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Dad – Chapter 5 – True Love – Iss 1ex1

a) A Nuclear Family?

After the revelations, Mum and I celebrated, gently, for a long time. The possibility of becoming a ‘multi-mummy’ (having more than this one – with me), even at her age, gave her an ardour that I struggled to meet.

She did tell me that this, our first, might be our ‘Only’. It would depend on her well-being – first during pregnancy; next during childbirth; and then during her postpartum recovery. As she said, she would now probably be classified as a ‘geriatric’ mother, with all the shortcomings and care that that involved.

I lived the first week in a sort of sexual haze. I had struggled to believe how easily my mother adapted to having me as her ‘mate’, even while she was wracked by her tears of grief.

Now, through all this new change of circumstance, she had been thinking, and considering; and accommodating situations and ideas about the future.

Anyway, about a week after the pregnancies were … um … declared[?], and without discussing it with me (not that she had to, of course, she just decided to keep me in the dark), she contacted Rose, and proposed a meeting. I was told after the event; at which time I was also told of ‘The Agreement’ which was the outcome of the meeting.

What they decided, basically, was that Dad’s brother and other sister would have to accept the situations, of both Mum and Rose. Mum was an only child, and her parents had died some years previously. ‘The Agreement’ had Mum and Rose inform the family that Mum and Rose had colluded to get me too drunk to be responsible for my actions, but still sober enough to be able to ‘perform’; and that their plan had worked, as they were both pregnant, and it was not my fault. They stated that they were prepared to swear to that in court. So – if they (family) decided that they couldn’t live with the incestuous pregnancies, I would be ‘innocent’.

I have to admit that I thought that it was all a little ‘over the top’.

OK, then! I grudgingly conceded that Mum wouldn’t be shown in a good light if she turned up pregnant a few months after Dad’s funeral, and blamed it on some man unknown to Tony and Rebecca. But wouldn’t that be better than getting ‘knocked up’ by her own son?

And why would Rose getting caught at the same time – by the same person – be ‘a good thing’? But I still got stuck with the ‘pissed but randy’ scenario.

In the event, all that planning and conniving was a waste of effort – neither Tony or Rebecca could give a shit. They had known from an early time, (somewhere around Rose’s nineteenth birthday apparently), that Rose and Dad were shagging each other; and apart from some jealousy from Tony in the early months of their knowledge (their sister Rebecca was also a bit put out, being of the opinion that she was also missing out), there was no ill-will.

(Apparently, as a result of their discovery, back then, Rebecca had ‘dragged’ Tony to bed, so she could even the score – while he begged and pleaded with her to not corrupt him with her sexy, naked, woman’s wiles; and the orgasms that she insisted on having on his tongue {he accused her of trying to drown him}. She said his cock had never been as hard as it had on that particular afternoon – evening – and night.

Or the following morning.

And evening.

And night.

Because of all that – neither cared! Apparently, Tony and Rebecca still had some really good {‘bad’} times together.)

They all knew that Dad’s decision to have the vasectomy was made without consulting Mum or Rose, and that Mum and Rose were both unhappy with his action (Tony and Rebecca perceived that ‘unhappiness’ as being ‘severely pissed-off’). As far as they were concerned, Mum’s and Rose’s … um … recent … little … ‘indiscretions’ – were generally thought to be a ‘balancing of the forces of nature’ (they’d at last got even with the selfish bastard!).

Gran, Grandad, neighbours, and the rest of the outside world (including Tony and Rebecca’s families), were to be told that Mum had prevailed upon Dad to donate sperm for freezing, so that once he was beyond this life, Mum could still achieve their belated decision of extending the family.

Rose had ‘just been unlucky’ with her contraceptive pills with an ‘acquaintance’.

‘The Agreement’ was that Mum and Rose would each sell-up, and combine their funds to buy a house for them both; to support one another in bringing up their children in a ‘multi-adult’ environment. The fact that I would ‘happen’ to be there as a ‘father figure’ to help support Mum with my baby sister or brother was a bonus for the family unit as a whole (for a time, at least … since both Mum and Rose [and me, really] expected that I would find myself a ‘proper wife and family’ at some time).

Once they brought me up to speed on the plan, I partly sarcastically, and partly humourously asked how it would work between them. Would I spend alternate nights with each of my ‘wives’; or three nights ‘On’, and three nights ‘Off’ for each? And would the seventh night be a rest-day for me, or a party-night bursa escort with the three of us.

At that, I got almost identical frowns from each (must be something genetically female there), and two stiff index fingers had me nailed against a wall, and I was explained to, in concise, definitive, and very … um … precise… language – that I was NOT to start getting any ideas about threesomes.

When I retorted that I couldn’t see why I couldn’t spend time with my two best girls at the same time, I received a saliva shower from both – and Mum ended up indignant and in a huff; and Rose ended up gasping and out of breath with an aching belly from her peals of laughter. I don’t know if it was personality or age, but Mum (surprising under the circumstances) seemed – somehow, less … liberated[?]. Rose’s hilarity didn’t help Mum’s attitude.

Anyway, ‘The Agreement’ was that the move should be achieved at as early a date as possible, so that we would all be in the new house, and comfortable, before they started to get ‘really gravid’.

Rose was to sell her place first, as it was smaller, and move in with us. I was to move into the box room, and Rose would have my room, with her bedroom furniture.

‘The Agreement’ defined my first job, which would be to replace the bedroom doors with sound-proof ones, as they were sure that they didn’t want to overhear the other “gettin’ their ashes hauled”. Rose was quite good in coming up with neat little phrases like that.

It appeared in the end, that Mum was reluctant to immediately relinquish some of her access to me. She said that she had lost my Dad for many months, and now that she had me, she wanted to make up for the deficit. Hence, I spent most of my nights with Mum, and a couple of evenings, and one night a week with Rose. So, once again Rose got the rough end of the stick, and had to swallow Mum’s ‘leftovers’. And swallow she did, since she wanted the access to me. She regarded it as a ‘badge of honour’, and waited out the joining of our households, at which time ‘The Agreement’ allowed her equal time with me.

So, life progressed. Rose fairly soon landed a buyer, and the sale progressed; not, however without some hiccoughs, which have no place here.

b) Yeti

During that intermediate time before Rose moved in with us, Mum and I lived as if we were on honeymoon – and took every opportunity to ‘get at it’. And I have to admit here, however more corrupt it presents me, that my love for my mother grew and deepened; and strangely enough – the age difference was an integral part of that. I know that makes me seem a ‘Mummy’s boy’; and I freely admit that it was readily so, although I don’t feel that I fulfilled the standard profile of the middle aged ‘Mummy’s boy’; after all, I had a ‘girlfriend’ with whom I engaged in carnal games; and I certainly didn’t subsume my will wholly to my mother’s (often much to her frustration).

Leastways, that’s the way I feel at the moment, until she tells me how I should feel. (Joke!)

Having loved my mother as part of the whole family thing, and being so In-Love with Rose for all that time, my ‘psychological profile’ must have been skewed to be more comfortable with ‘the older woman’, hence the manifestation of my general dissatisfaction with the women my own age that I met at college and university; with that dissatisfaction preventing any in-depth feelings for them.

*

Having taken the initiative with me, my mother was fully ‘open’ to my sexual advances towards her, including, as I mentioned earlier, performing oral sex on me. However, she remained reluctant to be on the receiving end of the affections that I tried to show her in that way.

That came to a head (pun?) one evening, once I actually pursued the reason(s) for her reluctance.

“So, let me get this straight, Mum. You feel embarrassed by me getting so close to you – down there?”

Shyly, “Yes.”

“I’m sorry, so – why – exactly? I keep saying that I enjoy doing that with you. You don’t make me feel uncomfortable, so why be embarrassed?”

“Well, you are so much younger than me.”

“Yes, I am fully aware of that! I have told you enough times, that you turn me On, including your age. And all parts of you. So, I really cannot see the problem!”

“Well … there’s … sort of … things that … getting older … become … um … distasteful! There I’ve said it! Definitely distasteful!”

“What on EARTH are you talking about? There’s nothing wrong with your taste!”

“No! It’s … not … actually my taste! Oh God! I mean … I don’t … I never even considered the … taste … actually! I meant … it … it’s … ” gasp of consideration, ” … more my … appearance!”

“Appearance?”

“Yes.”

“You mean the way you look?”

“Yes.”, looking down in embarrassment, again!

“But there’s nothing wrong with the way you look!” I scoffed.

“Well – it’s … Oh God-this-is-SO-embarrassing! I mean … that when we get old … older … we sort of change. … Our … um … characteristics … change!”

“What? … WHAT?”

Deep bursa escort bayan breath and sighed it out.

“We … get… …”

“What?”

In a small voice “Hairy … hairy … er. HAIRY-ER! And grey … greyer. More hairy and grey! OK? I am embarrassed because I’m old and grey and hairy down there. And I feel embarrassed that you want to get close enough to me to do … that … to my old grey and hairy muff! Got that? At last?”

I laughed so hard at that that I got a twenty-carat erection. I lunged at her – and clasped her into the biggest and fondest hug, arms and legs, I could manage.

When I ended my laughter, I kissed her as thoroughly as I could while she was in my hug, and I stroked her hip.

“You have been worrying about that, and I hadn’t even noticed any problem! But if that is all of the problem, then there’s a very simple solution to that!”

“Oh yes? And what, pray, is that?”

“I can shave it all off for you.”

“Shave it off? All my fanny hair? You are joking!”

“No. Not really. But if you want some other way; we can get you a home wax kit, and I’ll fix you with that. Think of the fun we can have afterwards, all the massaging-in of creams to take away the stinging. I’m sure we could go for an orgasm record.

“Another option, though the least preferable – for me – is get it done professionally.

“Shaving will probably be the least painful, and I would certainly prefer to do that. Come on, Mum! Please? Let me? Then we can play about with flavoured creams, and I can lick you so nice and clean. And no ‘old grey furry’ pussy to get in the way of your ecstasy.

“Come on – please let me do it! I promise, I’ll use a new set of blades in my razor.” And I crossed my heart as I said it.

“I couldn’t do that! I couldn’t go to the doctor, or a clinic, and have them wonder why an old fart like me is shaving my fanny. Having them think that I fancy myself as some sort of … of … what’s that horrid name the Americans have thought-up for a … an … a … mature woman trying to attract a younger man?”

“Cougar?”

“Yes! Some sort of Cougar!”

“Ah, but won’t they shave you for the birth?”

“But that would be different! Don’t you see? Then they would be shaving me themselves, for medical reasons!”

“So, what’s wrong with looking like a Cougar? You’ve got me! Just admit that you have a young stud for a lover. And that he’s turned on by the pre-pubescent look. It will all make so much sense, they won’t look for anything deeper.”

“But they won’t know that, will they? Least ways, I hope that they never find out that you’re my son. Anyway, think how the story would look? Old fart’s husband is dying, and she gets him wanking into a jar, so once he’s popped his clogs – she can use it to get herself knocked up – and THEN pull a toy-boy … and then what?”

And here all she was saying about Dad overcame her, and she finished amid more heartrending weeping “And … sob … what’d she do? sob sob … she blames the pregnancy … sob … on the poor sod … sob sob … and does … choke … make him … MARRY … choke sob … her?”

I held her tightly until her grief passed, and kissed her into quiescence.

*

Once she had recovered, I continued – in (what I hoped was) a jocular vein.

“So – being a Cougar with your son – is more objectionable than being a Cougar with a stranger, then, is it?”

At last I got her laughing, so things were looking up.

“Oh yes! Of course it is.”

“Oh, that’s not fair Mum! Dumping me just ‘cos you fancy being an ‘acceptable Cougar’, rather than an ‘unacceptable Cougar’. I’m hurt!” And I sniffed as tragically as I could.

“Stop snivelling, and act your age!”

“Yes Mum!”

She giggled, and pulled my head down so she could impart a kiss on my lips. ’22 carat’ erection blossomed.

“Now here’s an idea!” I acted all full of enthusiasm, “If you are unhappy with the Cougar aspect, how about ‘MILF’? You are definitely one of them!”

“What? What on earth are you talking about? MILF?”

“MILF! Surely you have seen one of the ‘American Pie’ films?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well, it stands for ‘Mother I’d Like to Fuck’. It’s to do with schoolboys lusting after fellow pupils’ mothers. Nominally, anyway – I think … but now it seems to have been distorted to apply to any mature woman; or, at least a woman old enough to be a mother, whether she actually is a mother or not.

“Alright, so I am not a schoolboy; but you are a mother; and I do! Want to, that is.”

She gaped at me for a few seconds. “My God! That seems infinitely worse.”

“OK. True, I do, but … OK.”

*

“Alright! But … going back to shaving – after the shave, and as it starts growing back, it itches like mad!”

“Only if you don’t keep it shaved. Or so I’ve heard. You can make me the Court Pussy Barber. I could open a salon, and have two customers queueing every couple of days for a shave.”

“Two?”

“You and Rose.”

“I’ll bet she would enjoy that! And I bet she doesn’t have any hair already, has she?”

“Can’t remember!”

“You escort bursa lying little toad!”

“Come on Mum. Shave. Best let me do it. You’ll end up with a proper job. How can that be more embarrassing than being a Cougar? And you are happy being one of those! Even if you are a secret Cougar? And you’ll be even happier when you’re not embarrassed about me seeing you up-close and personal. Oh, please Mum, do it. I really want to perform oral sex for you. Do you realise how much of a kick I get out of being underneath you as we sixty-nine? I love you! I love to do it, and you certainly seem to get something out of it, even when you say you are embarrassed.”

“OK! But – the keeping it shaved, thing: – that’s going to be your duty, or I grow it back. And if it doesn’t itch because you keep it shaved, you can keep it shaved – and to hell with doctors and clinics!”

I kissed her with all the love and passion in me.

“Wonderful! Thank you! And just think how wonderful it would be kissing me afterwards – no fur-balls!”

She grabbed my balls and squeezed and twisted them as she loomed over me. “You little shit! You’ve been wanting to say that all the time! Haven’t you? You’re incorrigible!”

“Come on Mum, can we do it now?”

“What? The shaving?”

“No, of course not. It’s – you know? One more fur-ball – for the road?”

She dissolved into the giggles. But there were no fur-balls that session. She rolled on top of me, and showed me how fit she was, by fucking my brains out.

*

And you know what? It worked! For both of us. But we did compromise; because – although we didn’t want the Yeti look, she also wasn’t comfortable going for the Sphynx (A.K.A. ‘Hollywood’?). So, we went for a Brazilian, and left her a landing strip, which we kept trimmed both in hair length and area.

And there was not one grey hair!

(Not that I had noticed that she had ANY grey hairs … at all, even before the shave! But she wasn’t interested, really, in hearing that. Just the thought of me going down on her – ‘if’ she had any grey – unnerved her.)

And no fur-balls.

And this time – she got 24 carats!

*

She was relaxed because she felt that she no longer had a yeti pussy, and I was ecstatic that I could make oral love to her, without her being uncomfortable.

And, eventually, after they had both given birth, she even enjoyed the shaving sessions, especially when she eventually got to watch Rose getting shaved, and Rose watching her back. They each got a few orgasms out of the sessions.

c) Halfway House

In the end, spending alternate nights with each of my ‘wives’ worked well for most of the time. I was young, and managed to keep up with both women’s libidos. Although, I was sure that had each not had … ‘competition'[?], I wouldn’t have had as much sex with either of them, individually, as I enjoyed.

From overhearing other men discussing the ‘state’ of their marriages; or even partnerships, if they were living together; the general trend seemed to be that their ‘other half’ gradually lost interest in sex as time passed. Those that said that it didn’t, and that she was as hot for it now as when they first met, or married, sometimes seemed a little too eager for we others to readily accept their statements.

Of course, there was bound to be someone with the opposite opinion. “You better get as much pussy as you can, while it’s all new, ‘cos after not-long-enough they go for the Superglue, to seal it off!”

Of course, I kept quiet; but I filed away these comments in my mind; and, later, would ‘take them out’ and examine them, not without an occasional snigger or two; and compare them with my own experiences.

I couldn’t imagine that my mother welcomed me in her bed just to deny Rose my time, or do the ‘teen thing’ of ‘she’s doing it, so I gotta do it’ (you know – to keep up!). But I did think that they both felt that they had lost Dad far too early, so that their attitudes changed to ‘use it while it’s there: ‑ it can be lost all too easily’.

Rose was also just randy, and still making up for time lost throughout Dad’s married life.

*

At the appointed times, both my ladies were subjected to check-ups, etc. Since they belonged to different doctor’s surgeries, their situations remained ‘isolated’.

The outcome was that the date of conception was determined as being within a week of each other, which wasn’t a surprise to any of the three of us. But the preliminary ‘diagnosis’ that Mum seemed to be growing twins, was.

d) Eden

After a fair bit of searching, we found the ‘perfect’ house in the ‘next-door’ town, and just off the main road. The house had four bedrooms, had a decent sized garden, and it was near a medium sized modernish estate. We were not actually on the estate, and the estate was large enough that we were just one of many families in the area, so we didn’t stand out. It was a little further from Rose’s work, but that would only be for a few months, and a little closer to Mum’s. I was about the same distance from my Uni, so there wasn’t a problem there; and it was closer to Rebecca; but further from Tony, but not by much, so the ‘greater family’ was not discommoded. Gran and Grandad still lived in their ‘Brit enclave’ on the Spanish coast. We all called it ‘Nuevo-Bournemouth’.

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