Stepmother and son begin a new life, The house was eerily silent. Even at 10pm, I generally expected some noise, despite the events of the past few days. Dad and Andrea had been fighting constantly lately, only changed up by his epic snoring and the very rare round of make-up sex they had. My kid sister Chloe was at the grandparents for a few weeks during the summer, as I think my folks hadn’t wanted to expose her to their fighting and whatever was going on over these weeks. They were in counseling, but honestly, it seemed like divorce was going to be inevitable. I stayed around because summer session was in full swing, and I needed the extra credits and prep work in my last couple of terms. My master’s program, I was told, was a lock, and I’d likely be staying at Colorado State (unless one of my two dark horse candidates came through), but I still didn’t want to slow down or not be fully prepped come winter term. Plus, not that I enjoyed enabling him, but when Dad passed out drunk somewhere—which was most nights—he needed help to steer to the bed or couch. Andrea was too small to maneuver his short and chubby frame.
Me, I’m Alex, 23, and a student in the Linguistics program at CSU. My dad, Jim, had married my stepmom Andrea when I was 12, so I’d grown up with her as a fixture in my life. My natural mom died when I was three, and I barely remember her. She drove home from the bar way too shitfaced to even walk one night, and went off the side of a mountain pass. Apparently dad and Linda, my mom, had a real messed up, sick alcoholic relationship, but, when she passed, dad got his act together real quick, went to rehab, and stopped drinking. I remember how once my grandma had asked me if I understood that dad went to AA and what that was, and I lied and said yes, but I was 10 and had no real clue. I just knew he didn’t drink. Most of my life had been pretty standard, with a family that occupied a little cute house with an actual picket fence, and two cars in the garage. Dad was decently successful attorney that worked for the county, Andrea a nurse, and when I was 18, Chloe came into the world, and I adored her more than anything. Throw our three dogs into the mix, and life was pretty much idyllic.
Then, one day, three years ago, dad cracked open a beer at a summer BBQ. If only we had known just how bad it would get, I would have ran screaming to knock it out of his hands. For a few months, he was fine, but soon his drinking escalated. It became daily, then in the morning, and now he routinely got sick in various places and had driven my poor stepmom ill with worry and angst. After several stints in detox and rehab, his job had unceremoniously booted him—quite an accomplishment for a public worker. He hadn’t worked in over a year, and he had put on 60 pounds from the normally health-conscious guy I grew up admiring. He was angry and belligerent much of the time, and was getting down near impossible to deal with. All he did, it seemed, was sit in silence, watching TV, drinking, and smoking cigarettes. He had moved into the smallest room downstairs, and it wasn’t uncommon to not see him for long stretches of hours or more. I had seriously considered moving many times, but had only stayed because Andrea had basically begged that she needed reinforcements. I had stopped bringing friends over a year ago, and I had begun to seriously detest my own father. I saw a therapist and even sought out a support group, and they all told me the same thing, “Separate with love.” Basically, don’t enable too much, and let them run their course, since you can’t change it anyway. We had taken certain precautions, including tucking away all their retirement and large savings away, canceling his credit cards, and only giving him access to a regular checking account with a relatively small amount of money in it, but still, it didn’t change much except the size of the damage he was capable of doing.
I adored my stepmother. She was originally from Germany, with the very slightest accent, and an absolutely stunning woman. She stood about 5’6″, with long flaming red hair that descended down to her lower back, gigantic deep green eyes, amazing features, high cheekbones, and full, pouty lips. I’d had a crush on her when I first met her at 9, and had told my dad she was “Too pretty to be a mommy,” which he thought was the most adorable thing he’d ever heard. Fortunately, so did she, and she had always favored me since that day. She was a very huggy, cuddly person, and even before things got weird in our house, it wasn’t uncommon for her to come up to me and snuggle with me on the couch. I certainly didn’t mind. My friends all thought she was one of the most gorgeous women they’d ever seen, and they were probably right. Plus, after Chloe, she had put another 25 pounds on her formerly hardbody build, but the thing was, she carried it perfectly. It had all gone to her ass, breasts (which, I knew from doing laundry, had plumped out to a 38DD), hips, and the slightest bit to her tummy. It made her sexier, if possible, and when she walked, those wonderfully jiggly bits bounced, swayed, and in general were a bit distracting, for both me and my friends.
While I tried not to indulge them, I admit I’d had one or two fantasies about her when I was alone and relieving some tension. It didn’t help that, in between things you accidentally find out from living in the same house as someone, as well as dad’s now too-loose tongue, I knew things about her sexually that no stepson should know. Like the fact that she was largely submissive, though not a fan of major pain. That she was very sexual, and loved both oral and anal. That they had gone to swinger’s parties a few times back in the day, but dad had been uncomfortable with other guys touching her, so it had stopped. Dad had even bragged to me one night that she was tied up and blindfolded, waiting for him to fuck her in their bedroom as a makeup act, but he was making her wait, “because, fuck her!” When he’d passed out on the couch, my curiosity got the best of me, and I’d snuck up to their room and snuck a peek, opening the door as slowly and silently as I could manage. Sure enough, there she was, laying on her stomach, totally nude, chained, and just waiting. Her pussy was obviously dripping, and I had gotten instantly hard as a rock looking at her. It was simply the most erotic site I’d ever seen. I quickly escaped to my room, and had masturbated furiously three times in a row. My cock felt like it was possessed, it simply would not go down, and I shot gigantic, explosive loads each time. Finally, I managed to calm down, cleaned up, and got some fitful sleep. I vowed to never peek or pleasure myself to her image again, though, to my shame, I was unsuccessful, as frequently she would sneak into my fantasies when I was alone. The next day, however, dad and her fought, and from what I could overhear, he had never come up that night. “What an idiot,” I thought, as I kept to myself and tried not to betray my emotions on my face that day, as per usual.
So here I was, sitting alone on a Friday night, watching TV and wondering why I heard nothing. Not dad stumbling into something. Not Andrea and her quiet walk padding up behind me. Nothing. It was creepy, almost eerie.
You know how you get used to bad so much that you don’t even think about it anymore? That was dad’s decline. I kept hoping he would see what a shambles he was making of his life and have some remorse, but he never did. Failing that, I kept praying that he’d die in his sleep and my poor stepmom and sister would get some peace, but it never seemed to happen. Finally, one day, it all seemed to change in an instant, and though it was weird and traumatic in the moment, it was a defining moment that bore some of the best things my life has ever produced.