Charity Starts At Home: Chapter 1 : Mother-Daughter Reunion

Charity Starts At Home : Part 1 : Mother-Daughter Reunion

Despite what the world might have you believe, no one starts out as a slut. That being said, no one intends to become a slut either even when they are enroute to becoming one. Arriving at “slutdom” is shocking and appalling to some, who then run fleeing ashamed at the woman they’ve become. Others embrace this newfound sexual liberty and explore it for everything that it is worth.

My name is Charity Jones. I am a fulfilled slut. This is my story.

As I mentioned before, no one starts out as a slut and I am no exception. I was never abused, never had a drug addiction, no criminal record and my parents loved me very much. I was a straight A honour-roll student, and went to church every Sunday. I intended to save myself for marriage and settle down with 2.5 kids and live happily ever after in the suburbs.

For all intents and purposes that’s exactly how I appear to be. I’m happily married to a wonderful for nearly 20 years now. We have two lovely girls who are about to embark onto college themselves. I still go to church every Sunday and was a part of the PTA. How ever, I’m also a swinger and run my personal pornographic website.

That is getting far ahead of myself though . As I approach my 40th birthday in a few months , I have decided to look back and see where it all started. You must forgive me as it starts out very slowly, but every good story has its own history; and mine is one heck of a back-story.

My parents hated each other and they divorced when I was only six. How they managed to stay together even that long was a complete mystery. My father gained complete custody and forbade my mother from seeing me. He raised me to hate my mother, mincing no words calling her a “slut” and a “whore” when we were not in mixed company With having no access to her, I naturally believed my father implicitly and grew to hate my mother as well.

Father doted on me in a material yet distant and aloof way. Business and money was his first mistress. He had hinted at growing up poor and never wanted that for his only child. Thusly I grew up a little isolated and to be completely honest; a little spoiled.

But all of that came to a crashing halt when my father went to jail. It turned out most of his business dealings had been built on fraud and on money that didn’t exist. In the space of a few months I had gone from rich Daddy’s girl to pauper. And then the worst came to light.

I would have to move in with my mother.

I hardly could move out on my own, I had just turned 16 and being a teenage high school drop out didn’t leave me much choices.

I was going from a sprawling house in an upper class suburb and private school to god knows what in a small town. Adding insult to injury, I had to take a bus halfway across the country to do so. I arrived in this south-western town with nothing but two suitcases to show for any of my previous life.

When my mother pulled up to the bus depot she was hard not to pick out. I had received letters from my father’s lawyer telling me she was flamboyant but this really took me by storm. I couldn’t figure out if it was her hair, her clothes or her car that made my eyes burst of my skull.

Mother had pulled up to the bus-depot in a hot pink cadilac convertible with the top down. The interior was a faux-fur zebra lining. Fuzzy dice and the Playboy bunny dangled from the rear-view mirror. Van-Halen thundered out of the speakers.

Mother got out of the caddy and I got my first real look at her. She was quite tall, possibly 5’ 10” or so, and it didn’t help that she was wearing white leather cowboy boots which added another couple of inches. She wore Daisy-Duke denim shorts as well. Adding to this was a white tube top which could barely contain her very ample bust. To top this all off was a white cowboy hat.

I am a study in contrasts and similarities to my mother. Whilst I inherited my father’s petite stature coming in at barely 5’ 3”; I also inherited my mother’s physique: the corn stalk blonde hair, blue sparkling eyes and the same shapely hourglass figure topped with an equally generous bustline. While my breasts were always an embarrassment to me, mother seemed to flaunt hers.

Mother all but burst out from the pink convertible and rushed toward me, her cowboy heels clopping and her tits bouncing as she darted to me. I was so mortified that my face must have burst red as I tried putting up a brave diplomatic smile. She quickly wrapped her arms around me in a very forward hug and since I only came eye to eye with her cleavage, I found my face buried between them.

“ Oooh-wee, my dahlin baby girl has bin returned to me!” , Mother twanged out in an unmistakably deep-southern drawl.

I managed to extricate myself from the mammory mauling and extended my hand cordially. This was the tramp that had abandoned me and my father. The last thing I was going to do was pretend that this was a happy family reunion.

“ Charity Jones, a pleasure to meet you Mother.”, I said using my best boarding school voice with the right tinge of bitch to get my point across.

Looking at her I instantly regretted what I had just said. The look of deep rooted pain that flashed in her eyes was almost too much to bear. I don’t know what she was expecting from me after twelve years of abandonment , but it was clear even to me that I was a bit out of line as well.

We both stood there uncertain as to what to do or say , and I noticed we both turned red in our upper cheeks when we were upset. I was about to apologize when she took my hand.

With a brave smile and a deep breath Mother said , “ The pleasure is all mine Charity.”

We unclasped hands and stood staring at each other for a few moments. It was clear neither of us knew what to say or do next, nor what was expected of us. We were separated by 10 years of time and by light years of understanding.

Mother broke the silence , “ I’d prefer if ya called me Momma or Mom, but if ya can’t call me that… I reckon I’ll settle for Dianne, or just Dee.”

“ Alright Moth-”, I stumbled on the word again, “ Momm–”

“Dee” , she smiled at me

“ Dee”, I breathed out relieved, “ alright, Dee.”

With the initial awkwardness out of the way, Dee and I got into the car. It felt strange calling her Dee, but I just could not get myself to call her Mother or Mom, let alone Momma. We drove away and into town

Dee went on and on in her southern drawl pointing out the landmarks in town as I broiled in the next seat. I barely noticed her as my internal monolgue had me griping about the backwoods town I had been dropped into. There couldn’t have been more then 10 thousand people living here. It was a distant satellite town, not too far away from the city to be rural and not too small enough to be quaint. And I hated it from look one.

We eventually came to a rail crossing and my heart sunk as I could almost predict where we were going next. To none of my surprise we eventually pulled into a trailer park ironically named ‘Millionaire Acres’.