My dad grounded me for life for drinking a beer when I graduated high school. Yeah, it was only three months until I moved out and headed to college, but it felt like the rest of my life, you know?
And it was only one beer. It wasn’t like I got wasted or anything. And I was eighteen. Is it my fault the drinking age is twenty-one? That never made sense. Old enough to die in a war, not old enough to drink.
But maybe I shouldn’t have thrown Jesus in his face when he got so mad at catching me and my girlfriend Christine out on the back porch. Jesus drank wine, I’d argued. Did it all the time! I told him Jesus wouldn’t give a damn, which was the wrong thing to say. He ordered Christine to leave on the spot and I’m sure he would’ve taken his belt to me if I wasn’t already bigger and stronger than him.
So he did something worse. He made me a prisoner in the house.
Not that he barred the door. He didn’t need to. We lived in a refurbished 1800’s farmhouse in Kansas so far out of town that it was a half hour walk simply to the county road. Instead, he took my car keys, my computer, and my phone, and told me I could have them back the day I left for college. In fact he’d give them to me at my dorm, and not a moment earlier.
I knew he was deadly serious.
After Christine left, my mother Jeannie tried to get him to change his mind. She said it wasn’t fair and I was a nice kid and a good boy. Did the punishment fit the crime?
He told her to shut up and mind her place. God had made him the head of the family, and she had better obey him. She gave him a steely glare that promised they’d continue the argument in private, but nothing came of it. The next morning, I learned I was still all but locked up for three whole months.
So the first few days, I mostly just stretched my lanky body out on my bed and stared at the ceiling. My room was small—just enough space for the twin bed with its quilted duvet, my old beat up wooden desk, and a tall oak bookcase that my dad and I’d built together when I was a kid, back before he discovered Jesus. Well, back before he became a hardcore Jesus freak.
Sometimes I missed that guy, the man my dad had been. But not as bad as I despised the man that now spent his days downstairs in the den writing tracts for that evangelical megachurch in Alabama. My dad had died the day he stepped into that baptismal pool to be “born again.” The man downstairs was a monster—dedicated to stamping out fun, no matter how innocent it was, anywhere it was.
I loathed him.
But I didn’t dare defy him if I wanted the college tuition money I’d been promised since I was ten. That college tuition money had been set aside for me by the ‘good dad’ and ‘monster dad’ would steal and give to the church in a heartbeat, if my mother hadn’t made it clear she’d divorce him if he did.
It was the only time I ever saw her stand up to him in front of me. It was also the only time I saw him back down from a fight.
That first week of summer, Mom stayed out of his way as much as I did. Except for the tense and silent meals at the dining room table, we didn’t spend any time together. Dad wrote in the den or watched TV on the portable set in the kitchen. Mom worked in her little vegetable garden or kept to her room. I moped in mine.
When I got tired of being pissed and staring at the ceiling, I read a little—old science fiction novels I’d loved as a kid and never thrown out, a few Hercule Poirot mysteries that had somehow ended up in a box in the garage, or whatever I found. I tried playing my guitar, but I was rusty. I’d quit practicing when Christine and I’d started dating. It was a lot more fun to spend time with her.
A lot more fun.
And thinking of her was a lot more fun than fumbling my way through Stairway to Heaven. A hot blue eyed blonde with a tight slim body, she was every guy’s wet dream. Even better, she had the nastiest, horniest mind of any girl I knew.
So that Thursday, I slid my old wooden desk chair in front of my closed bedroom door. It wouldn’t provide more than a temporary blockade to anyone coming in, but I figured it’d be good enough.
Then I stretched out on the bed and pushed my cut-off shorts and underwear to my knees. As I slowly stroked myself, I closed my eyes and let my thoughts drift back to the last time Christine and I’d had sex…
We’d been at her house, on a lazy Saturday afternoon. Supposedly we were studying, but senioritis had hit big, so mostly we were just sitting at her kitchen table, joking and flirting. We were playing hangman with dirty words when her mom poked her head in.
“Your dad and I are going to a movie,” she said to her daughter. “Do you and Jeff want to come with us?”
Christine and I exchanged a long glance and shook our heads. My girlfriend pointed to the papers in front of us.
Her mom nodded. “Suit yourself. Be good while we’re gone!” Then she left.
Christine leered at me. “I expect you to be very good.”
I chuckled. “As good as I always am.”
She shook her head with a mock frown. “You need to be better. I’ve been waiting for them to leave all day.”
I raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t go on.
She pointed at our homework. “Let’s get this done fast.”
I nodded. We quickly knocked it out, finishing about fifteen minutes after her parents’ car pulled away. As soon as our pencils were flat on the table, we were on our feet, kissing and running our hands all over each other.
We pulled apart to catch our breath. “C’mon,” Christine said, “there’s something I wanna do.” She took my hands and tugged me toward the stairs.
To my surprise, she led me into her parents’ bedroom instead of her own. It was neat and tidy—they had a queen sized mattress with a brass headboard and a simple checked bedspread. The light oak dressers and nightstands made it look a little rustic, and definitely country. Almost cliché for the farmers they were.
I glanced worriedly at the pristine bedspread. “You sure this is a good idea? They’ll know if they mess anything up…”
“Good point. Why don’t you get some towels from the linen closet?”
So I got two big fluffy brown towels. I pulled them from the bottom of the stack, figuring that if we didn’t have time to wash them, they still might not be noticed right away. When I returned, Christine was fluffing the pillows of the bed. She spread the towels across the top of the bedspread and then flowed into my arms again.
“God, you have no idea how wet I am,” she said before kissing me hard, pushing her tongue against mine.
I slid my hands into her shorts. She wasn’t kidding. Her pussy was drenched.
“God I want you,” she said. She started tugging my shirt. “I need you.”
Our clothes landed in a strewn pile on the floor before we tumbled onto the bed. I quickly slid a condom on. We kissed hungrily and Christine rolled me onto my back. She straddled me as I held my hard cock out. Then she sank slowly down onto it, only stopping once I was deep inside her.
“Oh, yeah,” she said with a satisfied nod. She started raising and lowering herself.
I reached up to play with her breasts. “Fucking in your parents’ bed makes you hot?”
She bit her lip and nodded.
I grabbed her hips and pulled her down hard. She groaned.
“Fucking where your parents have fucked? That’s so nasty.”
She leaned over putting her hands next to my head, an evil leer on her face. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“Enlighten me.” I thrust into her for emphasis.
She reached under one of the pillows and pulled out a thick pink realistic dildo. The base flared and actually had balls underneath it.
“My mom got a new vibrator,” she said. She sat back up and twisted the end, turning it on. The low buzz filled the room.
“She did, eh?”
“Uh-huh. It’s really good.”
“Oh, you’ve tried it?”
She nodded and ground down on me, moving her pussy in small circles around my cock.
“Has it been in your pussy?”
“The same vibrator that’s been in your mom’s pussy?”
“That is so nasty.”
She leered at me. “Yeah, but not as nasty as what we’re gonna do.”
I pushed into her again and she gasped. “And what’s that?”
“We’re gonna put it in my ass.”
I chuckled and we shared a lustful look. I’d screwed her ass before, but it wasn’t a regular part of our sex life. We hadn’t used any toys, though. Not yet.
She reached under the pillow again and pulled out a tube of lube. She handed it to me and nestled closer, pressing her torso tight against me.
I reached back and pulled her asscheeks apart. After some fumbling, I got her asshole smeared with lube and the dildo lined up.
Christine shuddered as I slowly pushed it in.
I started stroking the toy in and out, at the same time thrusting with my cock. The vibrations felt strange, coming through her body.
She clutched my shoulders and groaned. She closed her eyes and pushed back, keeping the toy and my cock deep within her.
“You’re such a nasty girl,” I murmured in her ear. I emphasized my words by sliding the vibrator almost all the way out and then thrusting it back in.
She moaned and shuddered. Her whole body shook. She cried out and her pussy clamped down on me.
The pleasure was too much. Watching her come, feeling her come, I exploded. Spurt after spurt of come exploded out of my dick.
When we both recovered, she looked me in the eye, hers still gleaming with lust. “Next time,” she said, “we’re gonna…”
The door banged hard against the chair, scooting it a foot across the floor. The door swung back, but whoever was behind it pushed it forward again.
I scrambled to pull my shorts up. “Hey!”
The edge of a laundry basket peeked into the room, a moment later following by my mother.
Now my mother would not normally barge in without knocking. She’d consider it rude. A petite brunette in her forties with what I still considered a fine figure, she had the manners of Emily Post. Meals had all the right place settings. Almost every conversation with others was dignified and always well thought out, as if she was recording her thoughts for posterity instead of speaking her mind.
Mom’s eyes found me just as I was trying to tuck my t-shirt in. “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry! I thought you were outside!” Flustered, she set the plastic laundry basket on the floor and scooted out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her.
My pulse raced. I checked that my shorts were back up and took a few deep breaths. My face was still flushed when mom knocked.
“Jeff?” she asked through the door. “May I come in?”
I looked at the laundry basket on the floor. My folded t-shirts and underwear was on top, but some of Dad’s clothes were in it, too. “Uh, sure.”
The knob slowly turned, and then the door opened a foot. Mom stuck her head in and let out a long breath when she saw I was dressed. She edged her way in, closed the door beside her, and looked around, apparently for a place to sit.
I swung my legs to the floor and indicated the spot on the bed next to me. She nodded and joined me and composed herself for a moment.
“Jeff,” she said, “I apologize for walking in on you without knocking. I thought you were reading outside and the door just happened to be shut.”
I furrowed my brow, mentally playing back the events of the day.
“Oh,” I said, “I went out for a bit, I came inside pretty quickly.”
“Where you didn’t come quickly enough to avoid being interrupted by your mother.”
I snorted in surprise at her words. My mom was joking about this?
She looked at me with a winsome smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t normally speak that way. Especially in front of your father. But, um, well I’ve never walked in on my son masturbating before.”
My chin dropped, I was so surprised.
“Don’t worry,” she continued, patting my knee. “It’s perfectly natural. Most people do it, men and women. I know you’ve been doing it for a few years, now, so I knew you didn’t have your father’s hang-ups.”
She smiled. “Who do you think empties your trash? You used to go through a lot of tissues before you started dating Christine.”
My face turned scarlet.
“I should’ve known you’d start up again now that you’re grounded. You’re dad’s punishment was really unfair. But it can’t be helped.”
She reached for the laundry basket.
“I’ll just put your clothes here,” she said and she scooped them out of the basket and laid them on the bed, “and get out of your way. That way you can, uh, finish up.” She gave me a weak smile.
I stared at her wild-eyed.
She finished with the clothes, brushed her hands, and stood. “Please don’t come on your bedspread,” she said, “the stains are hard to get out.” She turned to me. “And please don’t let your father catch you, unless you want a long lecture on the sins of Onanism, which we all could do without.”
She bent down and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Jeff. Now you have some sexy fun. Lord knows there’s not enough of that in this household.”
Before I could pick my chin off the floor, she was gone.
After Mom left, I was too stunned to pick up where I’d left off. Instead, I put my clean clothes away, stretched out on the bed, and replayed the conversation in my mind.
That was a preview of Secret Parole. To read the rest purchase the book.