Best Laid Plans

There is an ember of hope in the darkness.

And it could become the flame I need, or be snuffed to nothing.

Or… it could escape its bounds and go raging, uncontrolled. It raged and I got burned.

The ember was James’ reaction to his mother’s sopping, wet panties. It was a tiny ember, because horny boys are easily persuaded, but at least he wasn’t disgusted. I could work with that, and, as we drove on, I considered ways to feed that ember.

As it turns to night, we arrive at the Fiery Luck Casino and Hotel. This time I know better, and I turn to warn my family after I park. “The world has changed, and unfortunately we will have to adjust. You know what we will see in there. Try to keep your eyes averted and get up to our rooms. Boys, flank your mom and sisters. Keep them safe. Ok?”

Jennie adds, “We can do this. Right, guys?” as they nod.

We unload our luggage and roll our way up to the main entrance. As we approach the brightly lit marquis, a tall ‘F’ that rises two lines with ‘iery’ on the top and ‘Luck’ underneath, the ‘L’ in ‘Luck’ flickers then goes out. For a half-second it reads something else, and I drop my eyes in shock. Ominous. By the time I look up again, the ‘L’ is relit. Whew, a coincidence…, right?

As we enter the casino, we are assaulted by noise, lights, and a woman’s scream. ‘DING! DING! DING!’ accompanied by a clatter of coins and flashing lights, draws our eyes to the large bank of slot machines titled Fires of Tartarus. An Asian woman’s naked breasts are mashed against the machine, and her skirt is bunched around her waist as a Latino man plows into her from behind. Her upturned face is pressed against the machine as she screams repeatedly, “Oh, yes! Yes! YES!” as coins spill out of the tray around her feet.

“Is sex really that good?” Miles innocently asks.

“I’d say it was the money,” Evie replies, to which Sylvie giggles.

“It could be the sex…?” James proffers.

Jennie whirls around at this exchange, and stares daggers at her offspring. They stare at their shuffling feet and have the decency to blush. “Not another word. Get to the rooms.”

We push past the entrance gambling trap and make it to reception. When we finish checking in, the receptionist whispers, “Thank you for letting me work.” I look over at the group of Texan businessmen that are groping the receptionist trying to check them in.

“You’re welcome,” I mumble, trying hard to keep my eyes above her neck, but it is hard. Every female employee is dressed in a red, underbust corset with a lace breast covering, that hides nothing, to which their pink freeuse tags are attached. Their skirts barely qualify as mini, and the slits up the sides make them closer to loincloths than skirts. I look over my shoulder at the group of Japanese businessmen waiting next in line. “Do you want me to stall?”

She glances at the other receptionists, who are sexually occupied in a variety of ways, and sighs in resignation as she shakes her head. “No, if it’s not them, it will just be another group. Thank you for offering, though.”

As I walk away feeling impotent, I think that this is exactly why I’m moving my family to Cybele Grove.

The rest of the casino is a sexual orgy, that we do our best to avoid. The boys lead the way, with the women in the middle, leaving me at the rear. It allows me to really watch my family’s reactions to the hedonistic depravity around us. Miles is still uncomfortable seeing copulation, but he gawks at the stage performers outfitted as nude phoenixes dancing in the lounge. Sylvie keeps giggling at every pair of naked buttocks we pass, of which there were many. Evie is generally offended, glaring at every male whether indecent or innocent. James appears to be doing his duty as guard, but his eyes occasionally linger on some fornicators then look guiltily apologetic at his mother before returning to his shepherding duties. Jennie tries to keep our children’s eyes averted, but is sometimes distracted by some particularly attractive male, which allows the children to gawk, peek, glare, and linger. My mental picture of my church-going family is a little shaken, but my hope grows that my plan might have a way.

We finally make it to our rooms, and decide to order room service to avoid the sexual activities, but I bemoan the cost as I think about the $10 all-you-can-eat prime rib, crab, and shrimp buffet that had influenced my decision to book rooms here. While I order, the family chooses beds and gets settled. Oddly, James chooses to take the second bed in our room. Normally, we get two rooms with two beds each. The girls share a bed and usually room with us, the parents, but this time the girls and Miles were pushed into the other room. No one said anything, but I have my suspicions, and maybe I can take advantage of this.

After dinner, we send the girls and Miles off to bed through the connecting door to their room.

“Daddy, you smell funny,” giggles Sylvie as I give her a goodnight hug. I realize that I still have Jennie’s soiled panties shoved in my pocket. They had dried during the car ride, but still smelled funky. I sidled over to Jennie and told her in a low voice.

“Give them here. I need to wash them,” she whispers back, and, as I pass them over, I glance at James and know he saw the exchange. “In fact, I think I’ll take a bath to wash off that travel icky feeling,” Jennie announces. As she gathers her things, I see her sneak her purple vibrator into her folded nightgown. She must have been highly aroused by the day’s sights. Here’s something I can work with.

While James watches a movie, I arrange the room. For the final, necessary part I struggle to create a pretense, when Jennie solves it for me.

“Dear, I can’t find a hair tie. Could you check the suitcase pockets and bring me one, please?” I find the hair tie, and instead of using the bathroom entrance, I walk around the side of James’ bed and pop open the French window shutters that separates the bathroom from the bedroom. I reach through the window-shaped cutout and over the tub, dangling the hair tie. “Hey, I’m naked and James is out there.”

“Don’t worry, he can’t see. And if he could, he would probably appreciate how lovely you are.” I glance back to see James’ eyes are wide and no longer focused on his movie. Jennie snatches the hair tie and turns to start bundling her hair up. I mostly close the shutters, leaving a half-inch (1 cm) gap of light. I return to my bed and lay down, tilted with my back toward James and the bathroom.

In the reflection of the balcony glass doors, I can see everything. James notices the bright gap and sits up to peek in as we hear splashing. Occasionally, James’ face is reflected as he checks to see if I’ve noticed him, and feeling safe he becomes bolder. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, he cranes to peek in. Beneath the sounds of the movie, I can distinguish Jennie’s gasps and the rhythmic movement of water. Her gasps turn to moans and James slides off the bed to crouch against the low wall, trying to peer through the gap. Jennie’s moans become more rapid, and James rises to a half-crouch. A final loud gasp that is swallowed up by frantic splashing, and I know that James is watching his mother masturbate to orgasm. I hear the rusting of bedding and the creak of springs as James tries to hide his actions and erection. In my mind I hear Montgomery Burns, “Exxxcellent.”

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Early in the morning, we pack up and get going, anticipating the end of our journey. Traveling is uneventful, especially since I had learned from our previous rest stop. When we take a bathroom break late in the morning, it is at a freeway rest stop. The bathrooms aren’t very clean, but there is only one other vehicle: a family that is walking their dog.

As the day turns to midafternoon, we are nearly to our destination. Up ahead I see a large sign, ‘Welcome to Cybele Grove’. I’m about to point out the sign, when I read the rest and **** back my words. ‘Established, 1878. Population, 138,970. Declared Oedipal Zone, January 2018.’ I glance at my wife and my kids in the rearview mirror. Jennie is napping, and the kids are glued to their screens. I hold my breath for the 30 seconds it takes to coast past the sign, then breathe, grateful no one saw.

I announce our arrival and my family peer out the windows for the first view of their new home. Cybele Grove looks like a very nice town, and surprisingly we see a lot fewer public indecent acts. Businesses appear to be running normally, and neighborhoods seem clean and decent. Following a tree-lined avenue, we pull up to our new home. Waiting for us at the front door is a brunette woman.

“Hello, and welcome. Welcome to Cybele Grove. I’m so glad you made it safely,” she calls out as we pile out of the car. “I’m Laura Bailey, the realtor that worked with Roy, your attorney, to purchase this home. I have your keys and am excited to introduce you to your new home. As you can see, the entranceway is extra wide for easier movement of furniture, and the south facing…”

She is passionate, cute, and non-stop. In 15 minutes she gives us a full tour, provides freshly baked cookies, and helps the children choose their rooms. James takes a basement room, the girls choose to share a room overlooking the front, and Miles’ overlooks the backyard. As we finish the tour, Laura steps up beside James, rests a hand on his arm and addresses us, “Since you are all new to Cybele Grove, I suppose that you don’t have any special requests, but if you have a request later, feel free.

“Oh, looks like you have your first visitor. Hello, Clarke. I’ll leave them in your capable hands,” Laura waves at a young man crossing the front yard.

“Hi, Mrs. Bailey. See you at church on Sunday?” The young man responds.

“I’m looking forward to it. Got a lot of service to give.” Laura enters her car and drives off.

The young man approaches us. “Hi, and welcome. I’m Clarke Meager, your next-door neighbor.” He is on the short side, maybe 5’ 8” (172 cm), wiry, with dirty blond hair. Looks to be about James’ age, maybe younger.

“Wait, you’re Clarke Meager? The one that talked to my friend, Roy, about this house?” I ask, slightly incredulous.

“Yup, that’s me. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Sorry, I was imagining someone older, like my age.”

“Dear, this isn’t a very good first impression,” Jennie chides. “We are glad to meet you, Clarke.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Clarke soothes. “Yeah, it’s just me and my mom next door. I actually came to see if I could help you move in. Is that all you got?” Clarke looks around for a truck, but only sees our minivan.

Sylvie giggles, “The rest is coming tomorrow in the moving truck. Right, Dad?” I nod.

“Cool, how about I help you unload and then I can give you that town tour that I promised your friend, Roy? Yeah, awesome.” Clarke helps us carry our luggage inside, and get our sleeping bags set up in our rooms. By the time we finish, it is nearing evening.

“I can give you the tour from one location. It’s this great overlook. I’ll text you the address and meet you there. My mom loves that spot, so is it alright if I bring her?” We agree, and Clarke returns home while we pile in our car.

We follow the GPS directions, west, toward the edge of the valley, out of town. We arrive at a dirt parking lot, five minutes ahead of Clarke. He introduces us to his mother, Skylar Meager, a pretty blond woman, about my age, that vaguely resembles Kristen Bell. A short, 15-minute hike brings us to the edge of a beautiful overlook of the Cybele Valley.

We gaze out over the wooden barricade as Clarke points out the various landmarks. “As you can see, the Attis River flows through the valley nearly east to west. At the eastern end, on the hill on the north bank, you can see the green dome of City Hall. On the hill on the south bank, you can see the green spire of Everleigh College. In the center of the valley, crossing the Attis River, is the stone bridge of the main road from the freeway. On the northern and southern banks around that bridge is the town center, with the major stores and mall.”

We trace over the landmarks with our eyes, seeing smaller bridges that span the river and the majority of the town hidden by trees. Our contemplation is broken by an observation from James. “Is it just me, or do those hills look like a woman’s breasts?”

Clarke lets out a whoop, “I win, mom.” True enough, the tree covered hills at the eastern end rise up like the rounded mounds of a woman’s bosom. The darker green dome and spire rising like stiffened nipples. Once pointed out, now impossible to unsee. I glance over to see Skylar and Clarke watching my family with anticipation, and I give them a confused look.

“If those are breasts… then does that make that…hee hee,” giggles Sylvie pointing closer to the western end of the valley. Clarke groans, and his mom fist pumps the air with a whoop. Following the river through town and out further west, it passes through an orchard and then between two narrow ridges where it becomes a small waterfall.

“That is Ben Gurion’s peach orchard, and he purposefully shapes it in that pubic hair triangle,” comments Clarke. “And below that is what the locals call Vagina Falls. It has another name, but no one remembers it.

“Sorry about earlier. My mom and I like to bet on how long it takes newcomers to see the tits, which I won, and then whether a boy or a girl sees the entire woman, which mom won.

“If you don’t mind, we have a ritual that we do every time we come to the lookout. It is fabulous here with the setting sun. Should only take us 15 or 20 minutes, and then we’ll meet back here to go to dinner, ok?”

We nod assent and move east along the lookout, while Skylar and Clarke move west into a grove of trees. Jennie and I find a notch in the railing to lean into, and I take her in my arms and hold her as we take in the view and the sun falling toward the horizon. It is impossible to not see the naked, reclining form before us, but it is nice taking a breather holding the woman I love.

The kids giggle about the risque landscape, point out interesting landmarks to each other, then start exploring the area around us. Jennie and I zone out as the sky takes on a pinkish hue. Our reverie is broken by Miles rushing up from the west, hissing, “Mom. Dad. Mom… Dad…” The other kids notice and gather around.

“What is it, Miles? What’s wrong?” Jennie asks, concerned.

“Uhh…,” Miles is a little out-of-breath, and uncertain. “I went to see what was in the grove, and I saw Clarke having sex with Mrs. Meager, and then he ejaculated over her neck and chest, and she acted like she wanted it, and… and…” In the back of my mind I start to hear a soft buzzing sound, like a distant propeller airplane.

“Ewww… Gross,” Evie exclaims, while Sylvie giggles.

“Are you sure?” James questions, while Jennie is stunned.

“I’m sure,” Miles asserts. The buzzing has become a loud droning.

“You’re sure it was Clarke and his mother, Skylar?” Jennie incredulously asks. Mentally, I hear a TCHUNK and the droning is replaced by a soft, high-pitched whistle.

“Yes, I’m sure,” responds Miles, feeling defensive since they don’t seem to believe him. “It was Clarke and his mother, Sky… I mean, Mrs. Meager. She was bent over a metal picnic table, and then she was kneeling in front of him while he… did his stuff.” The whistle got louder, and higher in pitch while my mind started to whisper, ‘No… no… not like this.’

“Clarke and Mrs. Meager.... Skylar and Clarke.” Jennie mulls it over. “But that is ****… And even with Free Use Laws, **** is still… taboo.” The whistle became a shrill scream with my mind shouting, ‘No! NO! NOT LIKE THIS!’

“Unless…” I love Jennie for her intelligence, but for once I wish her struck stupid. The sky turns bright, scarlet red as the sun touches the horizon, and Jennie turns incredulous eyes upon me. I feel a fiery, massive explosion, and see a mushroom cloud as Jennie drops the bomb: “Did you move us to an Oedipal Zone?”