Mom's New Boyfriend

Jessie

"Jessie, Susan", my mom said, gushing at the overweight, 40-something man standing in the front door, "Meet Michael."

He had his hairy, sweaty hands across her hips, drifting disgustingly near her ass.

Susan and I looked at each other, in that way only sisters can look at each other. It's that face that epitomizes the insanity of the real world in contrast to what our upbringing and experiences would suggest as being normal. In other words -- what the fuck?

It had been a while since our mother had dated. Our dad died of a heart attack before I was born, when Susan was only young. My sister and I couldn't be more dissimilar. I was a skinny tom-boy -- my parents can hardly blame me, after calling me 'Jessie' instead of 'Jessica' -- and my sister was a girly, curvy woman. As Michael looked over at us, I noticed him leering at Susan's breasts like an animal. Then he turned to me, clearly taking a shot at my body like he was trying to assess my attractiveness. This was supposed to be his first impression?

"He's going to stay over and look after you two while I'm on my business trip."

"Look after us?", Susan said, incredulously, "I'm 26 and Jessie's 21, why do we need someone to look after us?"

Mom smiled and look up at Michael with love, saying, "It was Michael's idea. He wanted to get to know you two more."

When Mom first met Michael, she came back and promised us that she was never going to use Tinder ever again. She told us he was disgusting and tried to make side-eye glances at her ass the entire time, made her pay and asked her if she wanted, quote, "to fuck afterwards". The only thing she liked about him, she told us, was his smell. "It's odd even to notice it," she said, "It wasn't even all that nice a smell, it was just noticeable." Imagine, then, how perplexed Susan and I were when she told us she was going on another date with him. "I know, I know", she said, "But there was something about him that makes me want to give him another try. Maybe he was just nervous?"

The typical good-nature of mothers, to look for the best in everyone. Every time she came back from a date with him, she seemed to become more and more smitten with him.

"He was just nervous the first time. I think we could try being friends. He's certainly not my type!"

"I'm starting to like him a bit. He's quite attractive, in a non-conventional way."

"God, I think I'm falling in love."

It was an odd transition. Susan and I want to be supportive but it's difficult to come back from 'creepy sex pest' to 'die-hard romantic', especially when Susan is a hard-core feminist studying Gender Studies from home. "Mom," she'd say to her, "He doesn't have a job, he's lazy, he doesn't take care of himself -- you need to have higher standards." But Mom would roll her eyes in that 'You'll understand when you're older' kind of way, which was fine for when we, were, say, 14. But now, gushing after this fat old man with no prospects, a man who, upon entering her house, started to lust after her two daughters, it had gone beyond all that.

"Besides, Jessie, you need someone to drive you to college until you pass your driving test."

"Mom," Susan said, speaking up for me, "I'd rather Jessie walk than get in a car with him."

I could see Mom stress her face like she was about to yell but Michael put up his hand slightly, as if heeling her. "Don't worry, Amy", he said, "I'm sure they'll start liking me after we get to know each-other."

I looked over at Susan, giving a glance that said, "No way in hell." Before we could say anything, Michael reached into his pocket and took out what appeared to be a bottle of cologne, spraying it over himself.

Although this was the first time we'd met Michael, I recalled what my Mom said about him the first time she met him -- the only thing she liked about him, a certain smell. I had no way of knowing for sure but it seemed like this was the smell she was talking about. I grimaced slightly and could see Susan in the corner of my eye doing so as well.

It wasn't a bad smell. But it wasn't a good one, either. There was a strength to it. I wouldn't even be able to describe it. It was just... something. As I pulled back slightly, I could see the look in Mom's eyes. She had a trance-like look on her face, looking up at Michael. A look of love, passion, devolution... lust. It wasn't comfortable to think about. Their sex lives. Mom is otherwise quite a conservative woman. When I told her I was bisexual, she told me to wait a few years to see if it was a phase. But, now and then, she'd let details of their sex lives slip. When she had drunk a few too many glasses of wine one dinner, she mentioned how she finally felt like a real woman with him. Susan took offensive at her wording, of course, rattling on about women's suffrage and Simone de Beauvoir and whatnot. What disturbed me, though, was the look in her eyes as she said it. It seemed almost submissive. I felt like gagging slightly. It wasn't said outright but I could tell by the intonation of her voice that the sex with Michael was better than it was with Dad.

"Come on, you two," Mom said, finally pulling her gaze away from Michael, "Give him a chance."

Once again, Susan and I looked over at each other, taking in a big gulp of air. The cologne was burning up my nose and down my throat. As I thought about the smell, I realized - it hadn't been easy on her since our Dad passed away. Maybe Michael wasn't all bad. If our Mom saw something in him, there must be something there.

"Okay," I said, the word coming out of my mouth before I could even think about it.

Susan frowned at me but, as she took a deep breath, her anger seemed to dissipate.

She turned back to my Mom and Michael and said, "Of course."

I was surprised that Susan relented. Usually, she'd be off the wall quoting from her textbooks. Even Susan seemed a little bit surprised by herself. But we both smiled and nodded, a tacit acceptance of the situation.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" Mom said, giddy, "He's going to be staying in my bedroom while I'm gone so make sure he feels at home."

It was a bit odd, a man we barely knew 'looking after us' -- as if we weren't grown women. I took another fresh breath of air. The cologne was getting a bit less noticeable, a bit less raw. I really started to understand what Mom was saying about it. You know, maybe we were wrong to react like we did. He was a guest in our home and, besides, we had just accepted it. We couldn't go back on that now. It'd just be rude.

"But... your bedroom is right next to our bedrooms," Susan said.

I thought this was going to be the moment - the moment when she'd refuse the request, tell us she was going to stay with her boyfriend who was out of state studying or telling Michael that he couldn't stay with us. But as she was saying it, it seemed to come out less like a rant and more like a squeal. Her pitch went up as she said, "our bedrooms." Again, she even seemed surprised by herself.

This man staying with us, this man who was clearly checking out his girlfriend's 20-something daughters. Wasn't it enough for him to stay on the couch? I took a deep breath of air. You know, that smell wasn't too bad. I was starting to like it. I still wouldn't be able to describe it. Comforting? I'm not sure.

"That's right," Michael said, smirking, "So if you need me, for anything, I can be there. If there's anything I can help with, I can hear everything that's going on. Even in your bedrooms."

If I was in a worse mood, I might have found that creepy. But it was... comforting. Yes, weirdly comforting. Susan seemed relaxed as well, a smile creeping onto her face before she quickly, manually, reverted it back to a neutral state. You know, it was possible that he wasn't actually looking at my ass or Susan's breasts. We could have just misinterpreted his intentions.

Maybe Michael staying around would be fine. Odd, yes, but fine. It seemed like he was going to become a regular fixture of our lives so we might as well try to get along with him -- as best we can.

Susan

"Fuck, I'm cumming," Tom said. He started to ejaculate. Even over Facetime, I could see the white strips of cum landing on his stomach.

Tom was studying at college a few states over. We met in High School and we've been sweethearts ever since. He's respectful, kind, smart, hot and, most importantly, a feminist. Whenever we have sex, whether that's in person or over Facetime, he always makes sure that I get something out of it. He usually cums first but that's fine. I love him more than anything, which is probably why I'm letting him jerk off while my boobs are out on camera. There's nothing wrong or anti-feminist about a man enjoying the body of a woman as long as it's all consensual and there are no awkward power dynamics at play. As his head hit the pillow and he closed his eyes, I pulled down my top. I wouldn't want Jessie or, god forbid, Michael from walking in and seeing my boobs out while my boyfriend was jerking off.

It was the weirdest thing. We didn't know this man and he was currently sleeping next door in our Mom's bed. Mom had left just after introducing us and, naturally, Jessie and I went straight back to our rooms. We skipped dinner just to make sure we didn't have to talk to him. Forget the weird look on his face as he introduced himself -- we didn't even know him. All we knew about him was that he was old, ugly and dating our Mom. And he smelt. To be fair, he didn't smell bad. He smelt like his cologne. Strong. It was still lingering slightly in my nostrils, in my throat, in my body. Our Mom was right. It was interesting. Indescribable, really. Not good but, just, interesting.

"Okay," Tom said, rising up and reaching for the tissues next to him, "We can do you now."

"Sounds good!"

Sexting was good but I really did miss the feeling of Tom close to me, holding me, having sex. It wasn't about being submissive or dominant or any of that jazz. I don't like that stuff and Tom's happy with that, even if I get the impression that he sometimes wants a sex life that's a bit kinkier. It's about feeling close to someone, feeling comfortable with someone.

Comfortable. That's a better word to describe the smell of Michael's cologne.

Comfortable, like a warm hug. Or the feeling of the sun against your body.

"Susan?" Tom asked.

I looked down at my laptop screen, a little bit dazed.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know. You spaced out for a second there."

"Oh, sorry. I've got a lot on my mind at the moment."

"Want to talk about it?"

"No, thank you, not right now. It's getting late. I kinda just want to cum and go to bed."

"Of course, I completely understand."

Tom was sweet. He was so patient and loving with me. Even though it was 1am, he was willing to stay online to speak about my problems and to make sure I was happy with our sex life. It was important to him that we continue to feel intimate, even though we were far away from each other. His education is obviously important to him, so it's important to me too, but I couldn't wait for him to get back and re-begin our lives together.

"I'm just going to go to the toilet, okay? Then I'll get my vibrator."

"Sounds good!"

I put my laptop down and left my bedroom, heading for the toilet. As I was about to go in, I noticed it again. That smell. Michael's cologne.

It was really noticeable now. It was like he dragged the smell around with him as he walked around. It seemed like it was leading down the stairs. Maybe he'd come up to sleep and then went back down to get a snack or something. The thought of him in our fridge, with our food that our Mom had bought for us, should have felt weird. Everything about him staying over should I felt weird. I took a deep breath of air.

It hadn't been too bad, so far. Maybe I had initially over exaggerated. And that smell, you know, it wasn't too bad. Not great or anything, but not bad. Good, even. I'd need to ask him where he got it from after I got to know him a bit better.

My heart skipped a beat.

Wait, why did I react like that? To the thought of me getting to know him better? Probably something I ate, a weird bout of indigestion. God, I felt horny. I hadn't had sex with Tom -- proper sex -- in over three months. Tom was so sexy, so good in bed, so loving.

And that smell. I'm not sure why I drifted away from the thought of Tom and I having sex to the smell of Michael's cologne but I just couldn't help it. I moved towards the top of the stairs. It seemed to get stronger. Michael probably sprayed himself downstairs or something. He was so rude, coming into our house, eating our food, sleeping in our mother's bed, spraying his strong, nice cologne wherever he wanted like he owned the place, like we weren't even here.

I started going downstairs. I had to be quiet with Jessie fast asleep next-door. I knew Tom was waiting for me but it was almost like I couldn't help myself. It didn't even smell that great or anything but it was like I just had this compulsion to smell it.

I was chasing it all the way downstairs when I got to the bottom of the house. It was pitch black, except for the light escaping from the top and bottom of the living room door. I could hear some noises coming from the living room, like the sounds of grunting. The smell seemed to be coming from the living room. That cologne. Michael's cologne. The living room door was slightly ajar, as if inviting me to enter. I don't know why I needed to find out where it was coming from. I should have gone upstairs to Tom, my beautiful, hot boyfriend who was waiting for me just so I could cum. But, instead, I reached for the doorknob, and opened it up, turning to face --

Michael, on the sofa, his trouser and underwear around his ankles, masturbating while looking at his phone. He was furiously jerking his hand around his cock as the video played.

"Fuck me, daddy!" the woman in the video was screaming, "Slam me with that massive cock! Mommy will never know! This can just be our little secret!"

I was in shock. I just stood there, motionless, watching him wank off. He turned to me. I thought he'd jump off the sofa, apologize for what he was doing, at least put his underwear on. Instead, he smiled. I took a deep breath of air.

I should have screamed. I should have ordered him to put his clothes back on, to get the hell up, get the fuck out of my house, I need to protect Jessie, to --

"Would you like to join, baby?" he said, his voice deep with lust, "Would you like to watch me jerk off?"

"What?!" I screamed, "I shouldn't!"

Why did I say that? "Shouldn't", like I wanted to but thought it best not to, like I wanted to join him, wanted to watch him jerk off to a misogynistic video where a step-father was having sex with their step-daughter, touch myself to him, help him imagine me in that video. Michael probably thought he could get away with what the man in the video was doing. Fucking his step-daughters, using us like his own personal sex toys, his own personal flesh lights. I looked over at the video as Michael kept jerking off. The woman in the video looked like me. Big boobs. Long hair. Girly. A daddy's girl.

"D-disgusting!" I shouted, after a few seconds of silence. I had to force that word out, really force it out. I couldn't even string it together in a sentence. It must have been because I was so offended by the misogynistic video, this misogynistic touching himself in my home, thinking about me bending over for him and using me.

Tom wasn't misogynistic. He was so kind, hot, a feminist, waiting for me upstairs. Waiting for me to jerk off with him, not Michael, even with his cologne on.

God, the cologne was good. It took a while to get used to be it felt so right. Everything here felt so right. I took a deep breath of air. The cologne went right down, inside, deep inside.

Michael's cock was big. I mean, like, really big. I'm not sure why that's what I was thinking about when I should be getting mad but I just... couldn't. I couldn't muster up the strength to scream and shout at him anymore. I mean, say what you want about him, but it was a good cock.

I wonder if maybe that's what my Mom sees in him. I mean, what else does he have? He's so fat and ugly, with those hands, those hands jerking off, thinking about me letting him fuck me. I took another breath of air.

Was it such a bad thing that he was thinking of me? I mean, I'm not shy about it. Sex. It's a natural thing. A natural thing between two consenting adults, at least when it's on an even playing field. A step-daughter fucking their step-father wasn't an even playing field. That's why I couldn't watch him, or think about him fucking me.

Step-daughter?! Think about him fucking me?! I couldn't believe the thoughts swirling around in my head, the thought of Michael fucking me, here, in the living room, hot, sweaty, his hands grabbing me, using me, forcing my head down into the sofa and fucking me doggy, making me submissive, owned, used, making me scream things I never thought I could scream to a man. I took a deep breath of air.

I have to admit; I was starting to get a bit jealous of Mom. Now, I could start to see what she saw in him. He wasn't the best looking, of course. Tom was much better looking. Younger. Fitted. Nicer body. But, if Mom wanted to feel good in bed, and if it helped her to have a sexual partner with a bigger cock, maybe Michael was right for her. Tom was so much better looking. So much younger. So much fitter. Such a nicer body.

His penis was smaller though. I mean, I'm no size queen. It's not the size that matters. What matters is being close, intimate, physical. That's what I told Jessie, who is a virgin. But if I were a size queen, I would have fucked Michael. Sorry -- if I was single and a size queen, I would have fucked Michael. Tom usually used his hands or mouth to make me cum. Women usually need clitoral stimulation to cum. And he always made me cum. He was a good man. But when he penetrated me, it wasn't the best. Not bad. He wasn't that small. But he was nowhere near as big as Michael. God, Michael was big. Looking at him jerk off to that video, I wondered what it must have felt like to have someone like that inside you. The woman in the video seemed to enjoy the bigger cock, a cock like Michael's. I suddenly started to feel a depth inside me. A need to be filled. I took another breath of air. God, that cologne was fucking good.

"Why are you still watching then?" Michael said.

I gasped. I had been standing there, watching him, watching him watch me. He had the video playing in the background but was looking right at me, at my breasts. It was only now that I realized that I didn't have my bra on, a loose tight top being the only thing separating my breasts from Michael's piercing, possessive glares. It helped when Tom was jerking off to the thought of me. Tom really wasn't anywhere near as big as Michael. I wonder what Tom thought about when he jerked off. Did he want me to be submissive? I took another breath of air.

I'd never understood the appeal of being submissive, of a man dominating me. I know I shouldn't but I secretly looked down at subs. It's all just a psychological reaction to the patriarchy's degradation of women. But I was starting to understand it, hearing that woman scream, her throat coarse with lust. Maybe I should try it. Being submissive. Just once. I just needed someone to take me. I didn't want to just give it. It needed to be taken.

Tom! Sexy, beautiful Tom, kind Tom, small penis Tom. It didn't matter that he had a small penis. A small cock. He could take me, I suppose. He could go down on me. Although we could try sex toys, maybe. There's nothing indignant about using sex toys in the bedroom to make me feel owned, submissive, fucked, my panties drawn down, my top up to help a man get off, in the living room, here, right now.