My dad was a mean old bastard and tight as a duck's arse, as they say.
I think his favourite phrase was "No, you are not....." and it was dished out to all and sundry -- especially his family. Perhaps he was the same at work, I don't know, but it was his own fault I think -- stuck in a rut in one menial factory job for all his life....
Once I'd got into my teens, I realised just how mean he was because until then I'd been quite happy playing with basic toys; toy cars and soldiers and animals and such which I could usually find at jumble sales. Going to jumble sales actually became something of a habit of mine although I sometimes wondered if I wasn't the youngest person in the queue -- most of the other people seemed to be really old. But as a mine of cheap toys, jumble sales were my lifeline.
But once I started to grow up a bit and need more sophisticated things, life became more difficult.
An Atari computer -- hah -- no chance! (Mind you, that really would have been something -- computers for kids hadn't taken off yet) Some nice clothes and shoes -- you're joking! And as for a half-way decent bike -- on yours! And those were just some of the things that I didn't get......damn it -- I didn't even see just a topless picture of a woman until I was 16 and then I had to borrow the magazine from a pal!
And then there was my brother Ian who was in the same boat. He was a few years younger than me so at least he could have my cast-offs, for what they were worth, poor fella. But once he was old enough to be trusted with just me, he and I would unite to get the best from the jumble sales.
Food was nearly as hard to come by too -- dad didn't believe in three square meals and all that. I'm sure we lived on bread, potatoes and not much else; a decent steak was only to be viewed from a distance in the butcher's window.
Poor Mum suffered as we did although in retrospect why she didn't divorce him and send him on his way I don't know -- but love has some strange habits. I guess that she must have loved him somehow -- well, he did father us two children so there must have been some connection.....!
Actually, Mum soon started to join us boys at jumble sales. She'd buy dresses and shirts and such and then laboriously unpick them and use the material to make clothes for herself -- and for us, for that matter and she became quite adept at needlework.
It was all hard graft and very little cheer as we grew up. Even leaving school and going to college didn't help much and I actually ended up selling some of my toys to buy college equipment and books. Thank heavens I'd looked after my toys -- now many of them were collectable and were worth a few pounds. (Wish I'd still got them -- they'd be worth a bomb now!)
Finally however college was over and I was free -- at 18, free to vote, free to find a job, which I did immediately, thank heavens and then free to move out into my own place. Ok -- it was only into a bed-sit to start, but by practicing a bit of dad's thrift, within just a few years I'd built up enough to afford to buy a small house of my own. It helped that I was bright and good at learning (or so my boss said) and promotion was heaped upon promotion as time passed.
"You'll go places, Chris," my boss said, "One day we won't be able to pay you enough!"
Computer technology was growing fast in those days, and this was back in the mid 1980s in England and it had caught my attention even before I went to college -- so I'd opted to take a 'new' course in computer logic and other esoteric computing things (too confusing to discuss here) and soon I'd acquired a really good knowledge of the inner workings of those machines.
Which was why, in the Research & Development Department of our company, I was considered as a whiz-kid although truthfully, I'd only begun to learn....there was so much to find out about. Not that I cared about those nuances -- what was more important was that my salary was climbing rapidly and my bank balance was ever more healthy as I continued to use Dad's notions of waste not, want not......but not to his extremes.
By the time I was 25 I was well set. I'd just bought my first decent car; I'd sold my old house for a good price and had moved on to something much better (but by changing suburbs the house was at much the same price) and I'd taken up doing work-outs at the gym -- something my dad always said was just for the posh nobs. Silly old fool!
The work-outs were the best medicine I could have found as I changed from a fairly skinny individual into what was often called 'a hunk'. Within a few years I went from a scrawny one hundred and forty pounds to a powerful one hundred and seventy pounds, with muscles to match; a washboard stomach and biceps fit to break out of any t-shirt. I also had my hair cut professionally -- no longer going to the corner barber whose pudding-basin cuts were so common in the area. And somehow I'd grown taller too -- I was now 6'2" and felt on top of the world. In the five years after I left home I changed one hundred percent!
Needless to say, the girls soon found me -- or let's put it this way, when I went out I didn't have to go hunting for a bit of skirt -- they came hunting for me! In those five years I must have bedded hundreds of girls and young women -- some lovely, others not so wonderful.
One I remember in particular -- actually I remember her body but not her name -- she really got me going. If anyone could rouse my cock from its slumber, she could! She had long straight dark hair, not quite black but deep brown. She had long slim legs that could have sold a million pairs of stockings and the most impressive breasts I'd ever come across. Actually, cum across would be more accurate!
But the memory of her that hangs in my mind most vividly is of her lying, smiling and licking her pretty lips, on my clean white sheets with her hair splayed out across the pillows. Oh yes -- her gorgeous body was there too; legs and arms open to welcome me -- but it was just the vision of her hair that got me. I've no hair fetish, if anything I'm a breast man -- but that particular memory glows bright in my mind.
Oh yes -- she was a bloody good fuck too; all action, that woman.....she was a real hottie. But she was another who passed in the night -- we had some good times and then we both moved on and somehow I never got landed with anyone steadily. Perhaps I was too busy with my work -- perhaps I just didn't meet the right kind of woman......
Away from my love life, although I still visited home as often as I could -- I'd moved some 30 miles away; I didn't flaunt my rising status to the family. My brother would have been completely jealous; my mother would have been saddened that she had none of my 'riches' and dad -- well, dad would probably have hit the roof and accused me of being a snob!
So, when I visited, I'd park the car nearby and walk, saying that I'd caught the bus and if I brought gifts they were always small ones, although I longed to bring my mother some little luxuries. Ok -- Mum could see the changes in my appearance but she kept quiet, apart from admiring glances at me that set my heart and penis jumping!
She (my Mum was Sandra) and I were best friends really -- we confided in each other (although I didn't let on about my comparative wealth and she didn't tell me about her sex life) and whenever I called to see them, it was a perfunctory 'hello' to my dad and then I'd settle down with Mum. My brother was seldom around -- I don't blame him for getting out whenever possible.....so Mum and I usually had peace together. Sometimes that was all we wanted -- peace -- sometimes we chattered non-stop but together we were happy.
Mum, under all the sadness and dowdiness, was a real beauty -- you could tell. Her deep auburn hair was thick and lustrous; her teeth were even and white, her eyes were warm and dark -- 'come to bed eyes' they were. As teenagers at school, that's what we used to call her kind of eyes -- they were pools of sexual darkness to fall into -- so inviting.
It was almost inevitable therefore that whenever I looked into Mum's eyes, my cock would lurch into action and sitting close together I'd have to use books, cushions or my hands time after time as my cock throbbed into life and stirred in my trousers.
Oddly, an old pop song would instantly play at moments like that....."Just One Look" by the Hollies, I think -- a conditioned response perhaps, but appropriate.
I was sure that Mum was aware of my aroused condition once in a while but she never said or did anything except perhaps to cuddle up a bit closer to me, it seemed.
In the meanwhile, my career blossomed. Two other guys from the R & D department teamed up with me and we started our own company developing ever more intricate computer components -- and we were soon inundated with work......and money! I was able to pay off much of my mortgage and I bought myself a better car and I was doing really well -- a far cry from my early days.
And then dad's health declined and he went from being a somewhat bombastic bullying tyrant to a weak and crumbling mouse, crying out for our help and comfort. But I have to be honest and say that apart from Mum doing 'her duty', from the rest of us he got what he'd dished out -- just about nothing. Finally he was reduced to a shell on his deathbed and there he lay for some six months, slowly withering away until peace fell on us all.
I was at my home when dad died and the first thing I knew about it was when I rang Mum to ask if I could come over to visit. I'd obviously known that dad was sinking but I didn't think any more of it. So I was shocked when Mum told me the news but she also told me that she'd already had him cremated -- and that she'd taken pleasure in throwing his ashes out with the rubbish, of all things! I wish I'd been there to see that because I think I would have done the same.....and as for missing his cremation -- so what!
Things changed immediately.
At least dad had some half-way decent insurance and although Mum still wasn't rich, she was at least able to splash out a bit now -- as well as chuck out much of the dowdy furniture and stuff. I suppose she must have blown a few thousand on new stuff -- but hell, she deserved it. But she still had to work for a living -- things didn't change that much and anyway, Mum's work as a District Nurse was too important to her.
I visited mum a few times while she was rearranging her life and it was good to see her activities -- she was reinvigorated and finally happy too.
