The Rambler part 2 - Sex Stories

The Rambler part 2

... back into the lounge. There was a long pause, punctuated by a few 'mmhmmms'. "I know, Millie," Mom's voice lowered even more. "I'm fine with it but just as a one-time thing," she almost whispered. Another long pause. I sunk deeper into the cushion. "Well, why can't you just go by yourself?" Mom's voice returned to normal. "You're k**ding. Millie, you need to get hold of yourself." Another long pause broken by, "I know," several times. "Yes, they are handsome boys." I perked up. "They think they got dumped?" "Well ok. But just to be seen ... so it looks like they're still on." "Alright. Ok, Millie, I said yes ... tonight? I can't. Wayne's boss is having another party. We have to go." Mom didn't sound enthused by the prospect. "Next week, then. Ok. Talk to you." Mom hung up. I stayed rigidly still in the lounge, trying not to make a sound. I didn't want Mom to know I'd overheard her conversation and hoped she didn't come outside. Thankfully, the sound of her feet faded as she walked away. I was ecstatic and disappointed at the same time. Mom was coming to the drive-in but not until the next week and clearly she wasn't into fooling around, but my spirits still rose. Mom may not want to do anything but there was no way, not after what Tim had been telling me, that there wouldn't be hot action to listen to from the back seat. If I could just get Mom to sit close to me as if we were on a date -- and Millie had clearly pitched that as an excuse -- then one thing might lead to ...

... another. A lump suddenly appeared in my pants. Down boy, I thought, my excitement rising. We have to get through the next week without ruining things. * * * * * * * SLAM! The sound of the door jolted me upright in bed. My head jerked around as I strained to see in the dark, then sat still to listen as I realized that was futile. sl**p fogged my brain and I could only sense the anger in the loud exchange of words and nothing of their meaning. Did I say exchange? I should have said barrage, a stream of uncharacteristic vehemence in my mother's voice, including swearing, I'm sure, though I couldn't separate individual expletives. The sound of shoes being tossed was followed by firm stomping up the stairs. "I don't care if you were d***k," Mom yelled. There was some kind of garbled response in my father's voice. Stomp, stomp, stomp. "So what! Just because those assholes were fawning all over her doesn't mean you have to too." I could tell from Mom's voice that she had reached the top of the stairs and had turned to confront my father. "Shhhhh," he said. I could tell just from that, Dad was pissed. "Don't shush me. Do you know how foolish you all look, trying to be so witty and trying to sneak look up that ridiculously sluttish dress?" That drew a d***ken laugh in response. "Ohhhhh. You're such an asshole!" Slam. The bedroom door. Dad's feet stumbling down the stairs. I guess he was sl**ping in the spare room tonight. I guess Dad and the other salesmen were flirting with the boss' wife ...