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22 Temmuz 2022, 15:31
Copyright 2014 © M. J. Roberts
License Notes:
This story is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This story is FREE for your enjoyment and may not be re-sold.
This story is written specifically for Literotica fans.
Do NOT repost.
Mature Content:
This story contains deliciously interesting material,
and is intended only for persons over the age of 18.
By opening this you are stating that you are aware this is an erotic work of fiction.
All of the characters involved in sexual situations are 18 years of age or older.
I know this isn't the best story I have and I encourage you to read some of my other stories. I have tried to incorporate some of the suggestions fans have emailed me, and will continue to do so.
This story is intended to be a six part story.
I am working on making the characters more in-depth and believable and giving the story a slower build up. If you have corrections, positive feedback, and/or suggestions, as always, I welcome hearing from you. I love to hear from fans. I try to answer each email individually. Contact me through my author page.
It's just a fun little taboo story.
Enjoy!
-M. J.
A Reluctant Step-father - Chapter 1
The brutal, whipping wind, with its harsh swirls of grainy snow, was pushed me away from the airport back toward the parking lot. Which was fine. I had mixed feelings about heading into Detroit International to pick up my charge.
I ducked my head low, hunkered down further into my big gray jacket, black wool hat, and Detroit Red Wings scarf, and continued to plow headlong into the wind. The bleak wintery day matched my mood, clear, cool, uncertain. It didn't escape me that the wind, pushing me away from the airport might be the universe's great metaphor for my reluctance.
Tom, you wuss. Buck up. It will be fine.
It was a relief to get in through the big double doors of the airport and out of the weather. But after a second of being able to say to myself 'phew' there was a sharp jolt of apprehension mixed with curiosity.
I remembered my luck. I may not be the smartest guy, or the best looking guy, or the wealthiest guy. But I can tell you one thing, I tend to have great luck. I reminded myself of that. Because, hey, I might need it.
I stood in the airport shifting my weight from one foot to another.
For a second I actually put my face in my hands, tugged at my freshly shaven cheeks, and shook my head. I couldn't believe it. Standing here, waiting to pick-up my step-daughter. Fuck, my step-daughter.
Of course I had been running late. I didn't leave until the last minute, not taking into account that the rotten weather would make everyone in Detroit drive like they'd never seen a car.
The people were bustling back and forth with their bundled up jackets and scarves and rolling luggage and I was sweating inside my unzipped parka.
I was thankful the first delay gave me a minute to compose myself.
When her plane was delayed again, I had time to think. Not good. I had just assumed that I would keep my needs away from the house, going to my sub instead of having her come to me, and everything would be fine. Now that I was actually standing in the airport, I wondered if I had been foolish to let someone I didn't know live with me. Of course she would cramp my style. Obviously it would affect me. I worked from home. What the hell was I thinking?
The last time I saw her Stephanie had been a ten-year-old who insisted on going to live with her dad in Europe.
Of course the last time she saw me I was a guy in his mid-twenties who was focused on how crazy I was about her mom.
Oh God, I had been so, so crazy about Marie. You wouldn't think anybody could be that in love. But I was. Marie was the sun and the moon and the stars and the galaxy. And for good reason too.
When I married Marie her family wasn't exactly all open arms. Everyone thought I was too young for Marie. It shouldn't have been such a big deal, but Marie's family made it into one. Stephanie had been the worst. She just wanted to get away. Frankly it had surprised me that Marie let her go.
I tried to remember what Stephanie looked like the last time I saw her. Long, thick blonde hair pulled up in a high ponytail on top of her head. Sparkly stuff all in her hair. Sparkly pink body suit. Snotty expression. Some sort of middle-school cheer competition or something. I was so besotted with Marie then I could barely think of anything else.
It might seem selfish but I didn't remember what Stephanie's childhood face looked like as much as her attitude that anyone dating her mother must be a prick.
I met Marie in a bar. Maybe that's cliché. She was with a bunch of college students, so it took a double take to realize she was in her thirties. But from the first second I saw her, I felt a kinship. Yeah, her family gave us a hard time. I was in my twenties and she was in her thirties. Big deal. If she hiltonbet giriş (https://sunjinchem.com/canli-bahis/hiltonbet/) were the guy, and I were the girl, no one would think twice about the nine-year age difference.
Marrying your best friend is one of the most amazing things in the world.
Having her die of breast cancer, a swift knife that cut her down seemingly overnight?one day here the next day gone?is about the worst thing that can happen in the world.
I know because it happened to me. And I still miss her, every day. It's like an ache in the middle of my chest that never goes away. God, she was so beautiful with that flowing chestnut brown hair, kind eyes, and great laugh. Thinking about her, the ache in my heart got worse.
The update on the arrivals board snapped me out of my reverie.
Fuck. Stephanie's flight was here. I hustled to the right area and waited.
It was a packed flight. I searched all the girls, looking for a gawky teen with an abundance of thick waist-length blonde hair. My eyes darted around, catching every glimpse of blonde and yellow. Jeez, would I even recognize her? Nothing. And then suddenly a woman with a black beret stood right in front of me, and I moved slightly to look around her.
"Um, 'ello?"
I did a double take.
Holy shit. She looked exactly like Marie.
Fuck. How old was she?
My expression must have been comical. I pictured my eyes bulging out of my head, and my arms pin-wheeling backward.
"You're supposed to be like, ten," I said.
She laughed.
"Eleven, twelve, fourteen?at most," I said joking. It's amazing how when you don't see kids, they never age in your mind.
"Twenty," she said.
She looked older, a LOT older. And she was hot. Like a smack in the face, holy shit hot. I stared right in her eyes and very purposely didn't look her up and down. She was twenty???
"It's been ten years?" I asked. Oh my God, fuck, ten years. How did I get to be thirty-seven already?
"Yes, it has," she said. She had a tiny bit of an English accent. Nice.
"Your hair," I said, pointing. It was short and very dark brown, peeking out the edges of her hat. She took the beret off and shook her hair, revealing one small pink streak. It made me feel better. She had a maturity about her that made her look like... well a woman. The streak brought her back down to her age a bit.
I looked at what she was carrying, a huge black purse and a laptop case.
"Let's go to baggage claim, get your stuff."
"This is it for now," she said, the English accent against my expectation of previous American brat making me smile. "I'm having all my stuff shipped. A decade of girl things is a bloody lot of crap," she said.
"Right."
Time to take my step-daughter home.
The first few minutes in the car were awkward, the kind of silence that bites with the chill like the weather we were driving through. I knew why she was back. We'd been exchanging emails frequently for the past month. She wanted to live where her mother had been, and she'd been having a bit of breakdown in England. Still I wasn't sure that things would be much better for her here. After all, I wasn't exactly the say-the-right-thing kind of guy. But I wanted to help her if I could.
Anything I could do, I wanted to do. So when she said she wanted to come here, of course I said yes. I mean, God, life had been so cruel, not just to me but to her. This had to be the right thing, right?
I wondered. Maybe, maybe not.
But it was done now. I tried to fill the conversation void, pointing out landmarks that she may or may not remember and new things: shops, movie theaters, anything I thought she might like.
We got home she grabbed an apple and stretched out on the couch.
I practically ran to my room.
Coward.
The next day was a blizzard, and she spent most of the day talking on the phone with friends from childhood and on Facebook doing God only knows what?and eating all my Ben
License Notes:
This story is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This story is FREE for your enjoyment and may not be re-sold.
This story is written specifically for Literotica fans.
Do NOT repost.
Mature Content:
This story contains deliciously interesting material,
and is intended only for persons over the age of 18.
By opening this you are stating that you are aware this is an erotic work of fiction.
All of the characters involved in sexual situations are 18 years of age or older.
I know this isn't the best story I have and I encourage you to read some of my other stories. I have tried to incorporate some of the suggestions fans have emailed me, and will continue to do so.
This story is intended to be a six part story.
I am working on making the characters more in-depth and believable and giving the story a slower build up. If you have corrections, positive feedback, and/or suggestions, as always, I welcome hearing from you. I love to hear from fans. I try to answer each email individually. Contact me through my author page.
It's just a fun little taboo story.
Enjoy!
-M. J.
A Reluctant Step-father - Chapter 1
The brutal, whipping wind, with its harsh swirls of grainy snow, was pushed me away from the airport back toward the parking lot. Which was fine. I had mixed feelings about heading into Detroit International to pick up my charge.
I ducked my head low, hunkered down further into my big gray jacket, black wool hat, and Detroit Red Wings scarf, and continued to plow headlong into the wind. The bleak wintery day matched my mood, clear, cool, uncertain. It didn't escape me that the wind, pushing me away from the airport might be the universe's great metaphor for my reluctance.
Tom, you wuss. Buck up. It will be fine.
It was a relief to get in through the big double doors of the airport and out of the weather. But after a second of being able to say to myself 'phew' there was a sharp jolt of apprehension mixed with curiosity.
I remembered my luck. I may not be the smartest guy, or the best looking guy, or the wealthiest guy. But I can tell you one thing, I tend to have great luck. I reminded myself of that. Because, hey, I might need it.
I stood in the airport shifting my weight from one foot to another.
For a second I actually put my face in my hands, tugged at my freshly shaven cheeks, and shook my head. I couldn't believe it. Standing here, waiting to pick-up my step-daughter. Fuck, my step-daughter.
Of course I had been running late. I didn't leave until the last minute, not taking into account that the rotten weather would make everyone in Detroit drive like they'd never seen a car.
The people were bustling back and forth with their bundled up jackets and scarves and rolling luggage and I was sweating inside my unzipped parka.
I was thankful the first delay gave me a minute to compose myself.
When her plane was delayed again, I had time to think. Not good. I had just assumed that I would keep my needs away from the house, going to my sub instead of having her come to me, and everything would be fine. Now that I was actually standing in the airport, I wondered if I had been foolish to let someone I didn't know live with me. Of course she would cramp my style. Obviously it would affect me. I worked from home. What the hell was I thinking?
The last time I saw her Stephanie had been a ten-year-old who insisted on going to live with her dad in Europe.
Of course the last time she saw me I was a guy in his mid-twenties who was focused on how crazy I was about her mom.
Oh God, I had been so, so crazy about Marie. You wouldn't think anybody could be that in love. But I was. Marie was the sun and the moon and the stars and the galaxy. And for good reason too.
When I married Marie her family wasn't exactly all open arms. Everyone thought I was too young for Marie. It shouldn't have been such a big deal, but Marie's family made it into one. Stephanie had been the worst. She just wanted to get away. Frankly it had surprised me that Marie let her go.
I tried to remember what Stephanie looked like the last time I saw her. Long, thick blonde hair pulled up in a high ponytail on top of her head. Sparkly stuff all in her hair. Sparkly pink body suit. Snotty expression. Some sort of middle-school cheer competition or something. I was so besotted with Marie then I could barely think of anything else.
It might seem selfish but I didn't remember what Stephanie's childhood face looked like as much as her attitude that anyone dating her mother must be a prick.
I met Marie in a bar. Maybe that's cliché. She was with a bunch of college students, so it took a double take to realize she was in her thirties. But from the first second I saw her, I felt a kinship. Yeah, her family gave us a hard time. I was in my twenties and she was in her thirties. Big deal. If she hiltonbet giriş (https://sunjinchem.com/canli-bahis/hiltonbet/) were the guy, and I were the girl, no one would think twice about the nine-year age difference.
Marrying your best friend is one of the most amazing things in the world.
Having her die of breast cancer, a swift knife that cut her down seemingly overnight?one day here the next day gone?is about the worst thing that can happen in the world.
I know because it happened to me. And I still miss her, every day. It's like an ache in the middle of my chest that never goes away. God, she was so beautiful with that flowing chestnut brown hair, kind eyes, and great laugh. Thinking about her, the ache in my heart got worse.
The update on the arrivals board snapped me out of my reverie.
Fuck. Stephanie's flight was here. I hustled to the right area and waited.
It was a packed flight. I searched all the girls, looking for a gawky teen with an abundance of thick waist-length blonde hair. My eyes darted around, catching every glimpse of blonde and yellow. Jeez, would I even recognize her? Nothing. And then suddenly a woman with a black beret stood right in front of me, and I moved slightly to look around her.
"Um, 'ello?"
I did a double take.
Holy shit. She looked exactly like Marie.
Fuck. How old was she?
My expression must have been comical. I pictured my eyes bulging out of my head, and my arms pin-wheeling backward.
"You're supposed to be like, ten," I said.
She laughed.
"Eleven, twelve, fourteen?at most," I said joking. It's amazing how when you don't see kids, they never age in your mind.
"Twenty," she said.
She looked older, a LOT older. And she was hot. Like a smack in the face, holy shit hot. I stared right in her eyes and very purposely didn't look her up and down. She was twenty???
"It's been ten years?" I asked. Oh my God, fuck, ten years. How did I get to be thirty-seven already?
"Yes, it has," she said. She had a tiny bit of an English accent. Nice.
"Your hair," I said, pointing. It was short and very dark brown, peeking out the edges of her hat. She took the beret off and shook her hair, revealing one small pink streak. It made me feel better. She had a maturity about her that made her look like... well a woman. The streak brought her back down to her age a bit.
I looked at what she was carrying, a huge black purse and a laptop case.
"Let's go to baggage claim, get your stuff."
"This is it for now," she said, the English accent against my expectation of previous American brat making me smile. "I'm having all my stuff shipped. A decade of girl things is a bloody lot of crap," she said.
"Right."
Time to take my step-daughter home.
The first few minutes in the car were awkward, the kind of silence that bites with the chill like the weather we were driving through. I knew why she was back. We'd been exchanging emails frequently for the past month. She wanted to live where her mother had been, and she'd been having a bit of breakdown in England. Still I wasn't sure that things would be much better for her here. After all, I wasn't exactly the say-the-right-thing kind of guy. But I wanted to help her if I could.
Anything I could do, I wanted to do. So when she said she wanted to come here, of course I said yes. I mean, God, life had been so cruel, not just to me but to her. This had to be the right thing, right?
I wondered. Maybe, maybe not.
But it was done now. I tried to fill the conversation void, pointing out landmarks that she may or may not remember and new things: shops, movie theaters, anything I thought she might like.
We got home she grabbed an apple and stretched out on the couch.
I practically ran to my room.
Coward.
The next day was a blizzard, and she spent most of the day talking on the phone with friends from childhood and on Facebook doing God only knows what?and eating all my Ben