Just Visiting - Sex Stories

Just Visiting

Barbara knocked at the door of forty-seven Acacia Avenue and breathed a sigh of relief. With only an overnight suitcase for the whole weekend in tow, she leaned through the car window and paid the taxi fare. By the time she had turned to face the front door her mother was beaming at her, arms outstretched waiting for that hug. Her father stood behind waiting his turn.

The hug seemed to go on for ages.

“I can hardly get close to you with the size of this bump,” her mother, Lucy, exclaimed.

“two months to go, I can’t wait,” she told them.

“Come on in, you’ll catch your death out here in this cold weather.”

Barbara was ushered inside, her father, Peter, gave her a fleeting but loving kiss on her cheek, a quick hug, and scampered up the stairs with her bag to place it in the spare room where she’d be staying for the weekend; her old room, though it had changed a lot since she left.

Her mother grilled her on the state of her marriage to Bryan, who, over the last eight or so months had been acting like a prick towards her. It started just before the time she got pregnant. It was as if the act of wanting a child and then getting pregnant had changed their whole life together. Who would have thought that would have happened?

“He’s just the same,” Barbara told her mother. “To be honest, I’m glad I’m here for the weekend, I can relax and enjoy myself without wondering how he’s going to behave next.”

“Do you know,” Barbara raised her finger and pointed towards ...

... her mother, “he’s hardly touched me since I got pregnant and more recently, he’s making excuses that sex will hurt the baby. How fucking ridiculous is that.”

Lucy pursed her lips and reached out to push a lock of her daughter’s hair behind her ear. “Just relax, darling, you can do whatever you want here. Are you hungry?”

“I’m famished,” came the reply.

“We’ve made a quick pasta bake, your favourite. Come and eat.”

Over dinner the conversation became more heated, the more Bryan crept into the conversation between the three of them, until Barbara had decided that enough was enough and that his name should be banned for the next couple of days. After retiring to the lounge, and with the usual trashy television soaps blaring out, they started talking about the baby.

The grilling Barbara got about the baby’s name fell on stony ground. She wasn’t about to spill the beans on that score until it was born. The more the evening progressed, the more relaxed Barbara became until she had cuddled into the side of her mother with her feet up on the sofa. She had almost fallen asleep in that relaxed position; her heart beating slower than it had been for some time.

Looking up at the mother, it dawned on her that she hadn’t asked about them since she got there.

“How are you two?” She blurted out.

“We’re good,” both of them seemed to answer at the same time.

At nine o’clock, Peter rose from his chair and declared that he was going for a shower and then to bed. The ...