Mother helps son and daughter restore their sexual life
It was Valentine’s Day four years ago when my family was shattered. I was sixteen and ready to go out on a date when the sheriff deputy pulled into our driveway. He had a serious demeanor when he asked if my mother was home. I told him apprehensively that I would get her.
Mom had burst out in tears, appearing to know what the deputy was about to tell her.
“Some hikers found him,” he told Mom solemnly. “There was this card in his pocket addressed to you.” It was in a red envelope, typical of a Valentine’s Day card.
Mom took the card out from the envelope, opened it and went into shock, it slipped from her fingers. I bent down to retrieve it from the floor. I felt compelled to read it.
‘I’m sorry but it must end this way. I’m sorry I am no longer the husband you deserve. Good-bye my Valentine.’
The deputy tried to console my mother when my sister Nicole came out of her room. She was dressed for her Valentine’s Day date, screaming sexy red dress, like she was ready for a fun evening. She stopped when she saw the deputy and my mother crying, a worried look came over her face. I went to her with the card still in my hand.
“Dad killed himself,” I informed my sister. “Some hikers found him in the desert.” I showed her the Valentine’s Day card our father left for our mother. Nicole read it, her jaw dropped open.
The sheriff deputy told Mom she would need to go and identify the body. He would drive her to the morgue. I took out my phone and cancelled my date. I told the deputy that I would drive. Nicole’s date had arrived and when she told him the situation he left.
“I will go with you,” Nicole told Mom. “Let me change first,” she said.
Since then, Valentine’s Day has become a somber day of remembrance and regret. Nicole broke up with her boyfriend and I never seemed to be able to have a lasting relationship with any of the girls I dated. Lisa, the girl I was going to take out that evening tried to come on to me several times but I just couldn’t connect anymore. It was almost as if we were cursed.
A couple of years ago we were sitting at the dinner table with Mom on Valentine’s Day when Nicole revealed the plans she had with her boyfriend that fateful evening.
“Billy had reserved a room at the hotel where we were going for a romantic dinner,” she relayed to us. “I was going to lose my virginity that night. I was so ready.”
“Are you still a virgin?” I asked out of curiosity.
“I popped my cherry with a dildo so I wouldn’t be embarrassed if I ever did have sex with a guy,” she confessed. “But, yea, I guess I am still a virgin.”
“What about you Eric? You don’t seem to hang with anyone long enough to get that far,” my sister inquired into my relationships.
“I got pretty far with Lisa but not all the way,” I confessed.
Last year when Mom asked why I couldn’t seem to hold on to a relationship I told her and Nicole about my last man to man talk with Dad.
“Dad told me about his problem,” I started. “He said he couldn’t get an erection anymore with you, Mom,” I said not wanting her to feel bad but it was the truth. “He said he was fine getting hard and masturbating,” I remembered. “was there a problem between you and Dad?”