A Simple Domestic Love Story Pt 02

---The First Letter---

'Becky',

This is your mother writing. I know your brother chose your pseudonym as a joke, probably thinking that you'd never know. Well, the jokes on him. I'm leaving this note for you along with "A Simple Domestic Love Story", the memoir he wrote about how I became his lover. As I've read and re-read this story I could feel his love not just for me, but also for you. He's always naturally taken something of a fatherly role with you, tucking you in, helping you with homework, driving you around. Even before he and I made love for the first time.

Its strange not to have a name in his writing and still be so important, but I always appreciated my Son's discretion. He's always been thoughtful and loving. And that is the main reason why the last part of my life has been amazing. I have never regretted any part of my relationship with him.

Well, that's not totally true. I would have liked to have given him a child. He's never asked because he knows I'm infertile. I also think he should have had at least one relationship with someone younger than himself. Again, he's never complained. In fact, he's treated me like I'm the most beautiful woman in the world for over fifteen years. He'll still might get his chance at both, though.

I'm not well. It isn't operable, and I could delay the end, but there will be a great deal of suffering. And not just mine. I've kept this from him as well as you. He knows I have health issues, get sick a little more than normal, and have some chronic pain. I don't let him take me to appointments, just in case I cry.

You've known about us for a long time, and I'm sure that you've had mixed feelings about it. You've seen how much joy and contentment that it brought both of us, when we were each miserable, and that has made you happy because of your quite selfless love for us. It has upset you for other reasons, which for the sake of time, I can't be delicate about. You love him more than a sister should, and are jealous despite yourself. He thinks you've grown distant from him because of something he said or did, but you and I know the truth. I won't tell him, but you should, and soon.

When I die, he's going to lose a great deal. I'm not saying this to be prideful. He's going to need help, and you're the only one who knows enough to support him through this.

I'm not going to wait for the cancer to take me. By the time you read this, I will have passed on. It will be as quick and painless as I can make it, and won't be anywhere where he would be the one to find me. I think you can understand why.

From here on out, this is your story, please be careful how you write it.

---0---

All of the following took place about a week after Mom sent that letter to Becky. I didn't even know anything was wrong.

---1---

I'd say that morning was like any other, but I'd be lying. It was honestly an amazing way to start the day. At this point I was running my own business. I'm not going to say what I was doing, just that it allowed me a lot of freedom in terms of hours and time off. I had completed a big job the prior week, so on this particular Monday, I was sleeping in. At least that was the plan. Mom thought differently.

She still had a pretty amazing sex drive, and even when she didn't she made herself available to me. I never took her for granted. I'm not a gentleman, but ladies always cum first. She still gave of herself as much as she could. She hadn't been feeling well for the past few months but she'd assured me it was hormonal and getting fixed and because of that we had sex less frequently. I honestly didn't mind, I just made sure that when we did it was more intense. That morning was something else though.

I woke to her kissing my ear, my neck, my chest. She was working her way down in the most delightful way.

"Oh. I see both of my boys are up now." she said, and laughed. I loved her laugh. Ever since we had become an item it happened often.

At the same time I lifted my head off of the pillow my cock had come to life, and was poking her in the belly. She had lost some weight lately but I didn't find her any less attractive. Her hourglass was still there. Her ass still looked amazing in all the outfits she wore around me. And she loved to show off her breasts when it was just the two of us, or when we were on a date, as tricky as those could be.

"Don't worry little fella, I'm getting there," she continued her trail of kisses and i moaned.

"Little? It's always been deep enough for you..." I struggled to be a smartass as I felt her breath over the head of my cock.

"Aw...baby. Its a term of endearment. He's brought me a lot of pleasure, after all." then her conversation ceased as she took my cock in her mouth. She had a lot of experience at this. Especially with me, and she was using it all. Her tongue flicked over my most sensitive spots as she smoothly moved up and down on my shaft. And then, just as I was used to it, she started to really deep throat me.

"Oh, fuck, mom. Fuck, what are you doing to me." was all I could get out.

She stopped, looked at me, and said "Well, do you want me to swallow or do you want to fuck me? I need my son's cum, but I don't care how I get it..."

Even then, after fifteen years (more or less) of being together she could drive me wild when she gave me that look and talked like that. She knew what she did to me, and she loved it. She loved knowing that I wanted her so badly, so often.

She also appreciated that despite her being over fifty, i didn't treat her like fine china, to be looked at but never handled, and especially not roughly. She wanted it rough, so I gave it to her.

I reached down and grasped her hair at the base of her head. She gasped as I pulled her off of my cock and brought her forcefully in for a kiss. It was deep and passionate, and we were both breathing heavily afterwards.

I pushed her onto her back. I wanted her to know she was mine. And that I was going to fuck her, hard. She moaned, and spread her legs like a good girl. Normally, I would have loved to have gone down on her for a while, but her wake-up technique and left me needing her cunt, right then.

I pinned her wrists with my hands easily. She struggled but she didn't want to be free. It was easy to tell as I entered her, because her legs wrapped themselves around me tightly.

"Yes. Like this. Please...fuck me. Fuck me really good. Show me who owns me, baby," she gasped out as I started thrusting into her.

I wasn't as rough as I might have been. Not at first. i needed to stop and kiss her on her mouth and on her fine neck and hear her gasp in my ear. I pinned her delicate wrists with only one hand to leave the other one free to roam, stroking her face, and as things got more intense, grip her ass tightly.

As I began to really pound her she moaned. She was much louder than she normally was, it was like she let out a sleeping tigress that I'd only glimpsed before. She told me she loved me. She begged me to keep fucking her. She begged me to give her all of my cum. I was close.

I grasped her hair again, more roughly than I meant to, though she didn't mind. I positioned her so I was looking at her directly in the eyes as I was getting ready to cum. I was having a hard time holding out. I felt her cunt start to spasm. I saw her mouth open in ragged breaths.

"Oh..oh fuck baby. I love you baby. Always. Fucking cum in me. Mark me. Mark me now."

That was all I could take. I came inside her as she came around me. It was the most intense sex we had in a long time, and I had no complaints about our sex life.

It ended with her holding on to me for a good while. She wouldn't let me up. I didn't want to get up. We just made out like that for a while. There was something about what we brought out in each other, about the taboo nature of our relationship, about the way our love reflected off of each other. It built up and sometimes we acted like a couple of horny, lovestruck teenagers.

After a nice long time. She let me go.

"I've gotta shower and get going. I'm going to be late for the thing at the park."

She kept busy with a lot of volunteering projects. They were her passion, and I loved being able to support us so she could pursue them. Although she'd worked in the past and offered to continue, I knew that she found her corporate career to be kind of soul crushing. I was happy to be the breadwinner and I made enough for us to be comfortable.

"Ok. I love you, mom," I said as I pulled some workout clothes on and went to my office to get some work done.

"I love you too, sweetie."

Those were the last words we exchanged. I often wish I had said more but I remind myself to be grateful that she knew she was loved at the end. Not all of us get that.

---2---

When I got the call I didn't believe it. It didn't make any sense. I even looked at the clock. It had only been four hours since I had been making love to her in my...in our bed. How could she be dead?

At soon as they said where they found her, I knew it was true. It was the park. The very first place where we became more than mother and son. It was a last "I love you" from her. I didn't need a note. The fact that she didn't want me to find her at home, was just extra emphasis of the care that she took with me.

I barely paid any attention to the officer. I heard words like "note", "suicide" and "cancer". I was briefly interviewed. I read the note. I told them what I ended up telling everyone. I had no idea whatsoever that she had cancer.

"I understand her decision," I'd say, "and I can't be mad about it."

That was bullshit. As a son who respected that his mother went out on her terms without suffering or inflicting suffering on others, I couldn't be mad at her. As her lover, I was in a quiet rage. At her for not telling me. Talking to me about options. Giving me another year, month, or just one more day. At myself for being so stupid and missing that her trips to the doctor, which she never let me accompany her to, were about something far more serious than a "hormonal issue".

Becky, my sister who had recently divorced, was scheduled to move back home in a week. She moved her schedule up and came home early. The movers would bring her things in a few weeks. By the time she was able to get back, I had planned the funeral and even chosen a casket. It was cheap and wooden. Mom wanted to be cremated so it had to be. When Becky arrived I was in a daze. Mom had a lot of friends, and so many had showed up with casseroles that I wouldn't have had to cook for months. When I heard the knock at the door, I assumed it was another one.

"Oh my god you look...awful."

It was a very Becky thing to say. If anyone else had said it, I might have been offended. But she was, above all, truthful. And she followed it with a hug. I remember it because it was the hardest she'd ever hugged me. I'd grown up taking care of her and comforting her, and now she was doing the same for me, as soon as she showed up. I was surprised, but I welcomed the contact.

She looked good. Healthy, for having been through a divorce. I was glad she wasn't dressed all in black. It would have been artificial on someone as naturally cheery as she was. She looked like she had been crying but she still had a smile on her face for me. She was petite, built like mom but a bit smaller. Since she'd never had any kids she was quite slender. I knew from remarks made when she was a teen and later under the influence of alcohol that she was insecure about her body. I honestly could never understand why. She was very attractive. Her butt was small but obviously muscular from her consistent workouts. Her breasts were not large but they looked amazing in a sports bra, where you could see how they naturally wanted to perk up. Yeah I did notice these things about my sister's body. Sue me. She had kept her dark brown hair in kind of a short bob that really worked for her and made her look smart and sophisticated, which she was. Her hairstyle also had the lovely effect of framing her round, heart-shaped face, and her large, clear blue eyes. She had, unsurprisingly, never had any trouble getting boyfriends. Or girlfriends, for that matter. I wondered often if any of her students had crushes on her.

"I'm starving, do you have anything to eat?" was also a very Becky thing to say. I laughed a little and got her some good lasagna, which I knew was one of her favorites.

We sat together in amicable silence for a while.

"The funeral is tomorrow morning. She laid everything out in her note. I didn't have to make any decisions."

"She wanted to make it easy on you, big brother." Although her words and inflection were kind, I sensed a tension behind them. I didn't understand it and I honestly didn't have any drive to figure it out.

"I'm...grateful. No...that's a lie, I'm not grateful. I'm too numb to be grateful. I think I will be later though."

She just nodded in agreement and hugged me again. We talked a little more and then she went off to take a nap, saying she was tired from the trip.

It was a six hour drive, so that that made sense, but it wasn't like her, and if I hadn't been so distracted I would have noticed her lack of talkativeness, and her general abruptness and coldness. Becky would have sat with me for a long time in the past. Maybe hugged me. Maybe we would have talked, maybe not, but she wouldn't have left me alone, or wanted to be on her own. It was unusual, to say the least.

I went to bed early and didn't see her until the next day. The funeral went about as expected, there was a brief reception with a lot of talking, and then we came home.

That was when everything went to hell.

---3---

It was shortly after we got back from the funeral that things went sideways. I had enough time to take my suit jacket and tie off but not to change. She sat down at the kitchen table and looked thoughtful. I made tea for us, something that she normally liked, and sat with her.

"This isn't going to work." was how she opened.

"What isn't?" I must have looked very confused.

"This. Jesus, you can't seriously think I can stay here, can you? After knowing what you and Mom have been doing here for...for years? I can barely look at you."

I was shocked. I knew that Becky had at least suspected that there was something more than usual between mom and me. I had kind of assumed that she knew how far it went, given how perceptive she was. Mom had even told me once that she was "mostly ok with it" which had made me feel a lot better about the whole thing. Had I been wrong about that?

"Becky...I don't really know what to say."

"How did you truly feel about her? Let's start with that."

"I loved mom. Like a wife. We lived together as lovers," was about all I got out.

"Jesus fucking christ I fucking knew it. What is the fucking matter with you? I knew something was going on when we were young but that was a weird time. Dad was a fucking creep and you saved us from him and after...well whatever happened, happened. But after that? For years? Decades? How could you keep taking advantage of her like that?"

"Taking advantage?" Now I was genuinely getting angry. "She was much older than I was, and she made her decisions. She'd be angry at you for even thinking that."

"Don't you dare tell me what she'd think. You do your thinking with your cock, clearly, so I doubt you have any idea what anyone else in our fucked up little family thinks," She was shouting now. I was lost and alone and I could see myself losing her today as well. It was the ugliest part of the ugliest day of my life. It easily defeated getting beat to unconsciousness by my own father. He could only hurt me physically. I loved Becky.

She continued, "And the worst. The worst fucking thing of all. You say you loved her. She believed you did, and she certainly loved and was devoted to you. But you missed this. You lived with her. You slept with her. You fucked her like she was...like she was your personal fucking whore. You claimed to love her. But you didn't have any idea that she had cancer? Really? How fucking dense do you have to be to not figure that out, you fucking prick?"

I think she thought I should be angry. I thought i should be angry. And I guess I was. But it was very dim. Like a light far down a highway at night. I was aware of it, but it had no real impact on me.

"Is that...is that really what you think of me? After all...all this time. You think I was just using mom? You think...you think I haven't been asking myself that question since the second I got the call? How the fuck could I miss it? How could I not have understood what the doctor's visits really meant? Or her weight loss? Or honestly, what she planned on doing that morning? Do you really think that none of this had occurred to me? That my fucking failure to understand...anything...about what was going on led to mom, who despite whatever you think, was the love of my fucking life, who I travelled with and took on dates. Who I fucked and kissed and fell asleep holding and woke up with. That my failure to catch even a single clue led to her being in a goddamn pile of ash in a fucking urn instead of being alive. I know that. You don't need to remind me."

"Maybe I was wrong about you all these years. Maybe all along you were just a selfish boy, getting what he wanted from his mommy. And she was ever so happy to give it to you, wasn't she?" The bitterness in her tone was getting worse. I felt the anger die in me. I felt the sadness hold. The numbness lifted. Something else was happening. I didn't understand it or like it, but I knew that she was building to something and that she didn't believe all of what she was saying. That she wanted to provoke me or hurt me. I had to let her say it, even if it killed me. None of this was like her, and in that moment I was very worried.

"Yes. She did love fucking me. Especially when I was passionate and took her roughly. She told me often enough." I decided to use a Becky tactic back at her. To speak the truth as directly and unvarnished as I knew how. To provoke her. It worked.

"Fuck you for saying that. Fuck you. She...you...you both were just so...goddammit!"

"We were what. Say it. You've already told me how awful I am, how I used my own mother as a whore and never loved her, and how I killed her by my negligence. Finish your fucking thought and then you can do what you really want to do and get the fuck out and never have to see me again. I can see clearly now how much you hate me. I can't even believe you kept it inside this long. " I was cold and dangerous. I hadn't felt like this since...well, at least since Dad still lived with us. At that moment I truly thought that this what was the fight was about. She was disgusted with the life mom and I had led. She had been close to mom so she kept it under wraps until she passed, and then took it all out on the person she blamed for the taboo lifestyle: me. And now she was provoking a fight to end our relationship, because it was the only way to cleanly break from me. I was so tired then. If she had tried to kill me I would have let her. It explained everything. Why Becky had been so weird since she got home. Why she had been cold to me for the last year or two. Everything.

Except, I was completely wrong. Of course. But my misguided words did have the desired impact; they revealed the truth.

"H...hate you?" She looked so confused. It was as if everything she had said previously had come out of her without her permission. "No...no. I've never..I would never...I couldn't. You took care of me. Like...like you were my actual dad. Sometimes I wished you were."

The anger was gone from her voice. The tears were flowing freely.

She continued, "I couldn't. I never hated you or mom. Not even when..." she stopped suddenly.