Mum wasn’t conventionally beautiful — she was tall, about five feet ten, with a lean, stringy body that only served to emphasise her large breasts... a strong nose, but with a wide, sensuous mouth and long, iron-grey hair that reached almost to her waist. I used to brush it for her sometimes, standing behind her and trying to look down at her breasts as she sat in her nightdress.I always took her a cup of tea in bed on Sunday mornings, with one for myself, and I sat in bed with her as we drank. Often I lay there still attached and I would hear mom whisper, “no” to dad, and then I would hear her breath in sharply as dad must have penetrated her before she started to pant and the bed creak.I thought it was great playing shuggy boats in bed, trying to hang on to mom’s nipple as it wobbled and I would giggle with excitement, shouting “Faster, faster”Then dad would lie back down next to me all-breathless and sometimes I would wake up the next morning still in their bed.Dad would already be. More

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