It’s 1991. A bright autumn day. I am 19 years old and my world is spinning, about to be turned upside down in both a very visible manner and in a far more secret and private way.
I was returning from a hospital visit to see my father. Most of the visit is now a blur in my mind, the explanations of a failing body lost on my non-scientific mind. But I do remember the consultant taking us to one side and telling us that there was little left to be done, that it was all palliative care from here on in and the fight would be done in two to three weeks time.
We walked silently back to the car. I admired my step mother's composure during that difficult conversation, but now she was walking silently, unblinking and staring straight ahead, the occasional sobbing sound coming from the back of her throat. She had been in our lives for 13 years, and had moved in with my dad and me eleven years previously. They got married shortly after that. I had decided to stay with them and live in the UK after my birth mother had emigrated to Australia with my two younger siblings to be with her new husband. It was just the three of us as I was growing up, and she was as much a mother to me as my own, more in fact. We looked like a natural family. We were all tall people. My father was 6'2" and she was 5'11". I had grown to be as tall as my father and was like him in so many ways. He had filled out in later years, but I was still young and possessed an athletic frame and a toned six pack on my stomach.
I stood back and watched her fumble in her purse and struggle with finding the lock in the car door with the key. A widow at 44. It was barely believable. Yes, she was twelve years his junior, but here stood a woman in her prime. Her tall, willowy frame and size 12 gym-toned body set off by perfectly coiffured shoulder length platinum blonde hair. I couldn’t bear to think of her light green eyes filling with tears and the deep sobs which would tumble over her Ruby lips when we were away from the public gaze of the hospital car park and back home again. Her efforts to look smart and as normal as possible had been been lost on my father who was deep in a sleepy coma for our whole visit. She stood by the car in a cream linen jacket, and beige knee-length skirt, tan stockings and brown 2” kitten heels. Her soft white blouse open at the neck, drawing your eye to her décolletage with a simple string of pearls. As I moved closer to my door of the car, I noticed that under her linen jacket and white blouse, her full rounded breasts were starting to heave heavily as the sobs were growing heavier and more audible.
The car ride was largely silent. Her eyes were watering now and the sobs were still more audible. My eyes wandered around, outside the car mostly, watching things pass by but not taking anything in. Occasionally my eye was drawn to the way her long spidery fingers caressed the gear stick between us and the way her skirt moved up over her knee and started to ascend her thigh as her long legs stretch to press the pedals on the car.
I got to the front door first, opened it and unset the alarm. It didn't take three seconds from the door being closed for the avalanche of tears to fall from us both. We both had our moment of crying alone, and then came together in a tight embrace, sobbing hard... her into my chest and me into her hair and shoulder.
We held the embrace for a good few minutes. It felt like hours. Sobbing into each other, not speaking coherent words, just communicating through sobs. We were riveted to the spot in the hallway, I could feel her chest heaving against mine. Suddenly, I was very conscious of the sensation of her breasts moving against my chest, feeling the hardness of the wiring and the mild roughness of the lace pushing from under her silky blouse and through my own shirt.
Through the tears, I could smell her soft scent, sprayed on sparingly and delicately as normal, and the freshness of her hair, which had been shampooed and conditioned only just before we'd left the house two and a half hours earlier. Looking back on the events of that afternoon now, years later, I am sure that I also sensed the aroma of arousal. Whether it was me or her, or just a figment of my imagination, I cannot be sure.
And then it happened. She dropped her right hand from my shoulder to my pectoral muscles and started rubbing slowly, circling my chest muscles with a long deliberate finger. I hesitated, not understanding at first, but then my face went from being buried in her shoulder, sobbing, to placed on her face, kissing her hard, both of us emitting little sobs from time to time. The kissing became more passionate, as she put her hands on the back of my head and pulled my face onto hers. My tongue pushed easily inside her mouth, her lips giving way and inviting me in to seek out her own tongue. Our tongues met and tangled with each other as we pushed them hard against each other.
Her arms went round my back and pulled me close in. I had to part my feet slightly to regain my balance and my right hand went instinctively to her buttocks in order to steady myself. There was no resistance to me putting it there as the kissing became harder and more intense, so I started to gently rub her right breast through the material of her jacket, blouse and bra with my left hand. I suddenly became intensely aware of the heat we were generating between us.
Still locked in an embrace and kissing each other hard, we seemed to tango to the foot of the stairs. Once there, she sat down about four or five steps up. We were still holding an embrace, so I went most of the way with her, still kissing. I let her sit there and pulled back, thinking that our intimate time had come to an end, but then I saw her knees start to move apart and watching her rolling up the hem of her skirt. Almost in silent obedience, I dropped to my knees and placed my head between her thighs, licking at her crotch through the material of her pantyhose and her white lacy g string. My hands were cupping under her thighs, supporting her as she pulled her skirt up around her waist.
Without asking permission, I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her pantyhose and g-string together and rolled them down in a fast tugging motion. She lifted her bottom from the step to accommodate my motion, and I pulled them down over her thighs. Momentarily, I was stunned by the sight of a rich, lush and thick patch of dark brown hair at the top of her thighs. I'd had sex with plenty of young naturally blond women whose pubic mound was adorned by soft, wispy fair hair. I was confused to see the mound of a brunette in front of me and it took a few seconds to compute that this was her natural hair colour.
Having got over that small shock, I removed her shoes and rolled her pantyhose and panties off her feet. Briefly, I returned my face between her thighs and licked at her soft warm vagina. I noticed immediately how heavily moistened it was and that her lips had already started to swell significantly and that her vagina was beginning to open entirely of its own accord. I stood, removed my jeans and boxers and stood in front of her with a fully erect penis, straining at the foreskin and ready to be used.
She signalled her readiness by lifting her bottom off the stairs again and thrusting her pelvis towards me slightly. I knelt on the steps in front of her and my penis easily found her opening and slid inside her. She grunted as she received me, her vaginal muscles giving way to my broad girth. I took her thighs and pushed them back against her, almost folding her double. As she made more natural lubricant for us, I felt her vagina giving way more against my pushing. I looked down, focussing on my penis going deeper inside and withdrawing to re-enter again. This was all taking place against a backdrop of moaning and sobbing, each of which were getting louder as my thrusting grew more intent.
Still inside her, I was holding her hands high above her head on a step, her body laid prone on the stairs in front of me, kissing the soft tight skin on her throat and décolletage as far as her open blouse would allow me. Suddenly my penis exploded in an almighty orgasm which shot the produce of two weeks without masturbation inside of her. I looked at the step she was sat on and saw a pool of semen leaking from her swollen, moist and satisfied vagina.
It hadn't been anything like lovemaking. It had been dark, urgent sex, fulfilling deep and Neanderthal urges in us both.
She sat bolt upright, the sobs returning to her throat now with more urgency. She gesticulated to her tights, panties and shoes, which I handed to her. She got up without a word, and with those deep sobs still in her throat, she started to ascend the stairs. Her hair was tousled and her skirt still hooked up around her waist as she walked. As she disappears up the stairs, I watched the trickle of my semen leave her vagina, running down her thigh and onto the back of her calf.
I heard the bedroom door close softly followed by the indescribable sound of wailing.
