If you’re a single guy, living on his own, don’t – repeat don’t – allow your mother to come and live with you. Even on a temporary basis. Holidays of a defined length are OK, as long as they end on time.
Look, I’m going back a little in time with this tale, to when I was 31, some years away now, and living in deepest Surrey, but owning my own house, working as a school deputy principal, and generally having a ball. I had lady friends, some of whom often stayed overnight, and some of whom didn’t even wait till we were in bed. Know what I mean?!! I was generally randy most of the time, and any female I hooked up with at the gym, the pub, etc. soon realised what was what.
My mother, on the other hand lived in London, worked as a secretary, rented an apartment, and, I understood, lived it up a little, like me. Well, I had to get my sexdrive from somewhere.
Anyway, one evening she telephoned me, in a bit of a panic. She had managed to lose her job, and now was having trouble with her apartment rent. Could I help her? When I cross-examined her about the job loss she became a bit vague, but, reading between the lines, I gathered she had allowed one too many of her work colleagues (all male!) to entertain her and the boss’s wife had found out. Result: no more job. And, of course, no meaningful reference.
I could easily have loaned her the outstanding rent, but thought, stupidly, that it would be nice to have her come live with me for a while. I thought she could get another job in London and commute daily, saving money till she could get another apartment in London and resume her lusty lifestyle. So, the invitation was issued, mother agreed it was a great idea, and I duly helped her take up residence in my spare room. I lived, at that time, in a 3 bedroomed semi, at the end of a quiet tree-lined lane, not too far from the railway station, and mother thought my plan for her was tophole.
Oh dear. Mother never looked for a London job. Apparently the word was out that she was a danger to male workers, married or not, young or old. So a local newspaper was purchased every Friday and the situations vacant columns read. But, with no good reference she was not offered anything. The weeks dragged by, she got one part-time job after another but nothing to earn her the sort of money necessary to start meaningful saving.
I believe it’s time to tell you a bit about her. At the time she was 52, long divorced from my father, who had had worse morals than her, was a trifle overweight, especially in the hips and bum, but certainly turned (male) heads when out and about. I’ve no idea of her bust size but knew they looked good in a tight blouse. All in all a woman to make a man wonder if she would…
Anyway, the part-time nature of her jobs caused her to be in the house often when I was at school, especially the afternoons. I knew she watched TV a fair bit, and one evening I looked at my small collection of porn videos and reckoned they’d been disturbed. Had she looked at them? Maybe watched one? I realised then that with her in the house not only had I stopped bringing lady friends home but her actual presence had stopped me watching the vids. This sequence of thoughts made me realise I was horny, horny as hell. It was several weeks since my last fuck and I wanted one.