Sex, Lies And Suburban Depravity (A Disturbia Story)

By | March 3, 2008

AlexSuze.comBill hoardings advertise products that nobody needs
While angry from Manchester writes to complain about
All the repeats on TV
And computer terminals report some gains
On the values of copper and tin
While American businessmen snap up Van Goghs
For the price of a hospital wing
Nothing ever happens, nothing happens at all
The needle returns to the start of the song
And we all sing along like before
Nothing ever happens, nothing happens at all
They’ll burn down the synagogues at six o’clock
And we’ll all go along like before

And we’ll all be lonely tonight and lonely tomorrow
Del Amitri, Nothing Ever Happens

 “But Mum, why can’t I go on the demo?”

Ellen looked at her daughter’s young face, framed in a short, blonde bob, “Because you’ll get arrested along with your so-called friends.”

“But the bypass will destroy the copse on Black Hill, the ponds where you said you first kissed Dad. All that wildlife!”

“NO!”

Tina threw her schoolbag bag to the floor and stormed up to her bedroom shouting “You don’t care about the environment, about me! You don’t care about anything”. Ellen cringed moments before the door was slammed. Stamp, stamp, thud, and the stereo began to pump out bass from an unidentifiable band.

~~~

Ellen enjoyed the feeling of the cool night air around her naked legs. Her high heels clicked out an urgent rhythm along the flagged pavement. She pulled down her short leather skirt to allow herself a little modesty and stepped into the bar.

The bar slowly filled, most of the clientele younger than Ellen by a decade or two. She held her own and was proud of the fact. A true MILF, with more experience than most of the rest of the people in the stylishly appointed and moodily lit establishment put together.

She stroked a glass of ice-cold mineral water and surveyed her prospects. There were the usual crowd. She was looking for something new. Something fresh, exciting, virginal. She smiled to herself. Was this what being a predator felt like? If so she wanted to stay at the top of the food chain.

Her eagle-eyed reconnaissance of the male talent was interrupted briefly when a face she thought she knew bobbed briefly in and out of her peripheral vision. Her blood chilled momentarily, but no, the group of girls to her right were too young to be anyone she knew from work or socially.

When she first saw Jim she knew he was the one. Tonight’s entertainment. She caught his gaze, her strong cheekbones and skilful eye makeup jumped out at him. He returned the gaze, enchanted by Ellen. “You temptress!” thought Ellen, a tingling beginning between her thighs.

He split from his group of friends to stand next to her at the bar. He asked her if she would like a drink, she accepted. Ellen stroked the condensation on the vitreous container surrounding his alcoholic token of carnal intent. She drew her moist fingers across her exposed upper chest. They chatted, briefly, before retiring to a booth and engaging in twenty minutes of fervent groping and kissing.

Ellen Whispered in Jim’s ear. They made to leave, Ellen stopped. There it was again, a glimpse of a face she knew she should recognise. But the lighting was low, the makeup heavy, almost theatrical and its owner had her back to Ellen on the far side of the bar. Staring at the back of the woman’s head and her long, jet black hair gave nothing away. Ellen scolded herself for being paranoid.

In the alley she grabbed Jim’s cock through his trousers. The buzz she derived from arousing complete strangers had no equal. Her fingers traced the outline of his member, he felt huge. An expert opinion even if she did say so herself. She was such a whore when the mood took her, and proud of it.

Jim pulled her towards him, her hands now working at his belt. He leant forward pushing his tongue into her mouth. She returned his kiss with an enthusiasm that matched the need in her. The taste of lager on his tongue mingled with the smell of his aftershave. She moaned her enjoyment, felt his hands pull up her skirt, willing him to seek out her moistness with his fingers.

His cock was finally free. He was pressed against her so she could only feel, not see, his veined shaft and smooth, swollen head in her hand. She slipped an arm around his neck, lifting herself up, wrapping her legs around him. He pressed her against the wall, cock now nuzzling her pussy. She reached down with her free hand, pulling her panties to one side and guiding him inside her.

He slid in, and began pumping furiously, his inexperience evident. She wasn’t disappointed, she loved the young ones, they had no finesse, but they had vitality and spontaneity. His weight almost drove the breath from her body, the rough brickwork tearing at her jacket. Ellen could feel he was going to cum, an eternity before she was ready. Not that it mattered she would attend to her own needs when she returned home. This was the thrill of the off-piste, her orgasm was the après ski, to be savoured on her own.

She felt him tense, heard him groan. Two, three, four powerful thrusts emptying his balls. She was pinned to the wall by the power of his climax. For almost a minute he held her there, breathing heavily, before lowering her to the floor. His cock was softening, glistening from her juices in the dim light from the streetlight.

Ellen grasped his waving member. She slowly milked it of its last drops of fluid. Jim gasped, his now tender glans subjected to her insistent manipulation. When she was sure he was spent she let him pull up his trousers while she watched.

“Can we ..” he began.

“No, it’s just sex”.

He shrugged and walked off towards the entrance to the bar.

Ellen pulled down her skirt and was about to walk back to her car when Tina’s white, incredulous face appeared from the shadows and stared at her mother. Their eyes met and they looked into each other’s souls. There was a silent moment, the pause before an army charges into battle. A deep inward breath before the onslaught. Tina screamed abuse at Ellen. Bitch, whore, words Ellen never thought she would hear her daughter use. Then the question, why? Why? WHY?

Then the threats “I’m telling dad.”

Ellen waited until the tirade reached a crescendo and slapped Tina across the face, stunning her. Not from the force of the blow, but because she couldn’t remember her mother hitting her before.

~~~

In the car on the way home they both stared straight ahead, out of the windscreen.

“Tina …”

“I’m not talking to you.”

“Good, then listen. You said earlier I didn’t care. Well I do care, I care as much today as I did when I got arrested at Greenham Common in the eighties. I care …”

“You were arrested?”

“Yes”, Ellen allowed herself a smile.

“On an anti-nuclear protest?” Tina was incredulous.

“Yes. I thought you weren’t talking to me.” Said Ellen, a little smug.

“I’m not.”

“I care as much as your grandmother cared when she nearly got sent to prison after one of the Aldermaston protests.”

“You don’t go to prison for protesting.” Scoffed Tina.

“You do if you punch a policeman in the face.”

They both began to laugh, the mirth at the thought of a now apparently respectable grey-haired woman waving a placard, chanting slogans and landing a left hook on an unsuspecting officer of the law closing the rift between them.

When the giggles had subsided Ellen said softly “I’ve done it before, and I’ll probably do it again. It’s not that I don’t love your father you know. It’s just my way of letting out my latent rebel. I don’t go on marches any more and living in that street since before you were born, holding down a job, conforming … I just can’t do it.” She looked across at Tina. “I don’t expect you to understand. Just please don’t tell you father.”

Tina could see the tears in her mother’s eyes. “I think I’m starting to understand. And don’t worry, I don’t think dad needs to know.”

“Thank you. Can I borrow your wig?”