Randy and Cheryl (LAST FINAL)>/strong>
I didn't have time for this mushy stuff. Me and Cheryl had a three-hour drive ahead of us, and fuck, we should've been on the road an hour ago.
But instead of driving, I was standing in the living room next to the sofa, looking at my mother and my sister hanging on each other, crying and wailing. The scene was reflected in the blank screen of the television set, which let me see my own impatience in a kind of funhouse-mirror way.
I shook my head. Shit, Cheryl's 18 now, and only going to college, not to the Moon.
"I can't believe you're leaving, Cheryl. I just can't believe it," Mom said. I wasn't surprised Mom was crying, but I didn't expect it from Cheryl.
"I know, Mom," Cheryl said with a sob. "Me neither."
I shifted my weight and sighed. Mom glared at me, and for a sec I thought she was going to yell. I knew this was going to be hard for her, but not this bad. She'd always been protective of Cheryl, I guess because my younger sister was born seven weeks early.
Finally, Mom pulled away and turned toward the front door. But no sooner had she done that when she turned back and they hugged some more. Cheryl wiped tears from her own cheek. She was upset, but not just sad. She looked angry
.
I rolled my eyes at Dad. He smirked, but I was too pissed to smile. Enough's enough. Well, if we weren't going to leave anytime soon, I might as well take in the view. It felt weird, but God damn, Mom and Cheryl were hot.
Mom had on an orange halter top that strained to hold her B-cup titties. Her blue denim shorts showed off her nice, round ass that was a little bigger than Cheryl's. Mom earned her ass and her beautiful thighs from dancing. She almost went pro, but torn tendons in her left ankle took care of that. She'd kept fit, though, and her luscious body drove my friends crazy. Me, too.
Cheryl had a thin pale-blue t-shirt on that hugged her nice B-cups, and a pair of little yellow athletic shorts that snuggled her tight round ass and showed off her long tan legs.
Sure enough, Dad was eyeing them up, too. He was staring at my sister's feet, and I couldn't blame him. Mom and Cheryl were both wearing flip-flops, giving us a good look at their perfect feet and toes. The only way this would've been hotter was if they were naked and French-kissing.
The clock above the 52" TV set read quarter past one o'clock. That meant that even if we left at that second, we wouldn't get to campus until after four o'clock, and that was assuming no traffic. Mom looked at the clock a couple times, but then she'd just squeeze her eyelids shut and kiss Cheryl. She knew Atlantic Coast University wasn't just down the block, it was three hours away. Shit, at this rate, we'd still be here two hours from now.
Mom brushed a stray hair out of Cheryl's face, then cupped Cheryl's cheeks and looked at her hard. "Remember now, you'll have to buckle down on your own and study. You won't have me or your father to get on you about it."
Cheryl clicked her tongue. "I know, Mom, I know."
Mom glanced in my direction. "And you can't depend on Randy staying on top of you. He has his own studies to worry about."
I'd love to stay on top of Cheryl, as long as we were both naked.
"You have to keep at least a 3.0, or else they'll take away your scholarship," Mom told Cheryl. "Right, Randy?"
I nodded. I had a football scholarship, but the requirements were the same for Cheryl's softball scholarship. It wasn't hard for me to keep a 3.0, and Cheryl was smart enough to do it, too. But I was worried she wouldn't, since she always preferred to tap a bong instead of a book.
"Mom, I got it, okay?" Cheryl hated being told how irresponsible she was, which wouldn't happen if she wasn't so irresponsible. She always managed to get by somehow, but a couple times just barely.
But it wasn't just Cheryl's laziness. She was the wilder of us two Lustley kids, always in the principal's office even before she was a teenager. Mom and Dad knew how Cheryl was, but not everything she did. I'd never admit this, but Cheryl drank a beer before I did, smoked weed before I did, even popped her cherry before I did. That last fact was definitely going with me to the grave.
Dad stepped in and hugged Cheryl. "Now if only your mother would leave, I'd have the house to myself."
Mom slapped Dad on the back. "Horton, don't say things like that. The kids might think you're being serious."
Dad smiled. "Who said I'm not, Mona dear?"
Dad slid his hands down Cheryl's slender back until he touched the top curve of her ass, then he moved them over her hips. He got a good grope in without being too creepy about it, the old horn-dog. He and Mom were still very active, so active they'd worn out five mattresses and three box springs. They were loud, too. Usually Mom was louder, but if she did something special to Dad, he could rattle the rafters, too.
"It's not going to be the same around here," Dad told Cheryl.
"I'm really going to miss you, too." Cheryl brushed another tear off her cheek, then put her hand on Dad's ass. On his ass. His. Ass.
Half an hour later, we were standing in the driveway of my parent's two-story split-level house. More 'hugsies' and 'kissies' under the basketball hoop that was still attached to the garage. We hadn't gotten to campus yet, but at least we were 30 feet closer.
I hugged and kissed Mom on her cheek - making sure I pushed up against her titties - then I hugged Dad. "See you at Thanksgiving," I said.
Dad reached for his wallet. "You good on gas money, Randy?"
I waved Dad off. "I got a full tank." I wasn't worried about fuel. What worried me was the possibility my 10 year-old Honda Civic I'd bought three years ago would bust a hose and start spraying oil every-fucking-where.
"You sure? Remember what happened last year..."
How long's Dad going to bring that up? Yeah, okay, I ran out of gas on my way to school before first semester last year, and Dad had to drive an hour to get me going again. That was a year ago, let it go already.
Dad rummaged in his wallet. "Or that time when you were leaving practice but couldn't get your car started because you didn't have enough gas? Then there was that time--"
I held my hand up. "Dad, Dad, I'm okay." I looked at my car. "You should be talking to your daughter about packing so much shit in the car."
Mom shook her head. "Randy, your language."
Cheryl folded her arms. "I need all of it."
All of it? Two quilts were squished against the back window so tight I thought the glass was gonna bust out. "You don't need those, it's August."
"It won't be August forever, doofus," Cheryl said.
"I know, dork-face. But we'll get home before it gets that cold."
Cheryl closed her brown eyes and turned away from me. "Well..."
Dad shoved a couple of twenty-dollar bills at me. "Here, just take it."
Mom put her arm around me, and her right boob pressed into my arm. Ohhhh, man. "Maybe you should take some extra money along with you," she said. "I'd hate to see you run out of gas somewhere."
"We'll be okay, Mom." I turned and hugged her, those big soft titties pressing into me. Even though she was wearing a halter top and I had on my 'ACU Pumas Football' tank top, I could feel her nipples against my chest. Without realizing it, I slid my hands down her back until they reached the top curve of her ass. Like father, like son. Horndogs both.
While I was hugging and feeling up my mother, Dad gave Cheryl something. He whispered to her and gestured toward me. Cheryl took it and stuffed it into the front pocket of her shorts. Those shorts were so tight I didn't know how she could fit anything into the pockets, even her fingers.
I was going to say something to Dad about forcing money on me, which was what I figured he'd given Cheryl, but I didn't want it to become a whole big thing. Besides, me and Cheryl needed to leave. Now.
We waved one last time as my old Honda started down Ridgecrest Drive, the tiny 4-cylinder engine straining. God, I hope we make it. My car was made up of metal, duct tape and crossed fingers. With all of Cheryl's shit stuffed inside, I was doubtful about our chances.
As we passed our parent's next-door neighbor's house, we waved. Well, I waved. Cheryl kinda sorta nodded. Mrs. Shakib, or Amira as she insisted I call her, was sweeping her front porch. She was about my parent's age and just as hot as Mom. Today, she was wearing a red bikini top that barely kept her titties under control and white boy-shorts that were tight enough to show some camel toe. Plus, she was barefoot. Phew. My cock tingled.
Cheryl managed to keep a smile, a smirk really, painted on her face while she and Amira looked at each other. "Fuck, why don't she just wear a sign that says 'Come and get it!'"
I shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe you could lend her yours."
