tagIncest/TabooMandy and Me Ch. 01

Mandy and Me Ch. 01


Mandy and Me - Chapter 1


Author's Note: Some readers will recognize this story as having been posted previously, under the title, "Amanda." That first version had some major errors, which led to difficulties with the later story line. The entire series was taken down and has undergone extensive revision to correct those errors, and to improve the dialogue between characters. Certain other changes were also made, to incorporate some reader suggestions and feedback. Astute readers, who remember the earlier, 'original' run of this series, will see some notable changes in certain areas. If you've read "Amanda", please read this revised version from the very beginning, so as to catch the changes that have been made.

About the Story: "Mandy and Me" is a lengthy, multipart story, the tale of a shy young man, growing up and coming of age in the East Texas region of the United States, in the mid-1960's. He learns a great deal about life -- and love! -- from his loving, caring mother, before meeting the young woman who is destined to become the love of his life. The story continues as the two set out to forge a life for themselves, and recounts the many strange twists and turns that life brings them.

The sex (that we all read these stories for) is here, but it doesn't occur immediately, since I believe that a long, slow, teasing build-up makes the eventual climax so much more satisfying. The incest is there, too, lurking in the background and raising its head when you least expect it.

The way that most of the characters speak, and some of their colloquial expressions may sound a bit strange, but I grew up in East Texas, where this story takes place, and I've tried to reproduce the dialect that is common to that area.

Also, the early part of this chapter may appear to jump from one character to another as I present things in roughly the sequence they happened.

Literary critics are advised -- I am a retired cabinetmaker, not a professional author.

Legal -- All persons engaging in sexual activity are 18 or older.

Standard Advisory -- This is NOT a one- or two-page stroke story. If that's what you want, look elsewhere. I will not tolerate complaints.

Standard Caution -- There is tobacco use (smoking) in this story. The setting is 1966, and I am writing to reflect those times. If this bothers you, go elsewhere. I will not tolerate derogatory complaints.



27 Aug 1988

It was late in the afternoon, the cleaning up was finished, and things had finally settled down after celebrating the eighteenth birthday of our youngest daughter, Susannah. It had been an event-filled day, even more so after all the invited guests had departed for their homes. All four of our children had expressed surprise at being requested to hang around for some time alone with Mandy and me -- and their grandparents on my side of the family -- after the party ended.

Susannah, youngest of the four, was the last to take her leave, and I was the last of the four older adults in the line for 'departure' hugs and kisses. She gave me a quick peck on the lips, followed by a warm, tender hug, that left her mouth next to my ear.

"What time would you an' Mama want me home, tonight, Daddy?" she murmured softly.

"I'm thinkin' eight o'clock'd be good enough, Baby," I murmured back to her.

"I'll be here, then, with bells on," she giggled softly.

"You still want t' go through with it, then, Darlin'?" I asked her.

"Daddy, I've been all but countin' the minutes, since Mama took me aside, a couple weeks ago, an' had that little talk with me. I wouldn't miss tonight, for the world!"

"Then, we'll see you later, Baby," I smiled as we slowly drew apart.

"Sure enough, Daddy," she nodded, flashing me a saucy wink. "All o' me!"

"That went quite well, all things considered," Patsy commented, as Susannah headed into the house from the back porch, and then out the front door to where she'd parked her car.

Mom's comment referred to the fact that -- after the non-family guests had departed, the four of us had spent a couple hours relating our family's history to them, now that our youngest was of an age to be told the truth. Over the years, we'd revealed little bits of the history, to them, as the older ones came of age, but this was the first time we'd filled in so many details for them.

Overall, I thought the late afternoon had gone amazingly well. None of the four had been anything more than surprised at some of the things Mandy and I had revealed to them, and the twins -- our oldest -- had guessed a lot more of the truth than we would have suspected.

Still, they all had smiles on their faces, as they'd departed for whatever things they had scheduled for that Saturday night. The older three all had dates lined up, and Susannah was off to spend a few hours with a pair of her girlfriends.

I was surprised at the ease with which the kids had accepted the story I related, about their mother's and my true relationship. Mandy, Patsy (my mother), and Junior (my dad) had all helped fill in the blanks as Mandy's and my true relationship was revealed to our children, for the first time.

"That could have gone terribly bad," I noted. "After all, I know it had to be a real shock to them, findin' out about us."

"Why do you say that?" Junior asked. "After all, those kids have all been raised seein' the strong, deep, love you two have for each other, displayed all the time. Not only that, they've always felt the love both o' you have, for them.

"To be honest, Mike, I'm extremely proud o' you, for wantin' them to know y'all's history. I honestly think, in the long run, it'll pay big dividends for you. You've always tried to raise 'em to be honest and truthful, and you really showed 'em honesty and truthfulness today."

"He's right, Baby," Mom interjected. "Your children respect you even more now, 'cause o' your honesty."

We continued to sit on the covered back porch, overlooking the pool, enjoying the early evening, and chatting idly about the events of the day, relaxing over a final cup of coffee, until Mom and Dad told us they needed to go home.

We gathered the coffee mugs, and went through the kitchen to drop them off, on our way to the garage, where Dad had parked his golf cart. After our goodbyes, they set off down the drive, headed for their home.

Mandy and I went back to the kitchen, where we loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the counters. The last of our chores finished, we strolled into our den, where she assumed her normal place in my lap, once I was seated in my recliner. As always, the first thing she did was dig in my shirt pocket, pulling out my cigarettes and lighter.

"Too bad we couldn't tell them the total, unvarnished, truth," she giggled, exhaling her first drag.

"Them kids don't need no tales like that, to get 'em goin'," I chuckled. "After all, we've caught most all of 'em carryin' on with their sweeties, more'n once."

"Just the same, we've had some great times, haven't we, Honey?"

"Yeah, Sugar, we surely have," I agreed. I watched her, as she closed her eyes, and saw that so-familiar naughty smile creep across her lips.

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" I asked her -- as if I didn't already know.

"How it all really happened, what else?" she smiled.


Chapter 1 -- Introductions and the Beginnings of Seduction


Growing up in East Texas, in the 1950's and 60's wasn't easy, especially after Mom and I lost dad in a traffic accident, when I was ten. At the time, Mom was a licensed vocational nurse, working shift work at the hospital in town. Since she was only an LVN, her pay was lower than if she'd been a registered nurse. Dad's life insurance policy provided enough money to pay off the mortgage on our house, and cover his funeral expenses, leaving a small amount for savings, so Mom had to be very careful with her money to provide for our needs. She was able to meet the bills, although she had little left over after taking care of the necessities.

She and Dad married when she was eighteen, and I was born about two months after she turned nineteen. Her work kept her active, which enabled her to maintain a trim figure. She was a petite lady, standing only five feet two inches tall and weighing about a hundred pounds soaking wet, with auburn red hair, emerald green eyes, and a light complexion thanks to her Irish heritage.

I was always small for my age, while growing up, eventually topping out at five feet seven inches and weighing around a hundred and fifty pounds. I took after Dad, having a medium complexion, reddish brown hair, and hazel eyes, but fell short of his five foot ten inch height.

It was just the two of us -- Mom and me -- at home, from the time I was ten. Because of that, I learned, early on, about helping with the laundry, cooking, housekeeping, and yard work. I mowed yards and did odd jobs for some of our neighbors, turning my earnings over to Mom to help with expenses.

She kept trying to get me to at least occasionally buy things I wanted, but, even at that young age, I felt compelled to try to make up for the loss of my dad's income. I'd remember -- from the last year or so that Dad was still with us -- how he'd do without some thing that he wanted, so that a bill could get paid, or so that I could get a new pair of shoes, and then I didn't mind the sacrifice. Besides, most of the things that Mom kept urging me to buy were things I'd only use if I had the free time to devote to them, and free time was something I rarely had. If I wasn't at school, or helping Mom around the house, I could usually be found working some type of odd job for a couple hours after school -- weeding flowerbeds and the like, helping a neighbor paint the exterior of his house, or doing similar work to earn extra money that went for household expenses.

Our home was a small two-bedroom frame house, with one bath. Mom and Dad bought the house, which was situated on one of the two half acre lots, included in the deal. The house was utilitarian, with just the basics. The bathroom contained a tub, with no shower, and we had what was known -- in those days -- as an "eat-in" kitchen that also contained the laundry area. There were hardwood floors throughout, except for the bath, which had linoleum floor covering on top of the hardwood planks.


During my junior high and high school years, Mom and I would frequently visit dad's parents, at their farm outside of the little town of Gilmer, where we lived. Granddad's health was slowly failing, and he eventually passed away in the early summer of 1964, after having a massive stroke due to undiagnosed hypertension. Being a nurse, Mom recognized that he likely had problems with high blood pressure, and usually brought her nurse's bag, with her stethoscope and blood pressure gauge, whenever we went to visit, but getting Granddad to sit still for even that small a check-up was like pulling hens' teeth. And, try as she might, Grandma just could not make him give in and go see a doctor on a regular basis.

After his death, Mom and I tried to visit my grandmother more often. I really liked it, out on the farm, and loved the weekends when Mom and Grandma stayed up so late, talking with each other, that it was simpler for us to just bed down for the night, rather than make the drive home. I'll tell you, there were many times when I wished that we could live out there on the farm, year-round, instead of just visiting every so often.

As I started my sophomore year in high school, Grandma began telling me about a girl she knew. From her descriptions, this young lady compared very favorably with Mom, who had always been my example of the perfect woman. Unfortunately, a guy usually learns a good bit about dealing with the opposite sex from his dad, and I'd lost mine just when that help would have come in handy. As a result, I was pretty shy -- kind of introverted, and lacking in the basic social interaction skills that would've let me feel at ease around a girl who wasn't part of my family.

Because of that, I never really pursued the matter of this girl that Grandma wanted me to meet. I excused my lack of action as being a lack of time since, by this point in my life, I was already working full-time, courtesy of the vocational program at school.

The high school I attended had a strong vocational program, with multi-year courses in framing carpentry, woodworking, metalworking, and auto mechanics. I had a family history of carpenters and woodworkers, with a four-greats grandfather having come to East Texas to build a cotton gin in 1835, and so -- naturally -- I enrolled in the woodworking program. That was how I met Raymond Fields.

Raymond came to the school looking for a woodworking student with the potential to become a professional cabinetmaker. Mr. Groves, my teacher, gave me a very strong recommendation, even though I was just fifteen.

The school had recently started a program where I could go to class for half a day and work for the other half. I enrolled in this program, although it meant taking an additional year to get the class credits needed to graduate.

Having a job meant I was able to get my drivers license on a 'hardship' basis at age 15, since I was living in a single-parent household and contributing to the family living expenses. This was a big help, because I didn't have to depend on Raymond to get to the jobsites. I was able to use Mom's car to get to classes and to a job site, since she was still working night shift at the local hospital. I gave her half my pay each week to help with the household expenses, and began buying tools and saving to buy a used truck. To my surprise, Mom was elated at the arrangement, because I was at least using some of my earnings to buy things that I wanted and needed.

Mom always told me that I was pretty smart, but that didn't mean that I didn't have to study, to pass exams at school. Between that study time, and the time I spent at work, I never had the time for attending any of the school functions -- such as dances -- that provided for social interaction between the students. I didn't even go to the football games, because I worked from mid-afternoon until nine o'clock or later, each night. Thus, my only real interactions with people in my age group were limited to the mornings I actually spent in the classroom at school.

Of course, that wasn't any help as far as becoming comfortable with girls was concerned. I'd always been kind of quiet and shy, and now I became even more so, limiting most of my casual conversations to the men that I worked with, before they headed home at the end of their workday, leaving me to spend a few more hours working on my own.

Mom and I were not able to spend much time together, either, due to both of us working different hours. Neither of us pushed the issue of dating. I did mention it once, to Mom, asking why she never went out with any of the gentlemen who'd asked her on dates.

"Baby, you an' I get so little time t' spend, together, as it is, that I hate t' cut into that with me goin' out on a date," she told me. "Besides, after a year o' datin' your daddy, an' ten years o' bein' his wife, let's just say that it'd take a real special man t' live up to your daddy's standards, an' I ain't met but one o' them, since he died."

"Well, why didn't you snag him?" I asked her.

"Baby, he was only about eighteen years too young, for me," she laughed. "An', in case that one slipped past you, it's you I'm talkin' about. You take after your daddy in darn near everythin' you do."

"Oh, I see," I nodded.

As far as my dating possibilities were concerned, I was just too shy, and I really didn't know any girls well enough to feel comfortable asking them out on a date. That's really a dumb reason, and I can see that, looking back. Dating is how you get to know someone really well. Somehow, though, the sense of that managed to escape me, back then.

Too, I was a bit reluctant to spend the kind of money I figured it'd take, to date a girl on a regular basis. I mean, you're talking getting together at least one night a week, with her -- and more, if you're getting serious about your future with her -- and going out to dinner and then some activity or other. It doesn't matter whether it's a trip to the movies, or the roller rink, or to a dance that's being held somewhere, it all costs money, and I figured that the money I made went to our home and our necessities before it went anywhere else. In the long run, whenever Mom brought up the subject, I was able to dodge the issue, claiming that -- between work and school and studying -- I just didn't have the time for it.

Until the summer after I turned seventeen, Mom always worked evenings or nights because of the shift differential pay. That summer, Grandma tipped Mom off that her family doctor, Dave Johnson, was in need of another nurse at his office in town. Mom applied for the job and, partly on the strength of Grandma's recommendation, she was hired. The new job came with a fairly significant pay increase, compared to her pay at the hospital, and it gave her most evenings and all weekends off.

About the same time, we had a big family get-together, at Grandma's farm, for the Fourth of July, and my uncle Junior and his family drove up from Texas City (about five hours away, down on the Gulf Coast, south of the Houston metro area) for the weekend. While he was visiting, he happened to mention that he was getting ready to sell his used three-quarter-ton crew cab truck, and purchase something else to drive. I took a quick look at the balance I had in my savings account at the bank, and made him an offer that he found acceptable. A week later, he and his family drove up again, to deliver the truck to me and take my payment.

From that point, on, Mom and I no longer had to share the family car. Plus, with her new job giving her all but one evening per week off, plus every weekend, we had much more time to spend together since, during the summer months, I worked fulltime, days, with Raymond's crew.

With the new time we had, to spend together, we tried to develop some regular 'habits' as far as spending the time went. We had some extra money, then, and so we managed dinner at a local café at least once each month -- and a dinner at El Chico (a Mexican restaurant located in the neighboring town of Longview) at least once every three or four months. We also managed to get out to the drive-in movie theatre over in Longview, a couple Friday nights or Saturday nights, each month, depending on what movies were playing on that weekend.

All of that extra time that we now had, to spend with each other, had one other influence on us. We had time to just sit and talk, in the evenings, about different subjects. Mostly, we talked about our days and what went on at each of our jobs, but we also talked about our hopes and dreams, and the planning of small projects that we wanted to accomplish, like fencing in the back yard, or painting a room in the house. Although I didn't realize it at the time (and, apparently, neither did Mom), we were acting in many ways more like a husband and wife -- minus the romance and sex, of course -- than a mother and son.

Everything seemed fine, in my world, until the beginning of my summer vacation from school -- about two weeks after I turned eighteen. That was when a series of events began, which brought a major change to my life.


I grew up in Dallas, until I was thirteen. My grandmother, Susannah Walker Harrison, passed away, near the end of January 1961, and left the family farm to my mother and her older brother. For some reason, even though Uncle Fred was a year older, Grandma split the Harrison farm so that Mama got the half that actually had the farmhouse on it.

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