Teenage Mother

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This story is a work of fiction, any similarities with people and places is purely coincidental. The text remains the intellectual property of the author and may not be published elsewhere without specific permission from the author.

The narrative contains scenes of explicit sexual activities between consenting adult siblings. If this kind of story is illegal where you are reading this, perhaps you should navigate to another site. Similarly, if you don’t like such stories, I wonder why you are surfing a site which contains such material.

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End of preamble; let’s get on with the story …

Schoolgirl Mother

I know being a schoolgirl mother almost seems like the fashionable thing to do these days but when I had my first child, a son, at the age of fourteen it was almost unheard of and I was put through the mill by neighbours and society. But I had the support of my parents and a very helpful social worker. Clive, the father of my child, stuck around and gave me moral support and seemed genuinely interested in our son, Tom.

As soon as we were legally of age, we were married. Clive got a job as a sales assistant at one of those quaint drapers’ stores sometimes found in the little side streets but the times of such establishments were coming to an end. After a couple of years Barrie’s Drapery went the way of the rest of such small shops but Clive was taken on by one of the larger department chains and by the time we were 26 he was the Regional Manager with his own staff and a large company car.

We had a lovely big house in a leafy suburb and were raising Tom and his sister Melanie, three years younger. We had a happy, loving marriage; life was rosy and seemed destined to become rosier. Then, at one of the many parties we attended, Clive started down the road on heavy drugs. Don’t get me wrong, Clive and I often used to smoke a relaxing spliff or two when the kids were asleep and we’d cuddle up to watch a video but I wanted nothing to do with the harder stuff.

Things just started going downhill from there, at first it was the odd ‘sick’ day off from work which became more and more frequent. Head Office pulled him in and gave him a written warning and he tried to straighten himself out but within a couple of months he was back to his old ways. He was sacked, as you would expect, and it didn’t take him long to go through our savings and a very hefty second mortgage. Our cards were cancelled, we were broke and were forced into bankruptcy. We managed to get a council house in one of those post-war estates riddled with concrete cancer.

Long before that he had started pushing me about when he couldn’t get his way, then hitting me. The slaps soon turned to punches. Tom, then 13, tried to defend me but his father just shoved him out of the way and my son ended up trying to comfort Mel, just shy of 10, who was always frightened to see Daddy hitting Mummy. Over the next couple of years his violence got worse. I noticed that the kids were picking up bruises too, and becoming more and more morose but the crunch came one day when I had slipped out to draw my social and get some food for the kids before he stole it to buy more drugs with. I came in the back door into the kitchen to see Mel sobbing, her face battered and bruised. I could hear Tom screaming and kicking at the door to the tools closet under the stairs. I grabbed my heavy iron frying pan in both hands and smashed him full in the face with the edge. Leaving Clive on the floor unconscious with blood pouring from his nose and forehead, I grabbed Mel, released Tom and we all just ran to the police station three streets away.

I was hysterical and couldn’t get my tale out until a nice police woman took us to a private room, got me tea and drinks for the kids. I calmed down and told her what had happened. She excused herself and popped out the door for a few minutes then returned to me. A couple of minutes later I heard two sets of sirens on the road outside. That was three years ago.

Clive was arrested as soon as he came round from the surgery anaesthetics. He was eventually sent down for ten years, heavily scarred. I heard later that he had been disfigured even more when one of his fellow inmates threw a pan of boiling water into his face.

But I was left with heavy outstanding bills. I couldn’t make ends meet, even with my cash-in-hand job, and starved myself so the kids could eat. About two years after his father was arrested, Tom also began to worry me as he became involved in the fringes of the local gangs but there was little I could do to persuade him to take up a decent hobby or sport, anything to keep him off the streets.

Then one day I woke up in hospital with drips going into my arm. A passing nurse smiled when she saw I was awake, she turned to my bed and explained how I came to be there. It seems I had collapsed over my trolley in Tesco’s and they had called an ambulance. My next visitor, soon after, was the doctor. He gave me a severe lecture tuzla escort about starving myself to death. “And I do mean to death, Ms Jones,” he warned. “You have no reserves. If you go on like this you’ll kill yourself.” Giving me a sharp look, he left.

A young slip of a girl walked up. She showed me her ID and introduced herself as Louise, from Social Services. Tom and Melanie (now 17 and 14) were with some lovely foster parents, she told me, and they would be coming to see me this afternoon. She had been in touch with Brian, my brother and named next-of-kin, and he would be here tomorrow.

True to Louise’s word, a ‘motherly’ woman brought Tom and Mel to my bedside that afternoon and introduced herself when the kids had calmed down again. Pat seemed really nice and she assured me the children had not fretted too much. Pat and her husband had a big house in a village a few miles outside the city. She left me and the kids together for a while.

They both agreed that Pat was OK and her house had a lovely big garden and they had a dog called Lady who licked them all over and a pony called Cherry that lived in the field and some rabbits and they were OK there but when was I coming home?

“Soon,” I promised them. “I have to stay here for a few days but not for long.” For the next four days, Pat brought Tom and Mel to see me each afternoon and they seemed happy enough.

Brian arrived as promised and was shocked to see my emaciated appearance. As he and his wife, Trish, lived 300 miles away we hadn’t seen each other for two years and although we had kept in touch, I had not told him how bad life was for me. I was close to tears as he got me to tell him my problems. He sat on the bed and held me close as I sobbed my tale of woes into his shoulder.

Later, after I had got over the sobs, Louise joined us and told Brian about the temporary arrangements her department had made, making sure she and Brian swapped contact details. She didn’t stay too long but, shortly after she left, Brian asked for my house keys. He kissed me goodbye and promised to come back that afternoon when the kids were visiting.

Tom and Mel were delighted to see Uncle Brian and hugged him. Brian arranged with Pat to visit the children that evening so she invited him to have his evening meal with them.

When Pat took the kids back home Brian asked why I hadn’t come to him for help. He told me he had seen the pile of bills and final demands covering the coffee table at home. He had talked on the phone to Trish about my problems. She had agreed that he should settle all my outstanding bills so he had spent the morning writing cheques, and they both wanted us all to come and live with them. The basic idea was that they would employ me as their housekeeper – at a very generous salary – and it would be a permanent ‘live-in’ position for me and my family.

Let me tell you about my brother. Brian was five years my senior. He and his wife met at university and had built up a very successful IT systems design company. At first they did everything themselves, designing, installing and testing every system. It wasn’t long before pressure of work made it necessary for them to hire a couple of recent graduates whom they trained to their own exacting standards then assigned them together as a team.

‘Total customer satisfaction’ was the guarantee Trish and Brian took seriously and their business expanded by leaps and bounds as their reputation spread by word-of-mouth. Over the years they took on more staff as their business became national then international. Trish or Brian trained every member of the team personally and were ruthless with any signs of short-cutting or lack of total commitment to company standards.

At one stage they had bought a large rambling old house in the ribbon development between a city and small market town, turned part of the ground floor of the building into their business offices and lived in the rest. Eventually they had to open an office suite in the city so, apart from their studies, the ground floor once more became part of the home.

They had no children; I learned later they were both fertile but mutually incompatible, but in any case they hadn’t had time for a family with their commitment to business. The early years had them spending weeks away from home either as a team or separately, barely touching base before setting off for the next contract. At home they lived fairly frugally and had not developed much social life so they were now wealthy.

Brian took my hands in his and pleaded with me to bring the family and live with them. The relief from the great weight of my debts still had me feeling bemused and here was my brother inviting me to leave the slum, get away from Clive’s drug suppliers who still pestered me about his debts, get Tom away from the gang culture. To leave it all far behind and get paid for it! It seemed like a fairy godmother had waved her wand.

“I’ll have to ask Tom and Mel, but thank you so much, Brian.” Then the tears started again and my brother tuzla escort bayan got another wet shoulder. He stayed on for another hour or so, fixing me up with one of those ridiculously expensive phone and TV cards for my stay in hospital.

Trish phoned me later that evening and seemed very concerned about me. I assured her I was going to be OK and she confirmed Brian’s offer, in fact she was just as enthusiastic as her husband and looked forward to having us all. “This big old house needs some kids around,” she said, “and don’t worry about your salary; we’ll claim most of it back as ‘business expenses’ but you’d all be welcome anyway.”

My children were pretty keen on the idea when they called in to see me next day so I contacted Louise and arranged with her to give my notice in to the council: she agreed to sort out any unfinished business I had in this area. The doctors decided I was well enough to leave after four days. Brian picked me up from hospital and drove me to my old home.

Outside the house stood a large white van with Brian and Trish’s company logo painted on the side. Tom and Mel were already there sorting through their own things and packing what they wanted to keep into the van. Brian helped me look through my meagre possessions. What I didn’t want went into the two skips Brian had hired and the rest went into the van.

When all was done Brian, I and the kids piled into his car for the long journey south, leaving the van driver to follow in his own time. We made good time, stopping once for a snack on the way and Trish greeted us all with big hugs when we arrived at their place. She showed us to our rooms: she and Brian had decided to give the whole of the top floor of the house to us, the middle floor was theirs and the ground floor was the communal living area.

My children loved their new home and soon we had Tom enrolled in a 6th form college which had an outstanding reputation and Mel was taken on at a nearby school. Both of them settled down to their respective studies quickly and we all explored the surrounding countryside in our spare time. My housekeeping duties were not onerous and I had a dream kitchen in which to work. Brian bought me a small car for my own use so life was so very much better for us all.

Brian and Trish also seemed very happy with the arrangements: since neither now had household chores to worry about they were free to share their spare time together and do the things together they never had had time for in the past.

One afternoon, maybe two months after we had moved in, I was making myself a pot of tea, my chores all finished, when Trish arrived home. She asked me to pour her a cup and we sat at the kitchen table sipping at the tea and thinking our own thoughts. Trish seemed to get a little preoccupied at one stage and I asked her if anything was wrong.

“No,” she replied, but I could tell something was bothering her. I didn’t push it and we sat in silence again for a couple of minutes, then Trish took a deep breath and sighed heavily. “Steph,” she said, somewhat hesitantly. She paused, “You know Brian and I can’t have children together?” I nodded my confirmation. “We both want children. I want his baby and he wants a child from my womb.” Trish sighed again then almost blurted out, “Will you carry Brian’s child for me?”

To give myself time to think I poured us another tea, sat opposite her and held her eyes in mine. She seemed so nervous and there were tears trickling down her cheeks. To be honest, I’d been feeling a bit broody for months now, realising the years were slipping away. “You want me to have a baby to Brian? He’s my brother!”

She sort of pulled herself together. “Yes, Trish. We’ve talked this over time and time again. We need a mother for his baby and just don’t want a stranger involved. If you would do it, we would be able to ensure that conditions for your pregnancy would be the best we could get, and we would both feel much more involved if we saw all the changes in you as they happened.”

“Well,” I responded after a few minutes thought, “if I were to have his baby, it could be deformed or something. He’s my brother. Aren’t children born to close relatives deformed?”

“We’ve been looking into that and have both been researching the issue for two or three weeks, since we discussed the possibility. Yes, it’s possible that there can be genetic problems but they are not usually significant, certainly for the first generation of inbreeding. So there’d be only a small increase in risk between you and Brian. He says your mother was Norwegian and your father was of the last generation of tin miners from Cornwall so there’s no chance of them being related. None of your family has had any of the major health problems, at least as far back as your grandparents. ‘Expert’ opinion would be that the two of you would be OK.”

“Put it like that, I would agree with you – although I’d want to see the research you have done. But how would we do it? I wouldn’t want any artificial methods so that would mean escort tuzla I, we, would have to make the baby the old fashioned way.” I was amazed with myself that I would even consider such things.

“Brian and I both feel the same way about hospitals, doctors, syringes and all that stuff. A baby is made with love.” My sister-in-law reached across the table and took my hands in hers. “Would you make love to your brother and build us a baby? Please?”

Her final plea was almost heart-rending and she didn’t push it any further, just held onto my hands, squeezing gently as I turned the whole idea over in my mind. I had come to no decision when we were interrupted by the sound of Mel slinging her school bag into the hall. Trish withdrew her hands and I said, “I’ll think about it.”

The rest of the day went as normal but I was constantly churning the remarkable idea over. As I dished up our evening meal, I looked at Brian with a different eye, as a man who could impregnate me, not as the brother I had known and loved all my life.

Truth be told, he was a big, handsome man. In his late thirties, he had a kind of rugged, ‘lived-in’ face, tanned from all his trips abroad. Laugh lines contoured his mouth and eyes. He had a lean, fit body which smelled nice and spicy. Yes, if he were not my brother, I could certainly make love to him. But he was my brother and the incest taboo kept shading my thoughts.

Tom left the house, saying he was going out with a couple of friends so I asked him not to be too late home. The rest of us settled back to an evening in front of the TV. At about half past nine Mel retired saying she had exams tomorrow which left us three adults in front of the flickering screen, each lost in our own thoughts.

Brian’s voice cut into my thought processes, “Have you thought about what Trish said this afternoon?” I’d been thinking of nothing else and still hadn’t come to any decision.

“I just don’t know, Brian. First, I want to see your research. I don’t want to bear a monster.”

My brother smiled as he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a sheaf of papers which he passed over to me. “Here’s what we have found. To summarise, the odds of us having a damaged child together is surprisingly small. But there is that small risk which we must accept if we do it. Take your time to read this – I’ve put all the links you might need to verify what it says in those papers you have. But the other side is the emotional consequences. Would you make love with me?”

“Well,” I replied, drawing the word out, “let’s just say I don’t find you physically repulsive. If you weren’t my brother, I could certainly sleep with you. But it’s that incest taboo …”

“Well, Steph,” he said, “to be honest, the more I see of you, the more I find myself attracted to you. You’re one sexy lady; forbidden fruit, if you like, being an added thrill.” I looked over at him and he winked back at me, a grin a mile wide spread over his face. Sure, I was tempted.

“There’s one more thing, Steph,” Trish started. She hesitated for a few seconds before continuing, “When you two make love, I have to be there, in bed with you. If Brian makes love to us both at the same time, it would feel better for me. Naturally any, er… ‘bodily fluids,'” here she chuckled, “would be deposited in you.”

That was a shocker. I had never shared a bed with two people before, never even thought about having another woman around at such times. In a way, I could understand where she was coming from in wanting to be close at every stage of the project. That’s how she worked in her business life: hands on, as it were. ‘So long as her hands were on Brian,’ was my silent thought. I had never had any thoughts of straying to the other side of the street.

After saying their pieces, Brian and Trish put no pressure on me and turned to watch the TV. I picked up the folder with all the ‘evidence’. They had been fair and retained some contrary views but the majority supported what Brian had told me: the extra risks to a child born to us, although not negligible, were slight.

“OK, folks,” as I spoke, both their heads turned towards me, an expectant look on their faces. “Let’s say we do this and I carry a monster …?”

Trish shuffled closer to me on the sofa, patted my arm gently and looked me straight in the eyes. Hers were brimming with tears. “Then we give him or her all the love they need for as long as they need it. In all conscience, we could do no other.”

“Well, how are you going to feel about your husband making love to his sister?”

“It was my idea in the first place. I want you to make love to Brian.”

I took a deep breath, held it for a while then slowly exhaled. “Yes,” I told them. Trish gave me a big hug and a (sisterly) kiss on my lips. Brian stood and walked across to me. Bending over, his kiss held a promise. I was very tempted to prolong it but, with a sigh, I broke off the kiss and said, “Let’s talk about the practicalities. We need to pick a time when I’m most fertile, of course. And the kids should be out of the way because there’s maybe going to be a very sexy atmosphere. We want to do it as often as possible for several days around my ovulation – say two weeks all told for the best chance.

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