A/N -- Hello, dear readers of Literotica. So I'm sure those of you who either follow me, or at least read my works, have noticed by now that most of my stories share a similar setting (mostly Australia, occasionally UK). In addition to the plot and erotica, I might sometimes add a little bit of history regarding my homeland or perhaps social commentary about issues that affect my homeland as I realise the majority of people here are likely not from where I was born (I've seen a couple of usernames that suggest people are though!) All my works are pure fiction and fantasy, but there is perhaps a little bit of fact within.
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I never knew my mother. The mother who gave birth to me, at least. Despite modern medicine, the low child mortality, the fact pregnancy and birthing procedure was far safer than even fifty years ago, women could still have complications that resulted in the death of one or even both during the birthing process. Unfortunately, my mother was one of the unfortunate few. They could save me, but they couldn't save my mother. She passed away on the operating table.
The woman I called 'Mum' obviously wasn't my birth mother, knowing from a young age that we looked rather different when I saw photos of the family. My father raised me alone for the first couple of years of my life before he met who I called Mum. But I guess I should explain just a tiny part of our homeland's history. Looking back at it now, it's causes many to cringe with embarrassment.
Until 1973, Australia had in law what it called the 'White Australia Policy'. It was basically an immigration restriction act that gave preference to British people during the first half of the twentieth century. After World War II, immigration was opened up to white, non-British people, mostly Italians and Greeks, with restrictions against most of the globe remaining, though through to the sixties, things did slowly change. It was only with the Whitlam Government in 1973 that race was no longer to be regarded as a component for immigration, and in 1975, the 'Racial Discrimination Act' made selection based on racial criteria illegal.
Since that day, Australia has become an incredibly multicultural society, though in those early years, those immigrating from Asia still suffered horrific racism. The first mass immigration of non-white people was from Vietnam, escaping at the conclusion of the Vietnam War, but people were soon arriving from all over Asia and beyond to take the opportunities that were offered as the country finally opened itself up to the world.
And that's how my father met my mother. She arrived with her family from Japan in the late 1970s, and met my father only a couple of years after I was born in the early 1980s. There was a slight age difference, no more than five years between the pair, but father often told me he was smitten with Mum the first time they laid eyes on each other. My father had been left a single young father after my birth mother died, a difficult proposition in early 1980s Australia, though thankfully he had his parents to help.
I was two when my father and woman I'd later call 'Mum' met. Her name was Noriko, and even when I was two or three, I thought she was a very pretty lady, and I liked her immediately, simply because she smiled all the time, she always smelled nice, and she was simply friendly with me. I think she liked me as I immediately liked her in return. My father slowly introduced her into my life, aware that she became a regular fixture in the house. By the time I was at primary school, they had married, she had adopted me as her own child, and we lived as a happy little family in the western suburbs of Sydney.
Mum and Dad had their own child when I was six years old, a daughter they christened Hanako, though everyone eventually just called her Hana. My sister looked like my mother, and as I grew up, she taught my sister about her homeland, and the day I sat down and asked to do the same as my sister, it made Mum cry, and I was soon bilingual like my Mum and sister. It was always amusing, later in life, when I'd break out into fluent Japanese with people... My father tried, but he found it a little more difficult, though Mum loved the fact he simply cared enough to try.
Having a six to seven year gap between children wasn't too awkward. In fact, I think it made life easier for my parents. Once I was a teenager, they asked if I didn't mind the occasional babysit of my sister so they could escape for a night. I didn't mind, as my sister was a gorgeous little kid, well-mannered and polite, and she loved me to bits. I helped her with homework, walked her to and from school every day, and generally made sure she was never bothered by people, particularly narrow minded dickheads who couldn't accept the subtle changes to society thanks to immigration. Even in my later teen years, when most older brothers might have been annoyed by it, I never let it show if she did get on my nerves slightly. She was always greeted with a smile, and the one real joy in the household was hearing her giggle. Giggling would be mixed with squealing if I caught and tickled her.
"Your sister loves you a lot," Mum would tell me often.
"I love my sister, Mum. She's the cutest little thing in the world."
"But you still want to leave?"
I'd told my parents that, once I'd graduated high school, I was going to go work. And with the resources boom starting to take off in the late 90s into the early 00s, going into the mining sector was almost a guarantee at making plenty of dollars. "I've done a lot of research, Mum. I go work hard for a few years, then I can look into something else. And I know going into this sector, while doing further study and certificates in other fields, will really open up further opportunities. Maybe or even hopefully overseas."
"You are desperate to leave?" Mum asked softly.
She dabbed at her eyes. I hugged her immediately. "Not desperate, Mum, but I have to make my own way in life. You know what I mean?"
"I understand, Mark. We will miss you, your father and I, but your sister..."
"I'm not sure how to explain it to a soon to be twelve-year-old girl who seems to worship her older brother."
Mum took my hand. "Just spend as much time as you can with her before you leave."
"I promise, Mum."
She smiled. "You're a good boy. I'm proud, and I know your mother would be too."
"Thanks, Mum."
Mum always made sure a picture or two of my birth mother was placed around the house. Though my father had re-married and the grief was long in the distant past, Mum made sure she was always remembered in the house. We would celebrate her birthday, remember the day she passed away, and she made sure I would go see her grave at least once every so often. She would go with me every time, and we took my sister once she was old enough to explain who my birth mother was and what happened, at least in gentle terms.
No wonder my father loved her so much, and it's why I didn't just love but adored the hell out of her in return. The first time I'd called her Mum, before she'd even adopted me, she'd smiled and cried at the same time, because that was the sign of what I thought of her and what she meant to me. I'd been her son for as long as I could remember.
