Sharing with Mom Pt. 01

I felt sorry for my mother. Once again my dad had failed to satisfy her. I couldn't imagine living with her frustration. Since I started having sex, I've gotten used to having intense orgasms on an almost daily basis with my awesome boyfriends, and to do without that mind-blowing pleasure is conceivable to me. I wondered if my mother had ever experienced an orgasm in her life, it was pretty clear that she craved it constantly but could never get it from my dad.

I know a lot about my parents' sex life since I still live at home while attending the local junior college. My bedroom adjoins my parents' master bedroom, and in the modest house we live in, the walls are pretty thin, and you can hear what goes on next door loud and clear. I started paying attention since I became a teenager and started to learn about the birds and the bees in sex ed at school.

In girls' sex ed, the theme is often about how boys have only one thing on their minds, and not being pressured into giving it up to any and every boy that shows interest in you. Being a bit of a late bloomer who was still flat-chested and pencil-thin at that time, I couldn't say one way or the other if what we were being taught was true. It did seem that it was, based on the constant attention showered upon the precocious, big-busted girls in my classes. But that didn't jive with what was happening in the bedroom next door at home.

On a typical night, my father would be in bed by about 9 pm, exhausted from his long day reading electricity meters for the power company. This involved a lot of walking around based on his description, and also sounded rather monotonous and mind-numbing. I could see how that was both physically and mentally tiring. It left him with little energy to do much of anything outside of work, except down a few beers when he got home, have dinner, watch some TV and crash. Such a lifestyle made him gain weight, causing the meter-reading work to be even harder, carrying around that beer belly. With the thinning hair, he looked older and more out-of-shape than the typical 40-year old.

Mom, on the other hand, has always been full of vitality. She worked as a receptionist at a medical practice. This was hard work too, but apparently less monotonous. I suppose there's more variety in making appointments for patients, dealing with the dizzying variety of insurance plans, checking patients in and out when they come in for their consultation. It involves a lot of people interaction, well-suited to my mom's friendly personality. She's very popular among her colleagues and patients, and has been at this job since I was in elementary school. She likes the hours, leaving home at 7 am, and getting back by 3 pm, so she could be home when I returned from school. We did a lot of stuff together, I feel very close to her, and look up to her as a role model.

After eating a snack, we chatted about my day in school. I jabbered away about all that happened as she asked me questions with that gorgeous smile that I adored. It wasn't just generic questions while she was preoccupied with something else, but she was really engaged and gave me full attention. Then she went to the basement to do her workout, riding the exercise bike, doing stretches and lifting some weights in the little "gym" that dad had set up but never used. Working at a doctor's office, mom had a strong awareness of the importance of health and fitness, which rubbed off on me, as I went on later to participate in sports. I have very fond memories of our afternoons together, me playing with my toys and dolls, while mom worked out, and answered my occasional questions about this and that.

Mom made dinner, while I helped around the kitchen or did my homework at the dining table. I was born when she was a junior in high school, which caused her to drop out, though she completed her GED. She is really smart and reads a lot, and keeps up with the news, so I actually got good help from her on schoolwork. My homework questions, especially on history and English, generated many interesting discussions, from which I have learned quite a bit.

Dad didn't get home until about 7 pm, since he started work later after taking me to school. Also, he had desk work to do after he got back to the office after all the meter reading, entering records and such. By then I had eaten my dinner, and hung around with mom while she did various chores or read a book, and dad knocked back his beers. When I was little, I was in bed out like a light before dad had even finished supper. I can't speak for what went on in the master bedroom during those years, since I stayed up late enough to pay attention, and developed awareness of bedroom activities only around the time I started high school.