There was a small amusement park at the lake, a long curve of white bathing beach, floats anchored a hundred yards out, and islands not far beyond the floats. Hills surrounded the lake, thickly forested except for the outcroppings of gray rock on the higher slopes.
Kit parked behind the bathing cabins and there they separated.
In his cabin Sonny put on the jockstrap swimsuit. It was mostly straps holding a patch of material to his pubes and ass cleft. He was blushing when he left the cabin and moved into the crowd of people on the beach. But then he saw Kit and forgot himself.
She wore her yellow bikini, which like she had said did more to lift her tits than to cover them, and the bottom was so meager that a fringe of red cunt hair showed out one side.
She came toward him, trudging through deep sand, smiling broadly, titties jiggling, hips switching, a small, chubby, beautiful woman whose loose auburn hair tossed in the breeze.
She wound her arm about his as though they were dates, and whispered, "Mr. Sexy, your penis looks like a banana."
Eyes flashing, she bit his shoulder lightly, then broke into a run for the water, leaping over sunbathers with the lightness of a teenager.
Grinning, he trotted after her, watching the bobbing of her asscheeks and the flutter of her hair.
She dove in, struck the water flat, arms already flailing at it. She was a terrific swimmer. Sonny broke into a dead run and plowed through the shallows as far as he could to gain on her before starting to swim. He knew she could beat him to the float. She always did. He dug hard, pulling himself a dozen strokes face down before taking a breath. When he surfaced he saw that he had caught up.
Had she slowed to let him match her speed? He saw her glance toward him. She was stroking smoothly but not reaching. Yes, she would let him win the race, like a girl would when she was a guy's date.
The float, white-painted wood on oil drums, was empty. They reached it, panting. Kit glanced at him, laughed, then plunged underneath. He followed, caught her in the cool water shadowed by the float, in near-darkness, trapping her seal-sleek body in his arms.
She floated against him, tangling her slippery legs about his, her mouth open for his kiss.
He tongued in and sucked his mother's lips. His cock gave a surge as her arms vined about him and her hot belly dissipated the water's chill.
She fingered his cheeks as her tongue wove about his. She turned his head, her mouth yawning to consume his tongue, his lips, sucking in long, rhythmic gulps. At last she shuddered, groaned, drew away rubbing her forehead on his cheek.
He untied her bikini neck cords and turned the front down. Her white boobies floated to the surface. He thumbed the puffed crowns, bent the lengthening nipples. Kit responded by thrusting a hand down to his cock, wrenching it out and clutching it fiercely.
She panted, "Sonny I'm so hot-I've got to have it-"
"One of the islands?"
She nodded and thrust out of his grasp, left the shadow of the float and really dug water, arms churning. Sonny quickly followed but she drew ahead. She no longer cared to flatter his swimming ability. He pulled with all his strength but was a dozen yards out when she thrust out of the water and ran up a grassy slope and disappeared into the woods.
Touching bottom, he began running, aware that his stiff cock protruded out the leg hole of his swimsuit. He saw no one on the island shore. He splashed out of the water, raced into the woods.
Ahead, in an open glade, Kit was bent over, her tits hanging out like rosy-tipped white bells, stripping down her bikini bottoms.
Panting, Sonny paused and stretched his trunks over the jutting length of his cock, tore them off Kit was naked, holding the small yellow patches that made up her bikini in one hand. Seeing him move toward her, she gave a laugh and turned and plunged off through the woods.
She ran like a deer. He followed her bobbing white asscheeks, dodging around bushes, jumping fallen logs. Her titties flung about and as she glanced back at him her eyes flashed with gee. Sonny felt his cock wag stiffly and his balls jumping all about as he ran, stretching out, ten-foot strides, a leering, naked, stiff-pronged satyr such as he had seen in an art book, chasing a white-assed, milky-titted forest nymph. He would not catch her. He would run eternally, like the satyr fixed for all time running in the art book, desperately hard of cock, his scrotum leaping as though it might wrap around The immense stem sprouting from his loins.
Surely, his mother could not run this fast. She was no longer a girl. And yet she was, that was it, his mother had become a young girl like Lily, whooping with laughter as she led him through the island forest. She ran through partial shade that mottled her flesh with leaf patterns. She exploded into sunshine where the globes of her white ass were plump snowballs of flesh. She ducked into shade where he chased those glowing white cheeks or the bob of a tit as she turned back to see if he was still in pursuit.
He guessed they were circling the island again and again. It could not be large. He should stop, cut straight across and intercept her. But the race had become an end in itself. She was showing off her new-found, exuberant youth. He would play her game.
Then he tripped over a root and fell flat on a bed of dry leaves.
Kit's laughter trailed off into the distance.
She ran, leaped over bushes, dodged around trees, high as a kite on fresh air and love and lust. Never had a dozen cocktails or even Myra's pink cigarettes raised her this near the clouds. She joyed in the jumps and lurches of her titties, in the loud squishing of her cunt, in the feel of cool forest air on every inch of her skin, in the damp grass and the cushioning dry leaves underfoot. She wished she could throw away her bikini and run naked, forever, her big-cocked son in hot pursuit. She had escaped home, Bill's greenhouse, her job, Myra's lesbianism, her car, her possessions. She was free, she and her son with his long, stiff cock and his flying scrotum. They were woods creatures, savages. The bits of swimsuit nylon in her hand alone reminded her of another life.
The tiny bikini became heavy, drawing her down from her celestial soaring. It existed. Eventually she would have to hide her tits and cunt with it and swim back to the beach, to the car, and they would ride back to a town where incest was a sin.
She could not hear Sonny. She stopped, leaned panting against a tree.
She felt heavy now, and tired. She began retracing her steps, stealthily, guessing that he was hiding, would try to surprise her. She was no longer a forest sprite but an Indian stalking his prey, looking for dry twigs before she placed a foot.
She found him in a small, grassy glade in partial shade, gazing up the trunk of a towering tree. His cock stood like a fence post knobbed with red velvet. She walked softly toward him. He did not see her until her shadow fell across his face.
She dropped on her knees beside him, fisting his prick.
He said, "I never thought a girl could run like that."
Her legs were trembling from exertion. But the feel of his stiff, throbbing cock in her hand helped restore her, and his calling her a girl instead of a woman. Well, damnit, she would be a girl for a day, silly and frivolous, vacillating, willful, wanton. They had their nude bodies and a day of time and a forested island. If anyone came along, fuck them. Hit them with sticks and stones- He reached a hand to her tittie, cupped it and drew her toward him. Still kneeling she came over him, lowering her hanging-out breasts to his face. He licked his lips. His tongue extended, touched her nipple, then curled wetly about it. She sucked in her breath, feeling the sensitive bump heat and expand to a rigid peg. He lipped on it and tugged. The pull sent warmth fanning throughout the orb of her breast. His mouth widened, lips rolling wetly, consuming the big puff of her aureole. At last his lips formed a ring on white tit, indenting it, still drawing more into his mouth.