Growing - Sex Stories

Growing

... about it ending back in the mid-sixties: before the sexual revolution ever came to my hometown, that’s for sure. I was the luckiest k** that ever lived, with a hot and horny s****r who believed in sharing. What happened next wasn’t so good; in fact, it started out as a disaster, although what it ended up was nothing short of miraculous. It was my high school year before I became a senior, s*s had moved out for good, she was working as a nurse and living with a bunch of other girls. She had a few boyfriends, but told me she wasn’t going to settle for anything less than a doctor. Dad worked hard and Mom and I sometimes didn’t even see him at mealtimes. He would come home late, grab a sandwich that she made for him, and rush off back to work to deal with the latest crisis. I hung out with a bunch of friends, got older guys to buy us beer and smoked pot a little. It was the sixties, and it’s what you did, but I was no rebel; I still did my schoolwork, I planned on going to college after my senior year, although I had no idea what I wanted to do, and I was usually home by whatever time my Mom told me I had to be. I got in from school one afternoon in November 1969, dropping my book bag by the door and headed for the refrigerator. ‘Mom!’ The house was very quiet, as if to emphasis the unnatural stillness, at that moment, the refrigerator motor started up, making me jump. Mom’s car was on the driveway, but the house seemed to be deserted. The phone rang, making me jump for a second ...

... time. ‘Hello?’ ‘Oh Junior, this is Aunt Lucy. Honey, something bad has happened…’ ‘Is it Mom? Is she…’ ‘No, your Mom’s fine, she’s here with me, now. It’s…it’s your Dad…there’s been an accident…’ Dad had been driving from one plant to another; there had been a breakdown on the production line, and he was going to fix it. Some stupid bitch had run a red light and hit him square on, pushing his automobile into the front of a truck coming the other way. They’d cut him loose, but by the time he got to the ER it was too late. Christmas that year was bleak. s*s had to work cover and couldn’t get home. Aunt Lucy wanted us to go stay with her, but Mom and I didn’t feel much like celebrating anything. At the beginning of 1970, three months after Dad’s death, Mom got a job in an office – she hadn’t worked since she was married, Dad had been a good provider – and I carried on with my school work and hanging around with my friends. But I felt guilty about leaving Mom alone much, so I went out less and got home from school as quickly as I could. Most days I would have something cooked for her by the time she got home. She was always tired, it was a long drive to the place she had found work, so after we’d eaten, I encouraged her to sit in front of the TV whilst I did the dishes before getting on with my homework. The dutiful son, what was I? A saint in training? I loved my Mom, and I hated to see how she missed my Dad. I was all there was, and I wanted her to feel good about me. … ‘Honey, ...