My Mother, My Sister and Me

The news came as a complete shock. He was here one minute, gone the next. An aneurysm, the doctor said. My mother looked pale and faint as the doctor sat her down on the sofa whilst he explained to me what had happened to my father. He'd collapsed on the stairs and died instantaneously. The man, absent for much of my life, was gone for good.

At the time, my mother had been working from home, so she'd been the one to find him. I'd rushed home from work the moment I'd taken the call from the doctor; he didn't want my mother to be left alone. I was only fifteen minutes away, so I was soon at her side. She seemed paralysed by the enormity of it all. I wanted to be useful; after all, I was twenty-five years of age, a grown-up. I knew what I had to do, so I set about phoning relations; not that there were many of them to phone.

After I'd spoken to my mum's sister and a couple of distant cousins, I asked her about any friends that ought to be informed. She knew of no one; it brought home to us just how little we knew of my father's life. We did know where he worked, or at least we thought we did. I got in touch with the company, only to be told that he had changed his employer over three years ago. They gave me a number to ring; I spoke to a sympathetic lady in the personnel department of the civil engineering firm that he worked for. That was it, there was no one else to tell, so I made Mum a cup of sweet tea. She didn't take sugar usually, but what the hell, I was just trying to help. She drank it without protest.

The following day, she was a little more like herself; we went to see an undertaker and were relieved at just how much he could take off our hands. Then we visited the Registrar's office to record the death. A flurry of correspondence, to banks and Government departments and agencies, over the next few days, brought an end to what it had been in our power to do, leaving us with three weeks to wait before the funeral.

We entered a period where neither of us wanted to speak about or dwell on his death. We had both gone back to work. In the evenings, the only times we came close to discussing him, was to sort out practicalities like what should be done with his clothes. It was as though neither of us felt any great sense of loss, but nor did we want to be the first one to say as much.

That's not to say that my father's death left no impact on us. My mother looked drawn and tired, but I also sensed that she was relieved. He had worked away so much of the time that their marriage seemed to have stumbled along on a stop-start basis. There always seemed to be an important job that kept him away for birthdays, anniversaries and Christmas every other year. He would come home after a few days or weeks away, collect his mail and laundry and be off again on another highly important and unavoidable job.

I'd never had much of a relationship with him. I felt guilty that I didn't feel anything much at all.

About a week after he died, I plucked up the courage to ask my mother if she missed him, "How can you miss someone who was hardly ever here?" was her reply. She was exaggerating, but I took her point. It said all I needed to know about her lack of feelings for him. How long ago had she fallen out of love with him, I wondered. I felt sorry for her; she was forty-seven years old, married for twenty-six years, and what had she to show for it? A big fat nothing, oh, and me I suppose. I felt a surge of affection for her, I wanted to protect her, to show her that she was loved.

It was whilst I was admitting to myself the truth of what my mother had just said, that the doorbell rang. I was halfway upstairs at the time, so I shouted that I would answer it and made my way back downstairs to the front door. Standing there was a glamorous, but faintly troubled looking, woman of about my mother's age. I have to admit that she looked attractive in her skirt suit and heels, I noticed that her legs were particularly nice; I tended to notice these things quite a lot.

"Does Mrs. Rebecca Fields live at this address?" she asked with a slight tremor in her voice.

"Yes, who shall I say is calling?"

"Mrs. Fields"

"Yes, that's right, she's here now. I'll get her for you. I didn't catch your name."

"No, I mean I'm Mrs. Fields, Mrs. Madeline Fields."

"Oh, I see. Right, well, that's a coincidence..."

My mother appeared in the hallway. "Who is it Cal?"

"Ah, right, this lady is asking for you, she's Mrs. Fields as well."

"Mrs. Rebecca Fields?" asked the shapely woman.

"Yes, That's right. Can I help you?"

"Can we talk in private? I have something important to tell you."

"Well, yes, I suppose so, come in please, we'll go through into the lounge."

"Is this your son?"

"Yes, this is Callum."

"Hi," I was trying to be friendly and thinking about just how friendly I'd like to get with her.

"I think he should hear what I have to say as well."

"Very well, please come through, do sit down," said my mother.

"No thank you, I'll stand. This is going to be quite a shock to you both."

We all stood facing each other. The visitor looked apprehensive but seemed determined to deliver her important news, whatever it was. She paused a moment to collect herself and I paused to admire the outline of her thighs in her tight skirt, her flat stomach and her nice breasts.

"As I've just told your son, my name is Madeline Fields, Mrs. Madeline Fields, or so I thought until this morning."

"I see, I think, or do I?" said my mother.

"Has your husband died recently?"

"Yes, but I don't see what that's..."

"Was he called John Fields, date of birth 18th March 1973?"

"Well yes, but..."

"When did you get married?"

"I'm sorry but I don't see how this is any of your business."

"Please tell me."

"We got married in July 1997, why are you asking me these questions?"

Our visitor took a deep breath, "Because your husband married me on the 12th of June 1998."

After a long dramatic pause, my mother and I looked at each other, before she sank slowly down onto the sofa with an expression of incredulity on her face. The best I had to offer was to ask if I should put the kettle on, a lame question that both women ignored. I didn't know what else to do, so I answered my own question by retreating into the kitchen to make a pot of tea that no one would drink.

From the kitchen, I could overhear snatches of tense discussion. I heard Madeline asking my mother to look at photographs and a marriage certificate that she described bitterly as not worth the paper it was written on. She told my mother that she had a daughter, "John's daughter" she said, before readily conceding that her marriage to my father was void. She said that she lived with my father near Watford which was just under an hour away from his other marital home, where he lived with my mother and me, in Guildford.

She explained that she'd only found out a day earlier that her 'husband' had died. He'd been expected home several days ago. He wasn't answering his mobile, and she had no idea where he worked. She eventually found a payslip in a jacket pocket and, on phoning the company, held a confused conversation with a puzzled and embarrassed woman in the personnel department.

At first, she didn't know what to do, but after she'd slept on it, she realised that she had to find out where my father's other wife lived so that she could speak to her. She'd decided that it was best if it was all out in the open, she'd hated the thought of my mother not knowing, and being embarrassed by finding out at some later date, that her husband was a bigamist.

Their fraught conversation came to an end when Madeline asked for details of the funeral. My mother didn't respond well and I could hear Madeline placating her, saying that she was leaving her contact details in the hope that mum would get in touch when she'd had time to deal with what must have been quite a shock.

I caught up with Madeline at the front door as she was leaving, it was worth it just to see those gorgeous legs and shapely buttocks from behind. She turned and looked at me with her deep blue eyes and I was smitten. When she took hold of my hand and said that she was sorry for my loss, I felt a tingle of arousal; I would have done anything for her. Then a sudden thought hit me and I blurted out, "I've got a sister?"

"Yes, she looks like you, you both inherited your father's good looks."

I wanted to say that she couldn't be any more attractive than her mother, but I knew it wouldn't be appropriate.

"Would you do me a favour?"

If only she knew.

"Yes of course."

"Please encourage your mother to let me have the details of the funeral. I'm quite determined to attend anyway but, in the circumstances, I want her to feel that she's agreed to me and my family being there."

As well as finding her very desirable, I was impressed with her selflessness and her consideration of my mother's feelings.

"Don't worry, I'm sure she'll get her head around it. This can't have been easy for you either?"

"Tell me about it. It was a huge shock at first, but it all makes perfect sense now. The bastard has made your mother and I live a lie for twenty five years... Oh, I'm sorry to speak ill of your father, but it's hard to take."

"It's okay, I didn't have much of a relationship with him. Do you mind me asking, did you love him?"

She paused for a moment, I thought she was going to tell me that it was none of my business. But she just looked at me and said, "Once maybe, a long time ago." My deceased father wasn't scoring very highly in the popularity polls.

As she turned to go I said, "I'll see you at the funeral." She answered me with a nod and a half smile, then she left me lusting on the doorstep. I watched her swaying hips all the way until she swung her lovely legs and high heels daintily into the driving seat of her car. I could feel my cock twitching, by the time I got back into the lounge it was half erect.

My mother sat on the sofa looking so forlorn, tears filled her eyes. She was still in her business suit and heels. Oddly, I thought that she looked quite alluring in her distress; what the hell was the matter with me? I put it down to jumbled emotions, my moral compass seemed to have malfunctioned in the last few minutes. I could see that she needed a cuddle, so I sat down beside her and pulled her toward me, her head rested on my shoulder as she sobbed gently for a few moments.

"We'll get through this mum, you'll see. You're a great mother and you've got a lot going for you."

"Oh thank you, darling, that's so kind of you," she said as she pressed her face into my neck.

I could feel her tears wetting my skin and her warm breath on my ear. Just moments ago, the lovely Madeline had set my erection in motion and now, to my discomfort and consternation, my mother was finishing the job by unwittingly making me harder than I'd ever been in my life. My moral compass was spinning out of control. I held her close in the desperate hope that she wouldn't see the bulge in my trousers, but that just made things worse; with her lips pressed against my neck, she was sending fireworks down my spine; I was practically coming in my pants; I needed a way out.

To my enormous relief, she managed to get her dangly earring caught in my tie. I was able to undo and take off the tie, then twist myself away from her so that she couldn't get a look at my raging hard-on; a lucky escape.

"Would you like that tea now?"

"Yes please, but no sugar this time."

"Okay, mum."

I made the tea, and as we sat together drinking it, I broached the subject of Madeline. It was a risky strategy, but if I could get her to agree now, while she was in a vulnerable and compliant mood, it might be easier than in the morning when her resolve might have hardened.

"Mother, we're both tired; it's been an emotional time; we've just had a bit of a shock and I, for one, will be glad when it's all over. I'm sure you will too. If you like, in the morning I'll have a word with a trainee solicitor friend of mine about bigamy law. It'll be sensible for you, well, us, to know where we stand."

"Oh, would you darling, thank you, you're quite right, we do need some legal insight."

"Also, and I hope you don't mind me bringing this up, but I think it would be good for all concerned if you extended an olive branch to Madeline by letting her have details of the funeral. After all, it wasn't her fault, I'm sure she's as angry and upset as you are. You've both been certain for the last twenty-odd years that Dad was your husband and this has been a massive shock to you and her. She's done the honourable thing, don't be angry with her, be angry with him."

"I'm dreading the funeral, with or without his other family."

"Well why don't we get it over with now? Did she leave you her mobile number?"

"Yes, and an email."

"Even better, if you like I'll send an email to her from you now, just a short message giving the time and location of the funeral."

"Okay, I'm sure you're right, here's my phone, I'm shattered, I'm going up to bed, I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight darling."

"Goodnight Mother."

If only my mother knew that a large part of the reason for my pleading with Madeline's case was that I just wanted to be near her again. I sent the message, it just said, "Funeral at St Margaret's, on Browning Lane, 26th September at 11 am. Details of wake to be confirmed." We had planned to hold a wake at home immediately after the funeral, but I knew there was no way that my mother would want a group of complete strangers in the house; not these strangers anyway. No, I'd have to book a neutral venue, I'd run it by her in the morning.

I felt tired but very horny so I waited until I was sure that my mother was asleep then, putting my earlier confusion about being aroused by her out of my mind, I thought about Madeline, and only Madeline, as I masturbated whilst lying on the sofa. It was a hugely satisfying orgasm.

Two hours later, in bed, I indulged in a leisurely fondling of my cock and thought about Madeline again. I invented several fantasies as I imagined fucking her, but the one that tipped me over the edge was of me pinning her against a church wall during a funeral, opening her coat and lifting her black dress to expose her stocking tops and suspender straps, before slipping my hard cock inside her warm wet cunt. The thought of her against a wall, a willing fuck in her high heels, gripping my cock with her taut vagina, was more than enough to release globules of semen over my abdomen as another staggering orgasm made my toes curl.

As I drifted off, half asleep, half awake, without consciously bringing it to mind, I recalled my mother's tears and lips on my neck and my cock gave one last involuntary spasm before I dozed off.

********************

The morning of the funeral was damp and overcast at first. The service was excruciatingly tense, but the vicar kept it mercifully short and sweet, she merely alluded to the choices we make in life without directly addressing the 'elephant in the room.' Thankfully no one felt the urge to do a reading or say a few words about my father the bigamist. I felt a mild sadness at what might have been if he had been more present in my life, but my mind was occupied mostly by the presence of so many attractive women in black. Why did women always look so sexy at funerals? There ought to be a law against it. The gathering around the grave for the committal was like a scene from a film. The drizzle had relented, the sky had cleared and the churchyard dripped with classy women.

They all looked so stylish and smartly attractive. The sun began to shine through the damp mist, bathing the scene in a soft glow. Well-cut, figure-hugging, sombre dresses, black hosiery and high heels were everywhere. A few of them were accompanied by smartly dressed husbands or boyfriends, but it was the sexy, attractive women, with their shiny hair, tasteful makeup and black hosiery, that made my cock tingle. I'd rarely seen so many pairs of nice legs in heeled shoes, all in one place at the same time.

Madeline had caught my eye earlier inside the church; she acknowledged me and mouthed, "Thank you" with ruby red, perfectly painted lips. I knew instantly that the stunning, blonde-haired young woman with her was my sister. I could see signs of my father's features in her face but she'd got her mother's genes to thank for her shapely body. Wow, was my initial reaction, but I quickly admonished myself, she was after all a blood relative.

I learned later that Lauren was twenty-two and still at university. I also discovered later that the other women accompanying Madeline were her sisters Nadine and Kristen and their daughters Zoe and Danielle respectively; all very easy on the eye. Not that my side of the family was going to be outdone either. My mother's sister Sarah, and her two daughters, my cousins Charlotte and Beatrice, looked very foxy as well.

The nice lady from the personnel department of the company that had employed my father was there, she'd introduced herself and her two female colleagues before the service. The decorous trio fitted in well with the other female mourners.

As we all stood by the graveside I scanned the gathering of attractive women and felt like the luckiest man alive. Though I did wonder once more about my moral compass, surely it's not normal to feel sexually aroused at a funeral, but there were alluring women everywhere I looked.

When we got to the "earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust" bit, my mother put her arm through mine and leaned on me gently. I felt a surge of pride, she didn't look out of place among the bevvy of beauties that surrounded us.

It had been almost a month since my father had died and she had informed me, sheepishly, earlier on at home, that she had lost twelve pounds in weight during that time. She had been so pleased that she'd been able to get into her expensive, knee-length, classic black dress. She looked very attractive and sophisticated in the dress with its matching jacket, barely black hosiery, sleek, three-inch high, stiletto-heeled court shoes and a classy black hat with a sexy 'birdcage' veil.

Her drop pearl earrings and subtle pink lipstick took me back to when I was a young boy and I used to love watching her getting ready to go out. The feeling I used to get, that my mother was the most beautiful woman in the world, had come flooding back when I watched her make her way downstairs just as we were leaving for the funeral. She used to be so fun-loving and vivacious; I wanted to see her like that again.

Over the past couple of weeks, I sensed that she'd been worried that she would be outshone by Madeline. She'd said to me a couple of times that she thought Madeline was very attractive and could see why my father had fallen for her. I told her that my father had great taste in women and she had given me a bashful look and kissed me on the cheek.

As we left the churchyard I told her that she was the most desirable woman there. It wasn't flattery, I meant it, she squeezed my arm, pressed her manicured pink thumbnail into the palm of my hand and dragged it down to my fingertips. I knew she hadn't done it to intentionally arouse me but, to my delight and shameful discomfort, an erotic tingle travelled down my spine and sent waves of pleasure into my cock.

I checked with Madeline that she and her family knew how to get to the pub where the wake was being held. The skirt of her knee-length dress pulled taut around her thighs as she settled into the driving seat of her car. I was standing over her with the door open and couldn't help noticing the telltale signs of the suspender clips that protruded through the tight black material.

She followed the direction of my gaze and seemed to adjust her position so that the material pulled even tighter. Her suspender straps, the little button that fastened the welt of her stockings to her suspender clips and the clips themselves, were all showing in clear relief through her dress. She fixed her eyes on mine and gave me a look that made me feel like a naughty boy that she would take in hand at the first opportunity. Later on in bed that night, Madeline would once again be the subject of my masturbation fantasies.