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.
Anyway, the next time I decided to call up to see if it would be ok to visit, Mum was delighted to hear from me.
"Of course you're welcome," she said happily, "Any time darling -- you should know that!"
"Anything I can get you? " I asked as I always liked to bring a little gift of some kind.
"Well, what would be nice would be if you could bring over a small bottle of champagne!" said Mum, to my complete surprise, "We really ought to celebrate our new freedom!"
Well, I went along with that thought and agreeing with her that I'd be over on Saturday I remembered to pick up a decent bottle at the supermarket. Nothing too grand, but a champagne worth drinking and a bottle that I knew was well out of Mum's ordinary range, financially.
It was when I arrived that I got the biggest surprise. I hadn't seen Mum for almost a month due to one thing and another -- and there she was, arms outstretched to greet me. That alone was different to when dad was alive, but that was just one change.
The other changes were in Mum herself. Gone were her old rags and now her real persona shone out -- she looked gorgeous and radiant! She'd had her hair done and although the styling was still much the same it looked good -- professionally good. She was lightly made up too, her make up enhancing her cheeks, her fabulous dark eyes and her full lips which were now a delightful shade of soft red. Her clothes -- she'd lost years -- she looked young again in a pretty, almost girlish floral summer dress that showed off not just her trim waist but her sexy legs and her, oh God, I have to say it -- her fucking gorgeous tits!
The cut of the dress made her bust stand out proudly -- it simply called your attention to her breasts -- a great design!
And her top was open enough to show off her cleavage; a smooth velvety valley simply designed to slide my engorged -- no -- stop it!
I was getting hard already!
I've no idea what size she was but I'd guess at perhaps 38D or thereabouts and whatever bra she was wearing enhanced her breasts beautifully. As kids we used to refer to the 'wild west' bra that would 'round 'em up and head 'em out' -- and that's exactly what her bra did for her.
Secretly I'd always lusted after her tits but had never been able to view her breasts unclad, but just being near her wonderfully displayed mammaries was enough to get everything racing. The nearest I'd ever come to seeing her naked breasts would be when she wore a blouse occasionally and there was a hint of cleavage on show -- only a hint, mind you, thanks to dad. But she was different now!
"Muuuuum!" I cried as we met and kissed and hugged each other, "Oh Muuuuum, you look wonderful -- you're just so pretty! You're perfect!"
"Thank you darling," she crooned in my ear; her generous breasts pressing into my chest, "I knew you'd like to see me done up."
I held her out at arms length and looked her up and down and Mum blushed.
"Stop it," she said playfully, "Stop undressing me!"
How the hell did she know that's what I was doing in my mind!! It was my turn to blush.
