** All persons depicted in sexual situations in this story, including thinking or talking about sex, are at least 18 years old. **
Here Sara narrates a less kinky backstory from a time point late in part 1. She will turn 19 in 1 week, and Elsa and Caroline will turn 19 a month later. Her Dad plans to narrate part 3.
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My name is Sara Walker, and I hate my mother (no, I will not spell it with a capital M for her) for what she did to my Dad and, indirectly, to the rest of my family. It must be humiliating, raising a son your wife had with somebody else because she decided you weren't good enough. I didn't think of it explicitly in terms of her having sex with another man, at least not until a few months ago. It was more about her choosing another father for her child. My grandparents know, my aunts and uncles know, many of our neighbors know. Eric, my half brother, is wonderful, and he and my Dad get along like biological Father and Son -- blood ties aren't as important as how people treat each other. But Eric knows his biological father is an absentee dick, and no matter how supportive everyone in the family is to him you can tell he has some doubts about his place in the family, as though he were my step brother or something. He's smart, kind, humble, athletic, lovable, and handsome, and I want him to have no doubt in his mind that he fits in.
Sure, when Eric sees me angry all the time and understands why, it just reminds him why he questions whether he belongs. Who started all this? My mother. Who is exacerbating the problem my mother started? Me. I'm working on it, but I'm failing to control my feelings.
In the last 2 months, mainly since a few conversations that I'll get write about below, my anger has become more focused, at least in my mind, on poetic justice. I regularly fantasize about my mother arriving home one day to hear unexpected sounds in the house. For the sound, I usually alternate between a woman's voice laughing, giggling, complimenting in a melodic voice, or moaning in a deeply sexual way, but sometimes I go with just a bed creaking or some rhythmic pounding. Maybe she notices an object in the kitchen that seems out of place, like an article of women's clothing that couldn't possibly be hers or mine. Quietly, she walks toward the sound (from the master bedroom in most iterations), looks through a door that was carelessly left wide open, and sees my Dad giving a woman the sexual experience of her life. She's riding him so hard it breaks the leg of the bed or he's got her pinned to the wall and is thrusting into her so hard it's putting an ass-sized dent in the drywall. Sometimes he's fucking one woman while eating out another and fingering two others, and all of them are in ecstasy. In some iterations the woman is my mother's friend or her boss. In others it's their wedding day, and she's still in her white dress watching her new husband fucking a hotter version of herself. Sometimes the woman's husband is sitting in the corner watching sadly. Sometimes an invisible force holds my mother's eyes open and her body still as she's forced to watch the sex while the people fucking don't even notice she's there, and she feels invisible yet humiliated.
Does running through these fantasies in my mind help me let go of my anger? Or does it just fuel the fire? Do I actually want my mother to experience this? Lately it's more that I'd just like my Dad to experience feeling like a stud. Would my mother even feel jealous about my Dad being with another woman or is their relationship so dead that she wouldn't care? Also, why do I sometimes get horny over fantasies that are supposed to be about justice and revenge?
It's been feeding my dreams in the last couple of weeks. A few times I've dreamed that I'm having sex, cowgirl position, actual cowgirl hat on my head, bright red lipstick matching the hat rim, my red hair blowing around in the wind and almost glowing as though it were fire emanating from my head. The cave-like room is illuminated by torches with an orange to red tinge. I turn to see my mother looking at me like she feels betrayed. I look down to see that it's my Dad I'm having sex with, and I grin, continuing to move up and down on his cock, looking back up to my mother with a disdainful expression that says, "He's mine. Go fuck yourself. I'm glad you feel like shit."
Does this mean I actually want to have sex with my Dad? I conferred with the twins, Elsa and Caroline Parker, E and C I call them, and we decided I should masturbate to the dream and discuss further. I found that I was more disturbed than aroused after 3 sessions of masturbating to orgasm. In the end, we voted 2 to 1 against, and Elsa suggested maybe I just want to cuddle my Dad naked.
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I spend a lot of time with E and C. Sometimes they call me the third Parker twin, which I'll never feel is true, but it's sweet of them. Like a lot of twins, they have a special relationship that they can't truly share with another human. On the other hand, I feel closer to them and feel a deeper trust with them than I will ever have with anyone (except, in a different way, with my Dad and Eric) and I hope they feel something close to that about me. We got to be really close when we went to summer camp together for 6 weeks. Somewhere between getting good together at swimming, sailing, endurance running, jiu jitsu, and camp songs they chose to slowly let me in. Over time they learned my anger, at the time just expressed as general rudeness to my mother and kindness to almost everyone else without really understanding much, and they told me about their frustrations with their parents.
Georgina and Edmund Parker are wonderful. Their aspirations for their twins, E and C, are as high as they are vague. At every point in their childhood, E and C felt pressure to do big things with their lives, but their parents gave them no age-appropriate guidance on how to choose a specific big thing, much less how to achieve it. Mr. and Mrs. Parker had good intentions, wanting E and C to feel they could do anything they chose, and in many ways it worked out well. E and C excelled at lots of things, from field hockey to calculus. They say they don't wish their parents had done things differently, but they're tired of deciding their own path with no map. We used to talk about it a lot. But since a particular late-night conversation 2 months ago, we talk a lot about sex.
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This conversation started with us at the Parker's cottage. We started being allowed to go up alone when we turned 18, a privilege of which we promptly and then frequently availed ourselves. Sitting on the back deck of their cottage that looks out on the lake, our post-dinner chat turned to the other benefits of now being 18. We could think of few.
"We can have sex with an older man without him worrying about going to prison," observed Elsa. None of us had any interest in doing so.
"Mrs. White had better keep an eye on her husband when you're around, then," said Caroline, nodding to the White's cottage next door.
"Mm, maybe not that specific older man. I meant more like a guy who's 20 or so. I've never understood the stereotype of women going for someone older." E paused. "Let's play a game. We each choose an older man who isn't one of our fathers, a location, and a sexual position." Elsa Parker: often the source of slightly strange ideas.
"E, what's gotten into you?" I said.
C was willing to play along. "Mr. Williams -- he's our new next door neighbor, or will be as soon as he moves in. His wife likes to watch, so we do it doggy style in their back yard at night while she watches from the window." She was 70% joking.
.
"I bet Mr. Williams has a big dick." said Elsa.
