Tell me this, Dear Reader. If you discovered something that has completely turned your view of someone upside-down, but you had to confirm if it was true, would you want to know the truth?
In making the revelation known to this person, could you handle the consequences that follow, no matter if they were bad or good?
The subject of this story explores all of these questions. It was inspired by a similar tale that I -- the Author -- discovered not too long ago. I was intrigued by the overall thrust of said-story, but found it didn't explore the feelings, the deeper meaning of emotions between the featured characters. So, inspired, I wrote this story.
I hope you find it entertaining, as well as stimulating, Dear Reader. Read on!
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My name's Sam; short for Samuel Garrett. I'm just twenty-two now, but it was a year ago when the events I'm about to tell you about happened. Just so you know, I'm not exactly a pretty-boy or some Harlequin-novel stud, but I'm no slob in appearance or looks. Granted, I'm a bit on the chubby-side, even though I stay active enough and take care of myself, and I'm nowhere near 'ugly' when it comes to my face.
Still this isn't about me. This is about my mother.
Yasmine married my dad back when I was only eight; he was a divorcee, having parted ways with my biological mother when I was only three. Dad did a pretty good job raising me, even while working two jobs to keep us from becoming homeless or destitute, but he knew that I needed a woman in his life and I needed a mother.
He met Yasmine during a trip to Junction City -- a mid-sized town not far from where we lived -- and found out she was planning to join a company just opening up in our hometown. Yasmine was a European woman; tall, yet she had curves that bespoke of a country upbringing. Dad was smitten with her accent, her look and her mind. She got an education in the Czech Republic, then further college schooling in America when she was only eighteen when she moved here. Dad and her kept in touch after their first meeting, and when she was fully settled in our town, he didn't waste any time asking her out for a date.
I'll never forget when I first saw her, not long after she and Dad had been going out together for a couple of months. We didn't meet until then, because he wanted to get to know her better up front without any interference. Oh, she knew he had me, but she respected Dad's reasons for delaying her first meeting with me, his son.
It was a Saturday evening dinner at our house that provided me and her with our first face-to-face. To say that my first impression of my father's girlfriend was noteworthy is a pretty well-put understatment. Like Dad, I found Yasmine to be warm, open and honest; a woman that put you at ease. She also proved to be Dad's equal when it came to smarts and engaging conversation, which was a plus for both of us (my birth-mother never was much of a talker). Even at that young age, I noticed she had a certain appeal to her looks. Yasmine had skin that was dusky, but not dark like Italian or Latin; sort of a creamy light-tan latte color, that went well with her dark eyes and black hair. She had sweet lips -- the kind Dad later told me were just perfect for kissing -- a classic Romanian nose and dainty ears.
Like I mentioned before, she had an accent but it didn't interfere with her English, which she always peppered with affectionate words while we three talked during a warm family-style dinner together. "Samuel," she told me once, "you are very sweet and behaved young man. I think your father and you are most wonderful people, and I thank you for letting me get to know you better." Then she bussed my cheek with a warm kiss.
I think after that I became smitten with Yasmine, too. Not as a boy attracted to a beautiful woman, but more as a boy who knew that he knew the woman he'd met was going to become his mother someday.
That someday came within the following year, right to the day she and Dad had started dating. He proposed to her while they were out on the town -- right in the middle of a very romantic setting in the swankiest restaraunt downtown. Needless to say, Yasmine accepted.
She and Dad married on December 24th of that year, at Yasmine's request. She explained later that Christmas Eve -- being the holiest night of the year -- was the perfect night for two people to give their hearts to each other as gifts. They both looked so happy together. I was just happy for Dad, now that he had someone in his life after my biological-mother's departure, and I was proud to call this beautiful woman my mother.
In the months that followed, our family chugged along; Yasmine got to know all of our domestic habits, and we hers. She also stepped very quickly into the role of mother, doing all of the typical Mom-chores, yet she did them all with an energy and focus that was a far departure from either my birth-mom or any of my friend's mothers. The two of us also became closer, to the point I was calling Yasmine 'Mom'; a point that made Dad very happy. Thus, we three became a trio; a modern family that looked forwards to having a wonderful time together in the years ahead.
That is what should of happned.
However, things turned black in the year of my fifteenth birthday.
It was a stupid thing; a punk kid, hopped up on alcohol and drugs tried to rob a convenience store, and Dad had been inside to get some milk for breakfast the following day. Everyone cooperated, but the punk had the misfortune of trying to back out of the store with his swag, just as a police cruiser pulled up in front -- the police looking to take a break and get some coffee, I was told. Panicked, the robber shot at the police, and before it was over, he was dead from three gunshots . . . and my Dad had been unlucky to get hit by a stray shot in the crossfire.
The doctors at the ER did all they could, but Dad died not long after they'd pulled him out of the ambulance.
Both Yasmine and I were devastated. I think she took it the hardest, because she loved Dad so much; he'd been the only man she'd met in America that treated her kindly, and that's what attracted her to him in the first place.
Needless to say, after Dad's death, Yasmine put herself into working and caring for me. I was still a teenager -- with all the problems, peer-pressure and fail that comes with the territory. Yasmine surprised me by how well she took it all, and did her level best to be the kind of Mom I never had. She never talked down to me, and always preferred to talk straight and to the point. "Samuel, my boy, never think you cannot come to me with problems. No matter what, no problem is too large we cannot solve together."
Yasmine was more than just a mother to me, as she became my confidant and -- unlikely as it may sound -- my best friend, too. So, from then on it was just me and her; a son and his mother, two hearts against the big, wide world. Yasmine got a better paying job with a bigger business firm that gave us a bit more security. I finished high school with good grades, and did Yasmine proud when I entered a trade school to learn to repair engines and fix mechanical problems. Yasmine insisted I continue to live at home, since that would give me less stress and allow me to focus on my classes and training, as well as give her some security by not being alone again.
We lived like this for a few years. Then came the year I turned twenty-one. That's when the real story begins . . . to kn
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Like most young men, I watched pornography.
Oh, I like sex. Even back then, it didn't take much to make my dick respond. A pretty girl or even an ad in a newspaper -- the bra and panty ones from stories -- could make me get a hard on. By twenty-one, I was no virgin, though the quantity of my sexual encounters was on the lean-side of things. Quality was more important than just getting off every night.
So, to compensate, I watch what videos I could glean from diligent searches on the internet. Everything from soft core stuff like "Emmanuel" movies to more heavy stuff like "Hustler", but the ones that did it for me were movies that were more classy than crass. I really loved videos from Playboy -- the profiles of their signature Playmates; the more scripted 'fantasy' films that weren't too crude but very sensual, very erotic. Over time, I had a pretty good collection saved on my computer and stored on discs I burned from my CD and DVD drives.
Yasmine knows about my stash, after she caught me watching some videos one afternoon, but she's cool with it. "Young men have their . . . passions, my boy. They must be slaked, or some poor girl could be receiving a very hard time," she told me with a grin.
It wasn't enough though, so I was always on the lookout for new material. So, my prayers were answered when I found a website that was selling the "Pure Porno" series films; an older collection of 'sensual, playful erotica that shows respect for the act and the players in your sexual fantasies'. Well, I picked a couple of their compilation DVDs at random and paid to have them shipped to me. Within a week, they arrived and I whisked them up to my room to enjoy in private.
That night, I was hard as stone and enjoying a long stroke session, laying on my bed while watching the movies on my laptop. I managed to go through two scenes on the first disc; very hot, sensual and classic depictions of men and women making love in exotic locations, when the next scene shifted to a more modern-city setting, full of half-shadows and sepia tones. Hoping for more good sex, I reapplied a new layer of lube to my dick and waited for the action to begin.
It was five minutes into the action that something began to nag at the back of my mind. The actress in the scene was giving a masterful performance -- first giving the guy she was with a very slow strip-tease, before removing his pants to give him a blow job. I was becoming horny as hell, but something about the actress made a part of my mind send signals . . . signals that meant I should pay closer attention.
Slowing my strokes, I shifted to peer closer at the screen of my laptop. When the scene suddenly shifted to a more well-lit part of the room they were in, I got the shock of my life as I got a good look at the face of the actress.
It was Yasmine! A much younger version, to be certain, but there was no mistaking her face, her eyes, her nose and that same, sweet smile that appeared; after she finished making the guy in the scene cum like a fire hose.
I was stunned. My Mom . . . in a high-class porno?
