms were still strong. I held my fingers firm inside her, pressed her mound with my other hand, forcing her to tremor more.

"Come, my honey, yes, baby, come, come, come," I said, the silly litany of sex talk, but it worked; she came, came, came. She gave herself up to coming. Her cunt clenched against my fingers. Again and again and again. At last I let her relax. I petted her little mat of pussy fur, soppy now with oil and sex juice. I caressed her belly. "So sweet," I said. "So very sweet." I kissed her belly button, and then I curled up next to her and put head on her tummy and rested while she slept.

It was dark when she awoke. I'd fallen asleep, as well, and her stirring woke me. "What time is it?" she wanted to know.

"I'm not sure," I answered. "Seven maybe"

"Oh God," she groaned. "You made me come so much."

"My pleasure, ma'am," I said.

"Do you want me to... you?"

"Actually I did, somewhere along the line," I said. "I'm sure my underwear are car wax material."

"Oh, dear," Laura said. "Do you think Richard got dinner?"

"I'm sure he managed," I said. "He was going out, remember?"

"Vaguely. I hope he left a note where he was going." She put on her robe. "I've got to pee so bad," Laura said. I followed her downstairs.

All the lights were on. In the living room we found Richard sitting on the couch. The checkout girl from Riller's Market was sitting next to him. They were holding hands. They saw us. It was too late for Laura to turn around.

"Hi, Mom," Richard said. "This is Moira. We were just going."

"Hi, Mrs. Twassel," Moira said as she and Richard stood up. Richard took her hand again.

"I'm sorry I'm such a mess," Laura said. "I was just... we were just..."

"Having a little pre-Labor Day nap," I put in.

Laura blushed. "Sometimes you just get so sleepy," she said.

"I know," Moira said.

"Can I get you something," Laura said. "Some... something to eat?"

Moira looked at Richard. "Not right now," he said. He put his arm around her shoulder. "We were just about to go. You said I could have the car, right Dad?"

"Drive carefully," I told him.

Through the front window we watched them stroll down our driveway to the newly washed and waxed car. Twilight embraced them.

"They're so cute," Laura said. "I'm so embarrassed."

"Don't be," I said. I rested my hand on her bottom. "You're so beautiful."

Out in the driveway Moira and Richard were facing each other. She had him trapped between the passenger's door and herself. She was looking up at him, into his eyes. He glanced towards our window. Moira put her arms around him and drew him down into a kiss. Richard didn't resist. The kiss turned quickly deep, pressing. And then they were in the car, driving off.

Laura stared at the empty street. "Do you think they...? Do you think they'll be fine?"

"They'll be fine," I said. I turned her towards me, took her into my arms. I kissed her. Laura clung to me.

"I have to pee," she said. "And then I have to have you in me. I have to have you in me so much."

Her eyes gleamed with deep seriousness, and in the depths of them I could see love and desire and something more, something I couldn't name, something which made me shiver, something which made me want to be in her, deep deep deep in her, and in that instant it was as if we were already fucking, as if we were both on the very edge, about to swallow each other's explosions. "Hurry," I said.