“So how were the shoes?” I asked as we sat down across from each other, surprised she still wore them.
“Not good. I’m keeping them on as long as possible to wear them in.”
She didn’t mention anything about a foot massage and I didn’t want to bring it up then and there thinking I was coming across a little too enthusiastic, but to my surprise it was her that next took the conversation into the realm of sexuality.
“There was a sale on,” Mom explained out of the blue. “That’s why I bought so many panties.”
“Ok,” I replied acting aloof. In reality wanting to hear as much as possible about these ‘panties.’
She placed down her fork and reached across to her shopping bag, her hand diving in.
Awestruck I watched as she withdrew multiple flesh colored thongs and placed them on the table followed by two bras, one white one nude.
“I know you like the black bra,” she laughed. “But I had to pick up these. Can’t really go to work bra-less again.” She added.
What the hell was going on? Was I reading way too much into our byplay since ‘that’ film? It seemed every conversation we were having was loaded with sexual content, innuendo. I tried to think if we’d been like this prior. Maybe we had and I just never noticed. Maybe everyone talked and behaved like this and my libido driven brain was getting carried away with the fanciful notion of an incestuous encounter with my own mother? I had two options as far as I could see. Go along with it. She was happy to discuss such personal matters of late, so why not encourage the debate? Or the second, be juvenile and avoid the fact. Shield my ears to the subject and possibly my sudden interest in incest would evaporate.
I chose the former.
“So that’s everything?” I enquired. “Thought you said you bought three bras.” I watched her cheeks again turn a shade of pink and she picked up her fork to take a mouthful of the side salad.
“Oh I just picked up something else for myself,” she explained after she had swallowed. “Not work related.”
Did I let it go? The Lincoln of two days prior would possibly have avoided the conversation completely. The Lincoln today jumped at the opportunity.
“Oh yeah?” I didn’t need to feign interest and I again waited for her to swallow. There was some hesitation from her, it was obvious, before her hand was back in the bag and partly pulled out a pink bra and what looked to be a matching thong.
“Oh and a new nightie,” she threw away the line as her hand revealed transparent red lace which she quickly returned to its hiding place.
‘A nightie,’ I thought to myself. No. That was lingerie, and I made a pact with myself I would see her wearing it or die trying!
*
“I made you a cup of tea,” I called as she passed the lounge room. Her shower had been noticeably longer than usual, not that I was one to keep tabs on these kind of things and I’d waited forever for her to leave her bedroom. “It’s probably ready to drink,” I added, a subtle hint I’d been anticipating her.
“Oh thanks,” she doubled back. “I was just about to do that.”
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