Man of the House Ch. 02: Homecoming

When I finally arrived home that summer I couldn't have been more tired. My first year of college had flown by, but dealing with my overly dramatic, narcissistic parents was killing me. I'd never really thought of them as narcissists before, but after taking a couple psychology classes and thinking I could diagnose anyone anywhere, I figured them both to be narcissists, intent on fulfilling their own desires at any given time, no matter who it hurt.

The strange thing about narcissists, is that they can't even conceptualize they are truly hurting another person. That person is simply a foil to their great and important story. That person is just another tool on their way to self-gratification. It's sick and I was done caring about what shitty parents I had when I walked through the door of my childhood home, the June after my freshmen year at college.

"Hellllloooo," I said laconically, throwing my bags on the ground and expecting the usual raucous welcome. Nothing.

I knew my father was in Atlanta, doing a "summer lecture series," which probably meant doing some girl enrolled in one of his lecture classes for the summer. At least that's what my mom told me when she'd call up drunk and lonesome all 2nd semester. Either way, I knew he wasn't home. My mom was probably home, as he BMW X5 was in the driveway, but I didn't hear her, which was unusual as she should have been expecting me. Normally, I'd be worried, but after all of the marital turmoil she'd been drinking more, going out less, getting dressed, seemingly just to Skype with me. She was lonely.

"Mommmmmm," I yelled, But again. Nothing.

I walked up the stairs slowly, thinking that maybe something weird was going on, but trying not to believe it. I had on a pair of black swim trunks and a white v-neck shirt, my blue eyes still hidden behind dark glasses. I tiptoed up the stairs and took off my glasses when I reached the top.

I heard something coming from the 2nd bedroom, my room, the one she said we were going to rip apart and turn into a sauna and work out room. Something "we can all use" she'd said. Yea right, I thought, something you will use and, again, I will be the one who loses out. With that thought in mind, I picked up my pace and walked toward the second bedroom at the end of the hallway.

The door was slightly ajar and I was just about to burst in, push the door open and deliver an impassioned speech about my rights and how it's my bedroom and how I needed to be listened to, when I heard what sounded like crying on the other side of the door. I took a step back and almost pushed the door open when I heard between tears a loud, visceral, shaking groan, that only a grown woman can make. I shuddered and my cock pulsed at the animalistic sound. I heard the bed creak and the groan turned softer and into a light moan.

"mmm...mhmmm..mhmm." she let out, as my old bed creaked back and forth.

I couldn't believe my ears. She has the whole fucking house to herself and here she is in...my bedroom...masturbating. OMG I couldn't even think it, my mother masturbating, and in my bedroom. The whole thing was a lot to take on after being in the house for about 2 minutes, so I took another step back and surveyed the situation.

"mmmhmmm...hmm..hmm..hmm..hmm.hmm...ohhhhhh yessss," her groans and moans were quickening, the rocking creaked the bed and it sounded like it was going to crack. Fuck! Do I just walk away, will she hear me? Should I put a stop to this, I mean it's my room, WTF!? Ughhh!

I froze. I didn't do anything. I listened.

"hmm..hmm..hmm..oh yea, fuck your sluts, Bob, you fuck your sluts, I'll get mine..mmm..mhm..hmm...hmm...hmm..oh YES AN..!" She screamed.

Creaking, groaning, angry, vindictive sexual energy swirled around my childhood bedroom. My mother releasing her anger at the world, at my father, at herself, on my childhood bed. I didn't know what to do, so I tiptoed back downstairs, hearing her a bit fainter with each movement. I walked carefully back down the through the entryway and opened the front door, stepping back outside.

I rang the doorbell 10 times at least. I knocked as loud as you can knock, I rang the bell again and then I called her phone. I didn't know what else to do, but I knew I couldn't hear those sounds anymore, not coming from that person, sitting in that place, doing those things on my childhood bed.

I opened the door. I stepped through. I tried to pretend everything was okay, that I was just coming home to a loving household, with a loving mother, who would welcome me and hear about my drive from college.

"Mommm," I yelled, louder than I'd ever yelled in the house before.

I could sense the creaking had stopped, the house was eerily quiet.

"AN...ANDY is that YOU!?" She yelled from the second bedroom, no doubt still in the shudder of orgasm, her face wet and dripping, her long black hair probably sticking to her forehead. I

"I'm hommmeee," I yelled, with a bit of angst and resentment pouring through.

I knew she'd be fumbling across the bed, trying to get it not to creak. Lord only knows what she was wearing, or not wearing, while she was on that bed. My bed. My covers, which would soon enough be torn down to make way for her sauna. I knew she'd be throwing on a bathrobe, probably a silk, black bathrobe. Her 36DD breasts, a gift from my father on her 50th bday, would no doubt be pushed tightly into a sports bra and wrapped hastily behind the silk robe. I doubt if she'd take the time to put panties on, if she didn't have them on already. Her legs were no doubt perfectly smooth and shaven and like any good Yoga instructor, even at 52, her body was tight, tense and taut.

I walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Bottles of chilled white wine, grapes and fruit slices, some milk and a few leftovers were scattered throughout. I took out the milk, checked the date and poured it into a glass.

I was drinking the glass of milk when she arrived at the bottom of the stairs and called out my name.

"Andy," She yelled like an excited school girl.

"You're home, oh, you're finally home," She squealed.

My mother ran over to when I was standing and hugged me tightly like I was a little kid home from his 1st day of school. I put the milk down, smiled and hugged her back. I'd missed her and hadn't let myself just be glad to see my mom. I returned her hug and felt her push her breasts tightly to my chest. I knew she still wasn't used to them and probably didn't know how sexual it was to have huge tits with still hard nipples pushed up against your chest. Her nipples were large and pushing into my chest as she squeezed. I didn't say anything and squeezed tighter. I could smell her sweat, like she'd been working out, her hair still misty with dew from her brow.

"We're you working out, mom?" I asked innocently, relieved to pull away from the hug that wasn't ending.

"Oh, uh, well, yes, sweetie, I was working out in the, well, the new workout room, haha, you're old room," she said with a smile, as she turned away from me, probably out of shame or guilt, who knows. Her face would never redden as it should on account of her narcissism. It overruled every other emotion. It had always been like that and I couldn't imagine it being any different now.

She walked into the bathroom just off the kitchen, as vain as the day is long, and no doubt was fixing up her makeup when she said,

"So what are your plans this summer, Andy? I have a few things that I'd like you to do?"

-----End of Chapter 2------