An adult stories – Dad and Mum’s Ghost by Atomica24,Atomica24 Thank you so much for reading my story, I hope that you enjoy it. Love Mica xxx Yorkshire, England
I went to stay with dad for a few days. He had suffered a bit of a cold, although to hear him tell, he was on his last legs, the Grim Reaper was circling.
“Dad, you’re not even sixty, you are retired on a great pension, I don’t understand.”
“I was really ill baby. You know the doctors won’t even see you unless you have done a PCR test, and by the time that arrives, and then is sent off and the results come back, you are either dead or better.”
“Yes dad, and you are better.”
“No thanks to doctors.”
“Perhaps, dad, here’s a thought, perhaps they are dealing with people who have something more serious than a common cold.”
“You know the common cold kills thousands of people a year, well it did, until they renamed it Covid, now it doesn’t kill anyone, but covid does.”
“Dad you had a cold, you did not have covid.”
“Hrmph”
I guess he wasn’t happy. He had a cold, it made him unwell for a few days.
“Oh Dad. Right what would you like me to cook you for tea? What is in the fridge?”
I opened his fridge to have a look at what was there, Onions, tomatoes and mince beef. On his spice rack was Oregano. In the cupboard was dried spaghetti.
“How about a spag bol dad?”
“That would be nice, yes, thank you, should slip down easily after my sore throat.”
Does he never stop? There was some garlic paste in the fridge and a loaf in the bread bin.
“I’ll do some garlic bread to go with.”
I peeled and diced the onion that put it in a pan to fry. When that was softened, I scraped it out of the pan and left it in a sieve to drain. The mince went in next and whilst that was browning, I grated a carrot and added that to the mince. Next I added two teaspoons of the minced garlic. Cut, peeled and chopped the tomatoes, added them, added a good amount of oregano. I took the mince mixture and added it to the onions to drain away the fat, and then returned it all to the fry pan, added a bay leaf from his garden, and a good squeeze of tomato puree I found in dad’s cupboard, no idea how old it was, well, it was going to get cooked, who cares if it was a little on the old side. We didn’t have passata or wine, so I gave it a few squeezes of tomato ketchup and just let it simmer away to thicken.
I bought a great big pan of water to boil, added salt and some oil, and when I judged the ragu was ready I added the pasta to the boiling water and got it to curl around the pan. I buttered some bread and then spread some of the garlic mince over the bread and put it into the oven. Stirred the spaghetti to stop it sticking together and waited until it was just past al dente. Dad preferred his spaghetti on the soft side. I drained the spaghetti in the sieve and then tossed it into the mince and rage, and thoroughly mixed it together, dividing it between two large bowls. Garlic bread out of the oven and we were done. Twenty minutes tops.
“I have some beer in the fridge sweetie,” he said, well I guess I was pouring beer.
In the fridge were some cans of IPA, I took a couple and pulled the ring pulls, put one by dad and one by me and sat down.
“Enjoy.”
“Thank you sweetie,” he said, a forkful of Bolognese already on its way to his mouth.
He only had ready grated Parmesan in the fridge, and I can’t stand the aroma, so I didn’t produce it and I didn’t mention it. He was slurping strands of spaghetti of his fork; he wouldn’t miss it. I have to say, the Bolognese was rather good and so was the garlic bread, the last of the IPA washed down the last forkful, yes that was quite excellent, even if I did say so myself, such an easy thing to knock up.
Whilst dad went and sat in front of the TV news I did the washing up. Only two pots, and one of them was mostly water from cooking the pasta, the fry pan was easy, and then it was the plates and cutlery. It didn’t take me long at all. I went into the lounge and sat with dad.
We watched some really odd programmes about engineering mistakes, very American in production, and, for me, grating to watch, but dad seemed to enjoy bridges collapsing, cranes failing, demolitions going awry and falling the wrong way. I just grinned and bore it. Eventually dad tired and wanted to go to bed, apparently his cold had taken it out of him, and did I mind an early night?
“No dad, you go up first, I will just make sure everywhere is locked, things are off and then I will go up to my room. I gave him plenty of time to go to the loo, wash, do his teeth etc, I checked that the windows were shut, doors were locked, sockets turned off, fridge and freezer shut etc, and then I went up and saw to myself.
I lay in bed dozing, not really sleeping. I was thinking about dad, he really has gone down since mum passed away. I think she tempered him, kept the excesses under control, now without her, he basically has no filter. Her loss hit him hard, and now it is as if the whole world is against him. Silly really, we love him as much as ever, it is just, well, he can be so difficult.
When I woke up dad was still snoring so I dived into the bathroom, showered and dressed in bra, pants and a dress. Downstairs I put the kettle on and waited for dad to surface. I shouted up to dad that the kettle was on, well, there is no point lazing around in bed, not when you have guests. I heard dad moving around and eventually he appeared in the kitchen.
“Right dad, tea or coffee, and toast or cereal?
“Darn it Mica I don’t usually get up before ten.”
“You have a guest. Tea or coffee, and toast or cereal?”
“Coffee, toast and marmalade, please.”
“How do you like your toast, as the toaster is set?”
“Yes, four minutes.”
I put two slices in, set it off and then made his coffee. Butter out of the fridge, and marmalade out of his larder. Toaster went ping, I put the toast, butter and marmalade in front of him, I am not his servant, he can do the rest himself, and took his coffee over.
I sat and hugged my coffee whist dad constructed his breakfast from the materials I had provided. Delivery, yes, construction servant, no.
“Let’s go for a walk this morning dad.”
“Where to?”
“Let’s go and walk over Hewenden Viaduct, they have made it a footpath now the trains no longer use it. Just something to see dad, and something to do.”
“Okay, I haven’t seen it since they did that, fine.”
The day was fine and sunny with a few white fluffies in the sky, perfect for walking. When dad was ready we headed off towards Cullingworth, parked up, and picked up the path to the old viaduct. The path which largely followed the old track bed was smooth and made of compacted stones, easy to walk on in my trainers, dad had his walking boots on. They must be at least thirty years old, but dad still kept them clean and polished, and preferred to wear them if walking was on the agenda.
Soon the shrubs and trees that lined the route of our walk thinned and then were gone and we were on the approach itself. The viaduct curved to our right and as we walked along it, the view across the beck and the small valley to the reservoir was pretty stunning. I stood in the middle, I am not good with heights, and slowly turned, taking in the views., my dress billowing around me in the breeze. Pretty glad I wore underwear, especially as dad seemed more interested in looking at me than the views.
We couldn’t see a soul anywhere, no one else was out walking, I could not for the life of me fathom why not. It looked stunning, the scenery was stunning, the engineering was breathtaking in its achievement.
“What do you think dad? By the way, the view is over there, not my knickers.” Well, really dad, he should be old enough to know better.
“You should be old enough to know better dad” I said.
“I am, and I know when something is worth admiring.”
He is incorrigible, really, he is. I just ignored him. I walked on, my dress still flying, but the view didn’t improve, it was still breathtaking, and I guess you can’t improve on that. A plaque said it was built in 1864, and still standing and in use one hundred and sixty years later.
“Come on dad, let’s turn back and walk back to the car, otherwise it is a several mile round trip.”
“Okay, I’ll follow you.”
“I bet you will you saucy old man, come on, eyes on the path, not my knickers,” and we set off.
The elderflower alongside the walk were in flower, I bet they would be prized by local wine makers, and there was that distinctive aroma of English countryside that I so love. Elderflower, haw, cut hay, animals, just such an evocative aroma. At least down off the viaduct my dress had returned to standard operating position.
“Shall we go get a cider at the pub on our way home?” Dad asked.
“Yes dad, nice idea.”
We got back to the car and checked that we hadn’t anything unwanted on our shoes, well, it is the countryside, and headed off back towards home. A little further on we passed a pub and pulled into its car park. We went through to the beer garden which was very pleasant, especially as there were no smokers out there.
Dad went in to get the drinks and I sat on one of the benches, my bag on the table, looking at the views. The viaduct was just visible in the distance and the usual number of steeples and spires dotted around, one for each village I assumed.
“Here,” dad said, “it’s a special, it’s cloudy, but it is supposed to be.”
“Thanks dad,” I said, wondering if cloudy meant that they had simply cut a stage of the process out to save money. Scrumpy used to be cloudy, but that really was raw cider straight from the barrel.
“You look a lot like your mum did when she was your age.” Dad said.
“Maybe dad, but that is not an excuse for looking at my knickers. Good job I was wearing some you know.”
“I’d have looked harder if you weren’t.”
“Dad!” He really was incorrigible.
“You remind me so much of her, oh well, at least she went quick and didn’t suffer, I would hate anyone to suffer.”
“No. Me either. Heart attacks can be so cruel to the family, such a blessing for the victim.”
“Yes. Anyway, moving on, she has gone and I am still here all alone.”
“You are not alone dad, you have me, you have Leo, all but a phone call away. You could come to us for Sunday tea, each on alternate weekends. You still have your car, noting to stop you coming to visit.”
“It is difficult for me, I see so much of Masha in you, sometimes I forget you are you and not her, and my brain tumbles down memories.”
“Well dad, the more that you come and visit me, the more you will accept I am Mica not Masha. I would love to have you come over and enjoy a Sunday Roast dinner with me. You can tell me what you got up to in the week, what you got at the supermarket, what meals you plan on doing, that sort of thing.”
“And I would see you, and I would hear your mum telling me what we are going to eat.”
He really was a stubborn mule at times. I had a swallow of the cider, it was a reasonable flavour, but did feel a little raw to me, perhaps I am just not up to the modern trends.
“So, you are coming to dinner at mine next Sunday. Two o’clock, okay?”
“If you insist Masha dear.”
“Oh dad, stop it.”
We finished our ciders and headed off home. Tea would be fish and chips, but there was an hour or so before I needed to go and get that. I made us a cup of tea and we went and sat in the conservatory, me in the single chair, dad opposite on the sofa. This time I smoothed my dress down.
“Another walk tomorrow dad?”
“We could, surprise me.”
“Okay,” I thought I would take him along to the devils hole, a reasonable walk with something to look at the end of the path, but it sneaks up on. He was looking at my knees again, he really was an incorrigible man!
“Okay dad, where have you been this week? What have you done?”
“I thought I would go to the pool in Bingley, I used to go there with your mum, so I got a towel and my trunks and off I went.”
“Good?”
“Not really, it shut down four years ago.”
“Oh, crumbs, I didn’t know that.”
“There is a gym there too, not that I have ever used it, but apparently the gym closed on Monday, so that is the whole thing closed down. Not sure where the nearest public pool is, Shipley I guess.”
“Well you can always look on the internet dad, there will be one somewhere.”
“I know, I was only going really for a swim down memory lane.”
“Oh well, you memories are still there dad.”
We sat and talked a while, mostly reminiscing about his time with mum. I sometimes think he forgets that when he lost his wife Leo and I also lost our mum. I popped off to get the fish and chips. Basically two portions of fish and chips, a curry sauce, a mushy peas, two bread cakes and scraps. The chippie was about five minutes away. It took them longer to cook it fresh than it took me to get there and back.
We sat in silence and enjoyed the fish supper. I had them put salt and vinegar on at the chippie, but we added loads more when I got back. It was wrapped in paper, thank goodness it wasn’t in boxes or Styrofoam things, not as good as newspaper dad always says, but it was only ever plain paper when I was growing up. My goodness it was good. Flaky haddock, no skin, light batter, the taste of dripping, the chips fluffy inside and crispy golden brown outside.
Dad loves his curry sauce, I love the mushy peas. We both made chip butties and sat slowly eating, trying so hard not to wolf it down, it was just delicious.
“God that was good baby,” Dad said, “I mean really good. I don’t often bother going for myself, but I really should.”
“Yes dad, it wouldn’t hurt you to treat yourself every other week. The chippie is not far down the road.”
“Which one did you go to?”
“Hilltop, the first one I saw. It had a five star cleanliness rating, so that is where I went.”
“Oh, not been there, I go to the one on the other side of the road, you can park in their car park, something fisheries, I forget.”
“And were Hilltop good enough?”
“Oh yes, no issues at all.”
After I had cleared away, mostly screwing up greasy chip paper and putting it in the outside bin, we watched a bit of tv, Bridgerton, and dad moaned about that, sometimes there is no pleasing him.
“Dad, it doesn’t matter, it is fiction, it is a drama, it is not a historical re-enactment.”
Dad went up first, again reminding me how much I looked like mum, and whilst he was doing teeth and stuff upstairs, I was checking windows and doors downstairs, making sure his house was secure.
Laying in bed I thought over what dad was saying, that he thought I looked a lot like mum. I know I was a little like her, after all I have her DNA, but a lot like her? I didn’t think so. Reminiscent, yes, but more than that, no I didn’t think so. He kept looking up my skirt, that is more a man thing than a husband missing his dead wife thing.
My night was interspersed with vivid dreams of dad and I naked having sex. And when I say vivid, I mean vivid, crumbs. I awoke in a sort of fever, hot and needy, how very bizarre. I mean, I obviously don’t mind sex, I enjoy it enthusiastically with the right partner, but with my dad? Wow.
One cool shower later I was ready for the day, knickers, skirt and polo top. I did not want any dress flaring situations like I had yesterday. Dad had a bacon and fried mushroom sandwich on the least of a crusty white loaf he had. There was no dripping, so I used some butter on his bread. Brown sauce liberally applied, cut in half and put before him and coffee. I had the same.
“This is still an ungodly hour Mica.” He said as he wrapped his mouth around the frankly delicious sandwich.
“Dad, we are going for a walk, remember?”
“There are twenty four hours in a day girl, and this hour could have been spent in bed.”
“Stop moaning, eat up and get your boots on, ungrateful man that you are.” I said it with a smile on my face, he know I didn’t mean it.
After the sandwiches were eaten, I cleared away all the plates and pans into the sink, I would wash them later. Dad put his boots on and put my trainers on and we set off. It was about twenty five minutes into the Yorkshire countryside and then I was able to park up on the verge of a lane, enough room for traffic to get past and not blocking any gates.
We set off on the path, it was slightly uphill, not too tough on dad’s muscles, and the crops in the field to the side of the path were about knee high and swaying in the summer breeze. The path didn’t look well worn, which surprised me a little, and there was no litter strewn which was pleasing.
A small copse on our left as we walked, unfenced, and evidence of animals within. Birds alarming and flying noisily out of the tops of the trees as we passed and we headed on, the path showing signs of flattening out soon.
“Your mum would have loved a walk like this,” dad said, “countryside and everything. Very quiet up here, you would think the place would be full of ramblers.”
“I know dad, I always think the same when I come here, it is one of my favourite walks, I think I have only ever seen people here once. It is so surprising that no one comes here.”
“Is this a public footpath?”
“No just a path at the edge of a farmers field.”
“Could explain it.”
We walked on in silence, the shrieks of hawks circling above us the only accompaniment on our walk.
“What’s that?” Dad asked.
“That is what I brought you to see. Keep going.”
The hole began to open up in front of us, the inside well lit by the midday sun. The sound of the beck as it cascaded over the edge to make the pool below now in our ears, the hawks fading away.
“It’s incredible, I assume there are fissures so the pool only fills so far?”
“I would say yes, but there is very little information that I can find on it. Shall we go down?”
“Yes, you lead.”
I took us down the path to the pool at the bottom, signs that animals came to drink here, and that was it. No footprints or litter to show human visitors.
Dad picked a stone and skimmed it across the pool, it hit the far bank.
“Good job dad. There is a path behind the waterfall, that is the only way to get to the far bank. Follow me.” I eased along the face of the rock and slipped behind the waterfall, a few splashes catching me, but not too many. Behind the actual waterfall was a small cave or hollow and the floor was like a bed of crushed rock. I waited for dad to sidle in.
“This is so cool dad. A cave behind a waterfall, it is like something from a fairy story.”
“Amazing, your mother would have absolutely loved this, she would have had us coming here time and again for intimate times, it is so magical.”
“Intimate times dad?”
“You know what I mean. This would have had a special meaning to her.”
Oh, those kind of intimate moments.
“Oh, you mean sex. You say I look like her, but I don’t feel that connection. I just think it is absolutely fabulous. It is so cool.”
“You do feel something, I know you do. It isn’t just a cave in a hill in Yorkshire, it is magical, I am sure that you must feel something.”
He grabbed my shoulders and turned me to face him and then crushed me in an embrace, a rather intimate embrace.
“Nothing, how can you feel nothing?”
I could feel my breasts crushed against his chest. I could feel his dick pressing against my stomach, I knew I was moist, aroused even, I knew not why, I looked up at dad, and as I did, he bent down and kissed me, mouth open, tongue seeking.
“It is as if Masha were here.” He whispered between kisses, “you look so much like her, act so much like her.”
I realised dad was tipping me backwards and my legs bent and I put my hands down to ease myself back, dad following, and I was on my back, my dad between my legs, kissing me.
I felt a hand up my skirt, pulling at my knickers, easing them down, the coolness of the cave striking against the heat of my fanny. I reached down and undid his belt, there was no going back, not now. I pushed his trousers down as far as could and then used my feet to push them down further. He moved closer and he used his hand to ease his dick in my valley until he was at my entrance.
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I flexed my hips up a little, his dick in my opening, and he pushed. I felt his dick entering me, widening my fanny as he began to fill me. His foreskin moved within me and then I realised it was bunched up on his shaft, the rim of his dick sliding naked to my depths. His balls rested on my thighs and he paused, his dick inside me, inside his daughters fanny, how had that happened? Magic?
He began to ease back, not far, and then back in again, slow deliberate moves, slowly out, slowly in, never all the way back, but always all the way in. I was possessed by my father, would he fill me with his seed, would he go that far?
He began to slowly pick up a pace, his shagging becoming more determined, a slap sound echoing around the cave as his stomach hit mine, my grunts as he filled me an afterword to the slaps. His breath was short and almost staccato as he shagged me. My fingers were clutching at his shirt, my trainers digging into the stones and shale on the floor, my breath just gasps.
I felt the tensions building, pressure in my fanny was growing, my fanny was squeezing his dick, I was close, tickles of electricity started to accumulate and then I was gone, my body exploded and I gasped a silent scream as my orgasm erupted. My back tensed and then arched and I felt dad press deep inside me, unmoving, squirting, filling my fanny and my womb with his seed.
My body relaxed down onto the stone floor of the cave, dad’s dick slipped down my fanny and fully out when he rolled off me.
I wasn’t sure why that had just happened. I mean I was okay with it, but really? I don’t do that.
“I reckon your mum was with us and she wanted the moment.”
Oh, so I was possessed? I mean, really? Who you gonna call?
“Okay dad, perhaps we should get dressed?”
It was a fair walk back to the car with goo dripping from between your legs.