Son tries to stop mom’s abusive boyfriend, When you see mom and me together, you know we’re related. You may not be sure if we’re mother and son or sister and brother but you would bet that we have the same blood running through us. The resemblance is striking enough so that you may even turn your head if you pass us on the street.
Mom’s 5’8″ and I’m 6’1″. We both have black hair and dark eyes. We run together almost every day and stay pretty slim but she does curve in places I don’t. She has a great body and your eyes will travel around it from one perfect feature to the next: at least mine do.
It isn’t that she’s showing off, but she has a way of ‘presenting’ herself. When she sits across from me, she always seems to turn her hip enough so that her breasts are at a perfect angle to view their fullness. They are superb. I can’t say that enough. They are superb perfect cones that make you want to touch them: at least I do.
I’ll never forget the first time I saw mom without a bra. She was getting dressed, her door was half opened and she didn’t know I was around. She stood in front of the mirror ‘examining’. She took a deep breath, put one hand on her belly and slowly turned her torso from side to side. I was amazed. Her nipples were bigger and longer than any I had ever seen. I’ve never been able to look at her tits, even fully clothed, and not think of those nipples. Not that her ass doesn’t look great when she shifts her hip and ‘displays’ it, it does: and her long shapely legs draw you up to the center with sparking thoughts.
We’re more than just physically alike; we seem to think alike also. There’s only one video and music collection; ‘ours’. Our birthdays are one day apart and we always laugh at the same jokes.
Her name is Linda and it suits her. The ‘father’ took off after I was born and mom says she didn’t miss him for a day. She has one sister, Yvette, who I call ‘Vette’ because when I was small mom always said “Aunt Yvette” and I thought she was saying “Auntie Vette”. Mom also has me, my name is Danny but mom usually calls me ‘sweets’: that’s the extent of the family. Oh there’s also the ‘boyfriend’ Frank. I’ve taken to thinking of him as ‘Fuckhead Frank’.
Frank is a cop son of a bitch who is ok when he’s not drunk but that’s not very often. Two beers and he’s barking orders and throwing his two hundred pounds around. He isn’t even a good cop. He has this scam with another cop for fixing tickets: no wonder he’s always got extra spending money. I can’t understand how mom puts up with it. She hardly sees him anyway because he sleeps during the day and works the night shift.
Mom took up with him after I left for University three months ago. I didn’t want to leave home but mom insisted because she said they have a good reputation for technology courses. I hate coming home now because he’s there; and I hate not coming home because she’s there.
The last time I was home he got liquored up and when mom didn’t get him a beer fast enough, he pinched her tit until it brought tears to her eyes. I punched him and told him to leave her alone and he backhanded me across the eye with his fist, opening a cut that took five stitches to close. He said if I made big deal about it I’d be sorry.