Revised, thank goodness spotting errors and added to in request for a continuation and now complete.
It all started on a Saturday. I was out with three mates for a few beers and a curry. Later, we went to several clubs in the city centre and I was well wrecked, not picking up any cum sluts, puking in an alley and shaving to stagger home. It was nearly one in the morning when I reached home. I could see downstairs lights on in the trash quality, council house we existed in. That’s my Mum and Dad, me and my two sisters Charlene, she’s the adopted black one and Karen, I was pissed – so what? As I fumbled for my house keys, I was amazed to find my mother opening the door. Mum looked a wreck, mascara all over her face and a fag hanging from her lip, bottle of vodka swinging from her hand. She was yawning and irritated.
“Fucking hell Mum what you doing?” I slurred as she pushed me inside, making me slam against the stairs.
“Get in there and shush your gob,” she slurred.
I noticed the bottle of vodka was half empty, as she closed the door behind, tutting at my wonky drunken stagger entering the kitchen and I thought ‘she need fucking talk.’
“I want to talk to you,” she said, leaning against the table. “It’s about Den and our Shar.”
I groaned. I wanted to piss and sleep, hopefully in that order and here she was chatting about her family. My mother has three sisters, two younger than her and Sharon was the oldest aged about fifty-two I think. She’s married to Den, a lazy, gambling drunk. They lived in London. Whenever they came to stay with us, she and him occupied my room and I slept on the sofa in the front room, because my sisters had their twin beds in the other room. It was almost six months since I had last seen Aunty Sharon and as Mum carried on talking, my brain was tuned into her big tits...
I sat on a stool and mother staggered to the sink to dowse her ciggie and then back against the table next to me. “Shar has come and she is ever so upset.” She looked worried. “Den wants to divorce her.”
Although I was drunk, I always like the old girl so Mum’s words had got through to me. I never liked my uncle Den. He had a miserable, gloomy outlook permanently etched on his face and was forever grumbling. There was no rapport between us. I always wondered how Sharon got hitched and married to him, like – they had no kids.
“What? He wants to divorce her after ... ten years of marriage?” I queried, grabbing a can of Stella from the fridge
“Yeah, the bastard,” my mother spat, lighting another Marlbro.
“I suppose he is shagging around as usual?”
“I asked Shar that. But she says that he says he doesn’t,” replied my mother with a grimace.
“Hah. Don’t fucking believe him, but why does he want to divorce her?”.
“He’s said she’s lazy and dirty.”
“He need talk,” I scoffed, knowing their squalid lifestyle – about the same as ours.
“Exactly. When Shar said that, they had a huge slanging match.”
“I never liked the bastard,” I said, nibbling on a piece of stale bread, I was hungry as usual after a lot of beer. “Suppose she fell in love with him? What did she find in him to get married to him?”
“All of us are asking the same question,” said Mum. “She says that he is drinking more than ever and recently has started beating her. Every day coming home pissed as a fart. He forces her to fuck him. If she objects he hits her. Even last night after they fucked, he hit her with his belt,” said Mum. “I’d like to thrash his cock with his own belt,” I mumbled.
I was amazed to hear what had been going on and partly amused when Mum had told me the details. She was obviously furious.
“I’ll ask Shar to show you the welts if you don’t believe it.”
“Never mind that. I’ll sort the bugger out. Get the boys” I mumbled, thinking it might be nice to see where she had the bruises. Her chubby arse maybe?
“Peter, please ... Don’t get involved like last time, you know what happened,” my mother added, using my full name when serious. She was reminding me of when me and the lads sorted out a neighbour who was thrashing his kids. It was us that went to court and were done.
“Well what are we going to do?” I asked testily.
“I tried to calm her down,” she told me. “But she’s been crying from the time she arrived.”
“You going to back her up about the divorce?”
She frowned, I noticed – because suddenly I was sober. I liked my aunt.
“I’m worried about that too, I mean where will she go and she needs a man, she’s frigging useless, you know that.”
“I think it would be good to divorce that drunk shit, once and for all, bugger the rest.”
“Then what will Charmaine and Gloria say?” asked my mother, mentioning her other sisters.
“Fuck ‘em!” I exploded, to her obvious discomfort, she thought I was dissing her sisters. “She’ll find a good guy,” I suggested.
“Ballocks! She’s fifty-four Pete, do you really think any one will want a woman that age, these days with so many young girls just asking to be attached?”
I mused that many are gagging for it too.
My mother is incredibly sweet but very naïve also. Girls don’t want to be attached any more, they want to be shagged...
“There’ll be some guy that fancies her Mum.”
I wrapped my arm round Mum’s shoulders and cuddled her close. My mother weakly smiled up at me, appreciating the fact I had listened. I don’t do that much.
“I love my big sister. I want her to be happy,” she sobbed, stubbing the cigarette out and swigging the vodka.
“She’ll be happy getting a divorce then she can start over,” I assured her. What did I know, I just wanted to go to bed.
“She’s going to stay here for a while,” she said. “I’ve put the girls in your big bed, they’re OK, so you are in one of theirs OK?”
“What? You’re fucking joking Mum. I can’t do that!” I argued without too much resistance.
I was gob smacked that she would suggest that. But I didn’t object too loudly. I loved to be with Sharon, she was such fun, but sharing a room with her, whilst sort of sexy, she was thirty years older than me – but I might see her tits.
“Mum, she won’t be very happy with no privacy,” I said.
“Well, the room is big enough and your dad has strung up a sheet like a divider, It’ll be all right for a start,” she said. “Try it for size. I have told her and she said it was OK. She sleeps very deeply.”
Her grey blue eyes pleaded and she pecked my cheek. That was rare, she was desperate. I was worried, but interested.
“What did the girls say?” I asked.
“Your Dad and I talked about the problem with them,” she said. “He suggested this arrangement in the first place. He joked that you were a lucky bugger and I told him off. Then he said ‘Shar is old when compared to you, ‘ and I thumped him.
“He would say that, he’s a joker, but I don’t know,” I pondered, boozed up mind full of billowing white knockers.
“Look, she is depressed, feels miserable and dejected. When you go upstairs now, you’ll find out for yourself unless she’s asleep. Be quiet eh? You’ve sobered up a bit.”
“What am I supposed to do?” I asked my mother, who shrugged.
“Be normal, let her have some space but chat if she wants to. She confides in you. Remember how you helped her with that computer programme, when she had stumbled on that naughty web site and asked you get rid of it before he found out.”
“Yeah OK, it wasn’t bad anyway,” I muttered. “I understand but I need a piss.”
“Good lad. Take it easy. We’ll sort out the detail with the girls and your things tomorrow. I’ve got to have a piss as well and go to bed, thankfully the old man will be crashed out by now. Couldn’t face his beery breath and hands fumbling around tonight,” she chuckled.
Mum smiled for the first time since I had come in and although I was knackered and so was she, plus being plainly exhausted on top of her concern, she still had the sense of a sneaky joke between us. She waddled off upstairs. The bottle was empty. I waited for the loo to flush, then followed her upstairs, thankful she hadn’t farted while in the bathroom and had a piss, hearing the loud raucous sound of Dad’s snoring over my splashing and nearly made a mistake of stumbling into my bedroom. Suddenly things in my mind started to whirr as my hand rested on the handle to my new room. Hmm! Interesting. I had to switch on the light of my sister’s bedroom, it was pitch black and whilst I knew what was in there, it’s not the same as your own space. Aunty Sharon was sleeping on the bed nearest to the door and I tried to tiptoe past her. She woke up; squinted, recognized me and grinned
“Hi, Peter, I’m sorry about this,” she gestured to the makeshift screen between the twin beds. “Took the nearest one – knackered, you know.”
“Yeah OK. Bit of a surprise that’s all. Sorry about the light Aunt Sharon. Not used to it in here. Couldn’t see a thing. Bit pissed too. When did you get here?” I asked.
“Earlier, what, about er ... eight - after you had gone to the pub with your mates. Sorry for the imposition, but your Mum and Dad said you wouldn’t mind,” she answered, rubbing her eyes and sitting up.
.... There is more of this story ...