Chapter 9: Young Love and Tragedies

WARNING:

This chapter sets out what happens in real life as opposed to fantasies. It has a little sex and explains what happened to the main characters. If you want to end on a bright note, I suggest you stop at the end of the last chapter.

'Oooh, Nicky Baby, pound my cunt with your fat cock. Stuff Sam. It's my turn. Harder! Haaaaarder! NOW!'

Samantha was tangled up underneath us, having been filled with my cum, straight after she had rushed into Rebecca's bedroom. Sam had become quite demanding of late, frequently complaining how horny she was. She would enter our house after dropping her school bag off at her house, oh, and her blazer. She would arrive straight from her mother driving her home in order to 'visit Rebecca to study'.

Cyndi would then be bundled up to our place by her mother who found it terribly convenient to have the two girls at our house from arriving home from school at about 4pm until 6.30pm or 7pm when they would be called home for dinner. Because of other activities, in which Samantha's mother was involved, the two girls ate dinner with us twice weekly during school nights and then were escorted home by my mother or father at 10pm.

Most weekends would find both Samantha and Cyndi up at our place for at least several hours. Because their parents lived such hectic lives and went out every Friday and Saturday nights, it became accepted that the girls would sleep over at our house on those nights. This was absolute heaven for me and wasn't far off the feel of living with them.

My parents were not wealthy or even what could be considered 'getting by'. My father had problems holding a job because of his head injury. My mother was not capable of working due to some minor brain damage that occurred to her during birth. It had little real effect on her but it was an era where working mothers were frowned upon. Any physical defect in a woman would normally exclude her from the workforce.

We lived in a very basic house on the edge of a much more luxurious housing estate. We might have had a pool but it was a small above ground pool where the wall sides buckled and we emptied in winter rather than spent any money on winterising it. Marilyn and Jonathon Smythe, Rebecca and Cyndi's parents, had the largest house in the estate.

My father was much too proud to say anything and my mother simply did not know how, so the expense of having two extra mouths to feed for much of the week, plus the cost of utilities and heating and the like was a huge strain on our household weekly budget. The strain was so great that about five months after Cyndi and the pool incident my mother tearfully said to Samantha that perhaps she and Cyndi could stay at their own home most of the time. Samantha burst into tears and cried into my mother's breasts for more than an hour, climbing up into her lap and hugging Mom fiercely.

Samantha's father, Jonathon Smythe, was a sadist and no one in our family believed he even loved his daughters, treating them as an inconvenience if they did nothing wrong and then seemingly delighted in giving out punishment if they were noticed in a negative way. Marilyn was remote and apparently happy to palm the two girls off on my mother as often as she could. My mother was warm, caring, and never judged. Considering the relationships the girls were in, if they had any sexual problem my mother would treat them with the utmost patience and had no inhibitions whatsoever and so both girls started calling her 'Mom', much to my mother's delight.

My father remained 'Sir' but he was hugged by the two girls and, once they understood that his violence would not be directed at them, they become quite comfortable around him.

Within five months, the girls had become more a part of our family than their own and their parents couldn't have been happier. As I said, the financial strain had become intolerable until something had to give.

Cyndi, when about six weeks pregnant all of six weeks after we had started to have sex, had started to throw up and it was clear from the changes to her nipples that she was pregnant. Dr Steinberg then confirmed it and suggested an abortion. Much to everyone's dismay, she refused, saying that it was her baby, a gift from God and she could not harm it. My mother had had two late pregnancy miscarriages and two stillbirths. She was desperate for another child and it was worked out between Cyndi and her that Cyndi would have the child and Mom and Dad would adopt it immediately. The big problem was facing Cyndi's parents with the news of her pregnancy.

We had all been subdued and had gone to a picnic grounds for a lunch and to row boats on the river. The plan was to return that evening and for Cyndi and Mom to go down to see Cyndi's mother and explain the pregnancy and the adoption plan. Cyndi had thought up a story about how she became pregnant. While at the grounds, fate intervened and Cyndi started bleeding profusely. She had been wearing short shorts and those and her legs were stained with bright red blood. Since I had been with her, it terrified Cyndi and me about equally. That is to say, we both thought she was dying.

There was a great deal of blood. I was holding her while Dad ran to bring the car down into the picnic area where normally cars were not allowed. A nurse had been picnicking with her family and came to assist. She made sure that the miscarriage, because that is what it had been, was without serious complications and then helped my mother clean Cyndi up. Despite the nature of what the nurse was doing, I stayed with Cyndi and comforted her. The nurse tried to have me leave until she realised just how important to Cyndi that I remain and left me alone after that.

Cyndi was taken to Dr Steinberg's surgery and he looked after Cyn before clearing her to go home. He provided a note for Cyndi's school indicating she had a cyst that had burst and required bed rest. As upsetting as all of this was, what compounded the distress was the Smythe's total lack of concern. Cyn had been put to bed at our home, as her parents were not home. When they did arrive home, they apparently found the note that my mother had placed on the door but did not think it important enough to come and check on their daughter. My mother went down to the house when it grew dark and their lights were noticed on, to be asked by Cyndi's mother whether she could look after Cyndi for the three or four days that Dr Steinberg had ordered bed rest. The excuse was that her parents had to attend a seminar for Mr Smythe's work at a luxury mountain retreat. They never even came down and said goodbye to their daughters.

Sure, Cyndi and Samantha were engaged in a sexual relationship with Rebecca and me, but they were also loved and cared for by pseudo-parents who seemed to care far more for them than their real parents.

I was so very upset for Cyndi because she was inconsolable over the loss of our baby. She might have been twelve but she thought of the potential baby as a gift from God, proving her devotion to me. Me, I was scared, but I wanted Cyn to be happy. I knew that a baby for two twelve year olds was foolish in the extreme but Mom taking the baby did not seem to be a bad solution. That way neither Cyndi nor I would lose it. The actions of her parents made me detest them almost as much as the husband and wife team that raped me. That was how great my disgust was for Cyndi's parents.

Finally, there came a week my parents had no money and both Rebecca and I went to school without any food or money for lunch. We took some passionfruit from a vine that was fruiting on our back fence but there really was nothing else. Mom was so very ashamed because she couldn't provide Samantha with anything for her lunch either. The very last of the emergency money that Mom tucked away went to buy sanitary pads for Cyndi who was going through a great many of them, even three or four periods after the miscarriage and Mom couldn't bear to ask her to cut back. I found Mom crying alone in the kitchen and nothing I could do seemed to have an effect.

Cyndi's parents had once again gone to some luxury retreat paid for by his work and returned near the end of the week. That evening I tramped down to their house, almost numb with dread. Thankfully, Cyndi's father had gone out with friends from work for drinks because I'm not at all sure I would ever have been able to face him. I knocked timidly on the back door and Mrs Smythe didn't even know who I was! I told her that I was Rebecca's brother and slowly Mrs Smythe worked it out from that bit of information. She wasn't completely sober and her breath really was quite unpleasant.

Mrs Smythe told me that if I wanted to see Cyndi she wasn't at home and her father would not allow her to have a boy call on her in any case. I had to remind her that I knew that because Cyndi was staying at my house. I was terrified and at the same time infuriated that this woman couldn't even remember who I was even though I was part of the household her two daughters were staying at. I had this almost overwhelming deserve to yell at the bitch, 'I'm the boy that is fucking your two daughters daily and who loves them more than you or your sadist of a husband ever have!'

Thankfully, I bit my tongue and said nothing.

Until then I had often wished that I had parents that were wealthy. I didn't think much of growing up with no money most of the time and getting such things as a second hand bike for Christmas that was a throw away my father had salvaged, repainted, and repaired for me. I was actually embarrassed by that bike when I received it.

The moment I sat with Marilyn Smythe, I could not be more proud of my parents for struggling to get me a bicycle when they had no money to do so. They managed to find a way somehow and I had that bike for years where others with fancier bikes had theirs stolen or destroyed in accidents. My bike was tough. All of this flashed through my mind as I sat with Mrs Smythe, scared stiff at bringing anything up.

'Mr ... s ... M ... mmm ... Mrs ... Smy ... Smy. Smythe, Ma'am.'

'Mrs-Smythe-my-mother-has-no-money-for-groceries.'

'What Nicholas, I didn't understand a word of what you said. Take a breath and slow down. It can't be that important. What is it, money for a Scout camp or something? Selling cookies?'

I shook my head silently. This is the woman whose daughter I had just got pregnant and who was in our house recuperating from a miscarriage. She frightened me enough just by herself, let alone Mr Smythe, who truly terrified me.

'Ma'am, Rebecca, my sister, is good friends with Samantha, and Cyndi and I do our homework together. Haven't you noticed how much better Cyndi is doing at school? I have been tutoring her in English Literature, in Math and in Science. She is very bright but she hasn't been motivated before.'

I looked up to see if Mrs Smythe was frowning or anything, but she was just looking at me, waiting for me to go on.

'Ma'am, my Mom baby-sits your daughters several days a week, generally two overnights as well, and ... well ... my Dad has a bad head injury. He is out of work a lot because of headaches and other things. We are poor, Ma'am. Mom would never ask this but perhaps you could pay my Mom something towards the costs of meals and such.'

Marilyn Smythe started to frown then responded, 'I thought the girls were welcomed at the house to keep your sister company and to do homework together. I never thought of it as babysitting. I see no reason why we should have to pay for them to stay with their school friend.'

Mrs Smythe drew herself up and tapped out a Marlboro cigarette, lighting it with a match and inhaling deeply. She blew the smoke so it engulfed me. I hadn't realised it but Mrs Smythe smoked, a lot! The ashtray she started using was filled to the brim with butts; with lipstick marked butts. I had thought the tobacco smell that permeated the girls' clothes was from Mr Smythe but apparently, it was from both.

My eyes watered and it was all I could do to stop going into a coughing fit. Cigarette smoke triggered an asthma attack quicker for me usually than running and I avoided anyone that smoked close to me. I couldn't ask her to stop as, in those days, it was a serious insult to ask someone to refrain from smoking in their own home or for a child to ask an adult to do pretty much anything. The world was changing and bras would start being burnt soon but it hadn't happened yet.

I had never felt more shamed in my life for my family, having to disclose that we could not afford to accommodate two girls, even if it amounted to us feeding them almost half of the time as well as providing all manner of other things. Mrs Smythe's attitude had made it far worse. Very much heartbroken because I was going to lose Samantha's and Cyndi's regular visits, I slowly arose from the kitchen table.

'I'm sorry to have bothered you Mrs ... Mrs ... Mrs Smythe. Of course, you are right. The girls stay over very much because my sister and my mother like having them there.'

I retrieved a jacket I had placed around the back of the chair and said goodnight then, 'I guess my sister will miss Samantha doing their homework together and even though I don't like girls much and it seems I've ended up surrounded by them, Cyndi can be fun to play chess and to study with sometimes. I'm really going to miss watching her finally get the schoolwork that has been too difficult for her in the past. I'm really sorry to have bothered you.'

I had no idea what I had just done and I turned morosely to let myself out the backdoor, (I wasn't good enough company to have entered through the main front door). Mrs Smythe quickly got to her feet, coughed a great deal more smoke around me, and grabbed hold of my shoulder.

'Of course you are right. You tell your mother that I appreciate that she looks after my daughters so well without ever asking for anything. I didn't realise that your family struggles. That must be so awful. And you are always so well dressed and tidy too.'

Having rummaged in her purse she drew out five twenty dollar bills, about what my father earned in a good week, thrust it in my hands as a wad of crumpled up bills.

'You tell your mother that we simply cannot have her continue to look after the girls without some money to help out with expenses. Take this now. Just tell your mother that there is no need to cut down on the times Samantha and Cynthia stay at your residence.

Without knowing it, I had hit on the one thing that Mr and Mrs Smythe had come to find indispensable with their daughters mostly being over at our house; their independence to do what they pleased. Apparently, that was worth a considerable amount to Marilyn Smythe.

I came into our kitchen still stunned. I laid the notes on our kitchen table and smoothed them out. This was more money than I had ever seen. It was more money than Mom had ever been given. When Mom walked into the room, I was concentrating on smoothing the money and didn't notice her at first. This was despite my mother wearing a towel around her hair and nothing else. My mother truly had a spectacular body and the way her breasts sat straight out with such erect nipples always made me wonder how they remained that shape after breast feeding two children.

My mother grasped me by the shoulders and started shaking me back and forth.

'Oh, Nicky, where did you get all that money? Please tell me you didn't steal it!'

Mom was crying.

'Mom, I had to do something. Mrs Smythe gave it to me to give to you for looking after Sam and Cyn. Babysitting money and even tutoring money I guess.'

At first Mom would not believe me and the raised voices brought Rebecca, Samantha and Cyndi into the kitchen. When Mom tried to give it back to Sam to return it to her mother, Sam wouldn't take it. She was crying too, ashamed.

'Mom, you deserve this money. You buy us things. You give us lunches. You feed us. What does our real mother do for us? All she has ever done is given us money. So she can give you some money for a change! You deserve it.'

Cyndi then butted in, 'Mommy, take the money. I feel real bad when I found out that no one had lunches because you bought the pads. That isn't your place. I know Mr Robson works hard but has such terrible headaches. I don't want to go home and be in an empty house all the time. Please, I beg of you. Take the money so we can stay with you and Rebecca and Nick as often as we do.'

It took a while and even a whole new soft sell when my father came home but in the end, my mother accepted the money. From that time on, Sam would come up each Friday with an envelope with enough money to cover the costs of the girls. When Sam told Mom that $20 of the money was for my tutoring Cyndi, Mom thrust it into my hand and told me that it was mine. I could not take it.

Once Mrs Smythe starting providing money to Mom she just assumed she would cover all manner of expenses for the girls and Mom needed every cent she was given. Initially it wasn't enough but Cyndi had managed to work in a couple of comments about Mom struggling to keep the two of them entertained especially on the overnight stays because the money was so tight, and the money went up.

Mom felt very bad taking the money. She would sit with me when Sam brought the money up each week, trembling and needing to be held. One week about three weeks after the money started, she told us what a bad person she was and that she was taking money from Mr and Mrs Smythe so that her children could have sex with their children. I thought Samantha was going to slap Mom, she was so angry.

'Mom, don't you ever dare say that. It sounds like you think we are whores just needing a quick fuck from Rebecca and Nicholas. And if you think that, what about when you join in too? Are you being a whore too?'

Mom started balling her eyes out which instantly stopped Sam from being mad with her, 'I'm just such a bad mother. I know I do not understand things because I was born that way. I know you aren't meant to let your children have sex with each other or with ... their own mother. But I can't help it. Nicholas was so lost I thought he was going to die.'

Rebecca had come in and had thrown her arms around Mom, holding her tightly.

Mom continued, 'And what was I supposed to do with Rebecca. She was hanging out with losers who stole from shops, smoked and took drugs. I didn't know what to do and your father's only solutions was to take a strap to you.'

'And now look at the two of you. And you too Samantha. You look so happy. Nicholas loves his sister and keeps her so satisfied she doesn't have to go outside the house to be fucked. There is nothing wrong with being fucked but, thanks to you Sam, Nicholas makes love to his sister as well and she is totally changed. She is better.'

Mom was on a roll, 'And look at Cyndi. She was so horny she was willing to blackmail her own sister to get sex. Had you and Nicholas not treated her well, she would have ended up with some disease or pregnant to someone who didn't care.'

'And I can't help it. I see all of you so happy and so loved that sometimes I have to join in. Your father is the man I love and always will be but he has problems with his head and I think I'm more highly sexed than both Nicholas and Rebecca combined. I am such a failure as a mother!'

This was greeted with a series of statements telling Mom that she is being foolish, that she is a terrific mother, and not once has she ever pushed herself on to any of us. We have always been happy to make love to her.

Sensing that my mother really needed to feel physically loved, I gently pushed on her chest until she lowered her torso back onto the bed until she was lying down. She had her legs tightly together until I tickled her behind the knees.

'Mom. Open your legs please. I'm going to show you just how much of a terrible burden it is to love you.'

Mom lowered her legs but separated them as she did so that they were wide apart. Mom very rarely allowed me to go this far with her. She limited our contact mostly to caresses although she could be very horny some mornings and would lean over the kitchen table, lifting up her transparent nightdress and clearly wanted me to fuck her. Then she just wanted to be fucked, hard, and I would oblige but this was quite rare. Mom would seem to be quite embarrassed after it but she would remain affectionate.