Her Mother’s Daughter
By Writer345
5. Childhood’s End — passing the point of no return.
Today was Friday, Samantha’s birthday and for some reason, I was up early. I looked into Samantha’s room and saw her sleeping: a blonde angel with her hair seeming to flow over her pillow. I remember smiling as I stood watching my sleeping daughter for several minutes. Today she was eighteen and a child no longer. Am I really doing the right thing for both of us? I remembered Milly’s words—but what if she was wrong?
Almost in a daze I walked down stairs and made my breakfast then ate it without really tasting the toast or marmalade. I felt numb as I finished my coffee. Today is her eighteenth birthday and the first day of the rest of her life. I sobbed and suddenly remembered her seventeenth birthday when she had called me a “Fucking mean cow” and thrown my present at me.
No! I corrected myself. Today is the first day of the rest of our lives.
Next, I bustled around tidying up downstairs, making it ready for her to get up later today or tomorrow when she felt better. I looked for the blue and brown ‘medicine’ bottles: the blue one had contained the ipecac-derivative that had been responsible for my baby’s sudden “tummy-bug” while the brown one held the tranquillizer that had made her feel dull and sleepless for the last couple of days. I was instructed to give her one last 5ml dose with her breakfast and to let her recover afterwards—I had been told that after a good night’s sleep, she would be feeling better and should be able to get-up tomorrow.
At lunchtime I took her her birthday cards and she opened them sleepily, smiling happily as she read the messages inside each one, including mine which said “Here’s to a new beginning.” I took them downstairs afterwards and stood then up in the lounge for her to see tomorrow.
The rest of the day just seemed to drift by: although I felt empty, I was still full of doubt, but there was no alternative now and I just had to let things play out. There was, after all, still the green bottle to go. After a light evening meal, I settled down to watch the television, not that it was much more than a background noise to my thoughts. Suddenly, at about seven, the door bell rang and I jumped up to answer it: half expecting it to be Maud.
It wasn’t for the door swung open to reveal three scantily dressed young ladies(?). I recognised the red-head as ‘Linnie’, my daughter’s ‘best friend’. I looked at them enquiringly, they would have been quite attractive if about a pound of make-up could have been scraped off each of them.
“Yes, ladies?” I enquired. ‘Ladies’ of course being in respect to there gender, not their status in life: well I couldn’t very well greet them with. “Yes, Slags?” could I? Although, admittedly, it would have been infinitely more accurate.
I was informed, in some dialect of broken English, that they had come to take Sammie out to celebrate her birthday.
“I’m sorry, but she’s still not well enough.” I replied as pleasantly as I could.
They glared at me and Linnie accused me of holding her prisoner; or at least, I think she did as I wasn’t particularly familiar with the version of ‘Idiot’ that she was speaking.
“I’m afraid that I only speak English.” I said with a disarming smile.
Strangely enough my remark caused a great deal of confusion. Then after a whining argument, a tall thin-faced blonde, who I did not know, glared at me and exclaimed. “Dyke whore, much!”
I smiled again. “Pleased to meet you, how much do you charge?” If you can’t convince them, confuse them.
The blonde looked shocked and the third girl, the one with a coffee and cream complexion and black frizzy hair, stared at me and enquired. “Waaaa?”
Linnie actually turned towards the blonde and chuckled which caused the argument to resume. The little red-head however suddenly turned and stared at me. “How is Sam, Miss Graham?” She asked in real English.
“Getting better, but still very weak and sleepy, thank you, Lynette.”
After they had all turned on their very high heels and tottered away unsteadily, I closed the door and stopped suppressing my laughter. Me a dyke? Well judging how they were draped over each other, it was a fair bet that I wasn’t the only one.
I returned to the lounge and poured myself a celebratory glass of sherry, then as I sat down, I realised just how much the visit by those ‘charming’ young females had cheered me up and strengthened my resolve. I sighed out loud and wondered if Sammie also sounded incoherently brain-damaged when she had been out with them. Very likely. I concluded.
All the same, I had to admit that there was an attractive air of naïvety about them; if I was more predatory, I think that I would have enjoyed turning them—the redhead, especially. There was an intensity about Linnie that was intriguing: I would really love bringing her out.
It’s strange, but as I sat there and relaxed, the TV still on in the background, I daydreamed. I saw Lynette there in front of me, which was odd because I had never really been attracted to eighteen year old girls—not even when I was one! Still, perhaps it was the sherry, or the sight of the scantily clad nubile “maidens”, or the warm room, or even a combination of all of then: but I was definitely turned on by them. No! Not them—By Linnie.
I imagined the young redhead there in front of me: I made the trowelled on make-up vanish and the intensity of her beautiful green eyes seemed to look deep into my soul. I envisaged her naked, no great feat considering how skimpily she was dressed for mid-October. She was dumpier than my Sammie—shorter too with better developed hips and breasts. By now you will realise that I loved breasts, providing that they are in proportion to the rest of the woman. Hell, I love ‘the rest of the woman’ too; I wouldn’t be a lesbian if I didn’t; but there was something about Lynette—she had hidden depths where the other two seemed to have hidden shallows. Did I fancy my daughter’s best friend?
“Hell, yes!” I said out loud, which both surprised me and snapped me out of my reverie.
It didn’t end there, oh no, not even the shock of my realisation was enough to shatter my illicit longings. I tried to watch the television, but found myself slipping back into my fantasy. I closed my eyes and there she was standing naked in front of me, red hair just touching her areolae and her nipples poking towards me in a most inviting manner.
Without realising it, I noticed that my right hand had hiked up my skirt and worked its way into my panties. I was wet—very wet! I shrugged and regained control of it, but why waste the opportunity? I began to play with my own pussy, which obviously was the only one available, I explored the familiar territory and commanded my fingers to begin their familiar dance. I rubbed myself with a circular motion and heard a familiar low moan... I really did need this.
As I rubbed myself faster and faster, my fantasy changed. Samantha materialised behind Linnie, they hugged and then kissed. I could see them as real as life itself, my slim blonde daughter and her plump best friend. The kiss went on and on, I heard them moan sensuously, their heads moved in a well-practised dance as the kiss turned to mutual tongue-fucking.
Suddenly my back arched as I gave a loud scream of ecstasy: I had cum! Oh how I had. The girls vanished as I carried on twitching and spasming for several seconds. My fingers stopped and I relaxed. The room stank of my arousal and I was so wet that I had soaked the seat of my favourite armchair. I could have squirted or pissed myself: I didn’t know, or care. In fact the only thing that I did care about was that wonderful vision of the girls making out... If only!