by Naomi Niles
"I think I know why you like nannies," Rachelle teased. "Let me guess, she wore skirts and dress, and she always kept her kept her pulled back in a ponytail."
"That's right," I said with chagrin. "She had long blonde hair. I remember because I liked to yank on her ponytail to get her attention when she was trying to read her books and do her homework."
"Was she a student?"
"Looking back, she must have been a college freshman taking classes during the day when I was in school, but at the time, I didn't think about anything other than getting her attention and keeping it. I was starved for affection. Mother was always drunk, and my father wouldn't say he loved me if a gun was pointed to my head."
"I'm sure he loved you, he just didn't know how to say it," Rachelle tried to comfort me.
"I doubt it. He was a sadistic son-of-a-bitch. He loved tormenting me and Mother with his emotional abuses that sometimes turned physical. I still remember the sounds of her sobs the first time he hit her, long before Cheryl ever came to live with us. His abuse bonded me and Mother in a special way; us against him, teaming up to protect each other.
“When she started drinking, it was if she had a new ally and I was suddenly on my own. Alcohol numbed her pain and gave her an escape from the misery of our lives; I had nothing. I was a lonely kid trapped in a cold house with no one who loved me or cared – until Cheryl came along. She was like a beautiful ray of sunshine and hope. She made everything better with the brightness of her smile and the warmth of her laughter."
"It sounds like you had quite a crush on her." Rachelle smiled.
"It started out that way, but as the years went by, my crush turned to true infatuation. I would even call it love."
"All little boys think they're in love with their babysitter or nanny."
"This wasn't like that. It was so much more. Cheryl gave me praise, warmth, and affection. She was the only person in my life who ever hugged me or made me feel safe or important. I was ashamed to admit it, but there were times when I even loved her more than my own mother. I felt sick with guilt about it, but I wanted her to replace my mother. No, that's not right. I wanted her to be my wife."
"Little boys think that, but they don't know what that even means."
"I did. I was ten years old, nearly eleven, when I had my first wet dream. It was about Cheryl. She'd wear these short skirts or dresses every day, and I became obsessed over her long, tan legs. They were so smooth and sexy. When I was a little boy, she let me stroke them while I sat on the floor and played.
“At the age of nearly eleven, I was no longer a little kid, and she refused to let me stroke them anymore, but I remembered the feel and would fantasize about it when I lay in bed at night. One night, I was fantasizing about running my hands up her legs and under her dress, all the way to the white lace panties I knew she wore because I'd peeked in her dresser. I woke up, having come all over my sheets."
"That's nothing to feel ashamed about," Rachelle comforted me, but I hadn't gotten to the worst part yet.
Forcing myself to continue, I said, "It kept happening. Every night, I'd dream about her and have wet dreams. One night, it woke me up around midnight, so I went to the bathroom to wash up, but I heard the sound of running water on the other side of the door.
“I cracked open the door and there she was, soaking in the tub. She hadn't seen me, so I just stood there, staring through the crack in the door. I'd never seen her fully naked before, and it was glorious. She was about twenty-one by then, with firm, full tits and a bush of tight curly blonde hair.
“I got an erection, and I didn't know what to do with it, so I rushed back to my room, unable to sleep, miserable with blue balls. I thought it was God's way of punishing me for being bad. My father always told me I deserved punishment for being bad."
Rachelle stroked my arm tenderly. "I hope you know that's not true. It's only natural for an adolescent boy to be sexually curious."
"Well, having seen her naked, I became obsessed. I looked for every opportunity to try and catch Cheryl naked, walking in on her the bathroom without knocking or hiding in her bedroom at night. I went through her dresser and stole a pair of her lacy panties and learned to beat off with it. I was a masturbating machine, and all the while I was wracked with guilt.
“Cheryl sensed I was feeling upset about something and went out of her way to give me extra hugs and to hold me on her lap, cuddling me. It was the kind of attention I used to get from my mother, but from Cheryl, it took on a deeper meaning. I wanted something more from her, but I didn't know what it was.
“Something was missing from my life. I craved some kind of adult relationship… emotional, physical, I didn't know how to explain what I was craving. All I knew was that I wanted it to be with the woman who was my nanny."
I waited for Rachelle to judge me, but she just listened in silence, squeezing my hand for support. So, I went on to the hardest part of my story.
"One night, I went looking for Cheryl, hoping to catch her getting ready for bed. But she wasn't in her room. Disappointed, I walked down the hall towards the nursery, and I heard the sound of voices coming from my father's office. One of them was Cheryl, and she sounded like she was in distress. She was moaning and crying out. The other was my father, yelling and grunting.
“I'd heard him abusing my mother often enough, but these sounds were different. I cracked open the door to his office and dared to peek inside. There was my father, gripping Cheryl by her ponytail as he stood behind her, punishing her. He had her pinned down roughly against the desk, her blouse ripped open, and her bare tits exposed. Her skirt was lifted up to her waist, and he was beating her bare ass with his open palm, the sound of the slaps echoing through the air. Cheryl's face was contorted as she braced herself against the blows on the desk – the same piece of furniture I still use in that same office now.
“It was horrible to watch. The woman I loved was gasping and crying out as my father beat her, and I desperately wanted to help her. I was a man of twelve by then and felt obligated to protect her from the monstrous man I was ashamed to call father. Other than the blood he and I shared, we were nothing alike. He was cold and heartless, greedy and selfish. I wanted nothing to do with him. I hated him, and I wanted to kill him for what he was doing to Cheryl. Only, she seemed to really be enjoying herself.
“As I was about to charge into the office and save her from my father's wrath, Cheryl smiled and cried out 'That feels so good. Spank me harder. Fuck me harder,'” I paused for a moment, lost in the memory.
“I froze in place. What was she saying? I took a harder look. My father's pants were wrapped around his ankles, and he was shoving his erection into her vagina from behind. It was the first time I'd ever seen two people having sex.
“As he fucked her, he kept spanking her bare ass, and Cheryl loved it. She rocked her hips back and squealed with delight. The faster he pounded into her and the harder he smacked her, the more she loved it. Soon, she was screaming out that she was having an orgasm. My father pulled out his dick and shot a load of come all over her ass. I understood just what I was seeing from my own masturbation and just how good it felt. I understood the pleasure they were feeling, and I was jealous.
“When he was done, Cheryl got down on her knees and licked his dick clean, and I was even more jealous. All I'd ever known up to that point was the pleasure of my wet dreams and the touch of my own hand. What would it feel like to have Cheryl's lips on my erect dick? What would feel like to be inside her hot wet mouth? Or even more incredible, what would feel like to make her orgasm by fucking her as my father had been doing?
“I'd hated my father all my life. The way he chose work over his family, the way he was obsessed with money and greed, and the way he treated me and my mother like shit. I had vowed that I would never be like him, ever. But that night, seeing him with Cheryl...."
I almost couldn't go on, but once unleashed, all those emotions wouldn't be repressed again. I needed to confess the dark and
ugly secrets of my past, or they would crush me. So, I continued my ugly tale.
"She was my ideal perfect woman, and I was in love with her, but she always treated me like a child, and I knew she always would see me as one. But not my father. She looked up to him, admired and respected him as her boss, and also as her lover. She submitted to him, let him spank her ass while she begged him to fuck her, and even got down her knees for him to suck his dick. The things he did to her horrified me, but they also left me feeling intrigued, fascinated, and more than a little jealous.
“Cheryl looked so beautiful while he was fucking her. She was satisfied and happy, and she obviously loved it. I wanted to be the one to do those things to her. I wanted to be the one to make her feel that way. At that moment, everything changed. I no longer hated my father – I wanted to be just like him."
Chapter Fifty-Seven: Rachelle
I was so happy and relieved that Tate was finally confiding his secret past to me. His face looked so ravaged as he delved into his painful memories, and my heart went out to him.
I took his face in my hands and kissed his lips with tender passion, letting our tongues mingle, until I felt the tension in the muscles of his neck relax. Then I stared deeply into his hazel eyes and sought to ease his suffering.
Taking both his hands in mine, I said, "Don't be so hard on yourself. You were just a child at the time; a boy of twelve can't be expected to understand the complexities of adult relationships. So you had a crush on your nanny. It must have been traumatic to catch your father having an adulterous affair with the young woman in charge of taking care of you.
“No wonder you felt the way you did. It's natural that you would have wanted to be in your father's place. That doesn't make you a bad person. It doesn't make you a monster that is greedy and abusive. It doesn't make you a bad son who is disloyal to his mother or any other misguided feelings of guilt you may have.
“You were a kid with a difficult childhood. Give yourself a break and quit beating yourself up over the things you couldn't control. It is the adults in charge at that time who should be ashamed of themselves. They were the ones who should have made sure you were never put in the position of feeling so bad about yourself."
"My mother tried," Tate said, still defending the woman who had given birth to him, although from what I could tell, she was about as worthless as Missy was. Learning about her finally helped me to understand just why it was that he worked so hard to help a drug-addicted junkie stay connected to her child. Missy reminded him of the drunken alcoholic mother who neglected him. Maybe by helping Missy, he could finally get the closure he needed for his own past.
We strolled hand in hand through the garden as he told me about her.
"Helena Holland was beautiful, at least in the beginning," he said wistfully. "Dad claimed that the drinking took a toll on her and deteriorated her looks, and that's why he didn't want her anymore. Mom defended herself by saying it was his abuse and all the years she was unhappy that robbed her of her youthful good looks. When she was feeling low, she would agree with him and take the blame for that the mess she had become, crying that if only she could have stayed sober, he wouldn't have been driven into the arms of another woman."
"So, your mother knew he was cheating on her?" I couldn't imagine what that must be like. My parents had been so happy together; I knew that if my father hadn't died, they'd still be happily married.
Tate nodded grimly. "Not only did she know Dad was having an affair, she knew who it was with."
"And, she just let it happen?" Even though I liked being the submissive in our sexual games, I'd never be so passive in real life as to let my husband cheat on me.
"There wasn't much she could do," Tate explained. "Dad had all the power in their relationship. Mom had been a dancer when they met, with no family and no money. She'd gotten pregnant right away, but after I was born, she quickly realized her husband didn't love her. She wanted to leave, but where could she go? She was forced to stay there, especially if she ever wanted to see her child."
As Tate spoke the words aloud, I saw an immediate correlation between his mother and Missy and between Tate and his father. I wondered if he saw it, too, but I didn't dare ask.
He just kept walking and talking, "When Mom turned to alcoholism, Dad used it as an excuse to bring in Cheryl to work as my nanny, but a part of me always wondered if their affair had begun as a result of her living in the house, or if she had been his lover even before that."
"Does it matter?" I wondered, and Tate shook his head.
"I guess not, but Mom suspected that something would develop between them. She hated Cheryl from the moment she first saw her, just like Missy felt about you."
"What?" I was shocked, but he just chuckled to himself with amusement at the memory.
"She was in the house the day you moved in, asking me for more allowance money. She saw you bringing in your bag and immediately thought you were a whore. It was the same reaction my mother had to Cheryl. She forbade my father to hire her. She said she was too much of a temptress and would lure Dad into an affair."
"She was right." I swallowed, suddenly feeling nauseous.
"We don't know for sure if Cheryl started the affair or if my father seduced her with his money and charm," Tate said, but I stopped him short.
"No, I meant what Missy said about me. I was a whore. I know you never thought of me that way, but you had hired me to have sex with you, in addition to being Halle's nanny. Women have an instinct about these things, especially when there are children involved to protect. It's no wonder Missy doesn't like me being in the picture."
"Don't let her petty attitude bother you. She's never felt that maternal instinct; she's just jealous I hired a pretty young thing to replace her. She didn't want you taking my attention away from her, but I didn't give a fuck about her, as long I was getting to keep fucking you."
I was taken aback by how cold and callous Tate suddenly sounded. I'd always known he looked down at Missy with disdain, but for the first time I was seeing things from a different perspective, and I didn't like it.
He had said he wanted to be just like his father, and it sounded like he had succeeded better than he realized. He had become cold and heartless to the woman who was the mother of his child. She turned to substances for comfort, and he turned to his nanny, just like his father before him. It was an irony I wasn't sure he could see, and even though I was seething inside, I couldn't find the words to speak to him about it, so I just let him ramble on.
"My father didn't give a shit about my mother's poor attitude towards Cheryl. Mom tried to get him to fire her, but of course, he refused. So she tried to drive Cheryl away, but that didn't work, either. She even threatened to leave and take me with her if he wouldn't get rid of her, but Dad knew the threat was empty. Eventually, Mom gave up and resigned herself to the fact that Cheryl was there to stay.
“I was too old for a nanny by then. Her job position was just a ruse for my father's live-in girlfriend. Mom buried herself deeper into alcoholism, locking herself away in her room and drowning away her loneliness until she blacked out or passed out, whichever came first. For the rest of us, life was happy and good."
"How could that be?" I was horrified, but Tate couldn't see my disgust. To him, there was nothing wrong or abnormal about his childhood memories. It was simply the way he was raised. I reminded myself that children had no control over such things, and his family was obviously highly dysfunctional. I was fortunate enough to be raised by two loving parents. Perhaps I shouldn't judge him so harshly. I tried to listen with an understanding heart and an open mind.
Tate's eyes got that far-off look again as he looked up at the night sky. "Cheryl was the light of our lives. I enjoyed looking at her during the day, watching her bend over in those short skirts or lean forward so I could look down her blouses. Dad enjoyed fucking her at every opportunity, and since I was no longer a little kid needing any care, that was often. I figured out the places where th
ey liked to go, and I'd watch them."
"You watched your own father having sex?" I couldn't keep the surprise from my voice.
"I didn't think of that way," he said with chagrin. "I was watching Cheryl. It was like having a live-action porn show starring the woman of my dreams, with her fantastic tits and perfect ass. I could just imagine how tight and wet her pussy must be as I jerked off on the other side of the peephole I had made in the wall and tried to pretend like she was fucking me instead of him."
"Did you ever try telling her how you felt?" I asked.
"Just once." Tate's expression had suddenly become very dark. I could feel the weight of emotion weighing down on him, and I couldn't help but feel concerned.
"What happened?"
"It was the week before my sixteenth birthday. My mother was completely out of it, and my father was busy working on some big business deal that had him constantly going out of town. Cheryl came up to me, said we should do something special for my birthday, and asked me what I wanted. So, I kissed her."
Tate swallowed hard, like he was ashamed of the memory, and I was surprised the memory wasn't more exhilarating. It would have taken a lot of courage for a boy of just fifteen to kiss an older woman like that, especially one he'd had a crush on for so long.
"Then what happened?" I encouraged him, knowing there must be more to the story to have made him so upset.
"She slapped my face and said, 'What the hell are you doing?' I told her how much I loved her and asked her to make love to me. She said she didn't do things like that, so I told her that I knew she did because I'd seen her with my father. I tried to convince her that I was man enough to do the things to her that he did, and I knew just what she liked because I'd been watching for a long time.
“Cheryl was furious. She made me reveal the hidden peephole I'd made in the wall. Then she told me that I was a pervert and said she was sickened by me.