The Kindness of Strangers - Sex Stories

The Kindness of Strangers

This is not a true story. Memory is an unreliable witness, and though I've tried to tell my tale to the best of my ability, I'm willing to accept not everything played out exactly as you're about to read.

When I was around the age of 8, my parents divorced. I can't say I recall the proceedings, but from what Dad relayed to me over the years, it became pretty messy. Ultimately Mom "winning" the house; custody of me; and the "right to take Dad to the cleaners", or so he would often put it.

It wasn't long after, he packed up everything that Mom hadn't "stolen" from him and moved back to North Carolina where he had grown up, leaving me and Mom living together in the family home. And I quickly began to hate it. Mom was way more focused on her career as a realtor than me, and her long hours saw me invariably spending more and more time in after-school care or being "babysat" by a neighbor or another family member.

A stark difference to Dad's place on the East Coast. On the two occasions I was able to visit him early on, he spent all his time with me. When I first arrived, there was a new PlayStation in my bedroom. On my second trip, he had a dirt bike for me which I could ride in the fields behind my grandparents' house; and on the eve of my last night, he promised the next time I came, he'd get me a puppy!

At only nine years of age, I boldly told my mother I wanted to go and live with Dad; and apart from some partly overheard late-night arguments between them on the ...

... phone, it all went smoothly, and I managed to escape the bustle of Los Angeles to the laidback rural lifestyle of the Tar Heel State.

Mom wrote letters often and even visited a few times in that first year. She wouldn't stay with us though, so the time we spent together was pretty limited. Dad said she preferred her job over us anyway and couldn't wait to leave. I wasn't bitter. I just felt sad for her. I always thought she would've been happier if she was more like Dad. He didn't let work rule his life and viewed family time with my uncles as far more valuable. That pretty much consisted of them sitting around the property drinking most of the time, and come to think of it, I don't even remember him having a job for much of my teenage years anyway.

Mom's visits became less frequent over time and eventually, the letters stopped altogether. There were plans for me to fly over to L.A. for the holidays, but they always fell through at the last minute, and as time passed, we became more and more estranged. Sometimes months would go by without even a phone call from her and despite comments on my social media posts, it seemed she was happy to have me and Dad out of her life forever. At least that's what he said about it anyway.

Which made the events surrounding my senior year of high school, all the more surprising.

Dad died.

It was my aunt Leticia who informed me. My closest confidant, (apart from my father of course) she was the one to sit me down at her table and ...