The following day Lisa took her son and daughter to lunch at a sandwich shop.

All morning long she had dwelled on what she had seen, what she had heard. None of it made sense to her, except that her son was fucking her daughter. She wondered if they had inherited her erotic personality.

Toby was in his old faded jeans and a clean t-shirt, his usual uniform. Ginger dressed in a fresh, summer frock, a pale yellow in color. Her copper-colored hair was drawn back into a pony tail. Although pony tails were no longer in fashion, Ginger liked her hair that way. It made her look a good two to three years younger than she was.

Lisa wore a skirt and blouse and sandals, her legs bare. Her rich auburn hair was long, hanging to her shoulders, and she was without makeup.

The table they sat at was round and quite small and Lisa's knees touched those of her son. They ate sandwiches and drank soft drinks. Both Ginger and Toby chattered happily and Lisa watched them closely, listening to every word. But they said nothing that would help her understand what she had heard last night.

Since she had returned home, Lisa had been careful around her children, always wearing panties and bras and sitting carefully so she wouldn't expose anything. She hated to wear panties, unless they were of the erotic type, and she hated bras even more. She loved to feel her firm tits swing freely, her nipples brushing the material of her clothing.