JULIE:
Mark came back from his monthly two-day visit to the Bristol office today looking more tired than usual, so for once, instead of leaping frenziedly on him, as is my usual ploy whenever we’ve been apart more than 12 hours, I kept Markie and baby Nia quiet, allowing their poor daddy a few hours rest before fatherhood and family once more became a part of his life.
Mark had to go and see his team members in Clifton every month; with promotion had come responsibilities, but the trip always tired him, as all the problems that had no pleasing, easy solution were obligingly piled on his desk; all the nice, easy issues with easy solutions were sorted out lower down the tree, leaving him to try and organise his team, motivate them to meet their targets, write appraisals, and formulate solutions for problems that had no solutions; all the ‘buck-stops-here’ problems, in fact. It’s a wonder he still had all that lovely bright gold hair of his…
When he came in, though, tired as he was, he’d kissed me gently, looked around to make sure Markie wasn’t in the room or anywhere in sight, and pulled me close for a long, hot kiss. The growing bulge in his trousers rubbed deliberately, pleasurably, across my slit, making me gasp, and his hands found their way under my skirt and into my panties, cupping and squeezing my bum-cheeks while a finger somehow managed to snake its way into my tight bum-hole. That alone left me in no doubt what he’d been thinking about on that tedious train journey back from Bristol, then all the way across London from Paddington!
I giggled into his mouth at that, squirming delightedly against him; my Mark knew exactly how to heat me up in the shortest possible time, and he’d just hit the jackpot; if the girls had been with Mummy-Anh, I’d have yanked his pants off there and then and climbed on that big cock of his without a moment’s hesitation; he wasn’t the only one missing a little one-on-one! Mark kissed me one last time and, still holding me by my bum, pulled back a little to look into my eyes.
“God, I missed you, Tink,” he grinned, “and I missed these as well!” he whispered, his hands squeezing me again as he spoke, and I knew just from the movements of his hands inside my panties as he squeezed my cheeks that what he wanted to be doing right now was pounding me through the mattress. I grinned and clenched my bum-cheeks, letting him know I knew what was going through his mind, but not making a move to drag him into the bedroom and de-bag him, as I would normally have done by now; I could see the exhaustion in his eyes, and for what I planned on getting from him, I needed him wide awake and raring to go.
“Get some sleep, Peter Pan,” I smiled, “You look like you’ve had a bad night on the varnish. Get a couple of hours rest. I’ll call you for dinner, and then, when the girls are asleep, I have plans for you! If all goes according to plan, I’ll be waking up in the morning bow-legged and rubbed-raw; how does that sound?”
For answer, he pulled me close again, grinding his crotch against mine, letting me know just how much he wanted me. After more than two years, my Lost Boy still needed to touch and hold me as much as the first night we ever got together; believe me, the feeling was entirely mutual; whenever he went away, I felt a peculiar, ragged sense of loss, an emptiness and almost physical pain that didn’t go away until I was running my hands through his soft, golden hair once more, congratulating myself again and again on hooking and landing such a beautiful, sexy, truly wonderful man.
Mark had been forced to reject me by our lunatic mother, her price for not destroying me; she’d driven him to the brink of suicide, she’d made his life a living hell, and yet he’d kept me safe the whole time; he’d taken a beating to ensure I never had to, and I owed him for that. It was a debt I was glad to repay, with every breath of my body, every beat of my heart, and every stroke of his thick cock deep inside me.
Mark, too, hated to go anywhere without me; I think he felt the same separation anxiety I felt when he had to go away, and I didn’t blame him, not after what he’d been through. That loony bitch kept the threat she’d crush me with the law if he didn’t toe the line constantly dangling in front of him, and so she’d kept him dancing on a short leash, sick with fear, for almost three years while she went slowly ga-ga.
Now that mad bitch is dead; she died alone, almost two years ago now, a victim of her own fondness for the booze, unwanted and ignored, and if there’s a hell somewhere, she’s probably burning in it. I have my Lost Boy back; I will always be his ‘Tinkerbell’; we found our own Never-Never Land, and we love each other even more strongly now, because of what we had to endure to win through.
And we even have a new mum! My best girl Nia, (who I think is possibly the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen) has the loveliest, smartest, most loving mum in the world, and now she’s mine as well; before Mark ever came back to me, Mummy-Anh became for real the mum to me that she’d always been in every way that counted; I can’t even remember when she stopped being ‘Mrs. M’ and became just ‘Mum’, and it doesn’t matter; she’s there, that’s all I need to know.
When I was a little girl, it was Nia’s mum who made sure from the earliest days that I was always treated like one of the family, someone who belonged there; it was she who tended me and kept me safe when my crazy, drunken bitch of a mother assaulted me, and it was she who taught me what growing up, love, compassion and family was all about. I owe my family to Mummy-Anh, Nia’s mum, my mum. When Mark finally came back, she took him into her heart too, and made him hers as surely as she had done for me, showing him what a real mother was, and giving him all the love and care a mother showers on her son.
Mark feels about her the same way; growing up he was shamefully neglected by our mother, who spent all her time drinking and never had any time left over for him. He never got to be a little boy because he had to be the grown up and raise me, when he was just a little boy himself.
Mummy-Anh understands this, which is why she makes an especially big fuss over him, constantly letting him know in a million small ways that there’s a place he belongs, and a family who cares about him. We named our second daughter ‘Nia’, to honour my best friend, but also to honour Mummy and link them together in a special way; when we told her, it was the first time I’d ever seen Mummy cry.