I was nineteen and in my first year of college. I still lived at home with my parents. We didn't have a lot of money so living at home and working part-time while attending the local college had been my best option. At least, I was able to pay for my schooling and contribute a little money to the family budget.
Dad had never permitted Mom to get a job even though she had earned a degree in accounting when she graduated from college. Dad had always said no wife of his would ever work outside the home. He was the bread winner in the family. He made all the major decisions. I never really understood his attitude about that. I am sure our lives or at least our finances would have been considerably better over the years had there been two incomes.
Mom and Dad always seemed to get along pretty well and I thought their sex life must have been OK. I had often heard "night noises" coming from their bedroom as I was growing up. I had noticed, however, that during the past year or so those noises seemed to have become less frequent as well as of shorter duration.
Mom was still a very attractive woman and my friends often called her a milf. Of course, this angered me somewhat but I shook it off because I thought the same thing about some of their moms. Mom was only 39 so she was far from being considered "over the hill." She didn't go the gym or to a fitness center which I suppose was due to our somewhat limited resources. However, she did stay fit by jogging in the mornings and working out at home. She kept herself in very good physical condition, unlike my dad whose only form of exercise seemed to be beer can arm curls.
My mom, whose name was Sandy, was not super model beautiful but her face was very pretty and she had a dazzling smile. Her personality was bubbly almost to the point of effervescence. She had big expressive brown eyes which seemed to shimmer when she smiled. Her light brown hair was medium length which fell just below her shoulders but she normally wore it in a pony tail which made her appear much younger. Her breasts were not small but neither were they massive. She had nicely flared hips with an ass which was to die for and her legs were long and quite shapely. I suppose that was due to her daily routine of jogging and working out. Had she not been my mother I am sure I would have thought she was a milf. There is no doubt that many men and teenage boys thought she was hot, admittedly, including myself though I did not like to say it since she was my mother.
Upon entering the house one night after work, I could hear my parents yelling and screaming at each other. They were having yet another of their frequent fights. I decided to go get a hamburger rather than enter their zone of conflict having learned it was best to allow these things to run their course. Such episodes were not new. They were merely more frequent lately.
As I was about to leave, I heard my Dad say, "Fuck you, you little frizzy ass bitch. I don't care what you think. I'm the man of this house and I'll do as I damn well please. I'm leaving your pathetic ass."
Mom replied in a very tearful voice, "Please, Robert, don't leave. I'm so sorry. I'll change; I promise I will."
Dad seemed to constantly criticize her over what seemed to me to rather petty things such as what she had cooked for dinner or why his favorite shirt which he had worn the day before was not washed and hanging in his closet.
"Shut the fuck up cunt, I'm out of here. You should be more of a slut and then you might be at least half a woman. Good fucking bye," Dad yelled back at her.
I almost stayed but as I had heard their heated arguments before which were usually over by the next morning, I went to my car and drove away. I drove around for a while before finally stopping for a hamburger and fries. I couldn't imagine what had caused the uproar at home but I wanted to give it a little time to blow over before I returned. I wasn't physically afraid of my father or intimidated by him but I did not want to cause him give my mother any reasons for concern.
When I arrived at home about two hours later, the lights inside the house were off so I thought Mom and Dad must have ended their disagreement and gone to bed. Then I noticed Dad's truck was not in the driveway.
I slipped inside as quietly as I could but the door squeaked as soon as I opened it. I heard Mom ask, "Steven, is that you?"
"Yes, Mom. I'm sorry I'm so late. A couple of guys from work wanted to go out for burgers after we finished work so I went with them. I guess I should have called to tell you."
The light in the kitchen flicked on and Mom said, "It's OK, sweetie. Can we talk for a few minutes?"
"Sure, just give me a minute to put my stuff in my room," I answered trying to act as if I didn't know anything was wrong.
I put my things away and went back to the kitchen. I could see she had been crying so I asked, "Is anything wrong, Mom? Your eyes look as if you were crying. Where's Dad?"
"He's not here. That's why I want to talk to you," she said.
"He's not here, where is he?" I asked as if I was surprised.
"I don't know," she said. "We had a fight and he said he was leaving."
"It must have been some fight for him to do that," I answered. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"
