Chapter 7

June 10, 2017

Dear Ms. Diary,

This week, Mom has sent nearly a text a day, missing only today, with two each “Y” and “N.” Rhee will be coming over shortly to spend the night, and I’m getting wet thinking about what we’ll probably wind up doing. Ah, there is her dulcet voice, now. I’ll tell you about the rest of the night tomorrow.

[Added June 11]

Rhee and I were still in the kitchen when Dad and Mom got home from running errands, carrying grocery bags in. Dad was first in with many bags, so I waited until he’d put them on the island until I hugged him.

“Hi, Dad.”

He hugged me back, saying, “Hey, Cupcake.”

As I disengaged, Rhee walked up to him, saying “Hey” and then hugged him.

Dad hugged her, and said, “Hey, Brat, who invited you?”

[Ms. Diary, I have to explain that. In the time during which Rhee effectively lived here, that was Dad’s frequent line to Rhee when he came home to find her – still – here.]

Rhee gave him an extra squeeze for that; a typical reaction to her remembrance of those times, the bad and the good.

The four of us played Monopoly; Mom won, as per usual. I don’t know why we let her play. After the game was over and we’d had a late dessert of ice cream, Rhee and I went to bed. I started taking my shirt off as soon as we were in the stairwell heading up to my room.

“A little anxious, are we?”

“Uh, no, I’m just hot,” to which Rhee snorted. “Um, I meant that the house is hot.”

“Sure, girl. I believe you,” shot Rhee, “though you are hot.”

I blushed, fortunately as my head was still buried in my coming-off shirt. I hadn’t been wearing a bra, and Rhee took advantage and reached from behind me and grabbed my right breast.

“Who’s anxious?”

“I was just trying to see if your nips were hard. And since they are, I know that you are hot in two fashions.”

“That’s not fair, they weren’t hard before you molested me.”

“Rii-igght.”

We had reached my door, which I opened, entered, and then stood by the open door to let Rhee into the room. She headed toward my bed, grabbing the hem of her shirt. While her shirt was coming up over her head, I pushed her so that she’d fall on the bed. Rhee yelped and landed face first, whereupon I jumped on the bed and laid myself on top of her, reaching up to trap her head inside her shirt.

“Turnabout is fair play, babe.”

“Arrgggh, let me go, bitch.”

“For that...,” and I started tickling her pits. She gave a banshee squeal and started trying to get out from under me. Since she out-weighed me by 20 pounds and was stronger, to boot, it did not take her long. She got her shirt off, then rolled me over and attacked my belly, where she knows that I’m most ticklish. We were struggling back and forth across the bed, and were suddenly interrupted by...

“I love seeing the children rough-housing in bed. It brings back memories.”

We both sat bolt upright, mouths agape, staring at my Mom just outside the door. A scene flashed across my mind of Mom relating her “rough-housing” memory from when she was 14. I’ll just bet! Neither of us could get out a coherent word, but Mom continued.

“I came up to see if you two would like to go to brunch with us at Granny Brown’s.

[Granny Brown’s is our local diner, which serves a wicked breakfast.]

I looked at Rhee, who nodded, and replied to my mom, “Sure. What time?”

“How ‘bout we leave at 9?”

“Okay. We’ll try to drag our butts out of bed before then.”

“Okay, Dear. You two have fun,” Mom shot over her shoulder.

I looked over at Rhee, whose chin was back to hanging down. “Sorry about that. Mom thinks that she has a sense of humor.”

That got Rhee out of her stupor. “Oh, like you don’t think the same. Your mom has the same sense of humor that you do, Pot. Or, are you Kettle?”

“Oh, you’re so funny.”

“Umm, was your mom wearing only a t-shirt?”

That knocked me back. My mind re-played the mental videotape and I then responded, “Uh, maybe.”

“I thought that I saw her butt cheeks poking out briefly as she turned to go.”

My mind went racing. I have figured out in recent years that Mom rarely does anything with no purpose, and she is bright, so often has two, or even, three birds at which she aims her stones. Hmm, I thought. I wonder. We’ll have to check on that.

I brought my mind’s deviation to an end and responded, “That may be. What is she up to, now,” I asked, rhetorically.

Rhee shrugged her shoulders and asked, “What do you want to do? It’s still only 10.”

“How’s your mom? Is she still moping over that asshole at work?”

“I don’t think so, but she does get a little spacy at times, though I may not have noticed that, previously. We were talking about you guys coming to dinner tomorrow, and she got a little spacy then. Old fogeys; go figure.”

“Hmm,” I thought. “Is that data point number two? Tenuous, but...”

To keep Rhee from pondering what I was pondering or even asking me about it, I said, “Did you look at the last Barcelona video that I sent you? I tell you, Barca’s whole team, but especially the front line and midfielders can pass like ... I don’t know, but it’s just crazy. It’s sorta like they can read each other’s minds. And they seem to live for counter-attacks.”

“I know. We’d win state if we could pass even half as well. Hell, a third as well! Part of their passing skill, particularly in tiki taka, is, obviously, experience. Their skill at passing on counter-attacks, the passes to streakers, may be that they can see what the streaker’s options are at the same time as he does, though both Iniesta and Xavi seem to see them even before the runner does. I swear, those guys either have other sources of sight or they know their team members so well that they can usually predict what they’ll do in given situations. Messi is a great ... no, a spectacular forward, but I don’t think he’d have been quite so dominant without those two midfielders supporting him. I think that we, er..., you, should ask Coach to put together a whole bunch of clips of Barca’s passing and get her to get us practicing that sort of anticipation.”

“Hmm. That’s not a bad idea. Of course, you just want more goals, piggy,” and a grin split my face.

“Well, of course. Sanderson is just too close behind. I sure hope that our defense can smother her in two weeks.”

We chatted for a while more about the team, whether we should “man” mark Sanderson, and spent a bit of time designing a couple of offensive plays that should work Tuesday against Midland. We’d been at it for about 20 minutes, when my brain reminded me of something ... of Mom coming up here in just a T.

“Hey,” I said, “put your shirt and panties back on and follow me. Quietly.” I bent down, picked up my T and panties and donned them. “Remember, that 3^rd step from the bottom squeaks.”

“What are we doing?”

“Just follow me.”

We tiptoed down the steps, avoiding the squeaky one; through the living room; and into the kitchen. At the entrance to the hall off which my parents’ room is, I turned and put my finger to my lips. I could already hear bedroom sounds; their door must be at least partly open. Rhee’s eyes got huge and she stared at me. I grinned, but repeated the shushing move, to which she nodded.

Oh.

My.

God.

Their door was wide open, their room was well lit, and, in the hall mirror, we could see Dad standing at the foot of the bed, his great ass staring us in the face. I knelt, then decided to sit, as who knows how long they’d be at it; Rhee mirrored my actions.

Mom was lying face down on the bed – the covers were nowhere to be seen – with her legs spread and hanging off the bed. Dad was between her legs, absolutely pounding his cock into Mom’s pussy. Mom was panting and squealing; Dad was grunting. After a few more thrusts, Dad pulled out, rolled Mom over, knelt, and began eating her. Mom’s hands grasped Dad’s head and pulled like she was trying to get his whole head, rather than just his tongue, into her pussy. Mom began squealing again, but then started pulling on him harder.

“C ... come up ... uhaaah ... up here. I need your cock!”

Dad shook his head, never taking it away from her pussy. One hand then reached up and grabbed her left nipple and pinched it and proceeded to maul that breast. After a bit – I had lost all track of time – Dad relented, stood up, and crawled up onto the bed.

“Scoot up,” he grunted, and proceeded to help Mom do just that. He then spread Mom’s legs a bit. We could see her pussy, which was enflamed and leaking. Not for long, though, as he knelt between her legs and seemed to be rubbing his cock head all around her pussy, though we could not see it as his left leg was in the way. It looked like he shoved himself inside her and then raised each knee in succession and placed it outside her hip on that side, resulting in him straddling her pelvis. He then leaned over and kissed Mom. She grabbed him on both sides of his head and attacked his mouth with hers. He began thrusting into her with long, slow strokes; Mom groaned into his mouth.