3 – Joan (She Lived in the Basement)

Note: As per my other stories, the character names are all changed on the off-chance that there is someone who recognizes any of the descriptions of living arrangements or furniture. If this is the first story of mine that you are reading, I have two prior stories, and this is third story of my teenage sexual encounters. While the other two stories are not necessary to read, there are a couple allusions to the other stories in this one. Once again, while the verbal interaction may not be accurate, the physical interaction is.

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When I was about 13, a family friend needed to move out of her apartment. She shared a place with her younger sister, and her sister had recently become engaged. Rather than having to pay for a 2-bedroom herself, Joan offered her younger sister the apartment and needed a temporary place to live. What was supposed to be a month visit, maybe two at the most, turned into a stay between three and four years in length. Not being able to afford an apartment, except in some of the less-desirable places to live in Toronto, my parents insisted that she continue to live with us until she found something suitable. Eventually, she was just like another part of the family, and it wasn’t such a bad deal for my parents; Joan offered to help out around the house in many ways. When she first moved in, my parents had just entered their fifties, and following my father’s financial success, they were very interested in doing a lot more travelling. Joan helped out by looking after me and my older brother, and checked in on my sister who had recently entered her first year of university.

Joan was not a striking beauty by any stretch of the imagination. She had very fair, shoulder-length blonde hair that she typically kept in a tight pony tail. She was probably a good forty or fifty pounds over what most people would consider ‘comfortable’. For a woman standing at 5’7”, she was bordering on obese, but kept an active lifestyle to the point that she wore the weight well. She was chunky, but not in a completely repulsive way. The only real problem I had with her appearance was her nose. She had two grey-blue eyes, but you could barely notice them with her rather large nose protruding from her face. Despite what I saw as her only real physical flaw, I often found myself masturbating to fantasies of Joan. Our relationship was somewhat bizarre in that she fell somewhere between an older sister or cousin, and a mother figure. She helped raise me through some of the more challenging years of a young adult’s life: puberty.

Joan was a very nice lady. She was always concerned for my well-being, and wanted to make sure that I had space when she was in charge. She didn’t hover if I had friends over, and she generally was ok with my friends and I drinking and smoking as we got older. When my parents would go out of town on one of their suddenly frequent vacation to Europe or the Caribbean, Joan was there at my beck and call, despite working a fulltime job herself. She would get up earlier to drive us to school, she would make dinner, and she would basically have very minimal social life while my parents were out of town. The woman had gone from dating occasionally to being a sweatpants and laundry-day shirt kind of lady on a daily basis.

As the years went by, Joan was very helpful in shaping the man I was to become. She was open and honest about things that I was just never comfortable talking about with my family. I was very clueless of any sexual effect it may have had on her, but she was very understanding when I came to her to talk about sex and relationships. As I said before, she was kind of somewhere between a much older sister and a mother. Joan wouldn’t hesitate to get into the details of sex, and even told me how to properly eat a girl out. She had appeared overjoyed when I told her of some of my first sexual experiences with Emily, my first real girlfriend, and her eyes always seemed to light up whenever I’d come into her room before she went to bed, so we could chat about anything and everything.

The summer after I finished tenth grade, I had absolutely nothing to do. I was never a camp kid even though I was in Beavers, Cubs, and Boy Scouts from the age of five. My father wanted me to work at his offices during the summer, but I managed to get out of that situation by explaining that it was my last real summer as a ‘child’. I assured him that I would work for him the following two summers before I went off to university myself (I was very fortunate to not have to keep a part-time job while I was in high school, due to my father’s success).

In the last year, I had turned from a moderately flabby, but not overweight, individual into a bit of a jock. I spent more time in the gym than I did doing homework or studying, and I was very proud of the body I had shaped – it had helped me get my first girlfriend, and I had had sex with six different girls since my personal transformation had occurred. The only shitty thing about my summer starting was that I was no longer getting it on the regular from Mrs. Curtis. This meant that I would be wholly relying on parties and maybe getting a new steady girlfriend to have any amount of sex.

By late June, I had been out of school for about two weeks, and Joan had noticed a definite shift in my mood. I hadn’t fucked for a week, which was pretty on the low side considering I had been having sex at least three times a week for the last six or so months. She was acting cheery around me, and was taking a lot more liberties with our time spent together. She had begun putting her hand on my leg, and wearing skimpy noodle-strap tank-tops that barely held her in rather large breasts.

One evening in early July, I was sitting in the kitchen eating dinner. I had no plans because it was a weeknight and half of my friends were either at camp or on vacation. Since no one was home, I had been walking around the house with no shirt or boxers on – just sweatpants. As I was eating, Joan came home and made her way into the kitchen to say hello. Before she even got within five feet of me, I was incredibly aware of how plastered she was. She was slurring her speech a little, walking very carefully, and most of all, she reeked. She smelled like she had smoked a few packs of cigarettes and then had a dip in a bath full of booze.

“How was your day,” I asked Joan, trying to be polite. I was a little concerned because I’d only ever seen her this drunk once before, and she wasn’t living with us at the time.

“It was exquisite,” she managed to mumble.

“How did you get home?” I hoped she hadn’t driven.

“Got a cab. That chicken smells awesome. I had salad for lunch. Can I have some?” She was muttering non sequiturs, and had already started picking pieces of chicken and feta cheese out of the salad I had prepared before I could respond.

I got up and quickly went across the kitchen to grab her a glass of water. She was going to be pretty hung over in the morning unless she downed a few litres before she passed out.

Returning to the tables, I started pressing for information that I knew I already had the answer to. “Any hot guys at the bar?”

“Of course there’s hot guys at the bar. That’s why we go after work.”

Smiling slightly, I got her another glass of water. Judging by the amount of time Joan spent at our place on weekends, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if my two sexless weeks were peanuts compared to her current dry streak.