Disclaimer: The following story is of an erotic nature, and is not suitable for persons under certain ages in certain areas. The author encourages all said individuals to terminate this post. Should said individuals not heed this request then the author cannot be held liable for the free action of individuals who make use of the Net. Furthermore, the story involves sexual material relating to adult males, and if you do not feel comfortable with this then you should leave this post. (I should have been a lawyer - it sounds so serious.)
The story below and any subsequent parts are the sole property of the author, and may not be changed in any form. If you want to duplicate this story to a web-based archive, etc. then please ask for my permission so I know where my stories end up.
Any and all correspondence can be directed to the author at: morgyle@iafrica.com
Tristan paid the cab driver, and lugged his bags to the front door. He hadn't seen his family in three years, and was dying to meet them. He was especially excited about meeting his sister's fiance. She had been positively beaming about him, but wouldn't say anything about him. Tristan was told that he had to meet him, and give his sister an honest opinion.
He pressed his finger to the doorbell, and waited for someone to open. Tristan felt a little silly ringing the doorbell, but he didn't have a key so it made sense. He had not seen his mother for so long, and had really missed her. His parent's divorce had been rather nasty with Maxine ending up with his Mom, and Tristan moving to Washington D.C. to live with his dad. At first he had hated it, but eventually he settled into his new life.
The door opened, and Maxine dived into his arms giving him a tight hug.
"Hey big brother you look good for an old guy," Maxine said squeezing him tightly.
"Thanks sis - I'll remember that when you get to 25."
"Come inside. Mom is in the kitchen and Mike is helping her."
"Hmm, domesticating the poor guy already," I snickered as I walked ahead of her. She punched me on my shoulder. "Ow, be careful - the older generation bruise easily."
My mother met us at the doorway to the kitchen. "Oh, honey, it is so good to see you after all of this time. And my you look so handsome." Hugging her to me, I said, "as objective as ever, Mom."
Maxine had meanwhile slipped into the kitchen, and told me to come in and meet Mike. I walked into the kitchen, and almost choked when I saw who it was standing in front of me. His reaction was similar. Actually he dropped the pot he was holding, and spilt sauce all over the floor, which helped to difuse the moment.
Mom rushed forward to help clean up the sauce.
"I am sorry Mrs Buchanen," the pot slipped from my hands, Mike said while looking at me. I was visibly shaking.
"Mom - where can I find some alcohol - I need a drink - it was a terrible flight, and my nerves are still shot." I lied.
"Look in the cupboard in the dining room. You will find some glasses in there as well. Ice in the freezer, etc."
I moved to the dining room, and had to brace myself against the wall for a second. Calming down my breathing. I proceeded to pour myself a drink. The first shot of brandy didn't even touch sides, and helped to calm my nerves a little.
"Pour me a stiff one as well won't you," said a voice behind me, and I knew that it was Mike.
I quickly poured the drink, and was about to speak to him when my mother came into the dining room. "Can you do me a favour Mike, and go to the store to get some ingredients for another sauce."
"Sure thing Mrs. B."
"...and take Tristan with you, so the two of you can get acquainted."
Mike grabbed his keys, and I downed my third shot of brandy. I was starting to feel a whole lot better, but had a million and one questions floating around in my mind.
We climbed into Mike's car, and headed for the supermarket. The whole way there we were sneaking glances at each other, but neither of us said anything. Mike told me to wait in the car, and quickly ran into the store. I was as confused as hell, and couldn't understand what he was doing here.
More importantly I didn't want him engaged to my sister!
[to be continued]Any and all correspondence can be directed to the author at: morgyle@iafrica.com