Nymphomania. Sex-addiction. Genetic Sexual Attraction. I've found a lot of words over the years in my journey to find the source of my urges. For a long time I thought something was wrong with me. They say that everyone is born equal. Maybe that's a lie. Maybe there's some sort of chemical imbalance in my brain that makes me lust after everything and everyone. Perhaps my parents' divorce and their subsequent remarriages had an adverse effect on my upbringing. Or, fuck, maybe I'm just a naturally horny dude. Either way, my early years weren't pretty. As a teenager, I struggled with a sexual mentality that was a great deal more liberal and overcharged than even the most stereotypical of my cohorts. The twilight years of my adolescence was worse. I tried to suppress my urges, completely repressing my sexual nature in an effort to see women as more than physical beings. There was a hole in my life that I thought would be filled by the love of a good woman. Suffice it to say that that did not work. Several months of depression, anxiety, self-harm, substance abuse, and hundreds of dollars spent in strip-clubs and brothels later, I finally decided to accept myself for who I was. That decision turned out to be the single best choice I had ever made in my life.
It all started, obviously, with my parents. My mother and father were both intelligent people who made incredibly dumb decisions. They both were at the top of their classes, but they fucked up and had me when they were nineteen. They were responsible enough to try and raise me together, to give me a good home and upbringing, but they couldn't stop the inevitable divorce. In the end, I spent my years hopping between two houses. My life changed when I was staying with my father. Dad got remarried when I was seven years old because he knew that having a partner would help him to better raise his son. However, my stepmother ended up being a bit of a detached harpy.
Both of my parents were thoroughly mixed, a salad of racial genes. My paternal grandfather was a white man who married a black woman. On the other side of the family tree was a Korean grandfather and an Indian grandmother. My stepmother, on the other hand, was purely Indian. Her parents were first generation immigrants to the United States. She had black hair, dark brown skin, and stood at five and a half feet tall on a good day. Unlike my grandmother—my mother's mother—who was quite liberal, Leanne was strict, traditional, and fond of arguing. She didn't treat me bad. Quite the opposite, actually. There were times when she had to reign dad in and remind him that he was a father. She did this with the composure of an overseer who desired law and order, not because she cared about me in any way, shape, or form.
It was a bad decision made by my father that ended up being a turning point in my life, and the lives of dozens of others throughout the years. Dad and Leanne were initially happy. She was an adequate wife. Like I said, she loved an argument, but he couldn't take it. Old man Lucas ended up taking a lover. And then another. And another. And then three more. And then he got another woman pregnant. Divorce would have been the intelligent option, but, like I love to say, my parents loved to make stupid decisions. Maybe to keep the world on its toes. Whatever the reason, it broke Leanne in a way I did not think possible. We were never close. She made no attempt to be my mother, but this was the first time in my life that I ever felt sorry for her.
One Friday night, Dad and Leanne had had a particularly terrible argument, and the old man burst into my room in a tiff. I was laying awake, staring at the ceiling. He didn't say a word to me while he rifled through my desk looking for my cigarettes.
"'Coulda just divorced her," I said.
Dad sat next to me, spared a withering glance, and lit the cigarette.
"But, no," I continued. "You just had to cheat on her."
"Shut it, you," Dad said, blowing rings of blueish smoke. "I don't know what happened. She wasn't supposed to find out."
"She was bound to find out eventually. I mean, you did manage to get this one knocked up."
Dad shook his head, took a deep drag, and sighed. "And there's another headache. I'm going to go out. Do me a favor and make sure Leanne doesn't off herself, alright?"
I shrugged and, just like that, dad was gone. Lucas was headstrong and independent. Two excellent qualities for a businessman, but not for a husband. From outside, I heard the roar of an engine coming to life, the skid of rubber on asphalt, and then silence. I stayed on my bed for a few more minutes, staring at the ceiling, thinking about nothing in particular, before I forced myself onto my feet to make my way to the kitchen. Passing the bedroom dad used to share with Leanne—since the arguing started he had been sleeping in one of the guest rooms—I heard muted sobs.
Leanne was sitting on the edge of the bed, a perfect picture of modern day misery. Her long black hair was unkempt, hanging wildly down her back. She wore a loose tank top and a pair of comfortable shorts. Her shoulders shook as she cried and she covered her eyes to catch the tears. At this point I'd like to remind you that my mind is wired a bit differently than others. Standing at the entrance to the room, watching her breasts bounce freely in her tank top with each sob, blood began flowing to my dick.
Leanne was far from a model. Back when she and my father had gotten married, she was moderately attractive. Her youthful body was petite, tight, and wonderfully fit, but now, after getting older and giving birth to my half-sister, Tony, Leanne was more flab than fab. She was by no means fat, and was still quite beautiful, she simply had a healthy amount of flesh that I personally found attractive. Directly following my psychotic break, in my early twenties after I had been pulled back from the brink of total self-destruction, I had started seeing Leanne in directly sexual light and spying on her and my father whenever they made love.
Looking back, I should have known that the relationship was doomed to fail. Leanne had large, black areolae, firm nipples, and a lightly trimmed bush. My father was, and still is, incredibly fit. I knelt in the closet, naked from the waist down, and watched as he pierced Leanne with his stiff cock. Their sex was different than any I had seen before. Leanne had wanted slow, intimate, lovemaking. The sort of vanilla sex you would expect a husband and wife to have. Dad had wanted more. From my perspective, it was incredibly hot. I stroked my cock, smearing pre-cum over my shaft and palm, while I watched them rut. Dad was unsatisfied, unable to break through Leanne's resistance, but eventually he got himself off due to the sheer physical pleasure of being inside of her tight pussy. I spurted cum over the carpet as dad whipped out his cock and sprayed his jizz on Leanne's face. Then, I sat back and toyed with my softening wood while she argued with him for not finishing inside her.
Watching her sit there, crying, I remembered all the other times I had spied on her. It had been difficult, I admit. She nearly always remembered to lock the doors while she showered and changed. Still, I felt a closeness to her. Leanne wasn't particularly affectionate, but she had treated me well over the years. I dreamed of joining her in the shower, spreading her fat cheeks, and ramming my cock into her tight little pussy.
"Lee? Is everything alright?"
Leanne started. She wiped her eyes hurriedly and spoke in a shaky voice. "Oh! Roy, you're home. I thought you would be at the office today. Did you eat? I made sure to cook today."
"Why don't you just leave, Lee?"
"Excuse me?"
"Both of you aren't exactly quiet. I know the ultimatum he gave you. Either accept his actions or leave. He's still fucking all his women, including the one he knocked up, and you obviously don't like it. Why don't you leave?"
Leanne bit her lip. She glared at me with red eyes that leaked tears. "This has nothing to do with you, Roy. It's none of your business."
"Be that as it may, it's difficult to pretend nothing is going on when I have to deal with the two of you screaming at each other at all hours of the night. You guys are lucky Tony is away at college. At least he doesn't have to deal with all this nonsense."
"I..." Leanne tried to speak, and broke out in fresh sobs. I rolled my eyes, crossed the room and sat on the bed next to her. I wrapped my arms around her and she allowed herself to be pulled close to me. I felt her hot tears on my chest. Looking down, I got a clear view of her delicious breasts. The scent of her wild hair teased my nose, filled my lungs, and enflamed my lust. My dick got hard, and I began rubbing her shoulders gently.
"Just leave," I said.
Leanne gathered herself and pushed me away. "I may not be your mother, but I'm still your parent. A son has no right to get involved in his parents' romantic life. You just go. Eat and enjoy your time off. I'll be fine."
