The Rambler part 2 - Sex Stories

The Rambler part 2

... again. I had heard this all before, but never this bad. Dad's boss and his wife would get tipsy and he would start bragging about his young trophy, a woman from the other side of the tracks who had been popular with the boys in Mom and Millie's school year, because she was available to party after the other girls had been taken home. She had made it good when she met and married Dad's boss, after his first wife died of cancer, and she wasted no opportunity to rub her new position in the face of those who once spurned her friendship. She was a voluptuous woman but had a tacky and coarse way about her that many men found appealing, especially when d***k. It sounded like Dad had gone too far and embarrassed Mom. I made myself scarce the next day, spending the day driving around by myself. Tim wanted to hang around home, the bastard. I called home in the afternoon and explained to Mom that I had gone for a drive and lost track of time so I would be late for dinner. "I would have liked to do that today," she said. I cursed myself for the lost opportunity to be with Mom all day. "Don't worry about dinner, dear. I didn't make anything. See you when you get home. Drive safely." Man, she must really be mad at Dad not to make Sunday dinner. What had he done? I had stopped for a burger on the way home so the house was dark when I arrived home even though it was still early in the evening. I let myself in and quietly tiptoed to my bedroom. My parents door was closed tight which was ...

... unusual, except for the night before when Mom had shut Dad out. Was he still sl**ping downstairs in the guest room? Wide awake, I read a book rather than go downstairs to watch TV, fearing an encounter with either of my parents. I didn't hear a single sound until I finally went to bed. Even though I was up early my father was still gone when I came down for breakfast. Mom was sitting on one of the tall breakfast stools along the counter that ran perpendicular from the back door and divided the kitchen from the stairs leading down to the basement. "Morning Mom," I greeted her rather cheerily for me, perhaps in a subliminal attempt to raise her spirits for our mutual benefit. "Morning," Mom mumbled past her coffee mug just before it met her lips, not looking up from the morning paper. I busied myself getting a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice, setting them on the counter at the far end from Mom, leaving an empty stool between. Getting the milk from the fridge, I walked around the counter to Mom's side to sit down, talking as I moved. "Dad's not up yet?" I asked in a surprised tone. "Gone," her answer was terse and abrupt, and she still didn't look up. That was fortunate because I missed the bowl as I poured my milk spilling some on the counter before I recovered and stumbling onto the stool, half missing the seat. The thing I hadn't noticed while preparing my breakfast was that Mom had come downstairs with just her nightdress on. Normally, she was either dressed or tightly ...