Step-Lover

Selena would spend an hour outside, on her knees, weeding her flowers. With her butt up in the air. I would lock the bathroom door.

It went on, and on. I grew up, she grew bolder, and my Father fucked her brains out every night, reaping the benefits of her flirtatious behaviour. You're welcome, Dad.

As I started to interact more with girls, beginning to date, I discovered how good I had it around home. One Selena was worth twenty teenage girls.

I was 17 when things changed again. It just doesn't seem fair. No one should have to lose both parents that young.

***

For the second time in my young life, I heard that scream of anguish. I ran down the stairs to find Selena crumpled on the kitchen floor. A female police officer was kneeling beside her, while her male partner held my Father's driver's license in his fingers. I helped the female officer, assisting Selena into the living room, and onto the couch. There, they filled us in.

Selena was inconsolable, wailing throughout, with her arms around my neck. I was being strong for her, but I was feeling it too. This is one of those things that experience doesn't make easier.

Dad was gone, the result of a car accident. Not that it makes one shred of difference, but it wasn't his fault. The officers left us to deal with our grief. A 17 year old, who had just lost his second parent, holding a 29 year old widow. We were a wreck.

Once again, my Father's foresight reached out from beyond, and eased the pain as much as it can be eased. The will revealed that the remains of my Mother's policy had been left to me, a then six-figure sum that I didn't even know existed. It had been invested separately, nine years ago, and was now nearly triple what it had begun as.

Selena and I were named beneficiaries in Dad's policy. He was still taking care of us, despite his absence. Money would never be the reason we had to give up on our dreams.

***

This funeral was indelibly etched in my memory. The pain was too fresh, and my ability to understand was complete, so this one has never left me.

Selena was attached to my arm, hiding under the wide brim of her black hat. We were leaning on each other, trying to get through it. It was a very long hour, before we left the cemetery, and went home to an empty, quiet house.

During the nights that followed, I heard her crying in the still darkness. I guess I didn't really understand how much in love she had been with my Father, until then. Listening to her was devastating.

During the day, we tended to spend our time alone, but close. There wasn't a lot of conversation, and only a few instances of physical contact....supportive hugs. Her wardrobe had reverted to sweat pants and t-shirts, as had mine. During one of those hugs, I had a guilty feeling, as I realized that I was rubbing her back while she wept in my arms.....I noticed she wasn't wearing a bra, and began to get aroused. I think she may have felt that growing bulge against her. She pushed me away.

A week passed, and I went back to school. My friends were very supportive, but they didn't suddenly mature overnight. As teenage boys, they maintained the ability to say the exact wrong thing, without malice. Jake was my best friend. He was the one who broached the subject.

"Ethan, I know you've been going through a lot in the last week or so, but I just realized something I'm not sure you have noticed."

"What's that?" I asked, mildly annoyed.

"Your stepmother is all alone now," he said. He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Like I said, Jake was my best friend, and I had confided in him about Selena's flirting. Part of me was angry with him for mentioning this now. His timing was shitty. Another part was wondering if he was right. Would she?

"Have you had to comfort her yet?" he grinned. "And by 'comfort her', I mean comfort.....in that way only a man can comfort a woman."

Way over the line. I punched him....hard, in the chest, making him stagger back. He looked at me in pain, then nodded. He had gone too far, paid for it, and now was forgiven. Best friends do that.

Still, that little part was wondering. What was going to happen, next?

***

Things were quiet for a few weeks between Selena and myself. At this point, I was pretty much self sufficient, even before my Father's passing. I knew what I needed to do, and I did it, without supervision. I was hoping to get a football scholarship to college next year, and I had a routine before and after school that meant I didn't see her much.

So, when she was suddenly up in the morning, and telling me what to do, I had to wonder just what was going on. I asked her exactly that. Perhaps I could have been more diplomatic.

"Why the hell do you want me to do that?"

"Simple," she said sternly. "I'm your Mother, and you'll do as I say."

When my Father was here, she had let him run the family. He trusted me enough to run my own life, unless and until I proved otherwise. He was always available for advice, but he let me make the decisions.

Selena may not have known that, or maybe she just didn't agree with it, so now she was flexing her muscle. Advice was out. She was in charge.

"You're NOT my Mother!" I spat back angrily.

"No. I suppose I'm not," she growled back, her hands on her hips. "Not biologically, anyway. But, I'm your Father's wife, and your legal guardian. I am the adult here, and my word is the final one!" Her attitude made her body twitch as she barked her commands, and I noticed that she was fully dressed again, and back to her usual wardrobe.

But Dad's not here anymore, so who is she showing off for?

***

I had less than a year to wait.

A little over ten months to put up with her shit.

315 days before I turned 18, and was legally able to make my own decisions. I would have the money to live on my own. I wouldn't need to see her ever again.

It wouldn't be easy, but I could hold out. I chose to do so.

Thus began a battle of wills that would last nearly two months. The problem is that I couldn't really fight back. She had the power. All I could do is impersonate Muhammad Ali, and do the rope-a-dope, hoping she would punch herself out. Go ahead. Give it your best shot.

It didn't take long for me to begin to doubt my strategy. She had some pretty effective weapons, and she knew just how to use them to get to me. She was also well practised in their deployment.

Yes.... I'm talking about 'those' weapons. The twins, and her sumptuous rump. You see, with Dad gone, I was no longer getting the peripheral effects of her big bombs....collateral damage, as it were. No, she had me firmly in the cross hairs, and was firing away at will. The teasing was merciless. I spent a lot of time with the bathroom door locked. I thought that I was at least safe in there, but she was a resourceful enemy.

She knew that most of the time, when I was in there, especially for longer periods, I was tending to the 'wound' she had caused. What better time to attack?

Like most houses, the lock on our bathroom door is more of a reminder than a security device. Someone tries to turn the handle.....it stops.....they realize the room is occupied, and go elsewhere, or at least wait impatiently. It's meant for privacy, not defence, and can be unlocked from outside, if you know how.

She knew how. The door flew open. Caught again, but not by accident.

Over the years, when I was similarly engaged, I thought I had heard her just outside the door. Listening. Now I knew for sure.

This time, she didn't even try to feign surprise. She didn't need to. Her plan wasn't to snoop ; it was to deter. Stop. Intercede. Derail. If she could keep me from completing the transaction as often as I had in the past, she could wear me down, and bend me to her will.

"I thought so," she snarled, standing in the doorway, staring at the swollen member, I was trying to stuff back into my pants. "You're a filthy pervert. You will not do....that," she gestured, "in my house."

Fine. I'll do it during my shower then.

Until she started breaking in on me, every time I used the bathroom. Taking a dump? She opens the door. Morning shower? She's in there, doing whatever, to make sure I couldn't...you know. I never knew when she might burst in on me, and was still embarrassed enough about it to care. If only I was an exhibitionist, I would have just flogged it with her as an audience. It would have made it even better.

Weakened, I tried to hold out, then fought back. I may not have had weapons in the flirting war, but I could play this new game, too.

I knew, from the sounds that came from her bedroom at night, that she was doing her own thing in there, nearly every night. I decided to perform a little interruption of my own.

When she was out one day, I searched her room. They weren't well hidden, just under some underwear in her bedside drawer. Three vibrators, including a long thin one, a medium sized one, and a monster. All had their fresh batteries removed, and replaced with duds from our recycling box. Then I hid the supply of new batteries we kept in the fridge. I put the toys back, and left the room.

I would have liked to see her face when she went to pleasure herself that night, only to find her plastic lovers out of commission. I got a few suspicious looks the next morning, but my poker face held up.

Of course, disabling her electric friends didn't stop her. It just made her work harder to achieve her goal. Perhaps their strange disappearance would do it.

The next time she went out, I went to kidnap one of them, and found the door locked. Same deal as the bathroom though, and I knew how to unlock it as well. Once inside, I went for the drawer, only to find them missing already.

Okay. Hide and seek it is.

It took me a while, but I found them. She wasn't very inventive, just switching drawers. I picked up the biggest one, and left, re-locking the door on the way out. I disposed of the body.

Another day of strange looks followed. At the earliest opportunity, another of her little buddies joined the first, tossed up the hatch into the attic to vanish in the insulation.

She had to know now. It took an hour to find her lone remaining playmate, hidden under her mattress, but he met the same fate as his predecessors.

The morning after the final abduction, though, I came to realize I was an idiot. Try as I might to keep her from masturbating, as she was stopping me, I forgot about her final line of defence. She had fingers.

I walked into the kitchen to find her... Smiling. At me.

"Nice try," she giggled. She made a show of sniffing her fingertips. "I really do smell good, don't I?" She sauntered over to lean on the table, squeezing her arms together, and making her already devastating cleavage even more so. "You remember, don't you? From when you would steal my underwear?"

She sat across from me, and stared. And stared. And stared.

"If this is your end game," she said quietly, "I'm sorry, but you lose. You can't stop me, but I can stop you."

She was right. I was beaten. Even though I could still take care of things at night, in the privacy of my room, that wasn't enough for me. I couldn't avoid the arousal her teasing caused. My hormones just wouldn't be silenced.

"Look, Ethan....just do what I tell you, and I'll leave you alone. This doesn't have be a fight all the time. You can have your private time back, to do whatever it is you do," a twisted grin followed, then she continued. "Make it easy on yourself."

Uncle. I nodded.

A truce was called, and we gave each other space. I even retrieved her vibrators from the attic, although it took some hunting to find the last one.

She really wasn't asking for a lot in the way of cooperation, anyway. I had been a bit pig headed, bucking against restraints that my Father never put on me, but that were hardly imprisonment. She just needed more help around the house than I was used to giving. I suppose she could have asked, rather than told, and that might have led to a different outcome.

Anyway, we got along a bit better. Still some friction on occasion, but no fireworks. She dressed in her usual, provocative way.

And I was free to lock the bathroom door.

***

As the summer went on, my friends were frequent visitors to our pool. That's when I confirmed that her behaviour was directed at me only.

As I mentioned before, Selena had a selection of teenie bikinis to choose from, and practically lived in them during the hottest summer months. That had always been the case, even when Dad was alive. When my friends would come over, she would always cover up, and I mean 'cover'. The shorts were longer, and even the cleavage disappeared under baggy, form concealing sweatshirts.

When my friends would leave, she would strip off the camouflage, and I would get the full treatment again. Since my Father was no longer here, I could come to one conclusion. She was having fun teasing me.

Despite my recent reinstatement of masturbation privileges, my frustration level was rising daily. Yours would be too, if you had a goddess like Selena parading around in front of you constantly. The boobs. The butt. The firm, flat belly. Those lips, wrapped around my....

I think I feel a bathroom calling my name.

On one particularly frustrating day, I found Selena in the kitchen. She had been in sun for the last hour, and had a glow of sweat glistening on her body. The peach coloured bikini that graced her form was beautiful....as was her ass, with the string of the thong threaded between her firm glutes. There was a bit of grass stuck to her back, and I brushed it away.

"Grass," I informed her.

"Thanks," she smiled. "Did you get it all?"

I looked closer. Yep, got all the grass. My closer inspection did cause my eyes to linger on her incredible backside. Before I knew what was happening, my hand, seemingly moving on its own volition, had cupped the underside of her right cheek.

I saw stars! When my vision cleared, Selena was glaring at me, and rubbing the hand she had just slapped me with.

"Ethan! You will not touch me in such an inappropriate way!" she screeched.

"I'm sorry!" I blurted. "I didn't mean to! I don't know..... "

"Go to your room!" she commanded.

I relented, hanging my head as I left. She was right. I had touched her ass, even though I didn't really mean to. My hand just.....

Man, what an ass, though. I could still feel it. I could still feel the slap, too. My jaw was sore.

A couple of hours later, I sheepishly went back downstairs to apologize again. Selena was dressed, which is to say, covered, but still on display. The V-neck top was tight, leaving her deep cleavage out for drooling over. The shorts were equally snug, and quite short, showing a lot of thigh.

"Selena? Are you still mad at me?" I asked softly, taking a seat at the table.

"What do you think?" she growled, her eyes locked on her magazine. She licked a finger, and turned the page with an angry snap. Without lifting her head, her eyes looked up at me. It was a 'very pissed off' expression.

"I can't believe you did that," she said in exasperation.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say," I said quietly.

"Okay. Apology accepted. I'm still not happy, but I'll get over it," she nodded. Her face relaxed, most of the anger draining away.

Well, as long as we're talking.....

"You don't make it easy, you know," I added. Bad idea.

She had stood, and was putting her coffee cup in the sink as I said it. When she turned back, the anger had returned.

"Oh really?" she sneered. "And how is that?"

What I should have said....was nothing. I should have left it alone, taken my lumps and gone to bed.

I didn't.

"Look at the way you're dressed!" I shot back. "You may as well be naked! How am I NOT supposed to be effected?!" Let the argument begin.

We went at it tooth and nail. She told me it was her house, and she would dress any damn way she wanted. I told her it wasn't fair to be teased so blatantly, for so long. I said she was doing it on purpose. She denied it. I yelled, she yelled....until I finished it.

"Three weeks, you bitch! In three weeks, I turn eighteen, and I'm gone! Have fun teasing a house full of nothing!"

I stormed out. That night, when I came home, the house was dark. I crept quietly up the stairs. I was just about to close my door when I heard it.

A soft whimper.

I walked silently closer to her door. Now I heard it clearly. She was....crying?

Good. Cry, you bitch! I hope it hurts. After everything you put me through, I hope it hurts bad!

Well, I was angry. Any chivalrous feelings I might have had were buried under an avalanche of fury. An hour of staring at the ceiling later, my emotions had softened somewhat. I felt bad.

Standing outside her door, I spoke softly.

"Selena? Are you awake?" There was no response at first, but then I heard her.

"Yes Ethan. Come in," she sobbed.

Selena was sitting up in bed, with the sheet wrapped tight around her. It was pretty obvious to me that she was nude underneath. I approached slowly, and sat gently on the edge of the bed. A tissue was crumpled in her hand, and her eyes were red. I hadn't seen this side of her since the funeral. She was hurt, and vulnerable....because of me.

"I'm sorry for what I said. I shouldn't have called you a, um, a....." I stumbled.

"No. You're right. I've been a terrible parent. I don't blame you," she shook her head. "I guess I wasn't ready for the promotion. Your Father did such a good job. He made it look so easy. I miss him so much....."

That started both of us crying, and I found myself holding her again. She was clutching the sheet to her chest, but her back, under my hands, was bare, with skin so soft and smooth I couldn't help noticing. Fortunately, nothing happened further down that would have ruined the moment. I must have held her for half an hour in silence, other than our tears. She pushed back, wiping her nose with the tissue.

"Thank you, honey," she said, with a weak smile. "You should go to bed. We can talk in the morning."

I nodded, and let her go, closing the door behind me on the way to my bed.

It was a restless night. Sorrow, guilt, confusion, anger....all mixed together, with a little arousal on top to make things really interesting. I tossed and turned for hours, until fatigue overpowered emotion.

***

In the morning, I was in the kitchen when Selena shuffled in. She was back to sweats and a well worn t-shirt. She hugged me from behind. I felt those two soft areas of contact, and fought to control myself.

"Thank you for coming in to see me last night," she whispered, resting her head against my back. "I haven't been teasing you on purpose, or at least, not consciously. It's just the way I like to dress. It makes me feel good."

I turned in her arms to face her, and she looked up at me. Her eyes were puffy, but she did look better.

"Then you should dress that way, if it makes you happy," I smiled back. "You really are a beautiful woman. I can see why...." I paused, not wanting to cause another deluge of tears. "Dad was lucky," I finished.

"Thank you," she giggled, accepting the compliment. "It's nice to be noticed."

We separated, and sat at the table, to make talking easier. We finally got around to the elephant in the room. Was I leaving?

"No, Selena. I think we can find a way to make it work," I said evenly. "I'm not leaving. And I want to apologize again for grabbing your, um....."

"Oh that?" she smiled, laughing loudly. "I think that's the least of our worries. You just surprised me. That's why I slapped you." She thought for a second, then continued. "I'm not saying it's okay to grab me, but I'm not mad anymore. That was the first time since your Father. I missed it."