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From: "Bradley Stoke" <bradley_stoke@hushmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Teen Spirit (Bradley Stoke) (FM)
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Date: Mon, 09 Apr 2007 18:10:01 -0400
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{ASSM} Teen Spirit (Bradley Stoke) (FM)

Title: Teen Spirit
Author: Bradley Stoke
Keywords: FM
Short Summary: Chris has always been awkward with girls.


[This story has been previously published on Ruthie's Club
(www.ruthiesclub.com) where it was edited by Ruthie and
illustrated by Brett Empty.]



Story: Teen Spirit (5,371 words)

Chris has always been awkward with girls. He would much rather
sit in his room and listen to Nirvana. But the teen spirit
celebrated by Kurt Cobain becomes much more real to him when
his mum introduces him to Pam.


For More : http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Bradley_Stoke/www



	Teen Spirit
        ===========


Chris' first time didn't happen until he was nineteen years
old.

Indeed, until that time he'd never even kissed a girl, though
there'd been the odd time when he fancied he'd been close.
But nothing he could ever be sure about. He was always
very awkward with girls.

In fact, he was awkward with everyone. He only had a
couple of friends, Pete and Stu, who sometimes came to
see him, as he would visit their homes. On these occasions,
they would crank up the stereo, put on their Scorpions,
Metallica or Nirvana CDs, and mime wildly in front of the
mirrors pretending to be a Kurt Cobain reduced to playing
air guitar. Inevitably, one of their mums or, in Stu's and
Pete's cases, one of their dads, would rap on the door and
yell at them to turn the volume down. People were trying to
watch TV.

Chris had had more friends, like Baz and Martin, at one
time, but they'd done rather better at their final GCE exams
and had gone on to university. Chris envied them when they
met up at Christmas. They were now so much older and
wiser than him and his mates. And they were having a great
time at uni, staying up late, drinking in the student bar,
smoking dope, and, in Martin's case, hanging around with a
girlfriend. Fuck! It wasn't fair! All he had to look forward
to, like Stu and Pete, were the re-sits of the exams in which
they'd just not done well enough to get into a polytechnic
or university.

Bloody Maths! Bloody General Science! And why, oh why,
had he opted to do Geography? If only you didn't have to
go through all this shit!

Most evenings, of course, Chris stayed at home. And most
of that time in his bedroom, forever putting off doing his
homework, leafing through imported American comic
books whilst a selection of Heavy Metal CDs crashed,
wailed and moaned in the background. His walls were
splattered with posters of rock stars and a couple of
pictures of bosomy girls he'd scissored out of GQ or FHM,
such grown-up magazines, too frightened to blu-tac the
pictures he really wanted up there above the TV or crappy
80386 PC his mum had bought him. Christ! What he
wouldn't do to have one of those Pentiums he'd read about?
They had over 100 MB of hard disk, 33 MHz of processing
power and an astronomical 8 MB of RAM! If he'd had that,
then those pictures he got on the floppy disk he'd copied off
Stu would load up really quick.

And it was these pictures, or ones a lot like them, Chris
really wanted on his wall. So much harder core than the
ones in the porn mags he'd had handed down from Gary at
the sixth form college. Even though the girls in Penthouse
and Razzle were a lot better looking. And, it was often
these pictures he'd masturbate to the most furiously, rather
than the ones on the floppy disks of women being fucked
and women fucking each other. If only he could put their
pictures on the wall instead of the ones of Ritchie
Blackmore and the equally decrepit Ozzy Osbourne.

Every evening he found time to lie on his bed, long hair
splayed over his pillow, one of the porn mags he stored
under the sock drawer spread open in front of his face.
Tonight he concentrated on lovely Lucinda's beautiful body.
His hand pumped furiously at his erect penis while he
imagined what it would be like to stick it in that airbrushed
vagina, beneath that thin strip of pubic hair. Or to nuzzle his
nose between those silicone-enhanced breasts with the
rather too tiny nipples. What would it feel like to have
Lucinda impaled on the end of his average length prick?

 "Dinner!" yelled his mum over the cacophony of an
AC/DC guitar solo, accompanied by a cat-like vocal shriek.

"Must I?" Chris groaned, tucking his penis into his jeans,
hoping it would deflate to more manageable proportions
before he joined his sister and mum for one of those ready-
made meals at the only time of the day, besides breakfast,
his family ever spent any time together.

When he got downstairs, he found that his mum had
prepared something very different. In fact, she'd actually
cooked a kind of casserole, something she did very rarely.
And a bigger surprise than that was to see a woman, who
must have been in her mid-thirties (at least!) sitting on the
chair that used to be his dad's. That was, of course, before
he ran off with his secretary, whom Chris still hated as a
blousy bitch, although she was actually quite petite and
rather pretty.

"This is Pam," announced Chris' mum with a broad smile.
"She's staying here for a while."

"Pleased to meet you, Chris," said Pam, extending a firm
hand to shake his rather limp one. "Tina, your mum, has
told me so much about you!"

Oh! Christ! A woman! Probably ten years younger than his
mum, but quite similarly dressed. Chris was relieved he'd
applied the cream to that persistent zit on his chin. Her hair
was cut relatively short, she sported long dangling earrings,
and, unlike his mum, wore no make-up at all. Chris focused
his gaze on her face, which was slightly broad, the eyes
wide, the lips thick and fading freckles covering the pale
skin of her face. Like his mum, she was thick boned, but by
no means plump. Her hand and bare arm showed that she
was at least as strong as he was.

Chris didn't know where to look during the meal, despite
the many attempts made by both Pam and his mum to
engage him in conversation.

Were his studies were going well? "Yeh." Did he play
football? "Nah." Did he enjoy his day trip to Calais with the
college three weeks ago? "'S Okay."

Whenever his eyes caught Pam, he attempted to evaluate
her. She wore baggy cotton trousers and a kind of silk top
that showed she had a rather less prominent bosom than his
mum. Thankfully, it was his sister, Lottie, just fourteen
years old, who filled in for Chris' lack of communication
skills and prevented the dinner from descending into sullen
silence.

Chris couldn't wait to get away from the table. Even though
dinner went on for almost twice as long as it normally
would. His mum had bought a cake from Marks &
Spencer's and even opened a bottle of wine. She was
definitely making much more of an effort than she did when
she invited any of her colleagues home from work. And as
Chris sipped on the wine, its sharp taste such a contrast to
the frothy lager he normally drank when he went down the
pub with Stu and Pete at the weekends, he watched his
mother's eyes and Pam's meet across the table with a
strange intense warmth.

All the while Lottie chatted about the time she and Sally
and Rachel and Pauline had gone to see some crappy boy
band she was keen on. Bloody hell! When would she grow
up and listen to decent music?

At least it wasn't as excruciating as that time when his mum
had brought back that accountant who worked in the City.
On that occasion, Chris really hated the man, who reminded
him so much of his dad and the way he'd go on about how
Chris should cut his hair, study harder and get a girlfriend.
He was actually rather pleased when his mum's brief
relationship disintegrated within a month to evenings of
bitter tears and a silent unanswered phone. So much better
than those horrible grunting and thumping noises he could
hear coming from his mum's bedroom late at night when he
was trying to get some sleep.

Chris eventually made his escape and pulled out the picture
of Lucinda to finish his interrupted wank. All the while, he
could hear Pam and his mum laughing and giggling long
after Lottie had gone to bed and, strangely, long after the
two of them had also retired, Pam, he was sure, laying her
head on the sofa bed cushions in his mum's bedroom.

It puzzled him that over the next few weeks, stretching into
months, with those dreaded exams approaching, that Pam
still stayed at their house. Didn't she have anywhere else she
could go? But he got used to sharing breakfast and dinner
with her, and even found some of the things she said very
amusing. Gradually, and reticently, Chris became less
monosyllabic in his replies to her questions and even found
himself laughing, in an unselfconscious way that rather
frightened him, to some of her more outrageous comments.

And all the while, his mum watched the two of them
together with an indulgent sympathetic smile.

Lottie, in particular, got on well with Pam, sometimes
talking rather too much about how wonderful she was
when they were together and Pam elsewhere.

"Oh crap, Lottie!" Chris exclaimed. "She's not that great.
And anyway she'll have to leave soon when she finds a
place of her own to stay."

Lottie seemed very downhearted at this. She went
untypically quiet and picked at the little scab on her elbow.

"Do you think so?"

"Of course! It's not like she's Dad or anything, is it?"

One evening, Pam knocked on Chris' door and wandered
into his room while the sounds of Nirvana's Nevermore
album pounded out its grinding, mechanical rhythm.

"Smells like Teen Spirit?" she commented, reading the
sleeve notes.

"Yeah! It's great, isn't it?"

"It's got something, I have to admit. Better than most of
your rock music stuff to my ears. But then I quite like
house. Do you like house? Or do you just listen to heavy
metal?"

"Yeah! It's the only stuff worth listening to!"

"Really?" Pam commented, raising a good-humoured
eyebrow. "So you don't like house at all?"

"Not that. Or rave. Or anything of that dance shit. Sorry,
rubbish."

This admission from Pam should somehow have lessened
his opinion of her. After all, if there was anything Chris and
his mates hated with a vengeance, it was house music. He
and Stu had once been to a night club and spent the whole
evening sitting around a table sneering at the ravers as they
jumped around like lunatics to all that pounding electronic
shit. Hardcore house and techno crap! Why couldn't they
play decent metal at these clubs? Something with a bit of
heavy axe-work where you could shake your hair and play
air guitar. Fuck! If they'd put on some thrash, death or
other kind of metal, it'd shit on all that percussive stuff
where there was no, like, tune at all and almost as good as
no vocals. But somehow Chris didn't feel like expressing his
negative feelings as strongly as he normally would.

Chris noticed Pam's strangely downcast face.

"Well, I'm sure that some house is good," he conceded. "It's
just that I've not heard any."

One morning, a few days later, when his mum and Pam
were both out of the house, he sneaked into his mum's
room, something he rarely did, and noticed with some
disconcertment that the sofa bed showed no evidence at all
of having been opened. However, he did notice that the
sheets on his mum's bed mattress were pushed carelessly to
one side and that there were the still warm indentations of
two bodies.

Chris sniffed dismissively. His mum couldn't even be
bothered to get the other bed made. How could Pam stand
to share the same bed as his mum?

Nonetheless, there was something about these shared
arrangements that troubled him, along with those late-night
titters and the strangely noisy headboard, though he had no
very good idea as to what it might mean. You just couldn't
hope to understand women.

His disconcertment grew, but in a quite different direction,
when one night he encountered Pam naked in the
bathroom. He'd drunk perhaps too many lagers with Stu
that night in the pub, and this was his third visit to the loo
at an early hour. He pushed open the bathroom door,
worried rather more that he might puke (again!) than of the
likelihood of meeting anyone, when there he was
confronted, only a foot or so away, by Pam's naked body.

Pam would never have got a job posing for Penthouse, that
was for sure. Or even for Razzle. Her body was too thick
and her breasts too small on her broad chest, coloured by
innumerable freckles, but she was still the first woman that
Chris had ever seen in the nude. In real life, as it were.

It was only a moment, accompanied by grunted apologies,
but as Chris sat on the toilet seat, a stream of urine
splattering against the bowl, he rehearsed in his mind every
second of what he'd seen. And again and again, his mind
returned to the memory of that thick bush of pubic hair, so
different from a porn star's shaved stripe.

This wasn't the only time that Chris saw Pam naked, though
the only time it was accidental. So vivid and compulsive
was that image, which he used without the accompaniment
of Whitehouse or Hustler to achieve a fistful of semen in his
regular masturbatory sessions, that he made a point of
engineering a reprise. He actually waited until he heard the
door of his mum's door open and Pam enter the hallway to
himself emerge in the hope of seeing more of that bare
flesh. Only this time, his penis was rock hard under his
pyjamas.

It was only when he'd sat down on the toilet, his penis still
stiff and wholly unable to perform the duties expected of it,
that Chris worried about whether Pam's eyes might have
wandered down below his chest to the evidence of his
longing under his pyjama trousers.

Pam and his mum had a strange friendship, Chris could see
that. Occasionally, they were so close that they even
sometimes touched each other, just like sisters might do,
even once kissing each other when they weren't aware that
Chris could see them. Other times, there was a curious
fractiousness in their friendship, rather like what Chris
experienced when he worried whether Stu might be
spending more time with Martin than with him. But he
knew girls were soppy. And that was true whether they
were young, like Lottie, or really old, like his mum.

Pam started visiting him in his room more often. At first,
rather hesitantly, and making no comment about the music
that was the constant wallpaper of his life.

Chris knew that the records he played were about the least
like house music there was and he somehow felt strangely
embarrassed about this. Perhaps he ought to buy some CDs
of the stuff chicks liked. Bon Jovi, perhaps. Or maybe even
something that wasn't metal, although he had no idea what
that might be. He wasn't about to buy a Prodigy or
Chemical Brothers album, although he had a guilty liking
for some of what he'd heard when sitting in the pub with
Stu and Pete and had no choice as to what music was
playing.

Chris couldn't help but notice an increase in the
changeability of the relationship between his mum and Pam.
There were moods that were pronounced in not only the
intensity of their apparent mutual liking for each other, but
also of something else that reminded him somewhat of the
time just before his dad ran off with his secretary. One day
everything was smooth and happy. The next it was jagged
and tense.

There was one evening when Pam and his mum were
shouting at each other in Mum's bedroom and Chris was
surprised to see Lottie shyly and nervously enter his
bedroom just to sit with him. This was another thing that
hadn't happened since before their dad had left, but this
reprise must surely be rather less serious when the other
person involved wasn't their dad but just their mum's friend.

"Oh! I wish they'd stop!" Lottie wailed. "I wish Pam and
Mum wouldn't argue like that!"

"It's nothing," Chris grunted.

"I hope Pam doesn't leave us," Lottie continued. "She's my
best friend in the whole world!"

"Even more than Sophie?" wondered Chris, remarking on
Lottie's closest friend at the moment.

"It's different. Pam's more like what Dad was like!"

Chris didn't like the analogy at all. But he hoped his sister
couldn't see the erection that had inexplicably sprung on
him, hidden though it was by the duvet covering his body.

In fact, what made it most difficult to think of Pam as a
substitute father was precisely this very aching in his penis.
An aching he relieved by masturbatory sessions that were
guiltily focused on Pam. And this obsession was what he
most feared Pam might notice during her progressively
frequent visits to his bedroom. Visits that seemed to take
place rather more often on those evenings when his mum
was elsewhere, perhaps at her aerobics classes or working
late in the office. Visits that had become so significant to
Chris, he made the unprecedented concession of taking off
his heavy metal CDs, and putting on a radio station,
randomly chosen, that played quite different music to that
which he would normally envisage listening to.

These conversations were a novel experience in Chris' life.
Except perhaps with Lottie, he'd never really chatted with a
girl or, even, a woman. And they were very different to his
conversations with Pete and Stu.

He found himself opening out, talking more freely than he
imagined he could. He talked about his studies. His feelings
about Martin and his girlfriend. Why he'd originally chosen
to study Geography when he could have studied History or
English. His thoughts when he first met Melissa, his dad's
lover, and how much he hated her.

And all the time, Pam sat next to him on the bed. Wearing a
tee-shirt under which Chris knew just what treasures were
hidden. The nipples and the slight upward turn to the
bosom. Wearing baggy trousers that hid the hairy patch that
featured so vividly in his masturbatory fantasies.
Meanwhile, he sat in his Guns & Roses tee-shirt, with jeans,
trainers and lank brown hair that fell so often over his face,
thankfully obscuring those persistent zits of his.

And then, most troubling of all, were those occasions when
Pam touched him. A kiss on the cheek when they met or
parted. The clasped hand when Chris was close to tears as
he described his anxieties when his dad drive off with
Melissa in the Volvo packed with all those old rock LPs of
his dad's. The ones he used to listen to before he was able
to buy his own CDs. The occasional tousle of his lank long
hair when he said something that somehow touched or
otherwise affected Pam.

She spoke to him too, but her confessions, in comparison to
his, were undetailed and unfocused. The boyfriend she'd
almost married. The friends she'd made who taught her that
there was more to hope for than a life of marriage to and
sex with a man. (She said this almost bitterly, which
puzzled Chris, who assumed that was what all women most
wanted). The break-up between her own parents who'd
waited until she was at university to announce the fact.

But it was the touches that Chris remembered most well.
His hand would burn for hours with the memory of her
fingers. His cheek held an imprint of her kiss that he would
later run over to the mirror to check was not in some
mysterious way visible to anyone who cared to look for it.

But despite all these many and various forewarnings, when
Chris actually did have sex with Pam, it came entirely by
surprise.

Chris came home late from college. He'd just been visiting
Pete where they'd been listening to Rage Against the
Machine, an outfit a little too radical for Chris' taste, and
looking at the images on Pete's computer of some hardcore
photographs now copied onto the floppy disk in Chris'
jacket pocket. He was looking forward to the time he
would copy them onto his hard-drive and enjoy them more
fully than he could at Pete's house. His penis was already
half-stiff with anticipation.

He pushed open his bedroom door, ready to fling off his
jacket and eager to turn on his computer, when he saw,
very much to his surprise, that Pam was sitting on his bed.
She sat there quite distractedly, thumbing through a copy of
one of his imported American comic books, one he
especially liked, as the women it showed were remarkably
voluptuous.

She raised her head as Chris entered and smiled at him
broadly.

"Hi! You don't mind if I look at your comics, do you?"

"No, not at all," said Chris gallantly, but nervous in case
Pam should guess what it was he found so appealing in this
particular comic book.

Pam placed the comic book to one side and patted the
mattress beside her, suggesting that Chris should sit there.
He did so nervously, horribly aware that the stiffness in his
trousers was, instead of becoming becalmed, stirring wholly
inappropriately.

"The girls in the comic are pretty sexy, aren't they?" Pam
commented. "You like girls, don't you?"

Chris nodded. They'd never before discussed his interests in
or, more particularly, his failures with women.

"Yeah. They're not bad!"

"Not bad at all! Do you like your women like that? Slim,
like hourglasses, but busty at the same time?"

Chris nodded. He slightly swallowed. "Yeah. It's cool."
Then he remembered that Pam wasn't nearly so shaped,
being rather thicker round the waist and with a smaller
bosom. "But I like girls that don't have... that aren't... well,
other types of girls!"

He put his jacket on the bed behind him, hoping that the
floppy disk wouldn't fall out of the pocket.

"And you've not got a girlfriend, have you?"

Chris coughed. "No."

Pam sighed and looked away for a moment towards the
dressing table mirror where the two were reflected, looking
very nervous, and hugely ill-matched.

She looked back at Chris and glanced down at his trousers
where her eyes, Chris knew, penetrated through the denim
and could see every vein of the penis pressing against his
buttoned fly.

"Sod it!" she suddenly said. "This is fucking stupid!"

This was the first time Chris had heard an adult in real life,
who wasn't someone in the pub or at the bus stop, use one
of those words he was still nervous about using himself,
even with his mates.

But this was nothing compared to the confusion that
muddled his thoughts and nearly panicked him as she
placed a hand, at the end of an arm mostly covered by the
loose cotton of her sweater, on, of all places, that part of
his crotch where his penis was most obviously erect.

"Uuuhh!" he moaned despite himself.

"Euurrghh!" Pam echoed, who turned her head round and
somehow, Chris not exactly sure how, pushed her face with
her thick lips onto his mouth. And then Chris responded,
without thought or premeditation, by pressing his tongue
and lips onto Pam's.

They were kissing. They were bloody kissing! It was really
weird. Her mouth was so liquid, a pool of slightly garlic-
tasting saliva slobbering against his own, his tongue
pressing against the teeth that in his memory were white
and wholly regularly, but now seemed to grow enormous in
his mind as her tongue pushed into his.

The steps that led towards them actually fucking were
disconnected but somehow inevitable.

The clothes came off as soon as their mouths parted, Pam
spending more time divesting Chris of his than she did her
own. Her tee-shirt and trousers were less of a struggle to
remove than Chris' tight jeans. And underneath his penis
ached almost painfully with desire and came free of his
underpants before his jeans, socks and trainers were flung
to the floor.

It was one thing to see a woman naked, Chris discovered,
but a wholly different thing to have one naked against your
body. In the perspiration and anxiety of these first gropings
it hardly mattered whether her bosom was of super-heroine
stature or whether her bum was like the swelling
monstrosity of his fantasies. It was flesh, glorious flesh, far
too much of it for his metal-addled brain to focus on in its
entirety.

There were freckles there, a mole here, short brown hairs
on her forearms, a bosom that flattened as she fell
backwards onto the mattress, and legs that clasped his
buttocks as he positioned himself above her.

Chris had an idea of how a man should fuck from the
pictures he'd seen. It was something like doing press-ups
only with your prick engulfed inside a twat. But, in real life,
with a truly hairy vulva just inches away from his fully erect
penis, his arms around her shoulders and his mouth pressed
to hers, it seemed less obvious to him just how he should
attain the posture of penetration.

It was Pam who guided his penis into her vagina. It was
Pam who made the exertion that allowed Chris' instincts to
take control. And there, for a few moments, Chris knew, he
was fucking. He was actually bloody doing it! Just like in
the photos. Just like in that porno video he'd watched over
and over again at Martin's place before he went to
university. It was the real fucking deal!

His buttocks pushed his penis in and out, his glans sore and
tender, and surprised at the moistness of the orifice that so
easily accommodated it. And as he fucked mechanically, no
imagination required at all and rather more physical effort
than he'd envisaged, it was Pam who seemed the most
excited. She gasped and swore, repeating again and again
all those swear words that still sounded very strange indeed
coming from, of all things, a woman. A woman perhaps
fifteen years older than him!

It was far too soon when he ejaculated. He knew that. In
fact, he'd dreaded it happening. But it did. Just when Chris
thought he'd got the hang of all this. Just when he thought
he'd almost got to the stage when it was natural and, even,
in a strange way he'd never really thought of before, a very
pleasant and thoroughly intimate, almost loving, activity.
He was only just beginning to see Pam as a sexual animal,
someone who had her own needs and desires.

But he was also concerned about how he would tell his
mates about this first time, imagining how Stu would react
when he announced that of the three mates he was now the
only virgin.

Far too soon came that release of semen so familiar from all
those masturbatory sessions when, at least recently, the
image in his mind was so vividly like (but also unlike) that
of the woman he was currently making love to.

"I suppose it couldn't last long, could it?" said Pam
sympathetically, as their bodies separated.

Chris gazed sadly down at his twitching penis. It seemed
such a pathetic thing now. Deflated and dripping. And yet
just a moment ago, he felt so proud of the same thing as it
pushed and thrust inside the vagina whose warmth and
moistness was now just a memory imprinted rather more
vividly in his mind than any other memory of their
conjoining.

"Was it all right?" asked Chris nervously.

Pam laughed sympathetically.

She kissed him on the cheek with the same almost innocent
affection she used to do, although it seemed almost
incongruous now that the two of them were naked. Chris'
lank hair was sticking to the sweat on his face. There was a
pool of perspiration on Pam's torso where their two bodies
had pressed together.

"You did very well, Chris. Very well, indeed!"

At the time, this seemed to Chris a confirmation of what he
most hoped for: that this encounter, brief and hectic though
it had been, and, in some way, not quite as satisfying as that
of his virgin fantasies, would not be all. That it would be a
prelude to many more such couplings. In fact, he was
already thinking, even as Pam got dressed again and kissed
him goodbye, anxious to get away before Chris' mum
returned from her aerobics class, that this was just the first
of many more such encounters to come.

And next time, he was sure, it would be better. It would
last much longer. And perhaps he could do those other
things you were supposed to do. Like foreplay, for
instance.

Alas, this was not to be.

Pam never came into Chris' room again, although he spent
many hours in anticipation, just waiting, unable, more than
ever before, to concentrate on his studies.

In fact, Pam seemed to make every effort to ensure that
there was no time at all that Chris and she could spend time
together alone. She even stopped going to the toilet late at
night, although a sleepless Chris waited anxiously for the
door to his mum's bedroom to open.

The tension between his mum and Pam seemed to grow. An
icy blast took hold of any room his mum and Pam were in
at any time that Chris saw them together. And these were
the only times that Chris ever saw Pam nowadays.

Lottie could sense it too. His only nocturnal visitor now
was his sister who entered his room and sat with him. The
both of them were strangely silent and unable to express
more than the most desultory words, but glad of each
other's company, while overhearing the most ferocious row
going on in his mum's room. A row in which Chris was sure
he heard not only Pam, but his mum, shout those words he
still thought were only right in a movie or said in the pub
when you were really drunk. And the shouting went on and
on, interspersed with quieter spells in which Chris could
hear the distinct sound of choked sobs.

That was the last night his mum and Pam spent together. In
fact, Chris never saw Pam again at all. She wasn't there at
breakfast and when he got home from school she had
moved out altogether.

The house was strangely empty now. Emptier than it had
been at any time since Dad had left. And Chris' mum was
just as distraught and moody as she had been on that earlier
occasion.

Perhaps Chris should have known what it would be like.
After all, he had lived through a similar period before. But
this time, it was somehow worse. Especially as he became
aware that his mum no longer treated him with quite the
same indulgence as before. Nothing he could do these days
was right. And sometimes his mum would just burst into
tears when he came into the same room as her.

"How could you?" she said one evening, her tear-smeared
eyes glaring at Chris accusingly across the kitchen from the
stool where she sat. "My own son! What have I ever done
to deserve it?"

"What, Mum..."

"How could you?"

"How could I what?"

His mum looked at him accusingly. And then she cracked
into huge sobs that shuddered and shook her body until
such time that a confused Chris took the only release
available to him, his own eyes beginning to fill with tears.
He ran off to his bedroom to put a Nirvana CD on his
stereo and to sit on the edge of his bed staring into space,
barely able to focus on his own image in the dressing table
mirror that had once reflected both his naked body and that
of Pam's.

At least, however, he reflected as he struggled to remember
just what Pam had looked like in that reflection, he wasn't a
virgin anymore.

That was one thing to be pleased about.






For More : http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Bradley_Stoke/www

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