DISCLAIMER!
Here I share with you my collection of erotic stories which I find interesting. It can also be found in other Erotic sites.
The contents is 100℅ NOT from me, but just added some local Flavours & Erotic Images to enhance the story.[B]
Matthew watched as the hands of the big clock inched round to 11 am, narrowing like the blades on a set of shears. Uncomfortable in the charcoal suit and matching sombre tie, he bowed his head to stare at a pair of patent leather shoes in which it was almost possible to make out his handsome yet sad features. Sartorially, if not mentally, prepared for what lay ahead, a single stray tear began a leisurely trail down the young man's cheek. At the tender age of 20, losing a father was a heartbreaking wrench, particularly when the father in question happened to be the only family Matthew had ever known.
Close by in the cramped front room, his grandma rustled the curtains nosily as old folks do. Until 2 days ago, when his whole world imploded, Matthew hadn't even known she and his grandpa were still alive. Clad in black also, her shape and frizzled white hair made her look like a pint of Guinness. "The car's here," she announced, then more brusquely: "Come on Arthur, get your jacket...Okay, Matthew?"
The words directed the young man's way were sympathetic and measured as they had been for the past 48 hours. It was as if he was some precious piece of china that could so easily break. Matthew nodded silently and stood, smoothing himself down, his spiky brown hair ruffled compassionately by his grandfather, also colour co-ordinated in black. It was tough on them too, Matthew realised. Losing a son was not quite right in the great scheme of things or that parents should outlive their offspring, even if it was his selfish father. Fortunately for them the hurt was dissipated by Matthew's father having voluntarily distanced himself, fleeing to Manila some two decades back with their grandson in tow, and no word since – until now.
Silence prevailed throughout the journey as the hearse sauntered its way to the grey cemetery. The subsequent service went on around Matthew without his really noticing, the words hollow and worthless, his grief unquenchable. Distant relatives, made more distant by his father's stubborn refusal to leave Manila, offered condolences prompting Matthew to issue forced smiles. Then finally the coffin was lowered into the ground, taking with it his father.
Still in a daze, he was led away by his grandparents to be driven somewhere remote and leafy for the wake. Referred to as 'Hannah's house', in his state of mind Matthew didn't realise the significance at first. Head pounding, it was only after a couple of stiff brandies, foisted upon him by some anonymous uncle, that the surroundings began to take shape. Tangible features on those around him slowly formed, as if a thick fog had suddenly evaporated. And there before him stood an attractive blonde older woman, forced smiles on both sides. "We didn't get to talk at the cemetery. I'm so sorry, Matthew."
He thanked her politely as he had all the others, not knowing who she was or how she knew his father. "Matthew, I'm Hannah Menses...I'm your mother."
The young man's eyes bulged like a goldfish's and he broke out in a cold sweat. Wow was he supposed to respond to a woman his father's stubbornness had forbade him from ever contacting, let alone meeting? All he knew was that she was an evil woman with a fixation for American literature, who had fucked every guy she met and who had broken his father's heart.
Standing face to face, she seemed anything but evil and nothing like he'd imagined. She was on a par with Sharon Stone or Kim Basinger at 40. And oh those breasts... Matthew wasn't sure of the protocol, whether they should hug, kiss, shake hands, or what? Evidently Hannah felt likewise, the result an embarrassed-looking standoff.
Thankfully, the situation was salvaged by the arrival at her side of a petite and pretty young girl roughly the same age as Matthew. With smooth brunette hair, deep hazel eyes and a personable manner, she was as equally breathtaking as his mother. Hannah spoke, addressing her long-lost son. "This is Meg...she's, um, she's your sister...half sister."
Meg smiled demurely.
Matthew knew he had a sister, or several sisters to be exact. Even his secretive father hadn't been able to suppress that information. Yet Matthew had been given an ultimatum: warned to give up hope of ever meeting them. If he did, he could forget about his father forever. Even after attaining adulthood, when he could make his own decisions in life, his father's influence had been all-encompassing.
"Come on bro," offered Meg with a radiant smile, slotting her fingers into his, "I'll introduce you to the others."
Matthew took a deep breath, looking at his mother for approval. It didn't seem right to leave her so quickly. But she smiled warmly and indicated to go with Meg. There'd be time enough to catch up later, she affirmed: 3 more days before the flight 'home' to Manila. Her parting touch on his shoulder was tender and loving.
In the short space of time it took to wander from lounge to living room, Matthew had learned that Meg was the eldest of his four sisters. Actually they were all half sisters, each with a different father. His mother, it seemed, had been something of a slut – Meg's words not his – in her youth. That tied in with what his father had alluded to.
Yet despite his outward air of confidence, Matthew baulked at the words, especially coming from the mouth of a sweet young girl, even if she did happen to be two years his senior. For the truth was Matthew had led a sheltered life, his sole sexual experience at the hands of Mae-Lin, his father's Filipino maid. Pushing 50, Mae-Lin was not the stuff of a teen boy's fantasy, but sex was sex to a lonesome individual who had reached adulthood still a virgin.
Meg introduced Jo who was the second eldest of the girls, and a year Matthew's senior. With short spiky boyish hair and eschewing make-up, she was not unattractive though in the company of three beauties she did not shine.
"This is Beth," announced Meg, moving along the line.
A dusky skinned girl in the last year of teenage, Beth pursed her lips in greeting, her half-caste toning attesting to his mother's penchant for black guys that Matthew's bigoted father had taken to the grave. It was the catalyst that forced his father to flee England for the Philippines with Matthew in tow 20 years ago. Yet if his father had seen the fruits of the relationship, surely he'd have proffered a different opinion, for Beth was by far the most stunning of the four, her mocha tinted skin as smooth as rayon.
The last of the quartet was yet another little beauty with golden hair in ringlets and a pair of piercing ocean-blue eyes behind rectangular spectacles. "You must be Amy," pre-empted Matthew, displaying a limited yet serviceable knowledge of the work of Louisa May Alcott.
Amy smiled in greeting.
"Amy's the baby," enlightened Meg.
"Am not," Amy retorted, screwing up her pretty features. "I'm 18 in two days time," she said proudly.
"You're still the baby of the family," Beth retorted, an impish twinkle in her deep brown eyes as she tried to impress the new family member.
Amy pouted and folded her arms.
Given that none of the girls knew Matthew's father, the grief that was overbearing elsewhere in the house was in short supply. And that suited Matthew just fine. Having had to endure two days of his grandparents' hurt on top of his own, he craved an escape. The funeral done and dusted and the dead laid to rest it was time to look forward in a more positive vein.
Matthew would have loved to get to know them better but, at that moment, he was whisked away to the garden by grandpa to be introduced to other distant relatives. He smiled dutifully, soaking up the sympathy like a sponge until finally he was set free. Torn between spending some time with his newfound sisters or heading off away from the house for some peace and quiet, he elected for solitude.
The garden small and compact, it was what it gave way to captured Matthew's attention. Standing at the perimeter, he could actually hear water trickling the other side. Hopping up and over the brick wall, immediately he began to descend alarmingly down a dusty slope, feet unable to gain a grip and pulling up only at the last moment before his new shoes dipped in the meandering stream.
On the other side of the watery expanse a thicket of trees rustled. The city dweller could barely believe his eyes. This was tranquil and fresh, in stark comparison to the humdrum and stifling urban existence he'd become acclimatised to in Manila. Only now did it register on Matthew that two decades of his life had been wasted and never brought back. Despite everything, he couldn't help but feel resentful of his father.
Locating a log that had been laid across the stream as a makeshift bridge, Matthew hopped across. Heading towards the wood, twigs beneath his feet made a wondrous sound as they snapped, whilst covert crickets chirped a cacophony. So exhilarating to be away from the claustrophobic and choking funeral party, his only regret was being lumbered with a suit and tie. Loosening at the neck, he worked the tie free and popped open the top button of the shirt that had seriously constricted the flow of oxygen.
Matthew felt free at last, in so many ways.