So there it was. I was a boy, just turned eighteen, without a father.
Dad, who had been very ill for a few months, had died two weeks earlier and it could not have come at a worse time. Relationships with my stepmom and with my sister were at an all-time low and I was now on my own.
I had just finished school and was doing part-time summer work until my University course started in September. My stepmom couldn’t wait for me to leave home.
After Mom’s death, when I was an infant, Dad had eventually remarried, getting wed to a woman twenty years his junior. I came to understand why he did it. She was an auburn haired beauty.
Dad was wealthy at the time of his second marriage and, because he had heard stories of younger women marrying for money, insisted on a prenuptial agreement. In the event my stepmom behaved well enough for the marriage to last and at one point Dad was more in love than ever. However, towards the end I am sure he had his misgivings, although being ill he could do nothing about it.
To ensure I understood the new relationship, she had insisted I called her “Mommy” from the start and continued on that insistence right through my schooling. She also insisted as well that Dad referred to her as “Mommy” when he spoke to me.
I don’t know why she disliked me. I had a sister who was two years older than me and the two of them seemed to hit it off from the start. My stepmom paid for Cynthia to have the nicest dresses for the school dances. Anything Cynthia wanted to do, from horse riding lessons to ballet classes, was immediately agreed.
I, on the other hand, rarely had things agreed. It was only when my Dad stepped in, to insist on Billy having his share, that my stepmom would grudgingly agree.
Unfortunately, Cynthia had the same selfish attitudes as her stepmom, which is probably why they got on so well.
I sat sadly at Dad’s funeral a week after he died. He and I had always got on well. When I was younger we enjoyed fishing together and I helped him with jobs around the house. I only wished I’d done more with him before he became ill. I’d seen the signs that he was not as healthy as he should have been, but I was very tied up with final exams.
Cynthia was at the funeral of course, dressed in a coat that hid her figure. At twenty, she looked gorgeous, a lot like the pictures I had seen of my mom before she died.
Cynthia was a tall busty blonde beauty, at five feet nine she was only two inches less than me. We didn’t look much alike except for our thick earlobes which seemed to run on my dad’s side of the family. She had been the schoolgirl most boys in the neighborhood fantasized about as they jacked off, including me.
She had just come back from a two year gap trip round Europe, paid for by my family. At the end of the summer, she was to start at New York University, also paid for by my family. She wouldn’t be sharing student accommodation of course, but renting an apartment in Lower Manhattan near her campus.
Now she was back in town for the summer, she was staying with some girlfriends while apparently doing nothing but swimming and sunbathing.
At the funeral my stepmom looked as beautiful as ever. At thirty-seven years of age, she was a Christina Hendricks lookalike and deliberately dressed to enhance all her attributes. When she first arrived in our house, she used to hug me to her bosom to emphasize she was my new Mommy. I hated it at first but, when I hit my teens, she gradually realized how much I enjoyed snuggling hard against her big breasts and immediately ceased any kind of physical affection with me.