3 Parents 2 Kids

I post this as a 'pilot' of an idea for a story about a couple in the nineteen-forties, facing a raging WW2 and their own struggles with being forced to grow up. Any feedback will be read. This is based on tales from families who lived those days.

3 Parents 2 kids

Henry, my father, was a seaman. He was riding an Indian motorcycle through Boulder City, Nevada, when my mom, Hazel, a high school junior-aged eighteen, flounced her skirt at him and his noisy machine. He tipped his captain's style leather cap and said, "You having a good day, miss?"

A short conversation and the unanswered question lead him to stay in Boulder, get a job, and wait for her to get out of high school. Did he get lucky? She charged out of the high school doors one afternoon, never to return. She skipped her classes and went over to his welding shop and climbed on his motorcycle, which he parked inside the shop area. As she lifted her skirt to show him her yellow panties, he began to smile.

Hazel said, "Hey, mister, do you still care what kind of day I'm having?"

"Of course I do. I have been waiting for nearly two months for your answer. Let me see; it was 67 days ago."

"Can I trust a motorcycle bum's math to be accurate?" She asked, with a teasing smile on her face.

"Yes, miss. I graduated from Kingman High School, and I passed all of the math classes through Calculus."

"Can you tell me this? Since Calculus you can solve for nearly all unknowns, will I lose my cherry if I ride on this motorcycle? I overheard my dad tell another guy that a friend of mine lost her cherry on a motorcycle."

"Do you want to lose your cherry on a motorcycle? Maybe a more important question could be, Do you still have your cherry? Or maybe even a more informative answer would be to answer the question, Are you still a virgin?"

She didn't hesitate a second, replying, "Yes, I want to lose my cherry on a motorcycle. This specific motorcycle. Yes, I still have a cherry, so the third question is answered by the second answer."

He slumped over his work project. With a leg lifted and laying sideways on the work table and after a long pause, he said, "Jail? Bragging rights? Getting even with someone? What are you up to here, miss?"

"Well, Henry. You did you say your name was Henry, right? Well, Henry, I specifically want you to kiss me, cause my vagina to seep, make my nipples hurt with pleasure as you twist and nibble on them. I want you to come in my mouth, on my tits, face, and in my cunt. Do you understand yet what I am about here? I have been wet since you spoke to me sixty-eight days ago. Yep, sixty-eight days, not sixty-seven. I marked them on the calendar in my bedroom. My mom asked me what the marks were, and I told her it had been that long since I had a period. She didn't faint, but she was pissed off at me for the rest of the evening. By the way, that worked, she didn't ask me again.

"I think this is the way to change my life, and the timing feels perfect. You seem like 'The Guy,' and without a doubt, I am sure I will be able to come when riding behind you with my pussy bumping tight against this hard seat. My parents will be gone all next week, so the timing is right. Please come over on Friday evening about seven-thirty after they catch the plane at seven pm, and I know they are gone.

The week after he'd slept in her parent's bed and fucked and used her body for days of day and night sex, he realized he was ready to move on. He began looking about four hundred miles away for a job in the shipyards as a welder. Because he was bored with her and her immature ideas of love, romance, kids, weddings, and the like, he was planning on leaving literally in the middle of the night. Although he did like that cunt she wore, he didn't think it was worth putting up with the harping she seemed to do too frequently.

She had a way of twisting his cock and causing him to come despite himself, though. And she also liked to swallow. The two of them had figured a way to park his Harley in his living room, lean it against the door and corner. After doing that, he would fuck her for forty-five minutes to an hour. She liked that because he didn't care how nasty she was when he was fucking her on his motorcycle. It worked out that she became pregnant, didn't tell him, and rode off to the shipyard on her favorite vibrator.

My stepdad, also named Henry, Carole's father, the dad in this story, had an immature or arrested development or fetish. Anyway, he was focused on pussy. He liked to fuck pussy, but felt like he wasn't complete until he had eaten pussy. By the same act, he would be content to eat pussy and never fuck it. Weird. But, that was Carole's father.

Hazel was a birth mother for both of us, and I have never known any other father. I have always considered Henry, my dad. He was a great father, and obviously, after these last few days have shown, a great stud and pussy hound. It might explain why or how it is that I am oral. I can smell pussy almost as well as my Blue Heeler.