You can't Go Home Bk. 01

Everyone is 18+ in the this story of love and lust with family. I rode the short bus in school and am dyslexic and use software and editors to make it fun to read.

You can't go Home. Book 1

Where does your story begin? For me, it started young. It was my eighteen birthday in 1983 in hot, dry west Texas. I was as big as my Dad was. I was six foot two and weighed one hundred and seventy pounds. I ran two miles daily with forty pounds with a backpack and ten pounds of leg weights, hitting the gym a few hours a day at school. The coaches all wanted me to play sports. I did the lettering in four and had college scholarships lined up with two sports. My grades were good, but my home life was off. Something just was not right there.

My Mom, Samantha Lynn or Sam, and my Dad, Danny Allen Bogart, fought like top card MMA bouts on a Friday night four nights a week if Dad was in town. My Dad worked as a union representative. So he traveled from city to city collecting union members and their dues in a different order.

It was made clear to Mom by her sister. She told Mom as she thought I was asleep in the next room, they were loud when they were drinking. She tried to tell her my Dad did not care that he was married. He mistreated Mom, and there were rumors that Mom was looking for love in someone's strong arms.

When I was eight, my Mom had a man who stayed a day or two every time Dad left town; Mom told me it was her imaginary friend Uncle Roy that would stay. In passing, I told my Dad's limo driver we were talking about my imaginary friend Jack-o-lantern who lived under my bed and would come out when my folks screamed at each other. I never saw our Uncle Roy again. Mom began seeking love and kindness in my arms when I turned eighteen. I did not know how it was wrong, nor was there any way I could stop.

Dad would leave after beating Mom up. She was too hurt to look for love from another man; he always ended any fight or argument with her. "Remember our deal Bitch."

Samantha, my Mom, would slide into my bed crying, and I let her hold me. I never knew where to hold her. That was not a bruise or an open cut. I get out of bed, and I ice and dress your cuts taking your things off, you tossing more clothes away too bloody to wash. We stayed in bed till my alarm went off. I have been taking Boxing and Martial arts now for three years. I was not all that good at it, but it kept me fit, giving me an edge in sports.

My Mom had another rough night with Dad's sick urges a few weeks later. She was hurting badly and did not stop bleeding. We had to go to the Emergency Room. One Doctor there seemed to know my Mother, but he never said a word. The doctors fixed her right up as they knew her because they did. They gave her pain medications she was loopy for hours after. I took her home and skipped school to take care of her when it happened a few days later. It was not planned, at least on my part. Hell, I had not even tried to sneak looks in on my hot Mom, nor did I masturbate to her panties. Or dream of fucking her, but I have seen her nude once, only once.

My hot Mom stood five foot eight; she hit the scales at one hundred and twenty-eight pounds; her blue eyes seemed to hold a deep sadness, but they did. Her honey-blond hair made her a MILF to all my friends who liked women. We were at my Mom's folks' lake cabin at Falcon Dam, and Mom went skinny dipping at dawn. I had the same idea. We met at the water's edge. There was no plan for us to do this.

It's seventy-five degrees out. We both dove into screams of the sixty-five-degree water. We played and swam. It was rather fun like we were cheating, breaking all the rules. Mom got out of the water as it got lighter. You went to the shower, the one made outside, as I had to stay in the water. I did have a boner, cold water or not; you ordered me out of the water, telling me.

Samantha says. "Not a good idea being naked around Dad. But remember this day, baby, it's important."

I Watched my Mom walk to the shower with her clothes off. Once there, Mom hung up her robe. You wear your bathing suit as I do some ten feet away. My Mom then pointed to the bench seat, pushed it, and the floor holding the bench on it slid a few feet, and you checked something there and moved the seat back. The water is getting steamier as you shower, and I can see her. One of the few times she was bruise-less, she did not seem to own any modesty, or maybe it was just me and nothing to be modest about.

My Moms pills took her inhibitions away if she had any, and yes, it led to Mom getting handy on my happy stick a few times. That's what Mom called my cock. It was a good seven inches long when awake.

I woke to my Mom Sam's hot ass on my boner. Her hips would wiggle, and she pulled her panties down and let my hot cock slide into her ass cheeks or near her pussy. She squeezed her ass, and I got enough friction to blow my load on my Mom's hot ass. After four days of this, you gave me a hand job the next day, then a blow job, and I fucked your tits, doing my Mom's tits to your spit. It was pretty perverted of me, I know. But, I did not feel guilt not if it hurt Dad and made my Mom feel better. Not knowing if it was just familiarity sleeping together, touching stroked my desire, leading to my fantasy of being in bed with my Mom. I lost my virginity to my Mom that night; it made me want to protect her when Dad returned from a Union business trip.

I know that not talking or making plans was just a childish fantasy of lust, but I could have made a difference, damn it, hell, just leaving was never even talked about. I was and am a 'moron.' We made love eight times in four days; she hurt, took a pill, got high, took my things off, and sucked me hard. She rode me on top till I came a long time later. I was too scared to do more she was covered in bruises, and frankly, it scared me to make love to her for fear I hurt her more. We should have left; we should have talked about going, fucking my Mom felt too good to want to think. I was scared of what would happen if we did stand up to him here. We should have run, but there was a novel worth of knowledge I did not have. I am clueless, young, and overconfident in my fighting skills. Yes, thank you. It seemed to be my 'Modus Operandi.'

What did happen when Dad came home was not pretty. I was at school just after lunch class, talking with my friends in the weight room, having finished a few sets. When my friend and next-door neighbor Debbie, a cheerleader, ran to me at school.

Debbie says. "I was just home picking up music for practice. Your Dad came home. It sounds like he's killing your Mother; my Mom called the police on him. Come on; I'll give you a ride over."

We got there to screams and heard a house down from home. I jumped out of Debbie's car before it stopped rushing into the house to see my Dad standing over my bleeding Mom. I struck him and kicked my old man's ass around the room. He broke a chair over me, stunning me and not going down as I blocked two more punches knocking him down to the floor hard. I pound him into the carpet. Every mark on Mom is given to him twofold. My high-school ring left quite an impression it his face. He scrambled away, kicking me, as the noise at the door made me look out at Debbie as she came in and went to help my Mom up. My dear old Dad shot me. It shattered my shoulder, ending my college dreams with a twenty-one-cent piece of lead. I grabbed Debbie, and my Mom headed to the door. Two more shots rang out, missing us. I pull you two in front of me, blocking you two from the shots, my Dad screams. "Remember the deal Bitch."

My Mom pulls away from my hand as I get Debbie out the front door halfway to the car.

My Mom says. "Please Run, son, or we're both dead and never return. Dad will kill you because you stood up to him. He thinks we are a thing. His friends were watching us reporting back to him. Run, I love you, no time, run. I get him to stop chasing you. Never come back as long as he and his sister are alive. Promise me now, run."

Mom ran back in like a fireman into a burning house. I did not have time to answer as more shots rang out as my friend drove me to the Hospital with a shattered rear window to show for it.

Debbie drove me to the Hospital in Odessa, the next town, thinking on her feet it would take longer for my Dad to find me. The Hospital had to report it to the police. It was suggested for me to leave town by the Doctor, his name was J something, Hobart.

He was stitching me up, taking the slug out. He patched me up and gave me a shot for the pain, he says. "You're going to have to get your shoulder fixed soon. Let the gunshot heal first. The local police will be here in a few. It would be best if you came with me—their your Dad's men. You disappear as your uncle Roy did. Do you remember him? He was my best friend growing up. I was off to medical school at the time."

He palms me a few hundred bucks and checks to see who is near and who might hear and says. "Samantha and I were lovers before your Dad got to be a big man in his job; a bus leaves for Austin in about an hour. Go out the service door, turn left at the next street, two blocks from the bus station. Buy your ticket wait outside till they call your bus, and keep your head down. Put your ponytail under your hat, if you need to message me. I'm on the hospital email list. Sign in as Marco. If you don't get back, Polo, it's a trap; if you get Marco, wear your Polo shirt. Let's get dinner while you're here. Hall ass, it means they traced you down."

He takes me to the Doctors' lounge and gives me a bottle of pain pills, a light jacket that hides my shoulder sling, a cowboy hat, and an overnight bag of clean gym clothes. Sunglasses, he puts in street clothes and hands me a small bottle of uppers and another for pain.

The Doctor says. "No more than two in twenty-four hours; your Dad is a made man. He has bodies buried behind him. Your Mom once had a record with all his files, but she made me stay away. Good luck, son; you need it; time to leave and never return. Your friend was told to get her folks to go look at colleges now, or your Dad's friends might come to see her later."

The Doctor packs a gym bag. Grab a collage hoodie, load the gym bag with it, and hold your gym shoes out as you take mine off me. Mine are covered in blood. I wore his. I left. It felt like I was a coward, a guilty one, too; I was clearly out of my depth here. I got my ticket and noticed long hair stood out in Midland, TX, in 1983. I was one of only three long hairs in the bus station.

I went to the drugstore next door, bought scissors and red hair dye, cut my hair badly in a restroom, and dyed it and my eyebrows. I still had almost an hour to wait on the bus. I picked up snacks putting them in a cheap backpack. I start to sit on the Vibrating chairs to watch the news. Three ugly guys in suits are holding a folded photo, looking for me. Walking out a side door, I bumbed a smoke to fit in with the smokers. I'm just about done. I can hardly walk. They call my bus. I grabbed a couple of bottles of water and boarded the bus. I drank water and took a pain pill, not the two it called for. I needed my wits about me; I was not safe yet.

The bus filled up, and an older woman in her sixties sat beside me, she says. "You look sick, boy. You ate up in the guilt. Was it fun? At least, did you love her or use her? I see you bleeding a bit, son. May I check your wound? I was a field Nurse in Grenada. You're not old enough to know that one."

She checks me and says. "Your weeping is not bad next stop; I'll get you some more bandages; this will work." You pull a new pantyliner out of your purse you add it under the wrap.

I say. "I guess it's my time of the month. It's a long story, and I can't keep my eyes open, Ma'am; I tell you the story later."

You say. "My name is Susan, son. You don't tell anyone you don't know or trust with your ass. Even then, you think twice. You got shot. It must be a hell of a story, but I could be a cop or a fucking hitman as your Dad would hire; yes, I know who you are. Now get some sleep, Dan. My granddaughter is in your class, and I used to know your Dad till I caught him having two ladies on the side beside your Mom."

I napped, waking, and Susan says. "Pee break, son, bus stop. I change your bandage. You lost lots of blood; why you are not in a hospital is beyond me."

You feed me fresh hot tamales with a bowl of menudo. You changed my bandages and covered me up. We are only halfway to Austin. We stop at every tree or gas station; it seems; it's west Texas, with only so many trees. But, boy, howdy, did we have gas stations? Ten twenty minutes rest-stops later or sixteen hours on the road, we are still twenty miles outside of town. A big Lincoln town car passes us doing eighty-five miles per hour. Four dark blobs in suits fill it; crap, dads, guys? I shook.

Susan says. "Last stop before the town, son. This is my stop. Do you need to go to town, or would a bigger town be easier to hide in plain sight? My Grandson is going into the Army. He's driving his car to keep it at his Moms place in Houston. That's three weeks away. That will get you time to heal up some."

It sounded good, so I trusted her. The bus stopped, and a pickup truck was there to meet her. I climbed up to get in the truck bed and could not get up. Susan asked her Grandson to help me up into the truck bed. It was a short drive outside town to a farm with a good-sized creek running through the place. I was helped down, and Susan took me to the kitchen, got a medical field kit and boiled water, and cleaned a few tools.

You took my bandages off, cussed, and say. "Catgut, they used string sewing you together."

You glue my wound close and use a staple gun, nothing for the pain; that hurt. I pull my pill bottle out and take two.

I was shown a bathroom, and I used the head and brushed my teeth with my fingers and toothpaste. I look at the shower and stand in my boxers, looking at the rain head and all the spray heads with knobs. You bring me towels. You see my issue; I don't know how to shower, not getting my shoulder wet. You drop your things down to your bra and panties starting the water, and you pull down my boxers to a grasp.

Susan says."Shit, son, I see why some hubby shot your ass. You got a nice cock."

Washing me up, yes, I got hard, and you washed my cock too; I came, whether it was nerves or fear, my cum splattered over both of us. Susan says. "Wow, if you weren't in so much pain, I see how this monster fits in my pussy three weeks, maybe?"

I nodded yes to Susan as you helped me out of the shower, helped put your Grandson's PJs on as we ate dinner, and I got to talk to her Grandson. He's two years older than I am. We did not like the same things. His granny was nice to me, and he was too; he called me city boy, he called me city boy from a town of thirty thousand folks. The next thing I noticed was dragging my ass to a spare bedroom and climbing into bed downstairs. I got up to pee, and I felt a warm, soft hand grip my cock, pointing it into the bowl as I let go of a stream. Your hand felt so sexy it became hard to pee with a boner. You bent me over some as I finished peeing. You took my hard cock, and you asked me. "You need to come? Your face says no?"

I say. "Pills more sleep, please food later."

You tell me. "It's made, dear, a cup of bone broth soup, breakfast tacos with extra collagen, eggs and bacon, a small steak with toast, Coffee, and Orange juice."

I ate until I fell asleep again as Susan and her Grandson helped me return to bed. This went on every day for a week. Finally, the second week I wanted to sit up and watch TV. In the late 1980s, daytime game shows sucked; a soap opera was on, and it was riveting. It was called General Hospital. After these few weeks of watching it, I have not seen another episode since.

The last three days before Susan's Grandson enters the Army, he and a few friends run to the border for their last fling before boot camp. I wake to a hot mouth on my soft cock. I have had twelve days of a nice come every day. But not today. It's time for your turn to come. I grab your neck a little hard and pull you off my cock to a loud pop and a moan. I kiss you hard. I taste my juices in your mouth. You moan from how hot this is. I get out of bed, and with one hand, I pull you over and flip you off your knees so you are on your back. I draw your panties to the side as I spank your pussy firmly with my hot cock.

I say. "You slut, you sexy slut, not today. You ate my cock without asking first."

I pull your top up and twist your big nipple; as I spank your pussy again, firm, not hard, you lift your hips your getting close; as I stop, my cock and head rub your wetness. You rub us together again, lifting your hip to moan from both of us. I hold your neck tight, cutting off your air as my slow strokes get deeper, longer, slow in and fast out, then fast in and out. You arch your back, giving you my breath. I do this twice and let you breathe on your own.

As you call me names, you hold me tight to you, pushing your clit against my public bone. Finally, your shutter and scream out. "Fuck that's good!"

I pull out and lie down on the bed. You see my flagpole; you salute it sliding it inside your hot wet pussy again. I will admit the pain pills cut down my sensitivity. But it's a plus for you. I took a long time and a few positions; we came together covered in sweat. The bed was wet with our cum. Finally, after a few days of three or four times a day, it came time to say goodbye, sad as it was.

Susan hands me a phone number and says. "It's my girlfriend from school. She runs an insurance company. I told her about you. She's waiting to hear from you."

Driving off in his Mustang, we made a great time. We stopped in the Woodlands where his Mom lived. I used this time to think about what I left the Mother with. I got chilly the car AC worked like a blue norther. I put my UTEP college hoodie on. I leaned back and stuck my hands into the pocket, finding an odd floppy disk case with two floppies. It's not mine. It was marked Johnny Lee Bogart with a noose doodled on it; it was in my Mom's handwriting. I teared up. I did not want to be less manly in front of another guy.

We road into the woodlands stopping for gas. I called the number Susan gave me and was waiting for an answer. It's twenty-two miles away. Damn, this Texas is big, just damn big. I said goodbye after calling to find out a bus ride to town would take my last few bucks. I walked two miles to the bus station in a gas station, bought my ticket, and waited. I first called the number for a job at an insurance office working the counter. Who knows after? I worked out where the office was with a map. It was in a strip center in the Heights with four businesses there. I walked eight miles from the bus station.

I found the office and talked to Susan's friend, who says. "Start Monday. Please wear slacks and a nice dress shirt."

I was carrying a duffel bag full of hand-me-downs, an iron, nice slacks, and shirts with a pair of jeans, the one the Doctor gave me. That damn cowboy hat I never wore before, so the red hair, I hope, is a good enough disguise.

I found a convenience store got a soda, and asked. "Where were the laundromats?"

The guy answered. "One was just blocks away, as were two others also blocks away.

I say. "I asked what the going rate of a garage apartment near here is?"

He says. "Four to five for a roach motel but a nice place eight hundred or more."

I went to the first of the Laundromats and checked the message boards for places for rent. I went, knocked on the door, and an older adult answered.

I say. "My uncle caught me being nice to his wife. It started nice she wanted nicer. I show my soon-to-be scar. I'm eighteen with no ID, money, birth certificate, SS card, car, or hope of ever returning home. I start a job Monday. I can do any odd jobs or not-odd jobs. My boss said my first paycheck is in two weeks from Monday."