Falling for Dad's Slut Ch. 09

May thanks to neuroparenthetical, who edited this story.

I don't see Stella for a long time after we return home. It was the same with the first longer trip out of town. It's like I only have so much time credit with her, and forcing her to take trips is more expensive and maxes me out for a while. Last time, I didn't see her again for two weeks. This time it's even longer, but a new realization creeps in, too: my credit was never infinite. It didn't renew or reset. Was there a way to get more? I have no idea. All I know is that I've burned almost all of it.

We only meet a few more times. Each time is like every other time -- except that the time leading to it is ever longer. It's the Stella style breakup: no screaming or recriminations. Then again, why would she tell me she's leaving, when she kept saying we're not together? Instead it's just mindless sex, pushing boundaries, abandon. She's not doing it by herself, I'm in it as much as she is.

The days without Stella are colorless, tasteless, and far too long. If they have a taste, it's stale or bitter. They drag on, one after another, with nothing to differentiate them.

I wait for things to go back to normal -- for life to resume its course -- but that doesn't happen. Instead I slump further into apathy and pessimism. It gets bad enough that people start to notice. Which kind of helps, especially since about the same time I decide I do something about it.

I spend time with Irene. Sometimes she bores me to death with cooking and baking sessions. Other times she drags me through the kind of places where you'd expect to find the types of Stella. We talk about things we never talked about before and I discover there's more to my mother than I ever knew.

Rodrigo takes me on road adventures that last several days. Sometimes our journeys take us on narrow, windy mountain roads. The winter days are cold and wet. The forest scenery is shrouded in mist. Other times we go over long stretches of road on sparsely populated planes, speeding past isolated farms, remote gas stations and lonely trees. Stella's image follows me everywhere. I see her behind road curves, floating over ravines, walking on footpaths, and hanging out by abandoned wells. I remain a miserable travel companion. Rodrigo says nothing of it and keeps his eyes on the road, though sometimes he plays some music. Everywhere we stop, his presence commands the respect of those around us. He has all that it takes: the physique, expensive clothing, confident manner and good humor. I wonder whether he and Stella could have been a thing.

Benji takes me fishing. In winter time, it's more than an adventure. The sea is seething, it's freezing cold and it rains most of the time. We don't get a moment to rest and return bone-tired every time.

I visit my older half brother and stay with him and his family more than once. His wife is a beautiful woman. When I'm at their place I masturbate in my room thinking of her wondrous ass and bosom, and cum over the sheets every time.

I connect with my kid sister and take her everywhere in town -- to the park, the ice rink, the zoo, the movies, and even on trips out of town sometimes.

I don't talk much with Rodrigo about Stella, even though I think of her often on our journeys. I'm more inclined to talk with Irene, but what's to say anyway? It's not like she doesn't know or hasn't heard it all before. I do tell my sister stories about Stella and her ridiculous nature, some true and some made up. She laughs all the time and asks me for more.

It's always worse when I'm alone. I burst into tears a couple of times, or maybe a couple dozen. I contemplate doing to myself some of the perverted things I was doing to Stella.

***

I'm meeting Irene for dinner at a restaurant not far from my place. She's in a particularly good mood, not that I remember seeing her in a bad one in recent years. I myself had a good day today, and her bright disposition only lifts my spirits further.

"Guess who I've seen since last we met?" she says.

"Who?"

"Stella."

I haven't thought of her for a few hours. I miss her badly. I wish she were here.

"Sweetheart," I hear Irene calling. I did not realize how much she and the entire world around me have faded away. "You are crying."

She's right. Tears are blurring my vision and stream down my cheeks. "Excuse me," I say as I stand up. I exit the restaurant intending to regain my calm in the cool evening air, but once outside I don't stop. I walk the short distance to my place and all the while my crying only gets worse. I stop trying to suppress my sobbing when I enter the flat and throw myself onto the couch in the living room.

I try and fail to push Stella out of my mind. She's in front of me, smiling broadly; laughing; pushing her head back as she lays on her back in bed, holding my hands, fingers interlocking as I fuck her; smoothing my hair as she holds me afterwards; caressing and kissing my face. I see her hair flipping as she turns and runs on the beach. I cry my heart out and soak the pillow I'm hugging with my tears. I cry and I cry and each time I think I'm done, I start anew.

I'm still crying when Irene lets herself in. The apartment is programmed to recognize her and open the door for her. In case that does not happen, she has the key. I turn around and bury my face in the wet pillow so that she does not see me weeping, but I'm still sniveling as she enters the room. She sits at the other end of the couch.

"You left me in the restaurant," she says.

"I'm a bit cold," I sniffle. "I did not want you to think I was crying."

"You abandoned me there," she jokes, "just like every other man."

"I'm sorry, Mom." Though I can hear amusement in her voice, her reproach makes my whining louder.

"Put your head in my lap," she says.

I do it, and look away from her as I change position. My face is still wet as I rest it on her legs. She must feel it through her skirt. She combs my hair with her fingers. My sobbing slowly dies out.

"Do you still miss her?" she asks.

"Who?"

Irene chuckles. "Stella. You left just as I mentioned her."

"You did? I did not catch that."

"Want to know where I've seen her?"

"Benji's arm?"

She laughs. "He should be so lucky."

"He would, you know -- leave you for her."

"Only if she'd give him the chance. I can't imagine that coming to pass, though. Stella has much better options than Benji."

"Your boyfriend's character does not seem to bother you."

"I would not blame him. I'm more troubled that I'd do the same."

"Mom!?"

"What? She's --" She cuts herself off with a giggle. "He's a man -- and a rather attractive one. Why can't I have a young man with a flat abdomen and a cute butt?"

"You wouldn't."

"I couldn't."

"You scare him. Stella, I mean. You scare Stella. She finds you intimidating. Heck, right now you scare me."

"I could live with that," she says, then adds hurriedly, "a Stella that's afraid of me."

"Irene, he can't... Oh, fuck it. I thought you knew."

"Can't what? Get it up? Sweetheart, erections don't make a man."

"I'm glad you are so progressive. But really, I can't imagine what the two of you would do together."

"Oh, I can," she says in a dreamy voice.

Her attempts to cheer me up have the desired effect and I laugh. Besides, I've already cried enough for just one evening. "Anyway, you were saying..."

"She came to my place."

"Ha! You got your big wish."

"Yeah, well, no." She chuckles. "Not this time."

"What did she want? What did she say?"

"She didn't."

"She just stayed there at the door, staring at you without saying a thing?"

"Of course not. I invited her inside. It would have been rude to let her stand in the street."

"And then?"

"She asked for the room you two had."

"To see it?"

"No, she wanted to stay."

"So she stayed longer."

"Two nights."

"What did she do all the time she was there?"

"She was out during the day. Or stayed in the room by herself. Whatever she'll say I did," she says with another giggle, "did not happen."

***

What Irene told me sticks with me. I keep thinking about it, then I try hard to push it out of my mind.

Twice I wake up in the morning dreaming that Stella has returned. One of the times I walk down a sunny street and she's waiting for me in front of a house, smiling. The second time I visit Irene, and when I enter the living room she's there. Each time I cling to the dream for as long as I can, then shuffle like a zombie into the shower to wash it away.

No matter what I am doing during the day, my mind circles back to Stella's visit to my mother's house.

I've spent too much time with Stella not to have an inkling about how her mind works. His mind. I always thought I understood the boy in her. And had I been that unperceptive, Stella spelled it out for me. Never in too many words, just enough to make it clear.

She's not past her worst excesses -- going out every night, hopping from bed to bed, having sex with multiple random strangers in just about every setup imaginable -- not yet. She likes to party, she likes her men and nothing less than a bathtub full of cum will satisfy her. Yet she's too old for all of that and tired of it. She clings to it because she has nothing else. She's awkward and fearful of social interactions. She's trapped in an existence she never aspired to. Sooner or later she'll have to own her maladjustment and try to fix it.

That's part of why not having her hurts so much. I am what she needs, just as she is what I want. I tried to make her see that. But maybe now is the time she realizes it. Maybe she's now ready for it. Her visit to Irene's makes me think it's so. She went there to scrutinize her feelings, and she would not have gone unless she was sure she was almost there. That, or my feverish feelings are playing a dirty trick on me.

I'll give her a couple of more weeks to make up her mind. If she doesn't, I'll find her and make her come around. I don't care what I have to do. I'm not giving up so easily this time.

***

I'm doing another pass over a school paper I've been working on for some time now. It's nothing very exciting, but I'm pleased with how it turned out. I'm at my place, in the living room that doubles as a home office. It's mid afternoon and despite the fog of this late winter day there's plenty of light coming through the large windows. Outside it's wet and cold, but my mood is high. Spring is coming. The weather is predicted to improve over the next few days.

There's somebody at the door -- a person I know. I study her -- or him -- in the transmitted video stream. She holds her head high and stares patiently directly at the camera.

When I open the door I get a chance to examine Stella from up close. She's wearing a gray skirt, stockings, tall black boots, a white shirt and a too thin jacket. Underdressed for today, she must have been cold coming here. She carries a large bouquet of white flowers in her arms.

Had Irene not warned me of Stella's earlier visit to her place, I would have been very surprised to see her at mine. No doubt, I would have felt an even more intense emotion. As it is, I was half expecting her.

"Stella. What a surprise."

"Evan," she says. "It's been so long."

"I thought I'd never see you again."

She smiles. "I thought the same."

"How long has it been since we last met?"

"Since autumn?"

I show her in. She walks to the middle of the living room where she turns on her heels and raises the flowers.

"These are for you," she says.

That I was not expecting. Emotion surges, but I shake it away.

Somebody has finally brought me flowers. Still, it's not a girl. "You're the first guy to bring me flowers," I tell her.

"You're the first guy I've ever brought flowers to," she replies.

"What are they for?" I ask her as I take them from her hands. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"Are you still in the business of fucking boys in the ass?"

I chuckle. "I thought I'd retired."

"Isn't it too early?"

"Have you run through the last man in town, and now you're doing a second round?"

She laughs. "It's true. I fucked them all. But today I'm here."

"Why?"

"I'd like to start over."

I nod. Of course she would. It was a dumb question.

I don't trust myself to tell her how much I missed her. My voice will betray more than is safe. Instead I study her. Her cheeks and hands are red from the cold outside. Her nails and eyelids are painted and she wears her usual assortment of girly trinkets. Under the open collar of her shirt I see another one, of red leather and reading `PUSSYBOY'.

"May I stay?" she asks. "Or would you rather have me leave so you can consider it? I could come back later -- in a few hours, or a few days."

"Stay," I say.

She takes her jacket off and drops it on my desk.

"I missed you, Stella," I almost whisper as she's facing away.

There's no reaction from her to my utterance, and I hope she hasn't heard me.

She leans against the desk and looks at me. "Enough of this `Stella' business. I'm tired of hearing a name meant for just one night."

"Got another?"

"Do I need one?"

"Everybody needs one."

"Fine. I'll think of one," she says, then looks me in the eyes for more than a few moments. "Would you like something less gleeful? More ordinary?"

"I'd like that. But know that I'll hold you to it."

"You think you can?"

"I know it."

She chuckles. "Very well then. Can you do Madeline? How about Marlene? Mylene? Or maybe Modestine?"

"Modestine!?" I repeat incredulously. "No, I don't think I could hold you to that one." Nor do I want to.

"Mylene then."

"I like it," I say. I like the promise of a future together it holds. "This Mylene of yours, she better be the girlfriend type."

"I've never met her. I have a feeling she likes to please."

THE END