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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
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Copyright 2004. As the author, I claim all rights under
international copyright laws. This work is not intended
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Do You Know Where Your Mother Is?
by Marcia R. Hooper (marciar26@aol.com)
***
Jenna discovers her mom has been doing cyber with a
married man. Already traumatized by her parent's recent
divorce, she turns to her brother for advice, and
possibly something else. Another tale of angst-ridden,
sexually-attracted siblings. (MF-teens, inc, 1st)
***
This is a work of fiction and is not meant to portray
any person living or dead, nor any known situation.
This story contains mature themes and is meant for
adults only and is not to be read by person's under the
age of 18, or the legal age in the county/state/country
in which the reader resides.
If you would like a Microsoft Word version of this
story (a much better read), please contact me at
MarciaR26@aol.com
***
DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR MOTHER IS?
by Marcia R. Hooper
(marciar26@aol.com)
You just never know. Even about your mother. I sure
didn't.
Three weeks ago I was snooping around my mom's room,
looking for goodies. I found a lipstick-sized vibrator
under her mattress, and a folded, three-page printout
of an IM session. I was shocked.
BrodskyBent: Hi there. 36 YO male here. You a hot MILF?
CurliQue35: I don't respond well to acronyms. But yes,
I am Hot.
BrodskyBent: Hot as in say, Rip off my panties and
ravish me completely?
CurliQue35: I'm not that hot! Go away!
BrodskyBent: LOL. Sorry, am really horny here. Please
don't throw me out.
CurliQue35: I'll throw you to the TOS Police, how's
that? <grin>
BrodskyBent: ANYTHING BUT THAT! So, are you married?
Kids? Mortgaged up the whazoo?
CurliQue35: I always wondered how to spell whazoo.
Anyway, you're not forgiven, so check your
impertinence. Recently unmarried, two kids, a mortgage
out my derriere that the ex is footing, a good job with
an asshole boss. If this is you, John, my boss is an
angel!
BrodskyBent: LOL. Not a John. (Not implying you're a
you know what, either.) So, are you 35 as your screen
name implies?
CurliQue35: 36 now. A year older and poorer. You know
my marital status, what's yours?
BrodskyBent: I shall not lie. Attached white male, two
kids, both in high school. I live in Towson. You live
in Frederick.
CurliQue35: I know where I live. It's not an
invitation.
BrodskyBent: I'm starting to feel unloved here. Maybe I
should go pester another single mother.
CurliQue35: Sighhhhhhh. I'm sorry. You seem harmless
enough. Maybe I'm just being hormonal.
BrodskyBent: Is that an admission of physical
unapproachability?
CurliQue35: That's a description I've never heard
before. But yes. Right in the middle of it.
BrodskyBent: That's too bad. My significant other's
hormonal also.
CurliQue35: Poor baby. Is your significant aware of
your cyber-wanderings?
BrodskyBent: No, and don't you tell her, either, LOL.
CurliQue35: My cyber-lips are sealed.
BrodskyBent: Thank you. So, are you available? Would
you like a pic? It's the real me, and very recent.
CurliQue35: Available for what? I probably shouldn't
ask that. Ok, send your pic. The worst I'll do is
cyber-tear it up.
BrodskyBent: Gee thanks. Here it comes now. Do I get
one in return?
CurliQue35: Yes. But don't ask for anything in the
nude. I'll hang up on you if you ask for anything in
the nude.
BrodskyBent: Nada. But that sounds like an admission of
nude photography if I ever heard one, LOL.
CurliQue35: Smart ass. Hmmm. Not bad. I like a man in
glasses.
BrodskyBent: I'm a little thin up top. That pic doesn't
really show it, but I want to be honest.
CurliQue35: Honesty appreciated.
BrodskyBent: Wow. You're really good-looking. I'm
intimidated now. Pretty soon I'll stat mystiping wurds
and fallng all ovr miself.
CurliQue35: LOL. No man as attractive as you has
problems with women.
BrodskyBent: Here that Bowser? She thinks I'm
attractive. <Blush.>
CurliQue35: Bowser better be your dog, Sir. I don't
like men who give their members names, especially not
K-9 names.
BrodskyBent: Oops. It won't happen again.
CurliQue35: Okay. Listen, someone here. Have to go now,
sorry.
BrodskyBent: Can I e-mail you?
CurliQue35: If you like. Bye.
It wasn't so much that Mom sounded like a ball-buster,
which she certainly did, or that she was online in an
AOL chat-room; what rocked me was that she doesn't have
a computer. That meant the exchange either took place
at her work, or here at home on either my brother's or
my computer.
* * *
"Mom?"
"Yes, Sweetie." She looked up from the Grands biscuits
she was arranging on a cookie sheet and faced me. Hair
had escaped from her barrette and hung loose over her
left cheek. She absently blew it away.
"Are you seeing someone?" I asked.
She blinked, then grinned sheepishly. "Well, sort of.
Nothing serious, though. Why do you ask?"
I kept my tone level. "You didn't say anything about
it. Usually you let me know first." I was still touchy
about Dad and reproach tinged my voice. I felt a sting
of tears. Shit, Jenna, I thought, stop that shit.
She sighed and wiped her hands on a dish-towel. "Honey,
I'm not going out with him. So far, it's only e-mail
and a little bit of chat." Her grin grew embarrassed
"Or am I too old for that?"
"Mom!" I complained, but felt better all the same. "Do
you really like him?"
She half-shrugged, half-nodded. "Sort of. I can't
really tell. I don't understand the situation yet."
What's to understand? I wondered. He wants to ball you.
I asked, "Is he married?"
She sighed again. "Jenna."
"Mom!" I cried, and ran upstairs to my room.
* * *
I know crying is stupid. I'm eighteen years old, and
old enough to know better, but I miss Dad and I want it
back to normal. Even if "normal" was fighting all the
time and throwing things around their bedroom and Dad
hitting Mom once and cheating on her at least twice. As
a child you tend to forget those things--or at least to
ignore them. My brother distrusts my dad and worships
the ground Mom walks on. It's the opposite for me, as
it is with all my friends who've been through a
divorce. Sons side with their mothers and daughters
always side with their dads. Stupid, but true.
"You okay?" he asked.
It was ten o'clock, two days later and we were alone in
the house. He was massaging my neck. My migraine was
ferocious and I'd taken an Imitrex but it wasn't
helping yet. "No," I said miserably.
"You want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Jenna."
I turned over and he removed his hands. James is my
twin brother and my best friend. He spends hours with
me when I'm in pain, but we have a problematic
relationship and we have to be careful. "How can you
defend her?" I demanded.
"Jenna," he repeated.
"Jimmy, she's a whore." He stiffened and I said
apologetically, "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
He rolled me back onto my stomach, returned to the soft
kneading of my neck muscles, making me groan in pain.
It was a bad attack though, and he knew better than
stop. "What makes her any different than you or me?" he
asked.
"She's my mother."
"She's a female," he said. "Female's need attention. Or
hadn't you noticed that, Jenna?"
"I'm not asking you to fuck me," I said belligerently.
"I'm not offering to."
I was experiencing a more intense desire for James than
I'd felt in a long, long time. We had never had sex,
never really even come close, but there was always that
understanding that we could. "Sorry. I shouldn't have
said that," I repeated.
"It's okay. Tell me exactly what she said."
I related the gist of the transcript, then told him to
go get it. It was still there, or at least it had been
that afternoon. He settled down to read it. "Seems
pretty innocent to me."
"It's what they're not saying," I complained.
He laughed. "How can you not say something in an IM.
It's hard enough not to be misunderstood. Besides, this
is tame compared to what I write."
"You're not thirty-seven with two kids."
"Thirty-six," he corrected. "And her two kids are
grown."
"Stop defending her."
He massaged my shoulders, then moved to my shoulder
blades, which didn't hurt so much, then to my spine,
which did. I moaned appreciatively. The Imitrex was
finally kicking in.
"Take off my top," I said. I raised enough for him to
pull it over my head. I reached behind with my right
hand and released my bra strap. It popped loose to both
sides. He stopped rubbing.
"It's fine," I said. "I'm not trying to seduce you." I
was comfortable with this level of undress as long as I
hurt this bad. Problem was, I didn't hurt this bad. In
fact, the headache was leaving like a burning-off mist.
"We should stop," he said.
"Don't. Please." Because he deserved it, I told the
truth. "I shouldn't be letting you do this, but I want
you to, because I like it. Just rub me until my
headache's gone, and I'll button back up. Okay?"
"Okay." He straddled my buttocks and laid it on with
both hands, giving me a tremendous massage. Two or
three minutes into it he developed a tremendous
erection, and that was fine too. I was certainly
aroused myself.
"James?"
"Uh-huh."
"Do you think we ever will?"
He breathed heavily through his open mouth. "I'm
damned-near ready to now, Jenn. You're killing me."
I grinned into the mattress. "A girl should have the
upper hand with her brother."
I expected a deserved smack on the rear, but it didn't
come. His hands worked the small of my back, went up to
my neck again, then slid down along my sides.
"James?"
"Uh-huh."
"I want to have sex with you."
"I want to have sex with you too."
"Should we?"
He rested on my butt. His hands were on his thighs.
Both of us knew I wanted it because of Mom. "Not like
this," he said.
I reached back, found the ends of my bra strap and
hooked them up. He climbed off and handed my top, which
I put on. I had never felt so frustrated in my life.
"Thank you," I said, standing on tiptoe and kissing him
on the cheek. "You're a good brother."
"Don't mention it." He whacked my butt so hard I
yelped.
* * *
Three days later, I again raided my mother's bedroom.
Beneath the mattress was a four page transcript. I read
nervously.
BrodskyBent: Still at work?
CurliQue35: Yes, I was afraid you wouldn't make it.
BrodskyBent: Anyone there?
CurliQue35: Just me and the closed-circuit cameras,
LOL.
BrodskyBent: No diddling yourself at the keyboard,
then.
CurliQue35: I would never do that!
BrodskyBent: Certainly not.
CurliQue35: I have to get myself a laptop. I should be
at home, doing this in my bedroom.
BrodskyBent: Good idea. You could diddle yourself in
comfort.
CurliQue35: That's not what I meant.
BrodskyBent: Did you tell Jenna yet?
CurliQue35: That we had sex? Are you nuts?
BrodskyBent: That we're seeing each other.
CurliQue35: Oh. Duh. No.
BrodskyBent: She has a right to know. She asked, after
all.
CurliQue35: You tell her then.
BrodskyBent: Right. Let's drop the subject. Did you
enjoy the other night?
BrodskyBent: Val?
CurliQue35: I'm angry.
BrodskyBent: Why?
CurliQue35: You are such a man.
BrodskyBent: That's not a compliment, is it?
CurliQue35: Sharp, as well.
BrodskyBent: Come on. We agreed to talk about things.
CurliQue35: You're right. I'm sorry. I'm just confused.
You experience this from a distance; I handle it up
close every day. James takes things pretty much in
stride, but Jenna has rolled this huge boulder out
between us that I can't get around. I can barely even
see around it most of the time. I'm afraid she'll do
something stupid just to hurt me. I did at her age.
BrodskyBent: Jenn is a very smart girl. And she has her
brother to go to if things get bad.
CurliQue35: That's what I'm talking about.
BrodskyBent: I'm sure you're imagining things.
CurliQue35: I pray so. It might run in the family.
Reading someone else's IM's can be very confusing. I
was already bewildered by the conversation; the sudden
shift in subject confused me even more. Then I realized
it was another session altogether, copied right after
the first.
BrodskyBent: Ding-Dong
CurliQue35: Who's there.
BrodskyBent: Open the door and you'll find out, little
girl.
CurliQue35: Eeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiinoooooo!!
BrodskyBent: LOL. Home or at work?
CurliQue35: Work.
BrodskyBent: I thought you were going to get a laptop.
CurliQue35: I did, but I haven't hooked it up yet. I
haven't even installed AOL on it. I will tomorrow night
though, or maybe even tonight.
BrodskyBent: I should let you go then. You could be
much more uninhibited with me at home. <grin>
CurliQue35: Tisk-tisk. You are such a man. Always and
foremost: sex-sex-sex.
BrodskyBent: But you like it. Wearing panties tonight?
CurliQue35: You know I am.
BrodskyBent: A thong?
CurliQue35: Possibly.
BrodskyBent: No panty lines beneath your skirt?
CurliQue35: <grin>
BrodskyBent: I'd like to remove that skirt, Valerie.
CurliQue35: Careful, now, Mister.
BrodskyBent: I'll be careful, don't you worry.
CurliQue35: That's not what I meant. But at least it
wouldn't get all wrinkled this time.
BrodskyBent: Not my fault it got wrinkled. You could
have taken it off.
CurliQue35: I tried to take it off, remember?
BrodskyBent: Oh, yeah. Sorry. <grin again>
CurliQue35: I'll grin you, you bastard. Do you know I'm
still sore? Three days later?
BrodskyBent: Are you complaining?
CurliQue35: No. Just embarrassed.
* * *
James said, "Okay, so they had sex. So what?"
I snatched the papers from his hand. "James! He's
married. He's got kids our age. She's gonna break up
his marriage!" He rolled his eyes at me, just stoking
my anger. "I can't believe you're taking her side!" I
cried.
He tried to shush me.
"I will not be quiet!" I yelled. "She's--"
He shut me up with a hand behind my head and the other
over my mouth. I stared at him, wide-eyed. "Do you not
get anything?" he asked.
"Mmmnufff-ummmffff!"
He took his hand off my mouth. "It might run in the
family," he said.
I stared at him, bewildered. He pointed out what Mom
had said. "So?"
"So? Ever wonder why she and Uncle Robert are so weird
around each other?"
I stood there and blinked. "You don't mean . . .?" He
rolled his eyes again. "Stop that," I said, irritably.
"You know I hate that." I read the lines more
carefully. "This doesn't mean anything, James."
"Now who's in denial?"
"Cut it out," I said sulkily.
"Look. Mom's mother and dad got divorced when she was
sixteen. Just like us. Mom and Uncle Robert are
fraternal twins. Just like us, Don't you think that's
kind of a genetic thing? Mom and her brother? You and
me?"
I blushed at the very thought of Mom and Uncle Robert
together. But then again, we almost had. I breathed
deeply and slowly. "Are you suggesting that you and I
are...?"
"Are what?" he asked, mystified. Then It was his turn
to be shocked.
* * *
The following night in the kitchen I asked my mother
point blank: "Are you and Uncle Robert having sex?"
She dropped the two glasses in her hand and they both
shattered on the floor. "Am I what?" she croaked.
I stood my ground. "Are you and Uncle Robert having
sex?"
She looked at me with every emotion possible twisting
her face. She laughed and hiccuped at the same time and
gripped her mouth convulsively. "Of course not!" she
spat out. "How can you ask such a thing?"
I held out the transcript.
"Where did you get that?"
Very slowly, through clenched teeth, I said, "Tell me
about Uncle Robert." And she did.
* * *
James asked in disbelief. "It's Dad?"
I laughed softly. "Uh-huh."
He read every line of the transcript. "I can't believe
it."
"It's been going on quite a while," I said. "Most of
this is bullshit."
What Mom had told me was this: Three months ago, Dad
had surreptitiously contacted her online. He pretended
to be a married man from Baltimore, with kids her own
age, interested in having cyber. The ruse held up
exactly one week, when she had caught him out.
She was furious, of course, but also relieved. It meant
there was hope. Rather than give me false hope, they
had kept the relationship under wraps, letting it
develop gradually. Last week they had had their first
date, ending is sex. I had read about it in the
transcript.
"So they're going out tonight?" he asked.
"Yes, but you're not supposed to know. Mom wants to
spring it on you herself."
"That's some spring," he said. "And this shit from the
first transcript?"
"Cyber-games," I said. "Them having fun. You know
adults."
He laughed. Then he sobered. "What about her and Uncle
Robert?"
I took the transcripts from his hand and ripped them
into little pieces. "Some things," I said, peeling out
of my tee-shirt and unsnapping my bra, "are better
experienced, than described."
It really does run in the family.
THE END
Note: The idea (and the title) for this little story
was inspired by the catch-phrase of an ad for a certain
website. The website id called "MILF Hunters," (Mothers
I'd Like to Fuck) and of course it's very demeaning to
women. But it's also kind of charming, the notion of us
Soccer Mom's being pursued for what we are.
To be truthful, I had a lot of trouble with this story.
Jenna was originally a boy, then a single female child,
then one of a pair of twin sisters. Nothing worked
until I tried Jenna and James, then it clicked. The
plot kept changing also, which didn't help. I'm still
unhappy with it, but oh, well.
M.H.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 32