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What I'd seen on those previous mornings left me oblivious because the self-centered arrogance of youth precluded acknowledgment of any physical or sexual attributes of a parent. She was my Mom and that was that.
But in the kitchen on that hot summer Saturday there was a difference. In front of me was an attractive woman, dressed to show herself to perfection with more than just a little erotic hint.
"Ian," she said looking up from the sink directly at me, "would you do me a favor?"
"Sure. What?"
"When your friends are over, ask them to use the bathroom."
"What do you mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean. If they want to go to the bathroom then that's where they can go and not on the edge of the lemon tree."
"Oh," I said. "You saw?"
"I glanced out the kitchen window a couple of time and," she stopped and paused a few seconds. "What else could I see but them."
"You glanced?" I said feigning surprise, "you were watching"
"No," she replied quickly, "I was not watching. I just glanced out a couple of times."
Seeing attack was the best defense, I quickly same back: "You were watching." The emphasis on the 'were'.
"Did you have a good look?" I added with a bit of sarcasm, which she ignored.