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Real family sex stories

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Now I think that he loved my mother well, and made love with her well, and therefore he knew that weeks or months without touching were not in her nature.

Yet his sense of duty, and to some degree his ambition and love of the intelligence trade, required him to be stationed overseas on remote assignments for months at a time.

And his sense of love and duty required that he not ask my mother to hole up somewhere nearby, just for his occasional comfort; nor did it let him ask for a fidelity that would be broken, along with his trust.

Instead, I think, he said nothing, and trusted that my mother would find a decent man to make love with, and spare him both the details and pain of any emotional bond that would threaten their marriage or plans to have children.

There was, after all, nothing to do but trust her. For her part, I think she did likewise, trusting my father to wear a condom when loneliness and ardor became wearisome, and likewise trusting him to keep his sensual pleasures safely separate from his feelings of love and devotion for her.

And when, as her book suggests, her boss asked her to make love with him, she also agreed to this, my father was, if not relieved, then unsurprised.

I think now that whatever discomfort the image of his sexy wife splayed under another man no doubt caused my father, he preferred it being another Japanese-American man to any other.

What outraged me when I first read her book, and now causes me to smile with wonder at her naughtiness, was her apparently guileless pleasure in maintaining two lovers when my father would come home on leave.

Now, having experienced it myself, I believe her lack of guilt evidences an inner confidence which I greatly respect, especially when compared to my own conduct.

My mother, I sincerely believe, assessed who she was, the love match she made with my father and the career paths she and my father had chosen, and made a clear-eyed decision of what would sustain her through the times apart.

Cleaving off her part-time lover during his leave probably struck her as needless and perhaps even phony; to her, I think, duty to the secrecy that bound and protected them both was neither hypocritical nor immoral.

Indeed, it was perhaps the boldest form of morality and duty a married couple can share; the point was not to hurt or humiliate your partner with the mechanics of what kept you whole in their absence.

From references in her book and odd bits of recounted family history, I gather that my parents decided to start having children when they turned twenty-five.

They may not have understood all that it entailed, but they wanted them just the same. I gather my father stopped using condoms during his visits.

I imagine her lover complained about using them, as did the lover in her book; and so, shouldering the birth control burden herself, she began using a diaphragm with him.

In the very scene I first turned to in discovering her memoir-novel, the heroine is languorously enjoying a second lovemaking session on a hilltop picnic towel.

Her sense of spiritual completeness causes her to hold her lover to her, to capture the full joy of unity with Nature. Later, as they lay snuggled together, still warmly bonded, she wonders if her sense is premonition; and despite her usual precaution, it does seem the soft circle of rubber was dislodged in the perfect afternoon of lovemaking.

Thus, did I enter the world. This realization took some years to sink in. Everyone had always commented that my brother and I looked like my mother, while my sister took after my father.

This apparent contradiction was the source of a long-standing family joke. By carefully piecing together snapshots and the accompanying timeline, I believe that within days of missing her period, my mother flew to Turkey and spent a long weekend with my father--sufficient explanation for my birth eight months later.

In any event, my slightly premature birth was unremarkable. Her lover certainly bore a resemblance to her husband, but not strikingly so. Without becoming too dewy-eyed, I think my mother responded to the duty she undoubtedly felt to her unborn child.

She paused, trying to remember any difficulty, and seemed to fail. A second child would have put those thoughts to rest.

Or perhaps she feared my father was infertile, and that he would begin to question her initial pregnancy if nothing came of their unions.

With my mother, both of these are entirely possible, since both would conserve the marriage and family unit equally well.

But given my own current confusion, I tend to distrust any conclusions about my mother, or my own situation, that seem too facile. My mother was fortunate to find a trustworthy lover who was blessed with a distant marriage of convenience; his requests for transfer to Hawaii never seemed to get granted, and so he stayed on in D.

I am not sure what instigated his eventual transfer, be it bureaucratic machinery or his own decision to leave D. In any case, my biological father left when I was six, and my mother quit her job shortly thereafter; she then housewived her three children until my father returned for good several years later.

She started wearing lots of make-up. The school was a stone's throw away, but friends began calling for her as early as 7.

Next my older daughter spotted her hanging about in the local park with some lads from school who introduced the girls they befriended to older boys and men.

I was very alarmed. Then she started missing certain lessons, sometimes whole days. When she started disappearing overnight, I trawled the streets looking for her.

I had no control over her. Sometimes she would say she was going to have an early night, then she'd turn on the shower and climb out the bathroom window.

Once when she disappeared, I went through the park looking for her and asked a teenage boy if he'd seen her.

I was horrified when he said, "Yes, all the prostitutes hang out by the bowling green. I confronted my daughter. As far as she was concerned, she was doing what she wanted to do and I was hindering her.

Money didn't seem to be changing hands, but the girls were getting drink and drugs and mobile phones. The men flattered them into believing they loved them as part of a process of grooming them to have sex with lots of different men, some in their 30s and 40s.

People ask me why I use the word "grooming" rather than referring to them as paedophiles, but most of these men haven't been convicted. I felt as if my daughter was sliding away from me and I'd never be able to get her back.

Every minute of every day became a nightmare. Health Products For You. This page was last updated: July 30, All stories here are property of this site and it's members who wrote them.

Do not repost any stories from here without permission. Those who wrote these stories put in a lot of work. The stories here are submitted by writters like yourselves.

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