Vacation – Part 1 of 8

“You know what to do?”

Mom glared at the small, blond woman. She glanced at Aunt Karen, who sighed and, gravely, nodded, once.

The blond was named Stacy. I had never seen her before but, apparently, she used to work for my mother.

That’s not too surprising; my mother worked as the head of human resources for a medium-sized company, back in Des Moines, where we were from. She hired, fired and laid people off all the time. It was part of her job. And, in the case of Stacy, Aunt Karen had gotten involved, as well. My aunt was a partner in the law firm that Mom’s company kept on retainer.

Susan and Karen Cooper, my mother and my aunt, made a pretty intimidating pair. Both well over 6 feet tall with straight, dark hair, high cheekbones, and long, angular faces. They were the sort of faces you see on fashion runways, except that the Cooper sisters were far too curvy to be models.

I did not have fantasies about my mother, because that would be sick, but I was a red blooded, 15 year old boy; my aunt featured regularly. Although, since I was jerking off 2 to 5 times a day, pretty much any girl I met who was my age or older, had made at least one guest appearance.

And now, thanks to a 25, or so, year old woman with a vindictive streak, it looked like some of my fantasies were about to come true.

Mom had been planning the trip to Panama for almost a year. We did not take vacations, as a rule; Mom generally preferred to use her four weeks a year of paid leave to do projects, around the house. We had done more renovations than I cared to think about and moved, twice, since I was eight, mostly to get a house that needed more work.

But Mom saw a TV show about this luxury resort and, for some reason, decided we needed to stay here. I certainly was not going to argue, especially since the TV special had briefly mentioned that some of the nearby beaches were clothing optional – not that I ever expected actually visit, but just knowing one was nearby could fuel many fantasies.

Mom invited Aunt Karen to come along. They reserved a two bedroom suite and I spent a long, cold, Iowa winter dreaming about bronze skinned, Panamanian women.

After literally months of waiting, the departure date, in the middle of July, finally arrived. We spent all day on planes or in airports, on our way from Des Moines to Panama City with stops in Chicago and Miami. And then we still had one more flight to the island in the Bay of Panama, where our resort was.

So we were pretty beat, when we checked in to our hotel. Fortunately, there were no problems with Mom’s reservation and we soon had key cards and a someone to help us take our bags to our room. The first clue we had that something was wrong was when the bellhop, having laid our suitcases in a neat row in the sitting room of the suite, was leaving, with a crisp $20 bill in his hand.

“Your daughter arrived some time ago,” he said, in immaculate English. “She is probably sleeping.”

“Daughter?” Mom asked.

“So, I lied.”

The door to one of the bedrooms opened and a very small blonde woman with a small, but deadly looking, handgun, stepped out into the sitting room.

Neither Mom nor Aunt Karen recognized her, until the woman, who introduced herself as Kristin, refreshed their memory.

She then proceeded to tell us that we would either follow her instructions, precisely, or take our chances with a .38 special.

My mother and aunt, being successful business women, were far too pragmatic to be heroes. And, to be completely honest, any thoughts I had of over powering the woman, who I outweighed by at least 20 pounds, despite my almost complete lack of muscle, were pushed to the side as she explained exactly what she expected us to do.

“And then you will let us go,” Mom said.

“And then we will start our vacation,” Kristin replied.

“How far is this going to go?” Aunt Karen asked.

“I haven’t decided. If you cooperate, not too very far.”

“Fine!” Mom snarled.

“You know what to do?”

Mom glared at the small, blond woman. She glanced at Aunt Karen, who sighed and, gravely, nodded, once.

Kristin tucked her gun into the waistband of her shorts and picked up the professional looking video camera she had shown us, as she was explaining her expectations.

“Remember,” she reminded us, “do not look at the camera and speak only to each other. Act naturally.”

Mom snorted, derisively. “Naturally? How are we supposed to act naturally?”

Kristin shrugged. “Do your best. You know what I want.”

Rolling her eyes, Mom shrugged and nodded.

“Well, then, let’s get started.” Kristin raised the camera and, looking through the viewfinder, said, “Action.”

Mom and Aunt Karen exchanged glances, and Mom’s eyes flicked briefly towards me, then she said, “What a flight, I am beat.”

“Yes. Me too.” Aunt Karen sounded like a woman who was trying to act naturally.

“I can’t wait to get to bed, but I want to hit the beach, first thing in the morning. So we should probably get tidied up, first.”

“Yes. You are right.”

Their dialogue sounded stilted and unnatural, but Kristin didn’t seem to mind.

“Danny,” Mom said, looking at me, as Kristin stepped back and turned to bring me into range of the camera lens, “could you give us a hand?”

“Um, okay.”

I did not sound any more natural.

“Thank you. Give us a couple of minutes to get ready.”

They turned to face each other and, although Aunt Karen looked pretty pale, Mom blushed a warm pink color.

And then my aunt and my mother reached out and started to unbutton each others blouses.

They went slowly, with obvious reluctance. But it did not take long before they were pushing the white cotton they had both worn off of each other’s shoulders.

They took turns with their bottom halves, Aunt Karen unzipping Mom’s skirt, and letting it drop to the floor, first, before Mom did the same for the Capri pants that Aunt Karen was wearing, dropping to one knee to tug them down over her hips.

While Mom was on the floor, she unbuckled Aunt Karen’s sandals, and then, standing, slid her own, black flat shoes off.

Again, they stood facing each other, each dressed in a bra and panties.

Mom swallowed, nervously, and, reaching out them, released the hook between Aunt Karen’s breasts which dropped into the open.