The following story is completely a work of fiction and is only presented for purposes of entertainment and fantasy. At no point should this work of fiction be interpreted as advocating or encouraging the acts portrayed here in. While I, the author, believe and active fantasy life is very healthy between consenting adults, I, the author, do not believe acts of fantasy should necessarily become reality when the results can end up causing harm. Sex should be fun for all involved.
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You can never come home again. It was one of those all-American concepts that Midwestern intellectuals tried to convey in tortured novels about semi-dysfunctional families. For Cynthia, returning home from her first year of college, it was not a concept she was ready to deal with so directly. To her home was the suburban split-level on Cherry Creek Lane which sat next to other houses that were structurally the same with near identical layouts but offset by choice of color and landscaping. Home was her forty-five year old mother Karen, her fifty-two year old father Michael, and her eighteen-year old brother Drew. This was home as Cynthia knew it over winter vacation. She noted, during her week at home, a week she spent reconnecting more with old high school friends than spending with her family, that there was a strange tension between her parents. She wrote it off as typical holiday stress.
Choosing to take a trip to Florida for spring break, Cynthia missed a critical development and change in her concept of home when her father moved out. Over the phone, both her mom and dad called it a trial separation. The emails and IMs exchanged with her brother told a different story.
CinderGirl (12:04:13 AM): Hey bro, what are you doing up so late.
ProzacallySpeaking (12:10:53 AM): Hi Cyn. Mom's crying again. Dad didn't come home last night and looks like he won't be home tonight either.
CinderGirl (12:11:30 AM): WTF? Is he out on business?
ProzacallySpeaking (12:13:05 AM): If fucking some whore he works with is business, then I guess so.
CinderGirl (12:16:07 AM): Dad's having an affair?
ProzacallySpeaking (12:17:22 AM): Ya. For two years.
This wasn't going to be a trial separation. By the time the semester ended, Karen and Michael had sold the house. Karen moved into the city after Drew's graduation, into a condo purchased with half the money made from the sale of the house.
When Cynthia walked into the unfamiliar place furnished with very familiar rugs, chairs, artwork, she became sick to her stomach. Her urge was to run to her room, throw herself on her bed, and throw a tantrum like she did when she was twelve. She couldn't. It was her bed. It was her things in the room, but it wasn't hers. This was not home.
Drew adapted to the new situation by spending all his time back in the 'burbs with his friends. He would spend time with Michael but was at loose ends. The only cordial phone calls between Karen and Michael were in regards to getting Drew into college or the military or something to keep him out of trouble.
Cynthia adapted just as poorly, though she chided herself for it. Most of her friends came from broken homes. In fact, the very concept that divorced and/or separated parents represented 'breakage' would seem alien to most of her friends. Yet, to Cynthia it was more than broken, it was destroyed. She left a nice, normal Midwestern home and returned to an urban condo - it may as well have been Oz. Cynthia dealt with it the best she could by putting on a happy face and spending as little time there as possible. She wasn't going to add to her mother's burden, but she wasn't going to accept it either. The tearful nights and the moments of hateful outbursts were too much for her.
Coming home in the wee hours of the morning, Cynthia could hear the tv on in her mother's room. She stepped up to her mom's door and rapped lightly, "Mom?" There was no response. Carefully, Cynthia opened the door and peeped in. Her mother was sprawled on her bed, her nightshirt askew and her legs set at crooked angles. The television was tuned to a pay-per-view channel and a soft feminine voice intoned about the line-up of movies MetroCable offered on its pay-per-view channel. Cynthia stepped into the room to turn the tv off and noticed that it was tuned to one of the adult channels. Cynthia chuckled, turned it off and stepped back to the door. It was then she noticed her mother's vibrator on the bed next to her mother's bare leg. The thought of her mother masturbating to porn was kind of exciting, but also a little disturbing.
The following morning the incident was forgotten but it wouldn't be the last bit of covert intimacy between the two of them though the second time would be to Cynthia's embarrassment.
The phone call was from Jason, a guy Cynthia met on the quad one day and partied with once in awhile. They had developed a nice platonic yet sexual relationship and with both suffering physical absence from sexual contact, their casual fucking turned into causal phone fucking.
"What are you wearing?" he asked.
"Can't you be more original than that?" she chided.
"Cyn, when you are as horny as I am, being original is the last thing you worry about."
"Oh, what do you worry about?"
"How to sink my thick long cock into your wet cunt."
"Mmmmm…I'm so wet right now."
"Really?"
"Yes – Oh Jason. Mmm, my fingers are rubbing my clitty. I wish they were your fingers."
"Oh baby, my cock is so hard. I've been stroking it every night thinking about you and your hot lips wrapped around my cock, sucking it, gulping down my cum."
"I want your cum, I want to drink it down, baby, I want it all in my mouth, will you do that for me baby, will you fill my mouth with you hot creamy cum?"
"Cynthia! What are you doing?" the familiar maternal voice said over the phone.
"Oh crap," Jason said as he hung up.
