f****y Room - Sex Stories

f****y Room

... reasonably high standard and I could get by on a violin. I loved reading books and was actually quite good at school subjects which got me a bad name amongst the other girls as a teacher's pet. I think I should tell you about my mother next, her name is Amanda, she's quite pretty, when we go out I see lots of men checking her out, they don't usually look at me because I definitely dress down, no makeup, baggy clothes and Dock Martin Boots but my mum, she dressed a little like a Californian model or starlet and when men check her out I see her giggling, she really loves the attention. Probably why I don't like attention! Mum and dad married young and had me very soon after they married so she was a very young mother still only thirty even though I was f******n. I often heard her complain to her friends, or was it bragging, that my dad was over sexed and that he 'Bothered' her at least five times a week. Her friends never seemed to believe her though; it would seem that for most of them, sex seemed to be an annual or bi-annual event. I had no delusions about how often my father bothered my mother and it wasn't five times a week, even though there was a passageway between our bedrooms at home I heard them fucking every night when we first went to bed and often in the mornings as well and I had no doubt that sometimes, when I was at school, and my mum and dad were at home together in the afternoon, they probably had sex again. Actually, I'm sure that even just a few years ago ...

... they fucked far less; it seemed that they both wanted sex more and more as they got older. My dad, okay, well, he's unusual, he taught me how to play the guitar, he was very much a 'hippy out of time', he drank rather a lot, I'm sure that he took d**gs too but it was never openly talked about in front of me but the bathroom cabinet had more little pill bottles in it than Boots The Chemist's stockroom. My dad didn't work at a 'proper job'; he did a few gigs around local pubs and clubs now and again. He did a little session work for advertising companies, creating jingles or rather playing jingles that more creative people had written to advertise products. The week before our impending holiday my dad had been out earning our spending money for the holiday, he had actually stood in as bass guitarist for a group that was touring the country while their own bass guitarist was in hospital 'resting' after an excessive party after one gig had put him in a comer for forty-eight hours so my dad was away all week and I had the first week of undisturbed nights for as long as I could remember. On my last day at school I was picked up by my father, he had been driving back from London where he had played his last gig the night before and his journey just happened to coincide with me getting out of school. The snooty cows at school turned their combined noses up at me being picked up in a beat-up old Ford Transit van with flowers painted along both sides, I just buried my head down into the ...