STREET STORIES Sasha s sister s pt II
- 4 years ago
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1975 free porn video
Our house sat at the top end of their property. It was a semi-detached, built during the post war expansion to provide cheap homes for the masses. Since there were just the two of us, it provided Mum and I with ample space. There were two upstairs bedrooms, she had the front of the house, with a view out over the fields and I had the one at the back of the house with a view out across the trees and the river. It was 1975 and I was one year from becoming an adult, though if the truth be told, I did not feel the significance of my age. I was still a young, blue eyed boy in most respects.
Our house was the last in a line of identical houses which stretched along the lane from the village to the ferry. In those days, the ferry was still in operation and for a small fee it would take people across the river. Alongside the ferry was the boat yard and between our house and the boatyard were two large properties, the old church and its decaying graveyard. The property adjacent to our house belonged to two old friends of my Mum, George and Rose. George was in his early sixties at that time and Rose was a few years younger I think. It’s all a long time ago now, but I have many memories of them as I used to work in George’s greenhouses during the summers. For half a pound an hour I’d pick tomatoes alongside George and a few other boys from the village. Even today the smell of a tomato invokes the lurid memories of sweating in the humid atmosphere of the greenhouses.
Despite her relative youth and good looks, Mum had stayed single after I was born. Whenever I asked her about my father, she replied that he had been a merchant seaman and she didn’t know where he was. They’d had a brief affair one winter and then he’d left without telling her where to he was going. All she knew about him was his first name Tom and that he was from Norway. She doubted that he even knew he had a son in the United Kingdom.
This story takes place at the end of that long hot summer. 1975 was a carefree time, though we didn’t know it then. The social turmoil that was to come with the 1980s was not even suspected, least of all by me. I had no eye on the future. My time was spent biking about the countryside, building model aeroplanes and working in the green houses to make some money. I was making about three pounds a day and to me, back then, that was more money than I had ever had. Fifteen pounds in one week made me feel like anything could be possible if only for the blight on my horizon which was the imminent return to college in a few weeks’ time. There was also the small fact that the tomato picking was almost done for the year, and George didn’t pay as much for odd jobs in the autumn.
Several of the girls in the village had recently begun to pay me some attention, possibly due to my blonde good looks and possibly due to the fact that I had some money. One in particular was Sarah who lived further up the road from us. She seemed to have decided that I was her property and had recently taken to coming around on some pretext or other. Twice she had managed to end up in my room, sitting on my bed, looking up at the suspended aeroplanes whilst I struggled with the urge to kiss her. I felt like it was possibly my turn to make the next move, but I didn’t know how to go about it. As absurd as it seems now, despite her obvious intentions, I was so unsure of myself that I didn’t know if she wanted me to kiss her.
Then one day in August, when my mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Sarah and my impending financial catastrophe, I returned home from a trip to town. I had in my hand a plastic bag containing my latest purchase and I let myself into the house with no thought beyond opening the box and inspecting my last model of the summer. I intended to save my remaining money towards buying a motorbike and so this model would have to be made to last. I intended to build it as perfectly as possible and this was uppermost in my mind as I climbed the stairs. At the top, I glanced out the window which faced George and Rose’s property and saw Mum talking with George. I froze and stared. George was standing beside Mum and both were looking out across the fields towards the river. A quick glance showed me what they were looking at, several brightly coloured hot air balloons could be seen floating in the distance. My eyes were caught by the fact that George had his hand on Mum’s bottom though. As I watched, transfixed with horrified fascination, George moved his hand, clutching and groping between her buttocks. Mum did not react at all. She simply stood looking at the balloons. After a few minutes George said something and left her standing there, and me standing staring at her. A short while later the balloons passed overhead, a man waved at her, and then Mum made her way home.
For several days my mind was in turmoil. Sarah came by again and this time, she made no pretence about it. She lay on my bed and by example, compelled me to lie beside her. We kissed and I touched her pert little breasts until her breath came fast and excited. I slid my hand under her shirt and ran my fingers down over her belly until I reached her pubic mound. Then she stopped me with a hand on mine. She didn’t say anything but I understood her trepidation. We continued to kiss each other and look into each other’s eyes, happy to be young and to feel the first explosions of love and teenage lust.
Mum came home around 5pm and Sarah left. I sat in the kitchen, at the table where we usually ate and watched as she made dinner. I thought of George and Mum, and the casual way he had moved his hand whilst she stared at the balloons. It was the familiarity of it that struck me then. What I had witnessed was not something novel or untoward. She had been so used to it that she hadn’t even reacted. She placed a plate of food for me and sat opposite me with her own. We ate in near silence, each lost in our own thoughts. Mum asked about Sarah, was she my girlfriend now? I shrugged. I ate my dinner without even tasting it.
“You are very far away” she smiled as she took my plate to the sink. “What are you thinking about?”
I couldn’t tell her the truth, so I answered. “Was just wondering where my Dad is now.”
She turned away to wash the dishes but I could hear the slight catch in her voice.
“What made you think of him?”
I wished I hadn’t said anything but at the same time, I also felt a small jet of anger deep inside me.
“I don’t know” I answered. Suddenly I felt contrary and began to sulk. Mum changed the subject and began to talk about college. I leant back against the wall and watched her body moving. I stared at her behind and in my mind; I saw George’s hand pressing into it, his fingers sliding all the way in. Was he fucking her? How could he not be fucking her when he touched her with such brazen confidence?
The next day I woke up late and Mum had already left. She worked short hours in a shop in the village. In the kitchen was a note which said she would be home late since she was going to see a friend and then she had a WI meeting. This was not unusual and at first I ate my breakfast with an empty head. As I chewed my toast however, I began to wonder. Mum would often go to see friends after work and she was often at WI meetings too. It was not unusual for her to come home very late. I began to wonder. I looked up at the wall where her calendar hung. Mum’s scribbled writing was all over it, often with WI written to mark a meeting. There was nothing written on the calendar that day however. My mouth went dry as I stared at the calendar.
All that day, various thoughts and memories flooded my mind. I remembered the perfume smell of the bathroom and the times when Mum came home late smelling of alcohol. I saw her face in my mind, and the way she sometimes looked when she was on her way out; happy and excited. I remembered Sarah’s mouth and the way her breath had started to quicken as my hand moved down toward her crotch. All these thoughts and ideas surfaced in a maelstrom of confusion and before long I was in Mum’s room, carefully going through her wardrobe. I had never before realised just how many skirts and dresses Mum had, nor how few I had actually seen her wearing. Where had all this clothing come from? George? I went to her bedside table and slid open the drawers, one after the other. In the bottom drawer was a red shoe box and I opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a small note book bound in red leather, an envelope stuffed full of money and a polished wooden phallus. I stared at it in amazement. Until then I had never even heard of such an article and to find one in amongst my mother’s personal belongings took my breath away. I gazed it with a hollow feeling in my chest, then carefully picked it up and sniffed at it. There was a scent that lingered on it, a scent I was not familiar with and yet nonetheless felt something stir in my loins. Was this the smell of a vagina, of my mother’s vagina? I regarded the size of the thing and wondered at it. It was significantly bigger than me. I put it back and turned my attention to the book and the money. I counted over four hundred pounds before I carefully returned it to the box. I had no idea where the money had come from, or why Mum hadn’t put it into the bank.
The book contained a list of initials and addresses, most of which were local. Beside each were notations of payments made. For a long moment I simply sat on her bed and let the implication wash over me. Was Mum, with all her old fashioned ideals and 1950’s attitude to sex, actually a prostitute? What else could it mean? I put the book back and closed the drawer. Sitting on her bed, I stared about her bedroom. Across from the bed was the small table and mirrors where she would sit and apply make-up. I moved over to it and opened its various drawers. It had never occurred to me to wonder how much make-up she had, but as I regarded the assorted bottles, tins and jars, there seemed to me to be quite a lot. I closed the last draw and my eye caught on a washing basket. I opened it and found several items of dirty clothing inside, including two pairs of knickers. Both were white cotton, with small frills. I picked one up and examined the crotch area. Sure enough, the same heady aroma as I’d found on the phallus filled my head. Immediately I found myself growing hard and within seconds I was lying on her bed, with her knickers on my face and my cock in my hand. Furiously I brought myself to an intense orgasm, a string of sperm arcing up out of me to land on my sweater.
My mind whirling with conflicting emotions, I took my fishing rod and tackle and left the house. I walked out along the river bank to a secluded place and cast out my line. For the next two hours, I sat and thought, and thought and thought until hunger drove me home again. I knew Mum would be out all day and yet somehow I felt disappointed that she was not at home. I wondered at my own reactions. Was I having a crush on my mother, or was I repelled by her? If she was a prostitute, then what did I feel about it? A part of me felt disgusted both at her for being a whore and at myself for becoming sexually excited by the smell of her knickers. I thought about the phallus and sitting at the kitchen table I felt myself growing hard again. I stood up and stared out of the kitchen window which, like the landing above, faced George and Rose’s property. I could see the place where George had groped Mum’s arse and I realised that in my mind, it was no longer her bottom, but most definitely her arse.
The doorbell brought me back to reality with a start. On the door step, her hair done up in a tail, I found Sarah.
“Hi” she smiled.
“Hi” I replied. I looked at her eyes and all my thoughts seemed to evaporate. I didn’t know whether to invite her in or ask her what she wanted. She seemed to sense my hesitation and I saw something like disappointment in her eyes. For a second I almost blurted out the whole story of Mum and her book and the money and the phallus, but instead I opened the door wider and with a smile she stepped inside. As she passed me, I caught the scent of her perfume and once again I felt the heat rushing into my cock. We were same age. In a few days’ time, we’d both be returning to college. All I wanted to do was lie between her legs and press myself into her. Instead we sat in the kitchen and talked and drank tea. Eventually Sarah got up to go home, but then at the door she suddenly began to kiss me and I ran my hand up under her blouse. As before her mouth opened wider when my fingers touched her nipples and I pulled back my head to look at her flushed face. Our eyes met and held for several long seconds and then the moment was passed. Sarah giggled, and pulled away laughing. She opened the door and skipped up the drive way like a girl. At the road, she waved back, her face happy and still flushed. I was grinning as I watched her go. I had no idea where life was taking me, but it seemed as if I were standing on the verge of something spectacular.
That night, Mum came back around 11pm. I was lying awake in my bed, listening to pirate radio when I heard the door closing below. I turned the sound right down and listened as she came up the stairs. She went past my door and into the bathroom and I although my door was shut, I caught the smell of her perfume. She went to the toilet and then set about washing her make-up off. She brushed her teeth and then went to bed, closing her door behind her as usual. I lay thinking for a long time until I decided that I did not really mind if she was a prostitute, just so long as it stayed a secret as it seemed to have done until then.
A few days later, I returned to the drawer and went through the book to find any clues as to what she was doing. I looked at each address to find out if I could recognize any of them, and several were familiar. One in particular surprised me. It was Sarah’s address. The initials beside it however read JL. I frowned. JL was Sarah’s mother, Janice. Her father was called Brendan. I stared out the window in a confusion of conflicting emotions. Was this book just some kind of WI thing or was Mum a prostitute for women too?
George came around later that day. As he always did, he hopped through the gap in the hedgerow which brought him to the rear of our house and knocked on the kitchen door. Mum opened it and smiled. George came in with his usual familiarity. As he eased himself down into the chair opposite me, I found myself wondering at his manner. We’d been living next to George and Rose for as long as I could remember. He was the nearest thing I had to a father, and now I began to wonder if that wasn’t literally the case. Could he actually be my father?
“How are you today George?” Mum asked.
“I’m right grand lass” George beamed at her before turning to me. “I’ve come to see you though lad, as I’m going to need a hand with cleaning out the stable and I know as you want some cash for that motorbike of yours.”
“Motorbike, what motorbike?” Mum asked sharply.
“Oops, was it a secret?” George laughed. “I’m sorry lad, have I dropped you in it now?”
“I’ve been saving up for a motorbike” I said. I felt my face redden slightly and this annoyed me more than the look on Mum’s face.
“I don’t like them, they’re dangerous” she said.
“Ah don’t fret Jane” George said. He looked at me and smiled as if to say, don’t worry lad, I’ll sort this out. “He’s big enough to handle a motorbike now, bigger than I was, and probably stronger too. Besides, a few more months and you can’t stop him. He’ll be man.”
A look of something like a mix of pride and annoyance came over Mum’s face. I wondered at how it must feel for her to hear him say that. She was only thirty eight. She wiped her hands on the dish towel and left the room but not before she had remarked over her shoulder.
“He’s not a man yet though George. When he is, then he can do as he likes, but until then, no motorbike!”
George looked at me with his big red countryside face and shrugged. “It’ll take you that long just to make the money anyway” he chuckled.
Even with the memory of his hand upon her, and even with all the conflicting emotions welling up inside me, I couldn’t help but grin. He was still the closest thing to a father I’d ever had, and he had always been in my life. Of course I would help I said, and I did. The next few days we worked hard at moving all manner of old junk out of the upper storey of George’s stable house.
George and Rose lived in a farm house that was situated just across the road from the old church and which belonged to the same era. Next to the house were two buildings which had been added later, but which had stood for more than a century. One was a stable which George had converted to a workshop, and the other was a garage which had room for three cars. Inside this latter building was an old 1927 Citroen which George claimed he would one day renovate but which had stood still for as long as I could remember. George kept it clean and even polished it on occasion.
We worked hard for three days and as regular as clockwork Rose brought out lunch for us. We sat in the driveway and ate as we faced the old church. As he had many times before, George talked about the time during the war when a German bomber on its way to or from Liverpool had dropped its bombs on the boat yard and strafed the church yard with machine gun fire. Several of the graves still bore the bullet marks but the bomb craters had long since been filled in. No one had died and it was a comfortable story I had heard many times before. Rose listened with her usual good natured smile, adding the occasional detail. When George had finished his story, she handed me a glass of lemonade.
“So I hear you are sweet on the Latham girl” she said. I looked up at her smiling face, surrounded by a halo of greying blonde curls and felt my face going red again.
“Young Sarah?” George asked. “Aye, I thought as I’d seen her knocking on your door just the other day”
I shrugged and muttered “She’s alright, we’re just friends...”
“You be nice to her” Rose laughed as she walked back to the house with the plates and empty glasses. “Be nice to her and she’ll be nice to you. She’s a good girl is Sarah.”
“Come on Romeo” George stood up and stretched his back. “We can be finished by tonight if we get a move along”.
A day or so later Mum came into the kitchen as I was eating my dinner. She was wearing a black and white dress and putting earrings in. “Wash up will you love?” she jerked her chin at the sink. “I’m late for a meeting with the girls.” I nodded and she left, picking up her handbag on the way out and slamming the door in her hurry. I sat and listened to the silence for a while then I got up and did the dishes. When I was finished, I turned to look at the calendar. It read ‘WI Becky’ in big thick pencil. Becky was Rebecca Patterson, and she lived on Chapel Lane. I went up to Mum’s bedroom, found the book and looked through it until I came to the initials RP, beside which were half a dozen additions showing amounts between four and fifteen pounds. I closed the book and returned it to the box. My theory about Mum being a prostitute didn’t really convince me anymore. I looked at the phallus and picked it up. I sniffed at it again and savoured the faint smell. I wondered where she had gotten it. It wasn’t the sort of thing one could just buy. Someone had carved and polished it. I put it back and feeling slightly dejected I left her bedroom. It seemed like the whole thing had been nothing more than my teenage imagination running wild.
Outside it went dark and I stood in the kitchen doorway watching the stars coming out. Only four days before college now. Suddenly I thought of Sarah whom I hadn’t seen or heard from all day. She was only a few hundred yards up the road and her bedroom window could be seen from the dirt path which ran along the back of all the houses. I made my way along it, pushing aside the wicked hawthorn branches. In the years since Sarah and her family had moved in, the bushes which grew along the path had grown higher and higher and now in the deep twilight they gave a sense of secrecy and security. At Sarah’s garden I saw her bedroom light was on and I crept close to look within. Sarah was lying on her bed, reading a magazine. She was lying on her stomach with her legs up behind her, her ankles crossed. For a moment I stood and just looked at her. She was so beautiful she made my heart beat faster. At that moment her door opened and her little sister walked into the room. The moment was passed and the chance to knock on the window was gone. I made my way home with the strange light headed feeling that Sarah always seemed to provoke within me.
Since I’d left all the lights off, our house was in darkness. I walked through the kitchen and was passing through the living room when I noticed a woman in light and dark tones walking quickly past the front of our house. I knew it was Mum. I stopped moving and watched her disappear from view as she walked down the lane. Quickly I moved back out through the back door and hopped through the gap into George and Rose’s property. I knew the lay out of their buildings and green houses and I was in the shadow of the stable in no time at all. I expected to see Mum arrive at their door, but she didn’t. Confused I stood there for almost five minutes trying to think where she had gone. Was she meeting George in the graveyard? The thought made me shudder. I crept back amongst the green houses and made my way around the back of the stable house and then to the garage. Here I came to a rear window with a faint light showing and creeping closer I peered inside. The ground at the back of the garage was higher than the ground at the front and at first I couldn’t make out much except the two cars which George owned. On the left was the blue Ford they used for every day use and directly below me was the shiny black Citroen. From somewhere within I could hear the faint sound of George and Mum talking.
The window was old and the wood was nearly rotten. I realised it was not latched on the inside and delicately I eased the window from its frame. Almost at once I could hear George’s voice. I still couldn’t see him, but his heavy breathing and grunting were loud and clear and although my experience was limited in the extreme, there was no mistaking the sexual nature of his voice. It seemed they were directly below the window and I realised that if I wanted to see what they were doing I would have to open the window wider and stick my head all the way in. Given the state of the window and my fear of being discovered, I didn’t dare to do this so instead I put a stone in the frame to hold the window ajar and stood listening.
“There’s a good girl” George said. His voice wasn’t loud but the proximity of it made me start in surprise. I couldn’t have been more than a yard or two from them. George continued to grunt and make small exclamations of masculine delight but apart from the odd scuffle of shoes, there was no sound from Mum for several minutes. Finally George said, “Ah, that’s good Jane. Now come over here again”
I saw George and Mum suddenly walk to the front of the Citroen. I jerked my head back in fear of discovery but they were not facing towards me at all. Mum sat back against the bonnet of the car and with her hand, rubbed George’s erect cock. It was big and red and glistened in the light. As I watched, she went down onto her heels and took it into her mouth. George ran his thick powerful fingers through her hair and gripped her head. This was the first time I had ever seen some one do this and the sight of it seemed to burn a path of lightning through my brain. Before I knew it, I had my own erect cock in my hand and I was stroking it eagerly until a thick stream of semen ran from me. I shuddered and came in complete silence watching with half closed eyes as George pumped his cock in and out of Mum’s mouth with slow strong movements.
I debated with myself whether to leave or not, but curiosity had the better of me. I stood watching, careful to stay hidden in the darkness.
“What next do you think Rose?” George suddenly said and I felt a shock course through me when Rose’s voice replied.
“I think our Jane wants her arse full”.
I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. I gasped despite my best intentions. I looked at Mum and saw she was looking across the garage to the rear of the Ford. Rose had been standing, watching, just out of view the whole time. I stared at Mum’s face in amazement. She looked up at George and then with a cheeky smirk she just nodded to him. He lifted her to her feet and she bent over the Citroen. He lifted her dress up over her hips, licked his fingers and began to play with her behind. Mum started to make involuntary movements with her hips and soon she began to make small groans. She liked it. She was bent over the car, with George’s hand busy in between her buttocks and Rose watching from the shadows and she liked it. She sounded like George had sounded earlier and now my hand was back on my still slick cock. I didn’t even think about it. I just began to stroke it again. I heard sounds from Rose now too. She was moving about but I still couldn’t see what she was doing. George and Mum ignored her as George was now pushing his fat big cock into Mum and she was groaning louder than ever.
A hand suddenly clamped over my mouth and another clasped the back of my neck. Rose’s voice came close to my ear.
“Shush now, or they’ll hear you”
I was lucky to have put the stone in the window frame because if I’d been holding it with my hand, I would have dropped it shut in surprise. Rose held onto me, as I leapt backward. A horrible sense of shame washed through me.
“Shh” she hissed quietly.
I stopped moving and stared at her, my face burning hot with humiliation. “Now you know” she said in a low voice and I nodded. In the dim light from the window, her hair formed a silvery border from which her eyes glinted in shadow.
She removed her hand from my mouth but I didn’t know what to say. From the garage came the sounds of my mother being well used and I became acutely aware of my exposed cock still in its erect state. Rose looked down at it, then back at my eyes.
“Don’t worry” she said quietly as she took a hold of it. “This is normal. We all do it”
I swallowed nervously. I didn’t know what to do or say. Rose was holding my cock in her hand and Mum’s groaning voice was clearly audible. She motioned with her head to the window and peered through the crack. George had pulled out of her and I could see him pressing into Mum’s arse. The sight transfixed me. I expected some form of resistance, but he slid into her with apparent ease. Mum gave a deeper groan and spread her legs ever wider. I was painfully hard and Rose slowly began to stroke me. I felt her standing behind me, peering around me to see through the window. Like Mum had, I spread my legs apart and then put my hands against the wall. I had to support myself because my legs were trembling as the climax grew within me.
“I won’t tell on you” she whispered. “This is our secret”.
Watching Mum as she was being sodomised by George, I came in a silent, blinding orgasm that seemed to last for ever. Rose knew what she was doing. She slowed down at the exact moment I began to come and stopped when I was spent. As I stood leaning against the wall, panting like an athlete, she drew me away from the sounds within. She wiped her hand on her skirt and looked at me. With the tender kiss of an aunt, she sent me home, my mind spinning in a daze of confused emotions.
Our house was the last in a line of identical houses which stretched along the lane from the village to the ferry. In those days, the ferry was still in operation and for a small fee it would take people across the river. Alongside the ferry was the boat yard and between our house and the boatyard were two large properties, the old church and its decaying graveyard. The property adjacent to our house belonged to two old friends of my Mum, George and Rose. George was in his early sixties at that time and Rose was a few years younger I think. It’s all a long time ago now, but I have many memories of them as I used to work in George’s greenhouses during the summers. For half a pound an hour I’d pick tomatoes alongside George and a few other boys from the village. Even today the smell of a tomato invokes the lurid memories of sweating in the humid atmosphere of the greenhouses.
Despite her relative youth and good looks, Mum had stayed single after I was born. Whenever I asked her about my father, she replied that he had been a merchant seaman and she didn’t know where he was. They’d had a brief affair one winter and then he’d left without telling her where to he was going. All she knew about him was his first name Tom and that he was from Norway. She doubted that he even knew he had a son in the United Kingdom.
This story takes place at the end of that long hot summer. 1975 was a carefree time, though we didn’t know it then. The social turmoil that was to come with the 1980s was not even suspected, least of all by me. I had no eye on the future. My time was spent biking about the countryside, building model aeroplanes and working in the green houses to make some money. I was making about three pounds a day and to me, back then, that was more money than I had ever had. Fifteen pounds in one week made me feel like anything could be possible if only for the blight on my horizon which was the imminent return to college in a few weeks’ time. There was also the small fact that the tomato picking was almost done for the year, and George didn’t pay as much for odd jobs in the autumn.
Several of the girls in the village had recently begun to pay me some attention, possibly due to my blonde good looks and possibly due to the fact that I had some money. One in particular was Sarah who lived further up the road from us. She seemed to have decided that I was her property and had recently taken to coming around on some pretext or other. Twice she had managed to end up in my room, sitting on my bed, looking up at the suspended aeroplanes whilst I struggled with the urge to kiss her. I felt like it was possibly my turn to make the next move, but I didn’t know how to go about it. As absurd as it seems now, despite her obvious intentions, I was so unsure of myself that I didn’t know if she wanted me to kiss her.
Then one day in August, when my mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Sarah and my impending financial catastrophe, I returned home from a trip to town. I had in my hand a plastic bag containing my latest purchase and I let myself into the house with no thought beyond opening the box and inspecting my last model of the summer. I intended to save my remaining money towards buying a motorbike and so this model would have to be made to last. I intended to build it as perfectly as possible and this was uppermost in my mind as I climbed the stairs. At the top, I glanced out the window which faced George and Rose’s property and saw Mum talking with George. I froze and stared. George was standing beside Mum and both were looking out across the fields towards the river. A quick glance showed me what they were looking at, several brightly coloured hot air balloons could be seen floating in the distance. My eyes were caught by the fact that George had his hand on Mum’s bottom though. As I watched, transfixed with horrified fascination, George moved his hand, clutching and groping between her buttocks. Mum did not react at all. She simply stood looking at the balloons. After a few minutes George said something and left her standing there, and me standing staring at her. A short while later the balloons passed overhead, a man waved at her, and then Mum made her way home.
For several days my mind was in turmoil. Sarah came by again and this time, she made no pretence about it. She lay on my bed and by example, compelled me to lie beside her. We kissed and I touched her pert little breasts until her breath came fast and excited. I slid my hand under her shirt and ran my fingers down over her belly until I reached her pubic mound. Then she stopped me with a hand on mine. She didn’t say anything but I understood her trepidation. We continued to kiss each other and look into each other’s eyes, happy to be young and to feel the first explosions of love and teenage lust.
Mum came home around 5pm and Sarah left. I sat in the kitchen, at the table where we usually ate and watched as she made dinner. I thought of George and Mum, and the casual way he had moved his hand whilst she stared at the balloons. It was the familiarity of it that struck me then. What I had witnessed was not something novel or untoward. She had been so used to it that she hadn’t even reacted. She placed a plate of food for me and sat opposite me with her own. We ate in near silence, each lost in our own thoughts. Mum asked about Sarah, was she my girlfriend now? I shrugged. I ate my dinner without even tasting it.
“You are very far away” she smiled as she took my plate to the sink. “What are you thinking about?”
I couldn’t tell her the truth, so I answered. “Was just wondering where my Dad is now.”
She turned away to wash the dishes but I could hear the slight catch in her voice.
“What made you think of him?”
I wished I hadn’t said anything but at the same time, I also felt a small jet of anger deep inside me.
“I don’t know” I answered. Suddenly I felt contrary and began to sulk. Mum changed the subject and began to talk about college. I leant back against the wall and watched her body moving. I stared at her behind and in my mind; I saw George’s hand pressing into it, his fingers sliding all the way in. Was he fucking her? How could he not be fucking her when he touched her with such brazen confidence?
The next day I woke up late and Mum had already left. She worked short hours in a shop in the village. In the kitchen was a note which said she would be home late since she was going to see a friend and then she had a WI meeting. This was not unusual and at first I ate my breakfast with an empty head. As I chewed my toast however, I began to wonder. Mum would often go to see friends after work and she was often at WI meetings too. It was not unusual for her to come home very late. I began to wonder. I looked up at the wall where her calendar hung. Mum’s scribbled writing was all over it, often with WI written to mark a meeting. There was nothing written on the calendar that day however. My mouth went dry as I stared at the calendar.
All that day, various thoughts and memories flooded my mind. I remembered the perfume smell of the bathroom and the times when Mum came home late smelling of alcohol. I saw her face in my mind, and the way she sometimes looked when she was on her way out; happy and excited. I remembered Sarah’s mouth and the way her breath had started to quicken as my hand moved down toward her crotch. All these thoughts and ideas surfaced in a maelstrom of confusion and before long I was in Mum’s room, carefully going through her wardrobe. I had never before realised just how many skirts and dresses Mum had, nor how few I had actually seen her wearing. Where had all this clothing come from? George? I went to her bedside table and slid open the drawers, one after the other. In the bottom drawer was a red shoe box and I opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a small note book bound in red leather, an envelope stuffed full of money and a polished wooden phallus. I stared at it in amazement. Until then I had never even heard of such an article and to find one in amongst my mother’s personal belongings took my breath away. I gazed it with a hollow feeling in my chest, then carefully picked it up and sniffed at it. There was a scent that lingered on it, a scent I was not familiar with and yet nonetheless felt something stir in my loins. Was this the smell of a vagina, of my mother’s vagina? I regarded the size of the thing and wondered at it. It was significantly bigger than me. I put it back and turned my attention to the book and the money. I counted over four hundred pounds before I carefully returned it to the box. I had no idea where the money had come from, or why Mum hadn’t put it into the bank.
The book contained a list of initials and addresses, most of which were local. Beside each were notations of payments made. For a long moment I simply sat on her bed and let the implication wash over me. Was Mum, with all her old fashioned ideals and 1950’s attitude to sex, actually a prostitute? What else could it mean? I put the book back and closed the drawer. Sitting on her bed, I stared about her bedroom. Across from the bed was the small table and mirrors where she would sit and apply make-up. I moved over to it and opened its various drawers. It had never occurred to me to wonder how much make-up she had, but as I regarded the assorted bottles, tins and jars, there seemed to me to be quite a lot. I closed the last draw and my eye caught on a washing basket. I opened it and found several items of dirty clothing inside, including two pairs of knickers. Both were white cotton, with small frills. I picked one up and examined the crotch area. Sure enough, the same heady aroma as I’d found on the phallus filled my head. Immediately I found myself growing hard and within seconds I was lying on her bed, with her knickers on my face and my cock in my hand. Furiously I brought myself to an intense orgasm, a string of sperm arcing up out of me to land on my sweater.
My mind whirling with conflicting emotions, I took my fishing rod and tackle and left the house. I walked out along the river bank to a secluded place and cast out my line. For the next two hours, I sat and thought, and thought and thought until hunger drove me home again. I knew Mum would be out all day and yet somehow I felt disappointed that she was not at home. I wondered at my own reactions. Was I having a crush on my mother, or was I repelled by her? If she was a prostitute, then what did I feel about it? A part of me felt disgusted both at her for being a whore and at myself for becoming sexually excited by the smell of her knickers. I thought about the phallus and sitting at the kitchen table I felt myself growing hard again. I stood up and stared out of the kitchen window which, like the landing above, faced George and Rose’s property. I could see the place where George had groped Mum’s arse and I realised that in my mind, it was no longer her bottom, but most definitely her arse.
The doorbell brought me back to reality with a start. On the door step, her hair done up in a tail, I found Sarah.
“Hi” she smiled.
“Hi” I replied. I looked at her eyes and all my thoughts seemed to evaporate. I didn’t know whether to invite her in or ask her what she wanted. She seemed to sense my hesitation and I saw something like disappointment in her eyes. For a second I almost blurted out the whole story of Mum and her book and the money and the phallus, but instead I opened the door wider and with a smile she stepped inside. As she passed me, I caught the scent of her perfume and once again I felt the heat rushing into my cock. We were same age. In a few days’ time, we’d both be returning to college. All I wanted to do was lie between her legs and press myself into her. Instead we sat in the kitchen and talked and drank tea. Eventually Sarah got up to go home, but then at the door she suddenly began to kiss me and I ran my hand up under her blouse. As before her mouth opened wider when my fingers touched her nipples and I pulled back my head to look at her flushed face. Our eyes met and held for several long seconds and then the moment was passed. Sarah giggled, and pulled away laughing. She opened the door and skipped up the drive way like a girl. At the road, she waved back, her face happy and still flushed. I was grinning as I watched her go. I had no idea where life was taking me, but it seemed as if I were standing on the verge of something spectacular.
That night, Mum came back around 11pm. I was lying awake in my bed, listening to pirate radio when I heard the door closing below. I turned the sound right down and listened as she came up the stairs. She went past my door and into the bathroom and I although my door was shut, I caught the smell of her perfume. She went to the toilet and then set about washing her make-up off. She brushed her teeth and then went to bed, closing her door behind her as usual. I lay thinking for a long time until I decided that I did not really mind if she was a prostitute, just so long as it stayed a secret as it seemed to have done until then.
A few days later, I returned to the drawer and went through the book to find any clues as to what she was doing. I looked at each address to find out if I could recognize any of them, and several were familiar. One in particular surprised me. It was Sarah’s address. The initials beside it however read JL. I frowned. JL was Sarah’s mother, Janice. Her father was called Brendan. I stared out the window in a confusion of conflicting emotions. Was this book just some kind of WI thing or was Mum a prostitute for women too?
George came around later that day. As he always did, he hopped through the gap in the hedgerow which brought him to the rear of our house and knocked on the kitchen door. Mum opened it and smiled. George came in with his usual familiarity. As he eased himself down into the chair opposite me, I found myself wondering at his manner. We’d been living next to George and Rose for as long as I could remember. He was the nearest thing I had to a father, and now I began to wonder if that wasn’t literally the case. Could he actually be my father?
“How are you today George?” Mum asked.
“I’m right grand lass” George beamed at her before turning to me. “I’ve come to see you though lad, as I’m going to need a hand with cleaning out the stable and I know as you want some cash for that motorbike of yours.”
“Motorbike, what motorbike?” Mum asked sharply.
“Oops, was it a secret?” George laughed. “I’m sorry lad, have I dropped you in it now?”
“I’ve been saving up for a motorbike” I said. I felt my face redden slightly and this annoyed me more than the look on Mum’s face.
“I don’t like them, they’re dangerous” she said.
“Ah don’t fret Jane” George said. He looked at me and smiled as if to say, don’t worry lad, I’ll sort this out. “He’s big enough to handle a motorbike now, bigger than I was, and probably stronger too. Besides, a few more months and you can’t stop him. He’ll be man.”
A look of something like a mix of pride and annoyance came over Mum’s face. I wondered at how it must feel for her to hear him say that. She was only thirty eight. She wiped her hands on the dish towel and left the room but not before she had remarked over her shoulder.
“He’s not a man yet though George. When he is, then he can do as he likes, but until then, no motorbike!”
George looked at me with his big red countryside face and shrugged. “It’ll take you that long just to make the money anyway” he chuckled.
Even with the memory of his hand upon her, and even with all the conflicting emotions welling up inside me, I couldn’t help but grin. He was still the closest thing to a father I’d ever had, and he had always been in my life. Of course I would help I said, and I did. The next few days we worked hard at moving all manner of old junk out of the upper storey of George’s stable house.
George and Rose lived in a farm house that was situated just across the road from the old church and which belonged to the same era. Next to the house were two buildings which had been added later, but which had stood for more than a century. One was a stable which George had converted to a workshop, and the other was a garage which had room for three cars. Inside this latter building was an old 1927 Citroen which George claimed he would one day renovate but which had stood still for as long as I could remember. George kept it clean and even polished it on occasion.
We worked hard for three days and as regular as clockwork Rose brought out lunch for us. We sat in the driveway and ate as we faced the old church. As he had many times before, George talked about the time during the war when a German bomber on its way to or from Liverpool had dropped its bombs on the boat yard and strafed the church yard with machine gun fire. Several of the graves still bore the bullet marks but the bomb craters had long since been filled in. No one had died and it was a comfortable story I had heard many times before. Rose listened with her usual good natured smile, adding the occasional detail. When George had finished his story, she handed me a glass of lemonade.
“So I hear you are sweet on the Latham girl” she said. I looked up at her smiling face, surrounded by a halo of greying blonde curls and felt my face going red again.
“Young Sarah?” George asked. “Aye, I thought as I’d seen her knocking on your door just the other day”
I shrugged and muttered “She’s alright, we’re just friends...”
“You be nice to her” Rose laughed as she walked back to the house with the plates and empty glasses. “Be nice to her and she’ll be nice to you. She’s a good girl is Sarah.”
“Come on Romeo” George stood up and stretched his back. “We can be finished by tonight if we get a move along”.
A day or so later Mum came into the kitchen as I was eating my dinner. She was wearing a black and white dress and putting earrings in. “Wash up will you love?” she jerked her chin at the sink. “I’m late for a meeting with the girls.” I nodded and she left, picking up her handbag on the way out and slamming the door in her hurry. I sat and listened to the silence for a while then I got up and did the dishes. When I was finished, I turned to look at the calendar. It read ‘WI Becky’ in big thick pencil. Becky was Rebecca Patterson, and she lived on Chapel Lane. I went up to Mum’s bedroom, found the book and looked through it until I came to the initials RP, beside which were half a dozen additions showing amounts between four and fifteen pounds. I closed the book and returned it to the box. My theory about Mum being a prostitute didn’t really convince me anymore. I looked at the phallus and picked it up. I sniffed at it again and savoured the faint smell. I wondered where she had gotten it. It wasn’t the sort of thing one could just buy. Someone had carved and polished it. I put it back and feeling slightly dejected I left her bedroom. It seemed like the whole thing had been nothing more than my teenage imagination running wild.
Outside it went dark and I stood in the kitchen doorway watching the stars coming out. Only four days before college now. Suddenly I thought of Sarah whom I hadn’t seen or heard from all day. She was only a few hundred yards up the road and her bedroom window could be seen from the dirt path which ran along the back of all the houses. I made my way along it, pushing aside the wicked hawthorn branches. In the years since Sarah and her family had moved in, the bushes which grew along the path had grown higher and higher and now in the deep twilight they gave a sense of secrecy and security. At Sarah’s garden I saw her bedroom light was on and I crept close to look within. Sarah was lying on her bed, reading a magazine. She was lying on her stomach with her legs up behind her, her ankles crossed. For a moment I stood and just looked at her. She was so beautiful she made my heart beat faster. At that moment her door opened and her little sister walked into the room. The moment was passed and the chance to knock on the window was gone. I made my way home with the strange light headed feeling that Sarah always seemed to provoke within me.
Since I’d left all the lights off, our house was in darkness. I walked through the kitchen and was passing through the living room when I noticed a woman in light and dark tones walking quickly past the front of our house. I knew it was Mum. I stopped moving and watched her disappear from view as she walked down the lane. Quickly I moved back out through the back door and hopped through the gap into George and Rose’s property. I knew the lay out of their buildings and green houses and I was in the shadow of the stable in no time at all. I expected to see Mum arrive at their door, but she didn’t. Confused I stood there for almost five minutes trying to think where she had gone. Was she meeting George in the graveyard? The thought made me shudder. I crept back amongst the green houses and made my way around the back of the stable house and then to the garage. Here I came to a rear window with a faint light showing and creeping closer I peered inside. The ground at the back of the garage was higher than the ground at the front and at first I couldn’t make out much except the two cars which George owned. On the left was the blue Ford they used for every day use and directly below me was the shiny black Citroen. From somewhere within I could hear the faint sound of George and Mum talking.
The window was old and the wood was nearly rotten. I realised it was not latched on the inside and delicately I eased the window from its frame. Almost at once I could hear George’s voice. I still couldn’t see him, but his heavy breathing and grunting were loud and clear and although my experience was limited in the extreme, there was no mistaking the sexual nature of his voice. It seemed they were directly below the window and I realised that if I wanted to see what they were doing I would have to open the window wider and stick my head all the way in. Given the state of the window and my fear of being discovered, I didn’t dare to do this so instead I put a stone in the frame to hold the window ajar and stood listening.
“There’s a good girl” George said. His voice wasn’t loud but the proximity of it made me start in surprise. I couldn’t have been more than a yard or two from them. George continued to grunt and make small exclamations of masculine delight but apart from the odd scuffle of shoes, there was no sound from Mum for several minutes. Finally George said, “Ah, that’s good Jane. Now come over here again”
I saw George and Mum suddenly walk to the front of the Citroen. I jerked my head back in fear of discovery but they were not facing towards me at all. Mum sat back against the bonnet of the car and with her hand, rubbed George’s erect cock. It was big and red and glistened in the light. As I watched, she went down onto her heels and took it into her mouth. George ran his thick powerful fingers through her hair and gripped her head. This was the first time I had ever seen some one do this and the sight of it seemed to burn a path of lightning through my brain. Before I knew it, I had my own erect cock in my hand and I was stroking it eagerly until a thick stream of semen ran from me. I shuddered and came in complete silence watching with half closed eyes as George pumped his cock in and out of Mum’s mouth with slow strong movements.
I debated with myself whether to leave or not, but curiosity had the better of me. I stood watching, careful to stay hidden in the darkness.
“What next do you think Rose?” George suddenly said and I felt a shock course through me when Rose’s voice replied.
“I think our Jane wants her arse full”.
I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. I gasped despite my best intentions. I looked at Mum and saw she was looking across the garage to the rear of the Ford. Rose had been standing, watching, just out of view the whole time. I stared at Mum’s face in amazement. She looked up at George and then with a cheeky smirk she just nodded to him. He lifted her to her feet and she bent over the Citroen. He lifted her dress up over her hips, licked his fingers and began to play with her behind. Mum started to make involuntary movements with her hips and soon she began to make small groans. She liked it. She was bent over the car, with George’s hand busy in between her buttocks and Rose watching from the shadows and she liked it. She sounded like George had sounded earlier and now my hand was back on my still slick cock. I didn’t even think about it. I just began to stroke it again. I heard sounds from Rose now too. She was moving about but I still couldn’t see what she was doing. George and Mum ignored her as George was now pushing his fat big cock into Mum and she was groaning louder than ever.
A hand suddenly clamped over my mouth and another clasped the back of my neck. Rose’s voice came close to my ear.
“Shush now, or they’ll hear you”
I was lucky to have put the stone in the window frame because if I’d been holding it with my hand, I would have dropped it shut in surprise. Rose held onto me, as I leapt backward. A horrible sense of shame washed through me.
“Shh” she hissed quietly.
I stopped moving and stared at her, my face burning hot with humiliation. “Now you know” she said in a low voice and I nodded. In the dim light from the window, her hair formed a silvery border from which her eyes glinted in shadow.
She removed her hand from my mouth but I didn’t know what to say. From the garage came the sounds of my mother being well used and I became acutely aware of my exposed cock still in its erect state. Rose looked down at it, then back at my eyes.
“Don’t worry” she said quietly as she took a hold of it. “This is normal. We all do it”
I swallowed nervously. I didn’t know what to do or say. Rose was holding my cock in her hand and Mum’s groaning voice was clearly audible. She motioned with her head to the window and peered through the crack. George had pulled out of her and I could see him pressing into Mum’s arse. The sight transfixed me. I expected some form of resistance, but he slid into her with apparent ease. Mum gave a deeper groan and spread her legs ever wider. I was painfully hard and Rose slowly began to stroke me. I felt her standing behind me, peering around me to see through the window. Like Mum had, I spread my legs apart and then put my hands against the wall. I had to support myself because my legs were trembling as the climax grew within me.
“I won’t tell on you” she whispered. “This is our secret”.
Watching Mum as she was being sodomised by George, I came in a silent, blinding orgasm that seemed to last for ever. Rose knew what she was doing. She slowed down at the exact moment I began to come and stopped when I was spent. As I stood leaning against the wall, panting like an athlete, she drew me away from the sounds within. She wiped her hand on her skirt and looked at me. With the tender kiss of an aunt, she sent me home, my mind spinning in a daze of confused emotions.
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