My Father's Garage


Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Oral Sex, .

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: A short romance story with a strange location.


Copyright┬ę 2005 by Jefferson

My name is Jack.

I was born and raised in Blacksburg, Virginia. When I was eighteen years old I joined the army as a forward observer for an artillery unit. I swore to myself as I flew to Oklahoma for training, that I would never live with my parents again except for short visits. I did three years in the Army, I got lucky and stayed stateside the entire time and with the exception of a trip to California immediately after an earthquake to support the local National Guard in stopping riots and looting, I never saw any real combat. The only somewhat bad thing that happened to me during my military service was that I became addicted to nicotine, I started smoking, menthols to be exact. When my time in the Army was up, I took my GI bill and went to school.

I love my parents dearly. My mother was a nurse and had taught me compassion for all people that has served me will throughout my lifetime. My father was a construction worker, a carpenter to be exact, and a pretty damned good one. During my lifetime, I don't remember a car ever being parked in the garage of my parents house. The garage was always my father's workshop. As I grew older, he taught me all that he knew about working with wood. I too, grew to love working with wood. During my final two summers of high school I had worked with my father on building new housing sub-divisions. I found, that while I love working with wood, I hated working in the construction industry. If I was going to work with wood, I wanted to build something attractive. I later realized my dream job was cabinetmaker.

So, after my time in the army, I applied and was accepted to a two year carpentry program that would make me an apprentice carpenter. Thanks to the teachings of my father, I breezed through the school with little to no problem. After finishing the school, I was very selective about where I applied to work. I eventually was hired by a small furniture company some one hundred fifty miles southeast of where my parents lived. Moving away from my parents was the only drawback. I liked the boss, I liked the people and I liked the location. I packed my stuff and moved.

One year after moving to North Carolina, I met my future wife, Samantha. Samantha was a wonderful, beautiful young woman, only a few months younger than me, who worked as a social worker with abused and neglected kids. A few months after meeting, Sam and I went to visit my parents.

Samantha and my mother hit it off immediately. Samantha had lost her mother to breast cancer only a few years before and before I knew what was happening, Samantha was calling my mother, Mom. As I see it, it was destiny. Two weeks after returning home, I asked Samantha over for a home cooked meal and proposed to her. She accepted immediately. I then told her I didn't want to wait until we got married and asked her to move in with me. Again, she accepted. Over the next two weekends, we moved all of Samantha's belongings into my apartment. Seven months after I proposed we married in Blacksburg with her father and my parents and a hundred or so close friends and family in attendance. Samantha and my mother were both beside themselves that they were now truly mother and daughter.

Samantha and I had been married for about two years when the following events took place. We had both saved up our PTO (Paid Time Off) and decided to use it over Christmas to go stay with my parents for two weeks. Samantha's father lived only twenty minutes from us and we saw him often. We had spent the previous Christmas with him and felt we owed it to my parents to be with them for this Christmas.

My parents home is a large split level home with somewhere around two thousand square feet. The only reason they still kept the home, considering it was just them, was because my father was so attached to it and to his garage workshop. Upon entering the house through the front door, you came on to a small landing with ten steps leading up and three steps leading down. Upstairs was the living room, kitchen, dinning room, three bedrooms, including the master suite, and two full bathrooms. Downstairs was a large family room, a laundry room, the garage, another full bathroom and a forth small bedroom that I had many happy memories of.

That small bedroom in the basement had been my room while I was a teenager. It made me feel adult to live downstairs all by myself. My parents allowed me to turn the family room into my own personal living room. My father's TV and overstuffed recliner had been moved upstairs into one of the extra bedrooms and it soon became his den. Except to do laundry or get into the garage, my parents largely left me alone as long as the place was kept neat and my grades stayed good.

When I moved out, my parents never reclaimed that family room. So whenever Samantha and I went to visit, we would take up residence in the lower level. My parents had my old twin bunk beds taken out and had put a queen sized bed in. They told me when they did this that they planned to get a king sized bed but that the bed would have taken up the entire room. The queen was just fine with Samantha and I.

Samantha is a "cuddler." She enjoys touching, while awake, asleep and anytime in between. I would lay with my back to Samantha and she would curl up on my back. This was our normal sleeping position. We both, normally, slept in only underpants. I, in my boxer briefs and Samantha in a bikini or panties of some sort. The only times we altered this plan were when we had company or when she was on her period. She then insisted on sleeping in shorts or sweatpants.

The one thing I hated about visiting my parents was the fact that I had never managed to kick the cigarette habit. My mother refused to hear any idea that involved me smoking in her home. So, whenever we visited, I would go outside. My mother compromised with me and told me that at night, during bad weather or during the winter, I could go into the garage. This was a little more reasonable. So it was, that late one night during our visit, a few days after Christmas, Samantha and I were up late. We had been laying in bed watching a movie we had rented on DVD. I was in my normal boxer briefs and Samantha was wearing only a very skimpy little green bikini.

When the movie ended, I announced that I needed to go out for a smoke and Samantha stated she would come with me. We rolled out of bed and, as I circled the bed, Samantha slipped one of my T-shirts on over her head. There were only a few small windows in the garage, there wasn't any real danger of anyone seeing us so we saw no reason to get dressed. The entire visit it had been cold outside but thanks to my father putting a space heater in the garage, even the garage was relatively warm.

Unknown to Samantha and I, we were on vacation after all, we didn't watch the news, as we were watching our movie, it had begun to snow outside and had begun snowing hard. More than two inches of snow was covering the ground when we stepped into the garage. I went immediately to the table where I had left my pack and my lighter and was getting one out when Samantha came into the garage. I heard the snap and knew what it was but it registered just a second to late. I turned, my cigarette lit, just in time to see the door shut. "Samantha!" I screamed as I marched over to her. "Did you lock that door?"

"I don't think so," She stated as I brushed by her and reached for the door knob. I had spent way to many years in that garage to not know what had happened. My father had insisted the door into the garage be able to lock but didn't feel the need to put a good solid lock on. Instead he had put a simple twist lock on the door. My mother and I had both locked ourselves in the garage numerous times over the years because of the ease of which the lock could be turned. It took only one finger lightly brushing over the lock in the right direction to turn it the quarter turn needed to lock the door. I grabbed the doorknob and tried to turn it.

"Damn it!"

"Jack, are you serious?" I just nodded, my eyes closed and banged my head lightly against the door. I turned around and walked away. As I did, Samantha, apparently needing to confirm it for herself, checked the door and found it locked. "Can't you take the lock off? You've got all these tools?" Samantha asked as I moved through the workshop to one of the shelves.

"Samantha, if it was possible to remove the knob and lock from the outside, it wouldn't do anything to stop a burglar," I said as I pulled an old coffee can off the shelf. "My father used to keep an extra key in one of these coffee cans. If we can find it, we can get back in."

"Jack, there are about a dozen coffee cans," Samantha said as she came over beside me. She was right. When I was a kid, there had only been three or four. Since I'd left home my father had collected a lot more of them.

"You got another option?"

"Why not just open the garage door, go around and ring the doorbell?"

"Samantha, do you want to do it? Look at how we're dressed," I asked smiling at her as I pulled another coffee can off the shelf.

"Oh, I see your point. What about banging, maybe we could wake your parents up?"

"Samantha, they are fast asleep in their room which is on the other side of the house and up the stairs. They aren't going to hear us. My father built this house with his own hands. He made sure it was good and soundproof." Samantha and I went silent. We each pulled down another coffee can and started going through them looking for the key. We found numerous keys and tried them in the door but none worked. We went through more than a dozen coffee cans before finally realizing my father had either found a new hiding spot or had removed the key altogether.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Romantic / Oral Sex /