Only when I was a teenager did I discover my father was a cuckold and that my mother was promiscuous. I guess that’s normal. Not normal that mom had lovers all the time! But normal that I wouldn’t know.
Overnight visitors sometimes pretended to be houseguests (“Uncle Terry is Dad’s friend from college; he’s visiting the city”. Other times they were men from close by who “had too many drinks and he’s going to sleep in the guest room,” which made sense before Uber was invented. Dad even lectured me about alcohol when I got my learners’ permit, said I should never drink and drive, so I was slow to see the men for the bulls they really were.
The cover story didn’t have to be airtight to fake out a small kid, but in my teens I figured stuff out. Heard footsteps in the hallway in the middle of the night. Saw a glimpse of “Uncle Terry” coming out of the wrong bedroom at 5 am. I googled “cuckold” stuff in the public library because I didn’t dare do it on our home PC. Masturbation now involved fantasy images of my mother and another man. Neither the fact that she was a hotwife, nor the fact that I now fantasized about her bothered me much. It was the fantasies that allowed me to not judge her, if that makes sense.
I never discussed it with either of them until I was half-way through college and wanted to live with my girlfriend in the apartment my parents paid for. Neither one of my parents had ever had any kind of sex discussion with me, not even the famous birds and bees thing. They were OK about Lauren and I living together and the only issue was whether or how much she would pay towards the rent. On the second anniversary of our first date we had a special date night. We opened up to each other about our previously private issues. I told her my parents had been swingers and she told me the painful story of her mom’s alcoholism. We promised each other we would love each other better than our parents had. We were so happy with our life.
But then she and I hit a rough spot and decided things weren’t perfect. At first she just “wanted more space.” We took to separate beds, which meant I got the living room futon. Neither one of us really knew what was wrong between us or how to fix it. We had somehow fallen out of love but back into friendship and affection, if that makes sense. We agreed she’d delay moving out until the end of the school year and we agreed to be nice to each other even as we drifted apart. Roommates and best friends, but not really a couple anymore. Strangely, it suited us.
I had been on the futon less than a month when Lauren asked me if it was OK with me if she went out – “Not a date date. Just dinner and drinks. You can too, of course”. It hurt to say yes, but I did. I even went out once on a date, but it was a disaster. I didn’t love Lauren like before, but I didn’t want anyone else.
Lauren’s third or fourth date she brought the guy home. She had the decency to phone me first. After an awkward start she said she hoped I’d play along, that she was bringing her date home, and that she’d told him she had a friend temporarily needing an apartment who was crashing on her futon. Please please please would I play along?
I did. He was actually a pretty cool guy and gave me his business card at breakfast the next morning. He might help me find a summer internship in his field. I didn’t sit with them in the kitchen, but stood awkwardly to the side to be polite. Her robe was open at the throat and both of us could see her breasts through the gap. For some reason that made my cock harden, seeing my former GF’s tits as her lover looked at them as well. Neither one of us mentioned what we were looking at, of course, and I made a painful exit to the other room. When she finally went to get dressed he came out and said something porny about how he hoped I wasn’t on her futon every night, because she was the best lay he’d had in months. I pretended to think that was funny.
After he left it was very awkward between us. Lauren asked me if I was OK, and I was silent. “You got a hard on, didn’t you, in the kitchen?” I didn’t deny it. Then she fucking slayed me with a shot I never saw coming. “I wonder how many mornings your father was hard, having breakfast with the guy who’d slammed your Mom.” Then she took me into the bedroom and we fucked like mad.
Lauren never did move out, and I was in her bed most nights. But whenever she felt the need, I went to the living room while one of her men came by to give her whatever it was that she craved so much and that I lacked. Now I understand my father. Lauren and I always replay that breakfast scene if the guy is still there. Sometimes she’s told the man I’m a cousin visiting. Other times I’m a friend between leases. But her robe is always open and her breasts are never more beautiful than when they have hickeys I didn’t make.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/kndixv/mom_and_dad_had_so_many_houseguests_humiliation