The Tortoise and the Hare

Your mom was an amazingly dynamic person. But of all of her many glowing traits, arguably the greatest of all was hidden within the deceptive confines of her jeans. Your mom had an immaculate ass. Only you and your brother knew this. Well, you, your brother and your dad. But dead men tell no tales. Your mom’s father, also dead, was another of a small kabal of males who knew about just how perfect your mom’s ass was.

He watched in horror as she grew up, and it grew up with her, and grew up out of proportion with her. And though he was happy to see her develop a conservative form of dress, and even more happy to see her dating a man as distinguished and respectful as your father, you were sure it was his ever constant worrying over the fate of your mom’s ass that killed him in the end.

Women are like spotless new sports cars. Their beauty and pristine glory, their perfect gloss and curves, make them as much a source of worry as a fountainhead for pride and pleasure. There was a special kind of sickness that followed beautiful women around like a cloud and was seeped into the lungs of all the men in her vicinity. That sickness reached men in three distinct ways. Either you had never fucked the girl in question, and had no hope of ever doing so, in which case, thoughts of her naked form haunted the halls of your desires like ghosts on the past battlefields of the civil war. If that wasn’t your particular poison, then maybe you suffered from the even worse variant of it: you had never fucked the girl in question, but it was possible that you might in the future; in which case, you lived the breathless thrill and the horror of a tight-rope walker, terrified to slip and fall in front of the screaming crowd into an abyss without her sitting her fat ass within the halls of your nude and semi-nude repetoire.

The third variant on this sickness was the worst of all. It was what came from actual vaginal contact with the target. In this case, the disease not only infects the lungs and heart, but digs deep within the cozy nether-region of your soul. The poor sufferers of this nightmare exist in a kaleidoscope of horrors, all descending on frayed strings, displaying grotesque hyper-realistic images of the woman in question completely nude in the company of another man, sweating, panting and clutching onto his bed sheets as her ass bounces on top of him.

The mistaken belief in the possibility that those visions were becoming real was what killed your father. A misheard phrase across the room at a party was enough to stir the witch’s brew of your father’s fevered mind. What he spent every waking hour worrying about had now become true, in the funhouse mirror of his soul, and, not even stopping to consider that he heard those fateful words wrong, he jettisoned himself up the stairs and down the street, slamming himself into his metallic coffin and peeling off in order to stop the moment of his worst nightmares slipping into the lucid domain of his waking life. To stop his beautiful wife’s flesh from being touched by the exposed flesh of his most hated coworker.

In actuality, his most hated coworker really was with a woman. A fat one. A fat one that shared none of the charm of your mother except for her beautiful first name. As he fucked this woman from behind and imagined she was your mother, and as your mom sat at her friend’s house talking and occasionally laughing over a steaming hot cup of coffee, your dad swerved into the other lane to pass the minivan in front of him, filled with a family of 5 and capped off with a license plate on its ass that said “speed kills.”

Just as he accelerated and he turned out from behind the car, he seen it. And he knew in that moment that it was too late. He died in that moment bathed in the bright headlights of the oncoming Mack truck, but the last image he seen was the false imprint of the wife he loved so much being had from behind by the man he couldn’t stand.

You and your brother stood in all black, hands held together before you in knowing supplication to the grief of all. The only two men left in the family. The inheritors of the debt your father took on the first time he saw your mom standing across from him at that crowded fair and their eyes met and their worlds collided with a smack that was as satisfying as the sound and visual of her big ass being cupped within his pelvis. Unlike the joys of that act, where going back and forth was the name of the game, they thought their worlds would never part. But now here your mother was, in black, one world unto its lonely and lost self. A soul missing its other half.

And as the service progressed, your mother became more drunk. It was a man’s job to keep other men from steering a vulnerable woman into the claws and salivating teeth of drunkeness, but you and your brother had no interest, and you were the only men your mom had in her corner. The women of your family, including your grandmother, not being men, had no knowledge of the machinations of men, and they had no idea what was coming about as your dad’s coworker, his most hated coworker, handed your mom another gin and tonic and chatted with her just feet from the closed coffin, whose unrecognizable content was the center point for all the day’s grief.

A photo sat in its frame on a little stand by the coffin. Your dad’s expression in the photo didn’t change once, not when his old coworker touched her by her elbow, and not when your mom stumbled over drunkenly and into his searching arms. Your dad couldn’t see what was happening. And the women could see but they couldn’t understand. Only you and your brother and the other men there knew.

And for you and your brother, excitement’s constant vibrations overshadowed any grief you had reserved for that day. The cherry on top of the creamy mountain of possibilities was the thought of all of your dad’s enemy’s plans coming together and him finally taking your mom home, and realizing, just as the moment of glory was to come, just what your mom was hiding under that black garmint. The secret that should have died with your father and grandfather. The secret that was no longer safe with just the two of you left. The secret that scraping at the roof of its coffin for 2 decades to be revealed.

That enormous, glorious, white ass. The cream filling of his already splendid revenge on the coworker he felt a mutual distaste for. Mr. Goody Two-Shoes who was apparently not good enough to let off the gas for whatever reason. Who knows why?

And as the day wore down, and your mom’s sobriety was worn down to a pathetic nub by the combined glasses of gin from the hands of your dad’s male friends and coworkers, your dad’s worst enemy, and you and your brother, you and your brother watched as everyone disappeared, and the hall became empty, only one straggler sticking around, stealing glances at your mom, waiting for his moment. And when he was the last person of any consequence to be there, still ostensibly grieving, he cleverly waited for your blacked out mother to pass out on a couch in the lobby, and you and your brother cleverly made sure to leave her there. Your mom, the bait sitting limp in the water for the fish of glory. The moment itself, a glittering gold lure, sitting there, too good to be true, yet true none the less. It was just a matter of moving her before you two seen. Or so he thought.

You watched from the window as he clumsily rushed her to his car and drove off. You and your bother were impressed when you saw him pull away at a modest speed, a modest speed he kept as he drove down the street. He had apparently, like all wise men, learned the truth of an important proverb from your father’s fatal mistake.

It was a lesson your mom taught you once, as she read it from a little blue book of Aesop’s fables, sitting next to you on a quaint wooden chair as you laid in your bed.

“Slow and steady wins the race,” she said to you and smiled. “Now good night, sweety.”

She closed the book, shut off your lamp and walked over to your open bedroom door in her white underwear. The light from the hallway silhouetted her natural figure, the one obscured outside the domain of this house, only to reveal itself when within those four walls, and within the cozy vicinity of three men.

She stood behind the dividing line between your room and the hallway and bent forward and on one foot to grab the knob of your open door. And just as she grabbed it, she looked up at you with a delicate smile. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.” She shut the door.

Dueling Fates

You struggled to keep your eyes off your mom’s succulent chest. You hadn’t jerked off for an entire week, just like your brother suggested, and you felt like you were going to blow. Underneath your mom’s pretty face was her even prettier breasts. And underneath those, hiding in their lofty shadow, was her cool, refreshing drink. Just sitting there, teasing you relentlessly.

Your brother’s voice echoed in your mind: “When she’s not looking. Just drop it in. It dissolves like sugar. She’ll never know.”

You wanted to so bad but you just couldn’t. Even without jerking off for a week, which was longer than you’ve ever lasted, and with the constant attention your mom was receiving from every man (which would inevitably lead to a sensation much like dipping your balls in a barrel of feathers), you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

Even your mom’s delicious, oblivious smile had no effect. But you thought you wanted this for so long. Seeing her ravaged and ragdolled. Lord knew you deserved such a sight, and much more. And lord knew your brother deserved the knowledge that it happened. Your brother had just as much right to the fate of her body as you did. Perhaps more so. Not only because he lived longer, and called her mom for longer, but because also because his will to act on that body superseded your caution to do nothing with it. If he wanted to till these fields, he deserved the land.

And what rich soil your mom had to bestow. You remember when the song “Your Body is a Wonderland” was all over the radio. You felt like it was a song about your mom. You and your brother used to jerk off separately in your own little rooms to the same thought. Namely of your mutual gym teacher taking your mom and putting her to good use. His raging prick milking each ounce of pleasure your mom had to give.

It wasn’t until you saw your mom’s photo posted to the bluvelvet99 discord years later with the words “What do you think of my mom?” written under it that you realized you and your brother were on the same page. You pm’d your brother as if you were a stranger and slowly pushed every so subtly to find out if his passion was as pure as yours. Did he, like you, have that nagging fascination with seeing her drugged and used while unconscious?

When he lit up your week by admitting that he did, you continued to push. “Maybe,” you started, “you should drug her yourself. Like in a bluvelvet story.”

Your jaw hung open when he responded with “I always wanted to.”

“You should” you responded, maybe a little more quickly that you should have. You just wanted to do what you could to spur him on for action.

“I honestly think I might one day. Every time I read a new story I feel more and more like it’s the right thing to do.”

“Well,” you said, “isn’t it?”

“Of course it is,” he said.

The next day, you watched from behind a bush as your brother bought blue velvet from your local drug dealer. You were over the moon with the thought that it was finally happening. Your mom was to be violated. Just like in blu’s stories.

But your brother never pulled the trigger. The reason why was right in front of your face.

“My brother lives with us,” he told you on discord pm.

You felt like an idiot. Of course. What opportunities did he have? You were just down the hall at all times. You never left the house except for work, when everyone else was already gone.

“Maybe your brother wants it to happen to,” you suggested.

“No way,” he said, “my brother is the most straight laced and responsible person I know. He loves our mom and he’s terrified of his own shadow. There’s no way he’d want something like that.”

“Wow, your brother sounds like a real idiot,” you said.

“Yeah. I love him. But just feeling him down the hall from me for the past few weeks, sitting there, as much a reality as the pills in my dresser, he makes me sick. As much a reality as the ass in my mom’s jeans, he bothers me just as much, just in the opposite direction.”

“Why don’t you drug him too. Along with your mom.”

“I don’t know,” was all he said. And then a few moments later, he said “for some reason it just feels wrong. Drugging my mom just fills me with so much warmth. It’s the best thought and feeling I’ve ever felt. Just thinking of her ass makes it so clear to me that it’s the right thing to do. I think it might be the best thing I’ll ever do in my life, if I ever get my chance to do it. But doing it to my brother just feels wrong. I can’t explain it.”

“But shouldn’t it be just as right as doing it to your mom? What’s the difference? I mean an obstacle is an obstacle. If anything, he’s wrong for being in the way.”

“You’re right,” he said. “That’s what I don’t get.”

“Do you think maybe it’s possible that the reason why you feel that way is because he was never an obstacle to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if he wants exactly what you want, and deep down you know it.”

“Ha ha. That’s a funny thought.”

“I’m being serious.”

“That seems a bit farfetched.”

“Is it as fafetched as our mom being as perfect as she is? Maybe the same force that shaped her perfect ass is shaping our fates too.” Before he could respond, you typed “*your mom being”

“Sometimes I think that’s the case. Growing up with a hot mom, especially one that everyone is so eager in reminding you of just how hot she is, is enough to scare the atheism out of anyone.”

“Well, to your point. I found this community about 3 years ago,” you said. “I was so happy I did. When I first found it, I literally couldn’t fall asleep that night, even after cumming four times.”

“I was the same way.”

“For the longest time, I wanted to share photos of my own mom here. But I just couldn’t work up the courage. I combed over her photos, saying ‘today will be the day’. But the real day never came. And then one day, out of nowhere, I logged onto discord and what do I see? A picture of my very own mom posted by someone else.”

“Really!?” he responds.

“Yeah,” you said. “It was posted by you.”

It was silent on his end.

A few moments later, there was knock on your bedroom door. You opened it, and when you saw his blushing face, all you did was nod.

And that night was as good as the night you discovered the community. The two of you went from dusk til dawn discussing all your thoughts and feelings and fantasies. You discussed moments and close calls and creepy men you seen leering or catcalling at your mom. Moments of dark lack in resolve and shameful betrayals by omission of action or secret cheerleading now became invitations to unadulterated joy.

Your mom’s perfect ass was in trouble. As big as it was, it had met its match in the collective drive of you and your brother.

Things were about to get delicious.

You had wasted your opportunity on vacation. You knew your brother would be mad. But worse than that, he would be disappointed in you. But if only he were there to begin with, you’d have the strength to do it. The guy sitting next to your mom on the flight back, stared openly at her gorgeous ass as she squeezed past him when coming back from the bathroom. After she resettled her big ass in her cramped airline seat, he admired her bronzed cleavage in the black reflection of his powered down laptop.

He was a perfect pervert. So good for your mom. You don’t know where the courage came from – whether it was the 8th day of not touching your pleading cock or just the airline food – but after your mom had fallen asleep, temporarily removing her from the concerns of waking life, you took the opportunity to pass your aisle-mate a note. You trembled as your hand passed over your mom’s lap and placed the note firmly in his bewildered palms.

“I want you to fuck my mom” was the first thing to meet his unbelieving eyes. And then after a few moments of nonverbal pushing and prodding to see if the other side was serious, you both met inches in front of your mom’s face for some whispered messages. The last part, the most important recipe for this ass stew, was the immortal question. “Would you have any problems doing it if she was passed out?”

A big gamble knowing that society hadn’t progressed much on seeing drugging as a legitimate form of sexual expression. Lucky enough for you and your brother, your mom’s aisle-mate was hip.

“I always wanted to fuck a passed out woman,” he said before turning over and looking at the exposed border of her breasts now lying defenselessly under her face. “Are we going to do this at your house?” he asked without taking his eyes off her beckoning chest.

“Yes,” you said.

“Good. It will be safe for us there. You don’t have a dad or siblings do you?”

“Just a brother,” you explain softly, “but he wants it just as bad as I do.”

“Damn,” he said, now lifting his eyes to meet your mom’s vacant face. “I wish there were more people like you and your brother.”

“There will be,” you said. “There will be.”

You exchange contact information just before your mother can wake up. The guy was supposed to catch another flight, but he was was okay with paying the price of another ticket if it meant living out this waking fantasy.

When you get home, you waste no time. Your brother doesn’t even have time to pull you aside and ask you what happened and why you didn’t respond to his texts. He sees you drop your little blue pill in her water as she unpacks her clothing.

He was going to get to see it. He was strapping in for your mom’s vacation away from her vacation. Her vacation away from all thought and control. Your mom takes a deep gulp of the water. A bit of it dribbles down on her sweating breasts.

You and your brother marvel at the beauty of the blue working through her. It was as graceful as a monologuing actor falling on stage and as magnificent as ballet. You circled her like vultures and when she finally was defeated by the cocktail you both swooped in and tore away all her cover. Her perfect body came into view, which you spanked and slapped and squeezed. Fueled by anger and cum and a healthy number of bluvelvet99 stories. You had to slow down a bit though, after noticing you were about to cum after just barely skimming past the side of her ass with your cock.

When the doorbell rang, you and your brother approached it completely naked and ready. When your brother saw the creep, he moaned audibly.

Your guest was excited to see the two of you naked and hard. It meant that this was really happening. All doubt and apprehension left him in that moment. There was still one missing puzzle piece though. One he had to ensure was there. Please, oh please, let it be there.

And when you brought him into the living room, and saw his prize waiting for him, face-down with that sleeping face he had become familiar with on the plane, he thanked his lucky stars for the glory you were giving him. This was a once in a millennium opportunity and it was happening for him of all people.

If more people thought like you and your brother, it would be a lot less rare, and magic like this could happen all the time. But it takes trailblazers to take the first few steps into the future. This was a great moment in history.

And as you and your brother watched your mom’s rich feminine essence be put to use, you absolutely ravaged your own cocks with the same intensity. Your cocks with shone with the same vibrant hue of each of your mom’s exposed butt cheeks. The essence of your clan had been invaded and its sweetest point reached by someone who, by the conventions of daily society, had no business being there.

But you and your brother had created your own conventions. And for that, you were rewarded with the best orgasms in your entire lives and a great video to share on your favorite discord.

Sweet Dreams (Dream Weaver)

It was nearing the end of the night and your mom was blitzed. On top of that, she had a fat ass. Always did. Making her a target for men of high worth and equal confidence, or men with no worth and overinflated confidence, alike. Alpha males, and pickup artists and her coworkers and creepy hangers-on all lined up at the carnival game, trying to win her and take home the ass attached to her and all the real or imagined tunnels and hallways to pleasure associated with it.

But none had succeeded.

But tonight was different.


Because your mom had never been this wasted before.

And just how did she get so tipsy, on this the night of your prom? She was one of the volunteer parent supervisors, much to your embarrassment, so she should have known better than to let herself get this out of hand. On top of that, your mom wasn’t much to drink anyways.

But, luckily for mankind (emphasis on the “man” part), your mom had been pried open by the machinations of multiple fresh enterprising souls who took it upon themselves to spike the punch with a little bit of various concoctions slipped in through the vehicle of water bottles and flasks stolen from their dads’ liquor cabinets and desk drawers back home.

Your mom was what the cool kids called white girl wasted, just like so many basic individuals before her, including some female classmates this night who stole sips of forbidden liquid in the limited privacy of the hall’s washroom stalls. But your mom was anything but basic. Being afflicted by the negative proclivities of much more simple souls was beneath her.

So what happened exactly? What made this night different?

Well, the explanation was as simple as it was stomach churning. What had happened was a wrench had been thrown into the machinery and the natural order had been all thrown out of wack. This was to be expected whenever young men were involved. Lots of hormones and no real, concrete understanding of consequences, or, at least, the blind confidence that they wouldn’t be caught, or maybe even the lack of callousness to emotional highs making them feel like any risk was worth it. Either way, it all translated to a *blug blug blug* as foreign liquids were spilled into the hidden red embrace of the surface of fruit punch.

And they were caught. Not by the principal. Not by their teachers or the councilor, or any of the other volunteer parent supervisors. Not even your mom. They had been caught by nobody. Nobody but you. Which meant nobody who would stop them.  

When you saw them spike the punch right in front of you, you said nothing. One of the guys, catching your eye, threatened you just to make sure you wouldn’t talk. He didn’t have to. You had no intention of talking. And when you saw your mom’s thirsty face as she took sips of the witches brew not long after, her ass, gorgeous and round in its dress, sitting below like a fact of life, as if it were at all separate from the consequences of what was happening above, you knew you had made the right decision in keeping your trap shut.

Your cock grew nice and hard in your pants and your legs felt like they were about to give out underneath you. Your thighs and calves were wet with hot sweat and your shoes struggled to contain your jittery feet. When all the other adult supervision began drinking from the same tarnished bowl, you could feel soil being poured over the roof of this hall, sealing it all in from the rest of the world. The tyranny of your school hallways, which you faced down from monday to friday every week, the hallways you thought you were finally free from, had now infected and entrenched itself within the four walls of this remote location miles away. The whims of the same young men who put so much fear into your heart for the past 3 to 12 years was now the hand that played all the teachers and staff and parent supervisors like ivory chess pieces, and your mom, your dear mother, being the queen piece, at least in terms of value and use, but the king piece when it came to capability for escape, reliance on others, and focus of this whole entire game to begin with.

You swallowed deeply as your teeth chattered.

You had already known that your mom coming to this thing was a bad idea. But of all the “bad” ways this night could have turned out, the way it was playing out now was the most agreeable to you. In fact, this was the most agreeable night of your life. Your palms tingled as you saw all eyes on your mom’s ass in anticipation, and on her arms, legs, hands, lips and eyes in sober focus and logistical data gathering, looking for signs of promising increases in inebriation so they could chart where she was, where she is now, and where’d she be in an hour, hoping that the rise would be, at the very least, steady, and always forward facing. The ladle always getting good use by her very hand, and the rim of her cup always making contact with her lips. All of these, devilishly good signs.

You looked around at your graduating class. Those clean, square jaws holding grinning lips. You were never going to see any of these faces or bodies again. Not that you ever enjoyed seeing them before this night. But you were just now growing sentimental. Your mom would make for the perfect sendoff present, from you to them. Their sendoff present for all the sneers and wisecracks and each bead of sweat and stray tear they extracted from your forehead and eyes. It was all worth it as a buildup for the erection you had now. No pain, no gain.

You had to take breaks from being out on the disco ball-lit floor (or rather, sitting in the foldout chair at your empty table in the shadows next to it) by ducking into the lobby to use the men’s washroom, the one nobody was using, so that you could celebrate by making cramped but joyous noises with your mouth still closed under the bright fluorescent lights and in front of the mirror. You could clearly make out your own bulge in your black slacks. You adjusted your cock so it sat up straight in the papoose of your tighty-whiteys, then you traced its outline with your finger, feeling every nerve go electric as your little finger (who knew it had such power) brushed past each centimeter of your thankful prick.

Once you composed yourself, you fixed your hair and walked, as if floating on a cloud, back into the dark embrace of the dance hall, the hidden cove where the trap had been placed so sweetly. A nice and delicate booby trap. Every getaway you took to escape from the bathroom, you’d come back, and, almost on cue, you’d see your mom in some state or action or progression of motion which indicated clearly to you that her inebriated state had been elevated. Elbows and jeers followed by interested onlookers. You’ve seen all those faces, and had the misfortune of knowing them like the back of your hand. You had never seen them with this amount of glee. They were being driven wild by the meat being lowered into their zoo exhibit.

Her ass cheeks popped, cupped fondly and suggestively by her dress, conspicuously, and you thought of them as soft, pink camel humps, which instead of being filled with water, were now running over with pure, clear liquor. Either that or it was all punch, the liquor being rerouted up to her brain where it needed to be. In all actuality though, it was neither. Your mom’s ass was as fat and delicious tonight as it was on any other night. It was just that now your mom’s ass was trapped in the sticky web of an 18 year old boy’s fantasy. And every second she spent there was a second she embedded herself deeper into that web. And it was this ignorance and helplessness, and ignorance in her own helplessness, which made her so attractive to you. Her ass a sweet treat just ready to be plucked from its low-hanging branch like a fresh plum glistening with dew.

You wondered how this was going to work. How it ever worked. Would one of them swoop down, now or later, and make his move on her? What was his move? What was involved in bringing a woman home with you? Or getting her to remove her clothing in a crowded environment? Would she need to be more drunk? What series of words had to be said? What magical phrase kicked off these moments, moments you knew happened so often in the world just past the peripheries of your ever-searching sight?

The confusing logistics of these questions didn’t bother you as much as they should have. You had always known yourself to be incompetent in every way, so you assumed, wrongly, that your more quick-witted and socially-skilled peers just knew what you didn’t through some sort of magic you had no understanding of. After all, why would they kick this plan into motion without understanding how to finally pull it off when the time for its final action took place?

What you didn’t account for was that the young mind doesn’t think that far into the future. Ever.

And as the night wore on, and your mom sunk deeper and deeper into her velvet bed of drunkenness, made for her with sheets washed and pillows fluffed by devils, the finishing stroke of this master plan hung suspended over your mom’s ass, waiting to drop and penetrate her. But nobody was there to drop it. It was as if they were more afraid of your mom now, just minutes away from zero hour, than they were of her as that untouchable unicorn on the hill, that golden ass encased behind security glass. They were frozen with indecision along the sidelines.

And you were unaware of all of this, as you sat with bated breath waiting, excited, so excited you forgot to breath or swallow. And that made it all the more alarming when the vice-principal, who, you just realized that up til this very moment, you hadn’t seen him drinking anything except for water from the fountain, approached the crowd of mumbling so-called supervision and grabbed your mom delicately by the crook of her arm and brought her over, directly to you.

“Looks like your mom has been having a bit too much fun. I guess I’m giving you guys a ride home.”

You just looked up at him from your chair. The suddenness of this moment blindsided you. Hard. You looked behind him and your mother to see your peers with wide eyes and the occasional open mouth. “Ummm, I-”

“Okay, let’s go.”

You just sat there.

He looked down at you quizzically. “Look, your mom’s pretty hammered. I know you’re having fun here, but it’s not a good idea to stick around. If I just give her a ride, you won’t have anyone to take you home. Your mom can’t drive in this condition.”

“Uhhmmm. I-”

“Come on.”

“…… uh”

There was a moment of silence. You couldn’t say how long. Likely for a few seconds, closer to 20 than 1. The look on his face was one of concern and discomfort, mixed in with a bit of sternness, rounding it off, and polluting the air with the very same authority you thought the root-like twists and turns of this night had freed you from..

He finally sighed, exasperated. “Okay, listen. I know you don’t think about your mom in these terms, she’s your mother after all, but I’m going to tell you something you need to know for tonight. I’m pretty sure somebody spiked that punch,” he pointed at the near-empty punch bowl, and then he pulled your mom by the crook of her arm lightly for emphasis, “your mom and the teachers and everyone had some and now they’re pretty drunk. Now I don’t know why one of the guys did this, whoever it is, they don’t seem to be thirsty for punch themselves, so my guess is they told you guys not to drink and just wanted to have a laugh watching us grown-ups stumble around and make jackasses of ourselves. My guess is that’s as far as this goes.”

You trembled in your chair as you struggled to keep eye contact with him, looking down at his pristinely polished shoes more often than not.

“But regardless of why they did it, it’s one thing if they get a few laughs at the expense of their teachers and parents before graduating. With all of them,” and he gestured over to them, a rogue’s gallery of different forms of inebriation presented perfectly behind him, “they’re only at risk of losing the barely-had respect of their students, and it’s the last day they’ll ever see them anyways. But with your mom,” he said and sighed, “with your mom, it’s different.”

You felt your arms disappear as you sat smackdab in the reality that he was now implying just what everyone knew about your mom but nobody ever said out loud, least of all you. He waited for your response, and when none came, he continued:

“Okay, listen kid. If we don’t leave, now, your mom’s in danger of leaving here without her dress, underwear and purse and with all of her forgotten memories from this night stored away for her to see later on every phone of every guy in your graduating class. Do you understand now?”

You tremble below him, listening to him spell out the night that almost was, and that still might be according to your most naive heart-of-hearts, which was hanging onto this possibility by a twig hanging over the cliff’s side, rocks and rapids hundreds of feet below with nothing else to latch onto but humid air.

“You still don’t get it, do you? Okay, you ever see J. Lo. Or Kim Kardashian. Or Iggy what’s-her-name? Or how about Jessica Biel? You see them? You like them, don’t you? Or maybe you don’t swing that way, I don’t know. But have you ever seen them in your classmates’ lockers or on the screens of their Iphones? You have, right? Okay, now…” he was struggling to get it out, “that’s your mom. Your mom is just as good as that, but better, because she’s real and here in the flesh. So if we don’t get her out of here soon, they’re going to take out all that frustration from all those hormones – you know what I’m talking about, you have them too – they’ll take them out on your mom. It’s going to get ugly. And, because you can’t fight all of them, you’ll going to just have to sit back and watch it. Because once they build up the courage, they won’t be able to stop themselves. And no one will be able to stop them. Not even me.”

You whimper, almost audibly, finding it unbelievable that it existed just as vividly in his head as it did in yours. The flesh and the sweat and the anger and the smell of booze. The sounds and the energy. And the point of no return. It existed all within his head just as it did within yours. The only difference was that in his version, you had to be dragged away screaming by other boys, mad at you for trying to stop their onslaught on your mom, as is she was owed to them, all waiting their turns, putting their athleticism to good use in the mean time making sure you don’t commit the cardinal sin of ruining their now limitless free-fall called fun, watching gleefully what they’re helping create underneath that disco light, and what they’ll soon be on the ground participating in when its their turn. That was the one variable in his estimation which strayed from yours.

In your version, you stood off to the side, only feet away from the action, half covered in shadow, knowing that this was your last day with any of these people, and in a context where adult authority was no longer a factor, leaving you free to remove your pants in front of everyone, and to do what you normally did so well in the privacy of your bedroom now in front of everyone, letting them see your gorgeous approval for what it was.

But your vision had a broken variable as well: the idea that you were free from all sober adult supervision.

“So! You don’t want to see that happening to your mom now, do you?”

Yes I do. Yes I do. More than anything else in the world. You screamed internally, letting it echo through the caves of your mind. What came out your mouth instead, as quiet as a peep, was “….no.”

“Okay. Get up and let’s go.”

You reluctantly pushed yourself off of your chair, letting it slide off from under you. You took a second, as if stalling mid-motion would give you the time you needed to stop the sudden change in your tides. But, inevitably, you were completely upright, unable to believe that you were. You grabbed your limp-like mother by the other side and began walking with him. Walking towards the dance hall exit, wishing it was miles away. As two and a half of you shuffled out from the hall (your mom half shuffling, half being dragged) and into the hotel lobby, you looked back to see a dozen or more horrified male faces floating there, being lit inconsistently by the light of the disco ball. And as you helped drag your ripe mother down the hallway, you saw two more faces, chuckling as they came out of the lobby washroom, suddenly change from playful mischief to slack-jawed horror as they saw you and the vice principal take your almost-cracked mother past them and away from their tendrils and the tendrils of so many other boys. Squid-like tendrils that were all groping for her impotently as she was chaperoned away from them, violently smashing the picture frames and vases of the lobby, maybe even taking out a light or two or a support beam. But all for nought. She was gone.

The final door was opened and the sobering night air hit the three of you. And though it had no affect on your mother, it sobered you up alright. So much so you could feel the tears welling up behind your eyes thinking about how you’d never see any of them again. This night would never come to be again. And that’s when the first tear escaped.

He heard you: “It’s okay, buddy. You didn’t know. Luckily I was there. Don’t think about what would happen if I wasn’t.”

That’s when the waterworks really gushed forth.

“it’s okay, buddy. It’s okay,”

You both put your mom into the back seat of his blue sedan and you got into the passenger seat. You took one last look at the hotel as he pulled off into the dead air of the night and away from its bright signage. It’s tagline, projected in bright yellow WHERE SWEET DREAMS MEAN GREAT DAYS.

And that’s when the panic struck. It was so close, so fucking close, you thought. So close to happiness. So many things in the right place at the right time. Fate had only lined all your planets up like that just to mock you. You should have known it was just too good to be true. You felt like screaming or headbutting the passenger-side window.

Your mom’s shining guardian angel, your cackling demonic tormentor, looked in the rear view mirror to make sure that she was alright. There she was, nauseatingly clothed and offensively removed from the wild and savage energy of men half her age. Just here in this little cramped automobile, sitting in a bone gray seat with boring ole’ you, and Mr. Responsible vice principal. Never there to stop you from being bullied, but there, right on time on a white steel-plated mare, to give you a hand and rescue you from finally getting something good out of this whole deal. There to drag you kicking and screaming away from your reward for having put up with so much. The friendlessness, the kisslessness, the fear and the nausea and the sweat every time you walked down the hallway from one class to the next. The terror of one of those hands on your shoulder, grabbing you, keeping you from going on on your mousy way. All of this, it would have all been worth it for tonight, only had this idiot either not came, drank punch like a normal person, or decided to leave early. Now it was all for nought. You had nothing to show for 12 years of monotony and fear. Nothing to be prideful or joyful about. Not even an education worth its time in years and teardrops.

While looking back at your mom, biting your bottom lip, you heard a fluttering noise next to you. You looked at the steering wheel to see your vice principal’s hand trembling on it. When he notices you he says “sorry, it’s just that those little shi- excuse me. Those guys make me so angry. What they tried to do to your mom. She volunteered, taking her own valuable time, just to watch you guys and make sure nothing bad happened, and this is how they treat her. They almost ruined your prom night in the process. This is supposed to be the night to leave you with something great to remember. Not the time to scar you forever by dragging you through a living nightmare. It just makes me sick.”

His lack of self-awareness was appalling. Thanks Captain Planet, you thought. Maybe to repay him you should have offered to clean his goody two-shoes in the morning.

You looked up at him disgusted, but you were taken aback for a second when you saw something. It was so subtle and sudden on his face, and gone just as quickly, that you didn’t know if you saw anything at all.

When he pulled up to a street that was familiar to you, you were surprised to see him pull up along the house that he did. He pulled up and over just short of the house you thought he was going to pull up to. You remember your brother telling you about egging the principal and vice-principal’s houses on that gate night all those years ago, and you could have sworn he said he egged 267 and not 266 which is apparently where the vice principal actually lived, if tonight was any indication. I guess your brother had been egging the wrong house all those years.

He put on the brake and shut off the car and said “okay, let’s go.” You got out and back into the sobering night air, and you and him grabbed your mom and dragged her to the stoup. You held her up in your arms as he fished for his keys and unlocked his door and then all three of you spilled into his house.

You both brought your mom over to the living room couch and set her down. You both looked down at her, you marveled at her body and trembled with righteous indignation at the fate set out for it, a fat that it had cruelly escaped exactly at the worst possible time. In contrast, the vice principal stood next to you, with a smile plastered on his face from punchable cheek to punchable cheek, seemingly proud, as far as you could tell, about the beauty he took it upon himself to destroy.

“So,” he said, “are you going to be able to get any sleep tonight?”

You just looked at him, unsure of how to answer.

“I know you’re probably full of adrenaline from what almost happened. If you need any sleep medication I got a lot of it.”

“Umm, no thanks,” you said.

“Okay,” he said, and he pointed down the dark of the hallway, “It’s just the last door on the left.”

“Excuse me?” you inquired.

“Your room. Just the last door on the left. See?”

“Ummm, yeah,” you said. You looked down the hallway, obscured in shadow, with little versions of you, him and your mom being reflected back at you through the mirror at the end of it. You turned around and went to go pick up your mom when suddenly you felt his hand on your wrist.

“No, no. Just leave her here. She’s fine.”

You were taken aback. That and flustered. You had at least resigned yourself in the car to the thought that you’d at least get to peel the dress from your mom’s soft skin and get a good look at what the guys back at the hotel were missing. Look and maybe touch as well. Touch and take pictures of it to post online, your mom’s ass, face and all. Now even that was being robbed from you. But why?

Why was he dictating who sleeps where? If he only dropped you off at your house, he would have no say in what you did. And you lived only two blocks away. Two blocks away, and he knew that. But now you’re here, and he gets to decide who gets which room. He insists upon it. And your mom, the damsel in distress, is now on his couch. Of all the places in the world, his couch. His couch, which he stood over top of now, smiling. With your mom, lying unconscious below him.

He continued to smile. “Good night!” he said.

You had the misfortune of being as familiar with your vice principal’s face as you were the back of your hand, but you had never seen his face with such glee plastered to it before. Like a zoo animal, standing over its meal.

You looked down at what was left of your mom. Fully clothed in gorgeous extravagance. Just a few motions away from being fully nude. It would take no effort at all to get her that way. Just few motions with one’s fingers and some privacy. Your teeth chattered. Your cock twitched. Oh god, you almost let slip out audibly.

“Good night” you said softly, and you turned around and walked down the hallway, step by step, and with each one, you wrapped yourself more securely in the little web you now knew you were caught in. A web weaved underneath you so delicately and sweetly that you never heard or seen it being constructed and didn’t know of its existence until you fell down, clean into its center, where you were now embedded. And though you knew you had been caught, you felt like you were floating, suspended over the ground in the middle of the humid air, safe from gravity and the rocks and rapids below. You turned around for a second, just to see what was behind you, and you saw him there, just standing, looking at you.

“Just a few more steps,” he insisted, “then the door on the left. The last one.” He made an arm motion indicating for you to walk inside. Eager for you to walk inside.

You turned back around and continued, taking one last look before disappearing behind that doorway. He was still standing there, waiting for you to make it into that room, looming gigantically over your peaceful and oblivious mother, who was bathed in his large shadow.”

“Sweet dream!” was the last thing he said to you that night. It was appropriate.

You listened in the dark staring up at the roof as your mom’s clothes were peeled from her body. “ohhh goooodddd” You heard, as delicate and slight as a pin drop, but deliberate as a sand castle on the beach. It didn’t take much imagination to conjure up just what he uncovered which would elicit such a response from him.

If you hadn’t been listening so intently, you never would have heard it. But the same internal force that spurred you on to listen so intently was the same force that caused you to pull out your rock hard cock and whisper your own jubilations into the darkness. Jubilations which he wouldn’t be able to hear over the sound of your mom breathing, or the loudness of her bare ass which demanded the attention of all five senses, even in the dark.

Those little shits,” he whispered, with no one there (no one conscious) to hear him, “put her here right in my lap. this ass. I can’t believe it’s here.”

Neither can I” you whispered to yourself. “Neither can I.”

And when you heard the subtle and sweet sound of kisses, it took you very little imagination to visualize where they were aimed at. And then you heard his belt buckle being played with, it’s sweet jangling, and his pants being dropped clumsily, making a thud in the night. Then the waistband of underwear being jostled passed waist and thighs, calves and feet. Then after a bit of silence you heard his gasp. Even from this distance, you could hear the tremble in his voice as he did. He had done it. He was in.

Just you, him and your mom (sort of). You were the only people who existed that night. Just in an island unto yourselves. A world of sweet sensations and whispers. Two impossible hard cocks and on unbearably soft ass filling one happy, happy pelvis. Filling it as full as could be filled, the cup runneth over in fact. Everything leading up to this moment, chronologically and logistically didn’t and never did exist, and everything that was to come after, would never come. Just those sounds in the night. Your mom’s ass being slapped by his sweating pelvis was the beat that drove the universe. It was a treat licked and swallowed by the darkness. Your mom’s ass gummy and sweet, and his cock tangy and sour. A fine dish for the magic of this night.

You eventually mustered up the courage, and you somehow regained some command of your own body, to open up your door quietly and crawl, ever-so-slowly, now to an unmuffled soundtrack, down the hallway until you were but feet from the driving moment. You could barely make out anything in the dark. Just a rectangular piece of your mom’s ass, cut in two by her butt crack, shining white in the moonlight, rippling back and forth. Even through that tiny window of visibility, it would be obvious to even the most casual observer that your mom’s ass was gargantuan. The piece of visible butt crack told that tale to the pattern seeking male mind through very little.

That and the large satisfying sounds:

*thwap thwap thwap thwap*

As time passed, you couldn’t say how much, you became able to make out your shaking forearm before you, and you could see the outline of the cock you were receiving so much pleasure through up til now. You could now just barely make out your mom’s full form seeming to float in mid-air, as well as the form of the man hunched over her, thrusting back and forth fiendishly. You knew you had to duck out of the way, or soon enough you’d be completely visible, masturbating on the floor there in the sunlight. So you slowly crawled behind the dining room table (you had to feel around for it), which sat on a solid base and you watched as your mom, second by second, become more real to you. And then, finally, you could see her. See her in broad daylight. Day light everywhere, except in the confines of her head.

Her ass, now bare to you for the first time, and what a way to be made bare to you, was completely visible, the focal point of this night and the last, and the focal point of life itself when all was said and done. You always wanted to see it. But you expected its reveal to be sudden and thunderous, instead of creeping up on you as you watched it take form. You wouldn’t have had it any other way though. A barely heard whisper, slowly turned up on a dial underground, made imperceptibly louder with each passing second, until it was nothing but a plain, clearly audible statement in an otherwise silent room. The statement:

Your mom’s ass is being fucked by your vice principal.

So precise and clean. And made all the more simple because it was true. Undeniably true. And undeniably good. It was a fact within the universe you lived in and it would never not be a fact within that universe. It would be as true on mars as it was here. It would be as true on uranus as it was here. It would be as true within the center of the sun or on the dark side of the moon. Your mom had been caught within his web and he was now enjoying her without tired or strained caveat. No irritating filter or ifs, ands or buts. Your mom’s ass was being fucked by your vice principal and that’s all there was to it. It was the fact you would cherish most in life. The fact that all other facts existed for. Your life now had meaning.

And when he was done making you more whole with each pump, he put on his clothes and left, leaving your mom to crawl on the floor, as if trying to find her way out of his web but never making it far.

As you heard his car pull away, you stood up and watched your mom’s gorgeous but pathetically duped ass. Had there ever been a more pitiable creature? But now was not the time for pity. Your mom’s ass was going in circles, in search of an exit that wouldn’t exist until she remembered how to stand on two legs again. The day was far from over for her.

You pulled out your phone and you filmed the comical mess you normally called mom, and then you sent the video to all the worst guys from your graduating class, the ones who put in all the work but had yet to see a single paycheck for their efforts, along with the message “Hey guys! I forgot to give you my parting gift. Come to 266 Bluejay Lane. That’s 266, not 265. It’s BYOB. Make sure to bring enough to keep the festivities going. See you soon!”

While masturbating, you lifted your foot up to your mom’s left cheek and lightly pushed her over with it. Her ass fell to the ground, and it didn’t get up, as if it were stuck.

You smiled down at your mom, ready for what was to come next. It was all in your hands now.

Sunday Morning

“Are you sure you don’t want to go with us?”

A stupid question. But he asked it every weekend, as if your answer would ever be different. As if the sound of a rifle ringing out, and the sight of a dying buck would suddenly no longer be jarring and upsetting to you.

“No,” you said.

“Okay,” said your dad, amicably. “Let’s go,” he says to your brother, and they head out and into the pickup with their camouflage gun sleeves and jackets. As they drive off, you turn around and head back to the kitchen. On the counter is your mom’s famous Sunday Morning cinnamon buns, half of which were scooped off and into a bag by your brother for their hunting trip.

Your mom stood in front of the fridge. You admired her in her pink pyjamas, until she pulled out a milk and spun around. When she saw you standing there, she smiled.

Just you and your mom on a Sunday. Like every Sunday in hunting season.

It was so warm and cozy, toasty as they sometimes say, inside your house. You had no idea how your dad and brother could leave it and go out into the fall chill and morning frost. Your mom, snug in her pajamas, her big, warm ass and her slippers, not to mention her frost-melting smile, it was just so comforting. Just the amount of comfort you needed from a week full of a slings and arrows, customers coming at you like they planned it all together in some small room, an avant-garde ambush, hitting you and separate times of the day, only occasionally overlapping, stressing your introverted mind with questions, requests and demands, most of which you caved to, afraid of conflict and discomfort of any kind.

But being here with your mom, and your mom alone, every Sunday made it bearable, at least enough that you could go back every Monday and keep your chin up for just a bit longer.

Your mom’s pink pajamas, which cupped her large butt cheeks faithfully, were a Sunday staple. The image that wrapped up the spirit of the day into a tight bow. You grew up with that ass, day in and day out, and it was the part of your mom that filled you with the most nostalgia, though you could never tell her that. You remember it most fondly from when you were in the age-range where it would float passed your head regularly, just missing it by inches. Even back then, you wanted to see what it looked like without its coverings. But you never got a chance.

And even now, in your early twenties, it was the part of your mom you felt the most warmth towards.

Your mom smiled at you and poured milk into her Sunday morning tea. You held your hand behind your back as you watched her sip it. After her first sip, she at looked at you and said “enjoy being young. At my age, tea seems to make me sleepier instead of waking me up.” She snorted, then took another sip.

You just smiled back at her, a smile cozy enough to meet a tenth of her ass’ potential.

After she was done her tea, she put the mug down on the coffee table, and she yawned. She laid down on her back, staring up at the ceiling, blemished with many individual rays of soft light through the slats in the blinds. The day was soft and fluffy, but much like your cozy smile, your mom’s ass had all the coziness of the day wrapped up into one single point in space and time and multiplied within it. Each cheek a world of lush coziness.

The blue velvet was working. You’ve heard stories of tolerance building, but you had yet to see a  manifestation of it in your mom yet. Falls season after fall season, the effect was always the same, in strength and duration, and even the predictability of its onset.

You pulled out your phone and began texting.

Your mom looked at you, quizicly through the double-cloudy haze of the sleepiness of the day combined with the fuzzy onset of the blue in her system. “Who are you texting?” she asked, with her forearm on her forehead.

“Just my friend from work,” you said as you kept your thumb going toward its purpose.

 “A friend?” she said, dreamily, her voice devoid of solid form, “Oh, is he coming by… today?”

You smirked as you looked down at your phone and hit send. “Yes he is, mom.”

“Oh,” she said. Her eyes were closed now. “It’ll…. it’ll be nice to meet him.”

You laughed to yourself. “You guys have already met.”

Your mom didn’t reply, she just sat there like a soft statue, her feminine forearm on her inert head.

You continued: “You’re more familiar with him than you’ll ever know.”

There was a knock at your door.

You walked over through the silent living room, the rays of light dancing on you, as you were the only thing in motion in the entire house, everything else inanimate, waiting to be acted upon. Defenseless.

You opened the door and let the young man in. He took off his coat. “Sorry I’m a bit late. My ex came by to pick up her stuff and she tried to scream my ear off.”

“No,” you said, “you’re right on time.”

“I’m a little pissed off,” he said, as he hung his coat on your rack where your brother’s usually hung. “Good thing she came today. At least I’ll get some stress relief after the whole thing.”

He walked into your living room, right to the usual spot. He stood there, looking down at your mom as he removed his pants. The feeling of deja vu never got old. Every Sunday, every weekend, for every week in buck season, for the last 4 years. The feeling was the same. The funny feeling like he had never left, or like this had never happened before, but in a barely-remembered dream you burst out from the cloud of this morning.

He, pantsless now, as he was on every day at this point, approached your mom and flipped her over, leaving her pink, soft ass up in the air. And when he removed it from its bunny-like prison, it was as if you had seen it for the first time again. It was as if you hadn’t seen it nude like this dozens of times before. It was as magical this time as you thought it would be to see it all those years ago, more than 4, when you couldn’t see it at all.

And he gave it that ole’ familiar smack, that bottle against the hull of the ship, sealing the flavor of its fate for the next few hours.

Your removed your pants and sat on the opposing couch, the softest place in the house, next to… well, you know. You sunk into it like a bed of cotton candy.

Your pantsless coworker, who earlier this week referred to your mom as Jenine (it took you a full minute to realize who he was talking about), positioned himself with the third most comfy place in your house beneath his naked backside, and he grabbed the first most comfy point of comfort and he lowered it over his dick, and let it slide down until… yep, he was all the way in.

And even that, seeing 7 or 8 inches of the insides of your mom being filled by such matter-of-fact sturdyness, felt like the first time. It was a hard truth, manifesting its solid and rigid self within your mom’s person, getting in deep in a way that would be felt but never remembered.

You and your brother were always such opposites, conspicuously so. And while he enjoyed spending his Sunday in a pickup truck with the heater barely working, next to your dad, amidst the smells of used shell casings, cigarette smoke, and black coffee, you enjoyed being here, home, sitting near your mom, with your lower back on a throw pillow, with the smells of tea, fresh cinnamon buns, and cotton  Slippers over boots.

And while your brother sat in a world of a constantly purring engine and the occasional sonic boom of gunshot blasts, you sat in an equally familiar world of the soft tap-tap-tap of your mom’s big and inviting ass over the flesh of your coworker.

The perfect way to spend your Sunday morning.

Apologies to those who sent me private messages

Hi guys. I just want to make this post to apologize to those who have sent me private messages in the last 5 months or so.

I’ve only just realized that I was receiving those messages today, and I see I have quite a few. I’ll try to get back to everybody, unless the message is derivative or asking of me things I can’t do (like change the format of my stories. Suggestions are always welcome though as long as they’re not too demanding).

Sorry for that guys. I really do appreciate your input, and I’m already flattered by some of these messages, and the work you guys put into them, just as I’m skimming them over now. I can’t wait to read through them all.

The Father, The Son, and the Holy Ghost

Society is weird. We spend all day, the majority of our time on this earth, veiling ourselves with fabrics and material, like curtains and rapes on windows to stop the sun from getting in and to pretty the house for onlooker viewing from the outside.

Just like our hidden inner-self, our hidden outer-self only comes out behind closed doors. And while the goal of all women is to expose that secret innermost chamber of a man’s heart, it is the goal of all men to expose that secret, innermost flesh of a woman’s body.

The grand pivot of a woman’s body, her hips, waist and ass, are the holy grail of any attempt at exposure. And this was Sam’s goal. His innermost self that any woman would be shocked to discover in him. The magma-rich core that spurned him on to place cameras where none should be. The candle in the darkness, exposing that which was shrouded in otherwise eternal shadow.

You had a lot in common with Sam. Only in the sense that your inner-self was as rich, gothic, and gargoyle-strewn as his was, a swampy bog littered with alligators and crocodiles just below its muddy surface. And your mom was quite the same, but it was her outer-self, which, like with all woman, made up for a rather simple and streamlined inner-self.

Your mom’s hidden outer-self was that ass. And your hidden inner-self was concern over the ultimate fate of that ass. If the human soul was contained within the ass, your mom would be a soul sister, in both sense of that phrase. Your mom was basically an honorary black woman. But whereas a gorgeous fat black ass was like a mirror of onyx that you fixed your gaze on in order to see your own soul, your mom’s white ass, an ivory monument, imposed it’s soul upon you. It was like a glass jar of milk that poured itself through the open air and tied all the disparate elements of every room into one.

Your mom’s ass was the Moby Dick Sam didn’t even know he was looking for yet. But that wasn’t something you could just walk up to him with. No more than he could’ve walked up to you and told you about his hobby. You heard about it through word of mouth, the slow glacier slide of gossip, that often became rapid after a certain number of receivers was reached, and would balloon, or rather mushroom-cloud, out of control.

Sam’s innermost soul was known by you, so you had to play dumb when you invited him to your place.

Sam had no idea about your mom. A lot of people did, but somehow the news never reached him. He probably thought, subconsciously and without thinking too hard, that someone like you was barred by the gods from ever having a hot mom. The fact that you were moderately attractive yourself, at least for someone with no muscle mass or charisma, didn’t crack the shell of his prejudice.

He had seen your mom out and about though, funnily enough, 3 distinct times. The first 2 times, both a year apart from each other, he never even knew it was the same woman that made his jaw drop both times, though he knew the second time that his jaw had only dropped like that once before. The third time was after he started his little hobby, and he thought to himself what I wouldn’t do to capture a whale like that.

You knew as much about that, his spotting your mom and making note of her, as he knew that she was your mom. Synchronicity was funny like that though. The way it brought disparate elements in the world together like your mom did the aesthetics of a room by just walking from place to place through it in tight pants.

When he got to your house, he was surprised to see how big it was (your house, not… well, you know). He didn’t know your dad was rich. He didn’t know that you were a trust-fund baby and you had the rest of your life set out for you. He always thought from your ugly clothes that you came from more meager beginnings. Finding out the opposite made him only respect you less, realizing your fashion sense was the result of bad decisions rather than necessity.

On that day, you were wearing a yellow Super Mario Bros. shirt and black track pants to cover your outer-self. He was wearing a nice shirt and blue jeans with his little weapon in his pocket. He didn’t even bring it with the intention to use it today, it was just a force of habit. He carried it with him wherever he went like his wallet or keys.

You both played Smash Brothers in the living room. You were Princess Peach and he was Solid Snake. He was fully inflated with the mountain dew you kept pushing on him and he asked to use the washroom. You told him he would have to use your parent’s washroom upstairs, as the one downstairs was having plumbing issues. In actuality, your house had 5 bathrooms, your parents’ room being the least convenient for him go to in terms of distance and its difficulty to find. He would never know that though. He would never find the other 3 unless he got lost, which was possible, so you made sure to give him strict instruction.

Knowing that it was specifically your parents’ bathroom that he was using, and seeing the jacuzzi sitting there, reminded him of his calling. And he placed his camera so it faced the tub. He had no idea what he’d be capturing. For some reason, he never expected much. But he didn’t just do this for the aesthetic enjoyment or to have something to pleasure himself to. Even if your mom were fat and unsightly, just the knowledge that he had invaded her innermost sanctum, and would leave it with a sacred prize, was enough of a reward for Sam. Even if all he caught was your dad, it would be worth it, as it’s not often you get to dominate another male without him even knowing or being able to fight back.

He came back down for some more games and he left before your parents could even make it home. You hoped that he wouldn’t forget about the camera he left, as he did have many of them. He might, not realizing just how perfect your mom was,  forget that he even left a camera at your place to begin with.

Two days later though, he asked you if he could come back again today after school. You said yes. One of your classmates, who knew both about your mom’s assets and about Sam’s proclivities, stood across the street, shocked, and he ran off looking for someone, anyone, to tell about what was afoot, assuming that Sam, not you, was the omnipotent party, and you the hapless victim being had, and your mom the mouth-watering lamb that would be obtained through the unholy alliance of dastardly wit and doe-eyed ignorance.

Sam came to your house, ran through glass after glass of mountain dew, as you both performed pitifully at Smash Brothers, both evidently having more important things on your rumbling minds. He asked to use your bathroom, and luckily for him, the one downstairs was still broken.

He went up to your parent’s room and retrieved the camera. He came back down and within minutes found an excuse to leave.

When he left your house, he only took a few steps down the sidewalk before a Lexus passed him and pulled up in your parking lot. He turned around, eager to get some foreplay from his victim, and when he saw what stepped out of that white Lexus, his jaw dropped. His victim just looked at him over the rims of her sunglasses, confused at why she was being stared at, at least more than she was used to.

He watched her ass move, making aesthetically right all the wrongs around her, and when she opened the front door, you were there to greet her and give her a hug. You both went inside and you turned to take one last look at Sam, who was standing there stunned.

When your door closed, he stood silent under the upper middle-class suburban sun, and then he turned around and ran home, keeping his hand on his pocket in case, though nothing of the sort had ever happened to him before, the camera fell from his pocket and into a drainage grating. If it did, he’d gladly reach down into the sewer to grab it from the fingers of Pennywise the Clown if that’s what it took.

When he got home, he ran passed his round mother, whose naked body he had on his removable hard drive in his dresser, an image he captured more out of curiosity than of need, and just to make sure he left no stone unturned.

When he got into his room, he plugged in his camera, struggling to do so with unsteady hands. The first video that came up was of your dad coming into the washroom and changing. Your dad got naked, his big cock swinging about. Your dad was like a more masculine, better built, and normally, when clothed, better dressed version of you.

He got into the tub, and his phone began vibrating. He reached over and picked it up from off the counter and put it to his ear. He began talking to someone. It was clear that it was a woman. It was also clear that your mom wasn’t home at this point, because he was talking more loudly than he should have been. The woman he was talking to was a woman he was cheating on your mom with. Some pretty Korean lady he met when discussing his brand’s next commercial with her ad agency. She had small tits and almost no ass. He felt electric every time he touched her. He felt nothing like that in his entire life.

She had sent him pictures of her naked body, and he began playing with himself while looking at them. Her cute little butt-crack, and thin body was everything to him. Sex with her had shifted heaven and earth, and his reality with it. And after he came in a hand towel (Sam was impressed by how much cum your dad’s balls could muster) he began crying, knowing that he’d never be able to be with her the way he wanted.

Your mom was the mother of his son, who he loved very much. And she was a good woman who had given him the best years of her life. He just couldn’t bring himself to leave her. It wouldn’t be right. He knew that in the event of a divorce, she’d settle for much less than half. That was how kind and down to earth she was. She was a magnificent human being. But her 97 IQ made communicating the deepest parts of his soul to her near impossible, and her big ass angered him like the eye in The Tell-Tale Heart. The way it brushed him when she turned in bed. He even avoided their bedroom when she changed, and the bathroom when she was in the tub out of fear of being faced with it’s bare vulgar sexuality. Seeing it was the only thing that made him feel anything resembling hate towards her. And even if she did find out about his true love, and it did lead to divorce, the last thing he wanted was to hate the mother of his child.

He chose her over his high school sweetheart because of that body, and now he saw it for what it really was. A cheap trapped, laid by no one. Your mom as much its victim as your dad. The cause of 19 Years of stagnation behind clean-white walls.

Sam was able to pick up 20% percent of this story, and was able to fill in the rest of approximate details with the Gestalt-building processes of his young, elastic mind. This was a good h’orderve. But he was excited for the main course.

The camera shut off once your dad dried his eyes and left the room. It started back up again in the morning, catching your mom in the same pants she wore when he saw her on her driveway. He held his breath.

She lowered her pants, giving him a great side-profile of her giant ass, confirming that it wasn’t just the pants creating an opitcal illusion. If anything, the pants made it look smaller than it actually was. He admired her milky goodness, hoping to see her crack at some point. Her whole essence was milky. Wholesome and filling and motherly. Delicious and protein-rich just to drink her in, even through a media player window.

After she was done on the toilet, she pulled her pants over the goods and left the washroom, giving him no clear shot from behind.

This annoyed him considerably.

The next clip started with your dad coming in, naked from the jump, erection already hard. He started tugging on his dick. Sam thought to himself that your dad could have been a ponrstar with his cock. He wonder what yours looked like, and even, under the assumption that there was only one working bathroom in your house, looked forward to seeing a clip of it. He thought that it must look amazing seeing your dad’s go in and out of your mom. Little did he know, your dad and mom hadn’t had sex for 2 years now. Your dad now called the woman he loved more than he loved any other woman. He was afraid to say what he wanted to say but he was working himself up to it as he held the phone to his ear. This was visible, even to Sam.

When his love answered the phone, he told her he couldn’t see her anymore, that it wasn’t right to his family, and that every moment around her was torture because he knew he needed her, though he could never be with her. He was balling, and Sam could even hear the woman balling over the phone. When your dad finally hung up, he opened up his pictures of her on his phone and started stroking his cock to them. This time, Sam could see the pictures clearly, your dad’s love’s little Korean ass, initially meant only for him.

2 for one, he thought.

Your dad was closer to the camera this time, and Sam enjoyed the view. When your dad finally came, impressive thick, which shooting strands like fireworks, Sam wondered how amazing it must look like to see those beads of cum landing on your mom’s bare ass. Little did he know, your dad had only ever cum inside your mom, if at all. He even faked the last few years of orgasms with her. She, on the other hand, came almost on contact with him, being filled with the nostalgia of what it felt like to be held by the man who once desired her so. She was too simple to realize that there was a reason why they rarely did this anymore. She just thought it was age, and didn’t press the issue, being incapable of looking deeper or reading between lines, the main reason why she had become unattractive to her husband to begin with.

He left the washroom and the video stopped.

The next video came up, it was mid-day maybe. Suddenly, the frame was filled by your mom’s baby-blue sweatpant-clad ass. Sam unzipped his pants and removed them hastily. Even if this clip came to nothing, he had her clothed ass documented for later. And as if the universe was trying to punish him for daring to dream, she disappeared from frame and the video ended.

He sighed to himself. Thinking about you, and about how you need to use the bathroom at some point, and that there were only two videos clips left. Your mainfloor bathroom was still having issues when he picked this camera up. You obviously needed time to relieve yourself and shower.

Maybe, he thought, you lied about the bathroom downstairs because you knew about his little hobby, and that bathroom was the one your mom bathed in. That made so much sense. There wasn’t even a shower in their room, just a little jacuzzi bath. And your dad had barely bathed upstairs, just jerked off in there. I’ve been had, he thought.  And he felt the sting of your ostensible meanness, your quiet knowledge, and clever indictment of, his little hobby he used to get his kicks.

He felt exposed and shamed for the first time since he discovered that more people knew about his little reindeer games than the close friends he confided in naively.

He clicked on the next video, at least ready to see what mundane nothingness he’d get from your mom and dad, or obnoxious symbolic act you perform to the camera, maybe in the form of a middle finger, just to show him you had beat him and you knew his sick secret and didn’t approve.

The video came up, roughly the same time of day as the last one. Suddenly, the frame is filled, and filled perfectly, by your mom’s baby-blue ass. She puts her finger into her waist. He watches, eyes wide. She pulls down all at once, and her bare-perfect, milky protein-rich ass there, less than a foot from the camera itself.

Thar she blows! he says to himself, not seeing the full depth of the symbolism, being only one standard deviation more clever than your mom. Your mom’s beauty wasn’t in her quick-wit or profound insight, it was in her perfect, unimaginable and impossible body. It was so perfect and beautiful, and brilliant, and your dad was the only moron who couldn’t see it.

Your mom had more IQ in her ass than that Korean woman had in her whole body. Sam could see that. And though your mom was no Einstein, the forces behind her were wise beyond the infinite space necessary to carry all their cosmic neurotransmitters.

Your mom’s ass, as free as it always should have been, deserved a nobel prize, a gold medal in the olympics and to be given first place at the botanical gardens’ venus fly trap exhibit.

It should have been a display in a museum to the achievement of man. A demonstration of perfection only nature could create, and man could only hope to imitate. A perfection that could only be found, not created.

And he thought about you mom’s beauty, and your dad’s beauty, and he thought about you, only realizing that you were your two parents’ son in this moment. You were the best looking guy in school, with the self-esteem of a hunchback. It never even occurred to him, being the child of two gods, that you were a manifestation of their godhood, no matter how flawed.

The three of you were the father, the son, and the holy spirit. But you had all lost track of your own and each other’s beauty. Your mom still recognized your dad’s. Your dad’s yours. And you your mom’s. But he was the only one who could see the one created in unity of the three.  And he was the only one who knew that only through the violation of all your little privacies, the fullness of your Godhood could be made manifest.

He had to violate the sanctity of your outer-selves, the walls of Jericho you portrayed to the world, hiding your real flesh and souls, in order to bring about your true hidden beauties.

But so far, he had only exposed the father’s soul, the holy ghost’s body, which was the same thing, but not the son’s soul.

The video ended, and he copied and pasted the entire folder multiple times, and uploaded them to a cloud as well, realizing that he had painted the modern Sistine Chapel with his camera and he didn’t want it lost to history like so many other great works of human ingenuity and spark.

He clicked on the last video.

Into frame came you. You unzipped your fly, and looked at yourself in the mirror. You pulled down your pants slowly, and your hard cock poked against your underwear.

You then turned and came dangerously close to his camera, your bulge casting shadow on the lens. Then you pulled your underpants down, and your cock, like a falling column, smacks right into the lens of the camera. Sam stops tugging his dick, shocked.

You back up until you’re completely visible in frame from your shins to your head. Your hard cock is hanging out, naked, bigger than your fathers, and the same milky hue as your mom’s ass.

“Did you enjoy the show?” you asked him, staring right at him through the screen.

Your look was menacing, yet as benevolent as light rain. It took him aback and drew him in simultaneously. He jerked off to your balls and cock bouncing around as you tugged on them.

“My mommy’s not home now,” you said through clenched teeth, “but she’ll always be at your place now. In that hardrive next to your bed. I heard about it. I’m surprised her ass could fit in it. 2 terabytes? I hope my mom’s ass can fit in there because I want you to have it for yourself forever.” Your cock throbbed as you said that.

“I want to be in that harddrive too. I want you to show people this. I want them to see who I really am. I want them to know what you helped me do. I want them to see my mom’s ass and I want them to see that I gave it to you. I want to be fully exposed. No hiding places. No shadows. Just a camera on my mom’s exposed ass and my exposed cock and balls forever.”

Sam smiled to himself. He hasn’t mentioned his dad once. I’ve only seen them one at a time in there. If they only knew each other’s beauty in full, in both directions, they’d be in there all at once, writhing in that tub, in and around each other’s bodies.

He prided himself on seeing the full beauty of it. Seeing it above what you could see. The disparate triforce, powerful in its distinct parts, but, when combined, worth all its independent elements multiple times over.

Your dad: His desperate need to be understood and his rejection of his wife’s bodily perfection manifesting itself in his need to find love elsewhere.

You: Your burning wish to break out of your little private existence through sharing the most desired object in your proximity. Your awareness that to make your mom’s beauty immortal, your greatest goal, you must make her a joke as well. And your desire to chase yourself out of hiding, and bare your soul to everyone you cared to look.

Your mom: Her ass.

The three deepest wells he would ever look into.

And as much as he was excited to show everyone his magnus opus, he was saddened by the reality that they wouldn’t get the full depth of it. It would be a series of videos portraying two men to laugh at and despise, and one woman to jerk off too. They would know what they were seeing was beauty itself. But they would never be able to put it into words, nor understand what it was they were feeling.

Sam would be alone, as if he were standing in that washroom, naked by himself, crying. Unable to connect on a deeper level. But at least he had you three to understand.

He could see your flesh get red and warm, much like your dad’s did on the moment of impact, and he braced himself.

You grunted as hot sticky fireworks shot from your cock up into the air and down onto the floor.

And his last thought before he came with you was imagining what your warm load would look like landing on your mom’s ass.

He knew he was about to tumble down a rabbit hole, but he had to try. He was going to bring every hidden camera he had the next time he came by, and with your unsaid permission, place them in every worthwhile room in the house. If he truly wanted to understand God in all its glory, he would have to destroy every hiding place it used to protect itself from mortal eyes, including the things left unsaid in public, and the clothes that shielded true beauty from the eyes of men.

In both cases, it was just fabric and brick shielding God’s true shining light, which, in the grand scheme of material, might as well have been cotton candy, just waiting for the first enterprising watering mouth to dissolve it, leaving the true glory for even mortal eyes.

In other words, Sam was about to lift God’s skirt.

The Pants in the Family

The Pants in the Family

Your mom had just made a huge mistake. A bad one. A huge round fat one. Oh boy, was it bad. You ran into the water, at least til it was waist high, in order to avoid the outward reality of it being noticed by all around you. Beneath the water, resting blissfully within the mesh of your swimming trunks, was your hard dick, its tipped being subtly massaged through the netting of your swimming trunks by the particles of salt in the sea.

Your mom’s ass, half of it, sat above the blue water. The lower half stood visible in its glassy cool clearness, distorted and magnified. Your mom was comical perfection, but you, you were just comical, standing there with the tent in the trunks your mom bought for you magnified to twice its size by the water’s glass.

Your brother had noticed. His face flashed red, and he slowly floated off, like a moon ashamed of its planet’s orbit, just floating away. A few other beach goers also noticed and kept staring. You crossed your blushing arms, as if it that would shield it. But it didn’t of course. And when your dad finally noticed, that was when your embarrassment was complete.

Your mom never noticed. She had that uncanny ability women have, it was almost a superpower, to block out all uncomfortable or upsetting stimuli in her environment. She lived in a cloud-wrapped world of dreams and unfailed moments. She would often step out of the house in April weather and not notice the rain until the first drop hit the top of her sacred head. And she wouldn’t notice the lightning, but she’d jump seconds later at the sound of its thunder.

By the time she got to the bank or the market or the DMV or your school to pick you up, her legs would be wet and glistening and she would fail to notice the eyes of every man in the building looking. Ever man dreaming about wrapping those wet legs around himself. Every man forcing himself on the imaginary her they caught like a firefly to light up the dark wooded areas of their ghastly imaginations.

You remember the one time your mom and brother came home from the mall, your mom handing you clothes she bought you and heading off to the washroom, her white skirt swaying back and forth behind her til she disappeared into the washroom. Your brother then told you about what had just transpired that day on the metallic reality of the mall escalator.

Most young men would be ashamed to witness what he had and to have not done anything about it. Most wouldn’t have done what they’d fantasize doing, namely cracking some skulls, but they would have at least stood in the way inconspicuously to stop what they were horrified to be witnessing from happening, or at least happening without a hitch. But your brother, being gay, was a lover of all forms of debauchery, especially the male kind, instead, set your mom up perfectly for what was coming once he was lucky enough to see it would come.

A man, holding a black gym back on his shoulder, timed it perfectly so he’d step on the escalator just behind your brother and mother so he could tip the gym bag up under your mom’s white skirt, so the unzipped section of that bag, split open less than an inch, would be right where it needed to be, underneath the dream-like draperies of her skirt. His little eye, beady and focused. His third eye.

Your brother, as inconspicuously as he should have been standing in the way, just as inconspicuously stepped out of the way, and leaned on the rubber railing, giving the gonzo cameraman more than enough room to get his shot, and to get it without a hitch. Your mom looked over at your brother as he whistled, the edge of the gym bag just below her. She smiled, proud of her son. He smiled too. Happy your mutual mom’s ass flesh could give him his little kick for the day bi-proxy. The man behind her, fat and bald, looked out through the ugly, thin frames of his glasses, his eyes on a storefront or two, but all he see in his innermind’s eye was his fuzzy prediction of just what it was his camera was capturing for him in that moment.

His cock probably isn’t much to shake a stick at, your brother thought, but I still wish I could see him going to town on it tonight. He imagined it, in the dark, lit only by the light of his laptop, and the image of your mom’s hidden ass being made visible for him as if it was always his to behold. That sweaty face and beady eyes through the frame of those ugly glasses. His pale, birdlike feet kicking in bed, and that delicious nut being busted into one of those glaring white socks he was wearing just then on his sandaled feet.

When your brother and mom reached the next floor, your brother could feel the world behind them become clear. He took a look back after covering some fair distance and saw the man shamelessly, amateurishly according to your brother’s estimation, turning around and taking the escalator down to the floor you all just came from. His socks and sandals, mercifully, disappearing first, and his bald white head, fresh with daring sweat, last. He was gone, with a bagful of goods. A skirtful, to be exact.

“It was so marvelous,” he said to you in his usual effeminate way, just as your mom exited the washroom. “You’ll just have to show me how grateful you are for it later,” he said as he lightly tapped your dick, knowing it would be hard in your blue jeans, and then he walked away. That night, he leaned on the edge of your bed and watched, face-first, as you jerked off to his description of the event. “If I wasn’t your brother I’d kiss that thing,” he said, making you blush. He was your naked cock’s biggest, and only, fan.

As you played with it for him, you thought about that creep (half afraid he wasn’t real, just a figment of your brother’s degenerate imagination, a wily machination conjured up in the pink playground of your brother’s mind in order to make you jerk off for him again) watching your mom’s ass blown up on his big screen TV in the comfort of his unkempt home with his little filming device plugged in via HDMI.

You felt yourself ready for release. Sweet, sweet boundless release. You pushed your hips upwards as you felt it finally washing over you, and you sprayed your eager load into your sock, just the way you knew your brother liked it. “Oh, marvelous, darling,” he said. “I’m blessed to have such a beautiful family. Between you and daddy’s cocks and mommy’s ass. Oh, could there be a luckier boy?”

Your face was red as you threw the sock at your bedside. You felt weird and alien in your own room, lying there, a sorry, pink sight for your brother’s prying eyes.

He grabbed you by your palm. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” you explained, not wanting to say more. Not able to look in his eyes. Not wanting to give him an inch of what you unfortunately felt right now.

“You’re lying.”

“No I’m not,” you said, with as straight a face as you could muster.

Your brother saw right through it. “You are. Listen. What happened to mom today is nothing to feel ashamed about.” He kissed your hand. “You knew that 5 seconds ago. You should know that now. Having empty balls should have nothing to do with it.”

You looked at him. You had immediately began wishing he was lying about what had happened today, his Loki-like ploy rather than a matter of irreversible history, just after the throws of orgasm ended. But now you felt ashamed for even wishing that it was true to begin with. Your cock was still half hard, but less and less so with a little time passing.

As if he read your mind: “Look, I know how badly you wanted it to be true when you had that erection. And I now how much you want it to be false now that the erection is gone. First off, it did happen. I’m not playing with you. You’ll have to accept that. And it is beautiful. You’ll understand that in 20 minutes, I know.”

He began tickling your side with his fingers. You giggled a little and pulled away.

“Do you still have that fantasy about her being drugged and ra-” he stopped himself. He knew how much you hated that word. “Drugged and fucked?”

You looked at him, doe-like, guilty in a sense, still ashamed. “No.”

“You’re lying again,” he said, looking disappointed.

You didn’t think the shame could get any worse. “Sorry,” was all you said. There was a furnace in your head, and each word that fell from his cherub-like face was another block of wood stoking the flames.

“Listen,” he said, “I feel the same way. Only after cumming though. Like you. Even after I came out as gay to you and mom and you two showed nothing but respect and acceptance for who I was, I-” He stopped to gather his thoughts. He looked like he was about to cry. “Just the other week, I finally met up with that guy who kept staring at me. Turns out he didn’t want to fuck me up like I told you he did. He was a fag like me.  And what a fag! He sucked my cock in the bathroom after I got off of work. One day you’ll get to experience something that means as much to you as that did to me. Oh, it was so good.” He stopped for a second, his eyes becoming distant, and he swallowed. “But… after I finished. I felt like Dad was standing behind me, whispering in my ear. Telling me how ashamed he was. Repeating the things he says when he sees gay guys on TV.”

Your brother looked down.You could feel the flames from the furnace in his head now. The vulnerability in his agreeable face, now only inches from your flaccid penis, was about as sad as it gets.

It was silent for a few moments.

You reached out and grabbed his hand again. He looked up. You squeezed it and looked him directly in the eyes with the little strength you could muster.

He snorted. His voice was hoarse. “Anyways,” he said, “when that moment comes, let it happen. Take it if you have to. Don’t sink away from it. You’re at your bravest and most free when you haven’t cum for a while. That’s why I’m all beat up. Because when you’re gay, you never get to save up. There’s always a welcome mouth or ass waiting for you. But your sexuality… it’s special. It’s one in a million. And even for those who have it, they only get to see release once if they’re even lucky. Don’t throw your moment away and worry what dad thinks. When you see that pill drop to the bottom of her glass, don’t just let it happen. Help it along.”

You tried to force out a smile.

“No, really,” he said, looking as stern as you had ever seen him.


“No,” he said, grabbing your wrist. “Really.” Your dick twitched, and he caught it in his peripheral. He looked over, and watched as it grew hard in wonderful slow motion. He looked back up at you with a grin.

“Sure,” you said, dutifully. And now could mean it.

A month later, your whole nuclear unit was watching the news.

“And in other news, a man was arrested at the Westbrook Mall for taking unsolicited indecent videos of women by placing a camera in his gym bag and positioning it underneath their skirts.”

The attractive woman chimed in “Tom is at the Westbrook Mall now to follow up on this story. Tom?”

“Oh my god!” your mom exclaimed, as she sat with her bare feet underneath the butt of her blue sweapants, “What is this world coming to?”

Your brother looked at you from the opposite couch and opened his eyes wide playfully. How fun it was to keep a secret with somebody you loved.

“Sick fucks,” your dad said. “Don’t they have sisters? Or mothers for that matter? I hope the cops beat the living crap out of that piece of garbage.”

You looked down at the ground. Your brother flashed your dad a dirty look, and then he looked at you for moral support. Moral support that you were afraid to give him, even if just unspoken and symbolic between the two of you. You just kept your eyes glued to the carpet.

It wasn’t that you agreed with what your dad said, you knew your brother was right to be angry. But you also knew that your dad came from a different time. A time when women were seen like flowers to be protected from anything sexual. Your dad was a prude in general. Except when it came to his own sexuality. I mean, he may have loved your mom dearly for all that she was, but it would be a lie to say the first thing he noticed about her was her sense of humor. He wanted your mom’s ass, just like the guy on the escalator did. And when you’d come home early from work. You’d sometimes sneak in and hear that hypocrite enjoying the ass he married into, as the satisfying slaps echoed through the entire house.

Oh well, the joke was on him. That “sick fuck” had got a front row seat to watch your dad’s favorite ass in motion and neither your dad or mom knew it. And, as your brother informed you afterwards in the kitchen, the cops looking through all his stuff likely did too. You jerked off extra good for your brother that night. At the same time, in your parent’s room, your dad was on his knees, unsheathing and kissing your mom’s big, white ass. If he could see what the two of you were doing in your room, he’d scream into the dead end between your mom’s cheeks, too slow to notice any irony.

When you came for your brother that night, to descriptions of the jury watching the footage of that faceless woman’s big, white ass, you sat on your bed, feeling the shame burning in you. It would be another half hour until you were back to normal again. And you’d avoid jerking off again that night to avoid that shame, which stalked you from orgasm to orgasm like something you had killed in a past life.

Some time had passed since then, and now the source of that old, wobbly feeling was perturbed, staring off into the random horizon as he stood waist deep in the ocean, upset by his son’s uncontrollably hard dick in the turquoise fishtank of the cool water below. It had been six whole days since you last jerked off, not being able to find any time this vacation, and the shame you normally would have felt at your dad’s disapproval wasn’t as strong as it might have been. The site of your mom’s half-naked ass and all the turning heads was just too much. Too much, but yet, not enough. Story of your life.

As your brother passed by you subtly, he said “see the guy in the tacky lime-green trunks? The human highliter?” You did. Your brother walked off slowly, methodically, and said “look at what’s being highlited.”

You had noticed it a long time ago.

Your brother passed you inconspicuously again, wading though the water as if he’d never seen you in his life. “Guess you’re not the only one who should be embarrassed. Walking around with a hard cock in public. I guess it’s the new thing to do.”

As your brother passed you in the opposite direction, you kept your eyes pinned on the hard-cocked man staring at your mom’s ass. And suddenly, your lower jaw slapped against the surface of the beach water. The man, not much older than you were, was stepping out of his trunks, his hard dick flapping through the water, the lower half exaggerated in size, and the tip looking as it should as it rose quickly above the blue liquid, steadying in size and now petrified in its own joy.

His leg muscles tensed and released as he approached your mom. She was turned around looking at the rocks. His hard cock swung through the water like a pendulum, playing gorgeously with the drag of the jealous water.  A pendulum slowly lowering itself to your mom’s fleshy goodness. Like a shark chasing a fish through the salt and water into a little nook, not deep enough to escape, not thin enough to keep out a shark.

Your dad never noticed the man, he only noticed your cock twitching. He sighed, audibly this time, not knowing that if he could only see behind himself, he’d know that his son’s cock was the last thing he should be worrying about in that moment.

The naked man passed your mom, deliberately bringing his hard swinging member into her sight. She almost jumped at seeing it, the way women do impulsively when they see unconsented-to male nudity, or feel, more specifically, like the rules allotted to them, bent towards their favor, were being bent or broken by an enterprising man who finally got the memo that they were all and only bullshit.

The absolute mad-man spun around and caught her open-mouthed gaze with his eyes. “Like what you see?’ he asked and began twisting his pelvis through the water, letting his cock swing about and shock his audience further.

Your eyes were glued to this moment. You couldn’t believe your throbbing cock was underneath the same body of water that hard cock over there was. The same body of water your mom’s ass was under, spurring on that hard-cock arrogantly. You were only drawn away from the spectacle when you saw a familiar pink, now in the shape of a cucumber, in your peripheral, as your brother in his pink trunks stepped in front of you, his mouth agape at the beautiful naked specimen making itself available to your mom.

“Some girls have all the luck,” he murmured to himself.

The man looked at your mom’s shocked face, which was aimed at his bulging and free genitals. “This is all for you,” he said, as if he was a gift from god, “but only if you fuck me right here.”

She backed up, terrified as he got closer. “Don’t worry about it, juicy. Just forget about everything. Don’t even think about it. Let them watch. You have a boyfriend? Let him watch. A family? Just let them see the new you. Let it happen. Not a care in the world.” He fluttered the fingers of his right hand as he lifted his palm to the sky when he said that. With each word, he was two steps closer to her, and she one step away. You didn’t have to ace the calculus exam in order to do the math.

“No,” was all your mom could muster, as she picked up the pace of her backpedal.

“Listen, God made this cock for your ass,” he exclaimed so matter of factly it gave you chills. “If I could just borrow that ass from you,  I would. But since it’s unfortunately affixed to you of all people, and you don’t want to make this easy for yourself, you’ll just have to give yourself up and let it happen.” His hips were still gyrating vulgarly in the water. “Do we have a deal, sweety?”

“…..No,” came out meekly.

“Okay then. I’m going to enjoy this.” He reached out to grab her.

Suddenly from behind you you heard “Hey!”

The man looked up.

You turned around to see your dad standing there, eyes furious and fist clenched. He snapped forwards and as he went for the man accosting his wife, your brother instinctively put out his foot. Your dad tripped and splashed ferociously into the water. As he kicked in the sand to try to get himself up, kicking sand into a state of aquatic near-zero-gravity behind him, his mouth shot open and a school of bubbles tumbled out toward the surface of his entire world of glass. Seeing that black-pube adorned cock underneath the water, just tempting and welcoming red-faced rage, so near his wife’s half-naked butt, now without the dreamlike filter that separated the world of fish from the world of beasts in his way, it made his fury and the fire and brimstone of his soul, chest and chin twice as hot.

The man took his lucky break to grab the waist of your mom’s bikini and tug on it. It came off with little effort, and for a full second, your mom just stood there, completely naked, either not realizing it, or not believing it could be true, for nearly 5 seconds. Every man there saw it, including your dad underneath the ocean’s ceiling, who immediately sucked a sudden burst of salt and sea into his throat.

Everyone lucky enough to be there was made privy to this event: The freeing of her naked lower half. Eyes at all angles watching. You could have used a composite of what they all saw, all the various angles and heights, in order to build a clay replica of exactly what your mom’s naked lower half looked like and then used it to carve your mom in white ivory.

You and your brother had the luck to be able to see it from directly behind. Your dad had the luck to see it from underwater, which wasn’t luck at all. As he got up and regained his footing, the man ran off with your mom’s crimson bikini bottoms in his clenched , white-knuckled fist, while being propelled by happy feet to safety. He laughed cruelly as he disappeared.

When your mom finally realized what happened, she put her two hands over her pubic area and poked her ass out as she did, giving everyone standing behind her the perfect view. She then turned around to see all eyes on her and she put another hand to her butt. But realizing she could barely cover it with one, she used the other’s assistance, leaving her pubic hair visible to everyone.

It wasn’t until your dad got to her that she stood a fighting chance of covering herself in her humiliation. “Guys!” your dad yelled, his face projecting his misplaced anger against the two of you. “Get over here!”

You ran up to your naked mom and got behind her.

“Get that man!” your dad yelled and pointed to the dot on the horizon. “Somebody!” Nobody moved. The only people capable of chasing the culprit being men, and none of them wanting to take their eyes off the impromptu peepshow.

You and your brother, catching your dad’s drift, went behind your mom’s to cover her other side. You huddle in close, touching your mom, trying to keep the eyes off of her. But there was just too much to cover, and sections of her flesh still made it through the triangle the three of you made around her.

As your dad desperately calmed down your mom and stroked her golden hair, “it’s okay, baby. It’s over. He’s gone. They’re going to get him. That sick fuck!” You and your brother held your mom close. Your hard erections pressed into the softness of her trembling butt cheeks.


You sat on your bed, your trunks on the floor, and your brother staring at your hard cock as you stroked it.

You were both alone in your beach cabin, in an atmosphere of your own joy. Your mom and dad had gone to a local police station after finding out that the man wasn’t a resident at the resort. You both laughed at your dad dressing your mom up like an eskimo before they left. Then you both stopped, as if your steam ran out, and you both stewed in your anger at his prude hypocrisy.

“He’s the one who bought mom that bikini,” you reminded your brother. “Did he buy it for her so no one would notice her ass?” you asked rhetorically as you removed your trunks and sat on the bed.

“He’s a buffoon,” your brother explained. “He doesn’t know what he wants.”

He watched your jerk off your cock. He was amazed by how hard it was. The thought that you hadn’t touched it for a week hadn’t occurred to him, and his unconscious mind assumed it was only the events of the day that fueled its stiffness. He was impressed.

“You know,” your brother said. “I was looking under the bathroom door yesterday, when they were both in the shower. Dad’s cock looked even better than usual. It was hard. It’s even bigger than yours when he’s hard. But not as big as.. you know,” he said and laughed. “I wish he could be my dad. A lot more a fun and a bigger cock to boot. But I digress. The whole time I was watching, dad was trying to get mom to have sex with him. He was spanking her ass and she was looking in the mirror.”

You just continued jerking off. On any other day, what your brother was telling you would be enough to get you off. But you still had the image of what happened at the beach fresh in your mind, and the feeling of your mom’s trembling body so close to yours, causing you to whimper and grunt-whisper as you tugged yourself.

You brother continued: “He kept pushing and pushing, and she kept trying to stop him, laughing it off and pushing him away. But he just kept going. As if her opinion didn’t matter.”

Now he had done it. You were starting to get mad. You were in such high spirits since the beach thing. But your brother was ruining it by being the messenger.

“And I was thinking,” he said, as he watched your cock which he was unknowingly deflating in your hand with each word, “he kept pushing and pushing and she eventually gave in and he fucked her in front of the mirror.”

You knew where this was going, and you tried to remember as best you could the exact moment when your mom’s bikini bottoms snapped off of her ass today in order to compensate for the shrinking violet in your right hand.

“So he pushed and pushed and eventually got his way. So if today, that man, let’s say he was there, no one to stop him. He was ass naked as dad was in th washroom yesterday. Not even. Let’s say he kept pushing and pushing and pushing. And let’s say mom gave in. All of a sudden, he’s the bad guy? What sense does that make? How would dad have liked it if I kept banging on the door and yelling for him to get his hands off mom? You know what I mean?”

You stared up at the roof and massaged your balls below your flaccid dick.

“And now jackass is going to the cops because of all this. Mom had to take a second shower after he made her all sweaty and came on her butt. And this is the guy who we beat ourselves up over every time we cum? Imagine if I started banging on the door and yelling that he was wrong. What would he do? If I butted into his sexlife with his wife.”

You shot up off the bed, startling your brother. You picked up your trunks off the floor and pulled them up your body.

“Hey! I was watching that!” he said.

Your cock started to get hard in your trunks again.

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

“I’m going to hold off from jerking off,” you explained.

“Really!? After all that?”

“I’ve gone six days so far. I think I can go another four.”

“Six days! Jesus! I was wiping my cum off the floor frantically yesterday so dad wouldn’t see it there when they came out of the bathroom.  Six days. Christ.”

“I’m not letting that man shame me any more,” you said. “I’m done.”

Your brother had never seen you like this. Your defiant body language and your quivering bottom lip made his cock hard. “I so wish you weren’t my brother,” he said. “I’d fuck you right now.”

You smiled. “Today’s the first time I’ve ever felt alive,” you confessed. “And when you tripped dad. It was like… I could never see myself doing something like that.”

“I’m just sick of him,”your brother exclaimed, soberly. “He’s a stick in the mud. I don’t care how big his cock is.”

Suddenly, the phone started ringing, cutting through your fraternal hi-jinx, and startling you both. Your brother picked it up and said hello. When his voice went a full octave lower in after his greeting, you knew it was your dad on the other end of the line. Your brother answers with “yeah’s” and “sure’s” until he said “bye” and hung up the phone.

“He’s sending mom back,” he explained. “He’s going to be visiting some resorts nearby with the police for the rest of the day.”

You looked up at him with the tiny hint of a smirk on your mouth. “You think mom will still be a bit shaken up?”

“I do,” he said.

“We should maybe go out for a few drinks to calm the nerves.”

“Well,” your brother said, mock professionally, “Dad said to stay in the cabin and watch movies.”

Your smirk was no longer only a tiny hint. “Fuck what dad says.”

Your brother smiled and got up and approached you. “A day on the town with the only two people I love. Sounds fabulous.” And then he slapped you on your ass.


When your mom got back, she was still visibly shaken up by what had happened earlier. Luckily, you and your brother were like a pillar for her to lean on. She wasn’t used to seeing the two of you act that way, especially you, but she was comforted by your confidence. She knew she was in good hands.

You had pulled out all the stops. All the abilities and privileges afforded to the two of you as sons. You being there for her, in the way that you both were, was like a comforting warm rain falling over her on a humid night. Her ratcheted angst was massaged out, at least as much as could reasonably be expected, by the soft and probing fingers of sunlight being emitted by your soft facial expression and firm auras.

Through this refound footing of comfort and centeredness you got her to take a shot, and then another one, both under the pretext that it would make her feel better. Then when she asked why her bikini had been laid out on the couch, your brother told her that the three of you should go out to occupy your minds.

Your mom was uneasy about this, but she complied when you both insisted, soft and stern like brisk waves against a beach canoe. She wasn’t used to such lighthanded firmness. It was nothing like what she was used to from your dad, who would often use shame or annoyed insistence to get her to come out with friends when she wasn’t feeling up to it. Every time she left the house with him, it was like she was being pushed from behind. You and your brother, in contrast, felt like you were leading her by her hand. You know, the way people should be treated, because, as you and your brother knew, people weren’t your slaves.

You and your brother both watched under the bathroom door as your mom changed.

“Let’s get that ass liquored up,” your brother whispered ever-so-softly into your ear.

You watched your mom walk a little bit ahead on the path, both of you with your eyes on her half-naked ass, made all the more erotic by the shirt she was wearing as a top. You had both pulled on her bikini bottoms like a game of tug-of-war before she got home so now they loosely fit around her hips. Perfect for coming loose when she inevitably got sauced up.

When you all sat down at the poolside bar, which sat in the shade beneath a Greek column supported arcade, you had your mom sit across from you in the booth, in case somebody came and wanted to sit down, the free seat would be on her side of the table if they were willing to shoo her butt deeper into the cul-de-sac of the booth.

Your brother nudged you as the waiter approached, tall, dark and handsome, just like he told you he liked, and like you told him you wanted for mom.

“Three rye and cokes,” your brother demanded flamboyantly, “and make it a double for the lady. She’s had a stressful day,” he looked over at your mom, who had a face that said please no, without her mouth even opening, and he smiled and said “and 3 shots of tequila, stat!. She needs spirits to lift her spirits. Be gone knave!”

The waiter walked off with a look of disgust, having accidentally written “be gone knave” on his notepad, only adding insult to fruity injury in his mind.

When the drinks came back, your brother said “a toast to normalcy in a sea of gale and darkness” and you clinked your glasses together and downed them, you and your brother did anyways. Your brother had to chastise your mom in order to take more than her initial sip. “My fair lady, as your physician I must insist that you finish the medicine as prescribed to you.”

He pointed at your mom’s face playfully and only let his hand down once the all the liquid had disappeared inside her sacred body. You felt the flat of her foot against your shin as she scrunched her pretty face up comically. You let your hand down and grabbed her foot, bringing it up to your lap by the heel, and you began kneading it and pressing into into its soft parts with your thumbs. You looked down, her toes like the jellybeans she used to feed to you and your brother as kids. You lightly pressed your thumb into her big toe and you motioned towards her rye and coke glass as if to say “drink, mom, it’s okay.”

She did as she was told.

Your brother said “so mom, you feeling better?”

“Much better,” she said, and it was evident in her expression that that was true.

A flash of bright yellow almost blinded you in your peripheral. You didn’t think much of it until your brother’s outer thigh tapped against yours twice. You looked up towards where he was pointing subtly with his extended pinkie finger, not looking at his target, and lifted the glass to his face with his pinkie’d hand to take a sip.

Standing there, shamelessly but not entirely carelessly, was the man from the beach. Just barely recognizable, now with a fake-moustache, dark glasses and a sailor’s cap. Your hands trembled with your mom’s foot in them. You slowly placed her foot back down. “Other one, mom?”

“Oh, you’re too good to me,” she said and placed her opposing bare foot into your trembling hands. You had to hold it on your right thigh now, not daring to let it sneak leftward, towards your hard cock, now filled with a 6-day buildup and tension. You started on your mom’s heel, made soft with the day’s-worth of saltwater and you slowly worked your way up her foot as the man worked his way up the floor. He had already caught sight of your mom and kept her in his peripherals as he moved, almost comically, like he didn’t belong in this universe, a black-and-white mustache-twirler standing next to a train track decorated with ropes, frilly lace, and helpless breasts that shook around with the twists of his victim’s body.

Your mom went to look over, and, coming to you quicker than you knew, you held her foot in place with your left hand, and tickled its sole with your right, causing her to spasm and kick her other foot and look over at you. She laughed as she said it: “Stop! I’m ticklish!”

Yeah, I know, you thought.

“No, no, no,” you said as you continued ravaging her foot. “This is payback for ticklilng me all those years.”

“Foot karma,” your brother said.

“Ahhh,” she screamed playfully, as the man slowly crept behind the rounded white pillar that kept the center of the arcade roof up. Your brother smiled with equal parts relief that he was out of sight, and devilishness knowing that he was still there, so close, yet invisible through the tight grip of molecules that made up that pillar. All that stared back at you was the face of the medusa carved into the column as decoration.

“A shark is coming to get you!” you said as you mock bit at the air, bringing your head closer and closer down to her sandy toes.

“Stop it!” she shrieked, “ha ha, geeze, now I know how that feels.”

She got her foot loose and let it fall next to its brother, both sets of toes on the cool cement. She was smiling. Smiling without a care in the world. Time stopped for a moment as you admired her blemishless sunshine. She was looking over at your brother as she smiled. Something in you was warm and settled. As warm as settled as the sunniest days of childhood, when you wou-

A hand hit your shoulder.

You looked over to see your brother, looking at you, pointing behind himself, his arm outstretched over the next booth, towards the empty foozball table. “Hey! Why don’t you go and destroy mom in foozball?” he suggested with a bright face.

“As if!” your mom said, rising to the challenge as assuredly as the sun rising to the center of the sky on long summer days.

“You want to put money on it?” you said as your brother cleared the way for you.

Your mom rounded the waiter, who was back just in time to ask your brother if he and his company needed more drinks.

“Don’t beat mom too hard!” he yelled at you with his hands cupped around his mouth as if he was talking to you from boat to deserted island. “I’ll get 3 more rye and coke’s, dear. Make that a double again for the misses. She’ll need it to get over her foozball loss. Okay? Got it? Good! Thanks handsome.”

The little players on the table wore little loincloths, in the tradition of the locals, and they had big bare feet. The ball was a coconut. “I’ll be massaging my guys’ feet with the ball,” you said as your mom grabbed the knobs beneath her, “I’ll have to massage your team manually though. Their feet will see no part of that coconut.”

“Dream on!” your mom said as she flipped the knob around. As you played, behind her, you could see the shadowy figure, eclipsing the sun, swallowing the bright sounds of a summer and returning them as ominous and damp omens for the ears.

“And that’s another goal for team mom!” your mom exclaimed.

“Yeah, yeah,”  you said. “Beginner’s luck.” Your heart wasn’t in the game, the characters appearing formless below you, your whole world sucked up into the cave-like ambience of the spidery presence under that arcade ceiling with you.

Your mom twirled the last knob stroke, extra hard, and her player’s barefoot met the fuzzy cocoonut, sending it spiraling into the unguarded inch of your goal. “Yes!” she said. 10-2!” She started laughing. “You suck!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said and laughed. “I guess I do.” You looked over her shoulder, her smiling face, still talking but wordless, still visible to you, with the center of the floor taking up most of your field of vision, now empty but for a singular white pillar, slightly larger on its horizontal axis than the width of a man, with its gorgon head facing your brother.

You both went back to the table, no ominous figure in sight. Your brother motioning the two of you back with his flamboyant face. The table had been renewed with fresh liquor, fizzing coke with bright blue straws jutting out like buoys. Your brother scooched inwards and you sat beside him.

“I just need to go to the little girls’ room,” your mom exclaimed.

“Darling,” your brother said in a mock trans-atlantic accent, “you’re a big girl now. Go where the big girls go and god bless you.” You felt him tremble next to you before his sentence even finished.

Your mom walked off, almost skipping without skipping. You and your brother watched her, trembling at the power of her ass peaking out from under that shirt, which eclipsed all power she had otherwise multiple times over. Her bikini bottoms hanging loosely from her hips.

As soon as the door, with it’s grass-skirted mascot, closed, your brother grabbed your kneecap, so quickly you jumped.

His eyes were wild, unlike you’ve ever seen before. “It’s in her drink,” he said, deliberate and hushed. And he looked over at it, the glass, sitting there in front of an empty red seat, fizzing, but otherwise immobile and innocuous.


You stared at it, your jaw hanging open. Your bottom lip started to quiver. When your brother finally said something, you turned over slowly and looked up at his forehead, unable to look directly into his eyes, which were now as wide as saucers.

Your brother: “He walked passed when the waiter was coming, walking like a… I don’t know what, and he dropped it in. I saw it. He did it. Before the waiter even got here. I don’t know how he didn’t see it, but he didn’t, it’s in there!”

You felt a few steps removed from the world around you, only the fizz from the coke coming through clear, which is why you were surprised when your brother said, “don’t look so excited. You’ve been waiting for this for too long to blow it now.”

The bathroom door opened up. Your brother continued: “I’m excited for you. It’s finally happening. Your dream.”

My dream,you thought, and your brothers lips saying just that flashed in your mind.

Your mom came back to the table, cutting through the silence of your brotherly solipsism, and scooched in, the coke fizzing below her, a deliberate and constant whimper on the table, which at any moment, could become a sudden bang.

She smiled with her chin up in the air, “let’s toast to my victory, shall we, boys?”

“We shall,” your brother confirmed and lifted his arm.

You gulped. “Yeah… to victory,” you said and you lifted yours, which suddenly turned into rubber in the air, and the cool, sweating glass hung from your grip spuriously, and its contents swayed, the cubes of ice rattling violently against the sides. Your brother looked over at you wide-eyed. Your mom’s face filled with inquisitive concern, subtle, waiting for the answer to your state to make itself clear to her within the coming moments.

Her focus was broken when your glasses clanked together and you knocked hers out of her dainty hand, causing it to crash to the table below, spilling its once-glorious guts and scattering them towards the four winds of the table top. The glass, now-emptied, with a thin horizontal column of rye and coke (and a little more than that) always at the lowest point of the circle, rolled along the table slowly, you all watched, then it tumbled off the edge and shattered when it met the cold, hard cement below.

You felt a knot pulled tight by muscular arms behind your face, and a look of uncontrolled terror and loss and mourning danced cruelly across it. Your brother whimpered audibly beside you when he noticed, wanting to cry when he saw you, your pain becoming his, or at least a shadow of your pain bubbled within him, the full amount beyond his grasp. But still, the horror of having to know what it was that was almost yours but was now gone, his insides were a tight, pitch-black cave with cold winds blowing through it now. All just from looking your way. He trembled to know that there was anything worse than what he was feeling right now, and shrunk at the knowledge that whatever that feeling was, it was manifest in you, being held within your familiar, thin frame, only inches from his. A world of shadows and black flame, leaking out through your face, not as is, but though a glass darkly. The as-is being something that no one should have to feel in a just universe.

“Noooo…” your brother said, trailing off into a painful wail as tears fell from his eyes.

A solitary tear traveled down your cheek.


You could feel the sensation of it, and nothing else.

Your mom looked at the both of you, her face contorted, waiting to release back into resting position by a comforting explanation that was never coming. “What’s wrong?” The inability to place it, or even guess at its inception, only multiplied the fear infinitely within the boundless depths of dark possibility. “What’s going on!?” she demanded from the two of you in a hoarse voice and she began to weep, all the stress from earlier that day returning as her new pain and fear’s partner in a fight that was already unfair to begin with.

You felt something inside of yourself. Something small, infinitely so, but it was getting larger and larger and expanded out into all directions, and then you felt it. The tears gushed out from your eyes and the walls and the seat beneath you and the table at your elbows all become loathsome and mean to you all at once.

The three of you just sat there, balling into the universe, not knowing what or where you were going, or why or if going was even an action worth taking. Maybe it all stopping now was the only way to crush the spiraling insanity and precipice-less pain. Just a sucking in, like hitting the off switch on an old tube TV, all being collecting at one point and then fading to black. A snap and then a blackness and an end to all hope and dreams and an end to all pain with it.

The waiter watched from the bar as you balled. So did the scattered islands of faces. All needing to know what your pain was, all recoiling at the vague thought of even asking. The three of you cried without shame or concern. You cried as if you were the only three pairs of eyes, crying for all the pain of the universe accumulated into three triangulated faces. You cried like lost astronauts twirling through space, solid matter years worth of journey in any direction. You cried like a child playing hide-and-go seek who carelessly locked himself within an old fridge in a junkyard, the kind that doesn’t open from the inside, and all he had left was the blackness of the fridge as practice for when the blackness of the void inevitably swallowed him too; his skill at his favorite game, and the purity of his follow-through, being the hand that took him from the color and sensation of life.

The crying rose and rose and rose, and reached its peak, sounding like a funeral in Lebanon, and then it hit its highest crest, like the last wave before the tides reversed, and the crying lowered and lowered, slowly becoming like a hum, dull and painful, ever-present, but without sharp edges, just a rolling on in and onward.

And then there was silence. Only sniffles breaking up the monotony of it. All three afraid to look at one another. All three in a state of calm. Unhappy and unsatisfied, and never daring to dream again, but calm none-the-less.

You all looked up at one another. Your eyes all red and your faces flush. Your brother’s face was the first one to go back to a state of normal. And when you saw that devilish effeminate smile, you swam toward it like a man lost at sea on nothing but a poker table from the ship’s bridge. Your mom snorted, comically. And you looked at her, and she looked back. Her eyes were red and appeared hurt, but they clutched to their former dignity, bravely. So brave they made you clutch to yours. You could feel your legs, wobbly and weak, but gaining strength on the sand below, as you pulled yourself up onto the beach next to a fleeing crab.

Your mom smiled. And there was nothing left for you to do but smile back. You had forgotten, at least in that little sliver of a moment, what it was that had even hurt you so, that had destroyed your soul, or at least sucked it into its vortex, showed it its end, mockingly and with laughter, and spat it back out to let it live what might be a full life with that black knowledge to tarnish the corridors and stairwells of living. But that was all gone now. It was your mom’s smile that had reestablished itself as the center of your solar system, and you looked at it to unify the planets in your heart. The smile that greeted you when you came home from school. That comforted you after being screamed at by your father for breaking one of his useless gadgets, and that woke you up in the mornings. That smile, the first welcoming face you had ever seen, notwithstanding a possible forgotten memory of the face of God. The one that greeted you when you came into this universe and the one that sat before you now, with more years and experiences on and forecasted by it, but still a-


It flew between you and your mom’s head in one quick stroke, so quickly, no neurons could fire in time to give you any idea just what it was, or what had happened in any shape, or direction, or description that things happened in.


And whatever it was, it had now planted itself into the wall next to your heads with a crunch of wood. All three of you looked at it, with wide eyes. It was like a thowing dart, feathers and all. But bulkier, and two thick to expect to throw it by hand. Deep within you, you could tell what it was, predict what was about to happen next, but because the language came second, your full awareness of what your primordial self knew was yet to-


It flew silently, almost majestic-like, into the unguarded flesh of your mom’s arm.

Her face contorted in shock, but no noise came out. You and you brother just stared at her, and it was her, of all people, who was the first to turn over, and trace the necessary trajectory to its starting point. She didn’t have to trace very far.

He stood there, his arm outstretched, with what looked like a firearm in his hand, with his finger within the trigger guard and the trigger pressed flush against the handle. In his getup, he would be comical under any other circumstances. But now his clownishness was demonic in nature, as if it stepped onto your porch, makeup, red hair and all, at 4 in the morning on a Tuesday night, grinning ear to large ear into your peephole.

You heard a shriek, and you turned over to see your mom, recoiling up onto the soft red leather of her booth seat, having just put two and two together and getting the unthinkable, math not normally being a feminine strong suit, not until the unlucky lady was face to face with the danger implied by what was usually an arcane and incomprehensible voodoo to her. His disguise was enough to shield him from her recognition when he was in the fuzzy edges of her peripheral vision, but seeing him head on, as he looked straight at her with those horrible, horrible eyes, re-awoke all the horror from earlier that day, which had felt so distant and far-removed up until this point, something that happened to her in another life, something she thought she could move past.


When the second wave of realization washed over her, namely, the realization of what he was here for, in what was effectively a flash flood, she jumped up on the seat, while still crouching, her thighs and calves and perched feet, along with the side profile of her ass, all framed all-too-conveniently by her shirt, gave you a visual reminder of what it was that was at stake, and what it was she was backing impotently into the cul-de-sac of the booth in order to desperately defend from the man who was but a few steps away from touching any part of it, and a few actions away on top of that from doing so much more than just touching.

And once he closed that gap, the dreamlike nature of her horror would come into sharp focus, as fleshy and real as her lower body itself.

The lower half in question trembled erotically. And then the other piece of her, likely also up for grabs in this winner-takes-all situation, her pretty and familiar face, warped into something so primal and shocking that you never thought anything like it could exist in nature. It was like something from the recurring dream of a maniac. Something half-seen even in that deranged context. She lifted her hands to her open mouth, as if anticipating it was about to be invaded by a loathsome and unwelcome foreign object.

You look back at the man, not just out of fear, but out of a strange curiosity to see what it was that sucked your mom into such dark twisting caverns sitting leagues beneath sea level.

He stood there, with his attention now at the weapon in his hands. His Groucho Mark mustache sitting lopsided on his face. He placed another dart within the gun and lifted it up to shoulder level, then he turned over and aimed it at your brother.

Your mom, suddenly, activated by an instinct as old as mammals themselves, jumped up onto the table and towards the line of trajectory that connected the wide, black barrel of that tranquilizer gun with your brother’s unguarded chest; the first dart still hanging from her arm, putting God-knows-what into her body, likely only working faster inside her thanks to her exertions spurred on by her motherly instinct.

Your brother, grabbed her arm and pushed her away from himself, causing her feet to meet the floor, and she stumbled forward away from the table.

“Mom!” you scream, and she looks back at you with frantic eyes as she tries to regain her balance, “Run!”

As soon as she turned around to do what you commanded, you cringed internally, just realizing what it was you did. Am I going to screw this up twice? you thought. It amazed you how much sober thought and deliberate action it took to get you this far, but how much mindless instinct, or inaccessible automatic process stashed in some hidden corner of the mind, put there by architects you’ve never met nor understood; how these were the factors which threatened to reverse all that you had gained within one fell swoop.

Your mom, likely because it was the direction she was pushed in, and because her feet were working to save her before her brain even knew how, ran in a diagonal direction from the table, putting herself within arm’s reach of her worst nightmare’s Kraken-like grasp.

You looked at him, and saw down the silver dollar-sized hole that was the barrel of his gun, with the little point of a dart at its center, prodding at your sight, its starting point as dark as your soul when you broke that glass with a careless toast. The center part of his index finger shielded by the trigger guard. His eyes focused and mean. His grin as cocked as the gun itself.

You shut your eyes in anticipation.

But then something told you to open them.

So you did, ready to face what was coming for you, almost brave in a way.

Your mom’s body, now more attractive in terror than it ever was in careless leisure, passed within his circle of influence, and without him ever taking an eye off you, or his index finger off of that trigger, extended his free left arm and grabbed, reaching with just the tips of his fingers, the waistband of your mom’s bottoms, which were made just loose enough for him to make it. And he curved his fingers into a hook, his grin doubling in width as he did, you had seen it.

And when the laws of physics dictated, and your mom’s bikini waist had become as taut as it could be, his arm jerked up and he was pulled by the weight of her big ass into her direction, his other arm being throttled perpendicular to you and a dart was fired into the head of one of the foozball players, who rattled in his place.

Your mom’s bottoms snapped in his hand.

Sweet.” your brother let slip out next to you, sending a flutter through your gut diagonally.

Your mom fell to the pillar on the outer corner, her big, white ass now free a second time, but to a completely new set of eyes. She put her palms on the column and struggled upwards, her feet nice and limber, thanks to you, but still struggling to bring her up so she could run.

“Right where I want you, bitch,” the man growled, amused, as he approached her confidently, almost as if he didn’t fear her getting up and getting away. “Where’s that fag you were with?”

Your brother chimed in, quietly, only you could hear it: “I’m right her- oh!” He looked over at you with that familiar devilish look in the corner of his mouth. “He means dad.

The man got up to your mom and slapped her humiliatingly on her defenseless, fleshy ass. She managed to regain her bearings, and she ran. The undignified motion of her nude body in flight was causing your cock to grow hard, and much like you, you could see her assailant’s cock become bigger in his neon-green trunks.

She’s getting away,” your brother exclaimed, both deliberately and quietly, sounding frustrated as well as eager. He ran out of the booth and you followed him. Before the man could start for her, another man, who was much more muscular with a shaved, almost military haircut, ran to him, with his family, a wife, a teenage son, and a 19-year old daughter, all foolishly following behind him.

“Stop!” yelled the busy-body, and the your mom’s assailant, rather than facing this behemoth head on, stepped around him and grabbed the respective bras of the man’s wife and daughter, and tugged them as he ran passed, ripping them from their fleshy thrones, and exposing two generations of double-d breasts to the shocked and shamefully intrigued onlookers. That was 4 big breasts sitting next to each other, begging to be compared by the mob like a before-and-after photo advertising the effects of age on a woman’s chest. Even their nipples, which were all erect now with fear, were the exact same color.

The son, shocked at seeing his mother’s and sister’s exposed nipples, stood there excited, both to see his first  and second pairs of breasts back to back, and also to see his family exposed like this in front of complete strangers like this by a strange man. All of this not long after he seen his first naked ass on a blonde and watched it jiggle as it passed him and fled down the walkway.

The dad pushed his daughter and wife out of the way and ran toward the fleeing assailant, but then hit smack dab into his gawking son, causing all four of them to fall to the floor, and all four unguarded tits to jiggle in the open air.

You and your brother were way ahead, sweating due to the double effects of the sun beating down on you and your exertion driving on from within. You were gaining on your mom. Her ass looked perfect, and the two of you, filled with adrenaline from on high, and arousal like you’ve never felt before, nor would ever feel again, knew that your chance would never come a third time.

You looked behind you as you galloped, and you saw him there, his mustache falling from his face, his hat gone, lying on the pavement, tiny and distant behind him, as he ran towards you at full speed. His grin still plastered to his face, finding this, with all its ups and downs and danger, for him if not for your mom, to be nothing but fun.

You turned around to face the path ahead, which lead to a bend in the walk, and suddenly, with a burst of unseen energy, you picked up your pace and managed to get side-by-side with your mom. You were able to put your hand on her shoulder, and right when she turned over to look at you, her eyes wide with terror and desperate hope, you stuck your left leg out right in front of her, feeling her smooth shin against your trembling calf, causing her to dive forward, right into the bush where the path turns.

All of her covered in bush, except for the soles of her feet, which stuck out comically, marking her place.

She didn’t get up again. It looks like the tranquilizer did its job. She was a naked treat, ready to be pulled from its hiding spot by her recently-massaged toes. She was like a golden-wrappered hershe’s kiss, ready to be savored in the mouth before being grinded to oblivion and swallowed.

You turned around and fell down to the grass next to her feet. You began removing your trunks as you watched the figure in the distance getting closer, and your brother said to you: “and you said you didn’t have it in you,” as he got down to sit on the other side of her feet.

Your trunks were at your ankles and your hard dick, 6 days deep, was hanging out. Your brother began removing his trunks as well, exposing his cock, which was almost as hard.

“Help me,” you said, and you grabbed your mom by the heel of her foot, and your brother the other foot, and the two of you dragged her out of her hiding place, both holding her by her thigh as you almost presented her perfect ass up to the approaching man.

The man, taking the verbal hint, didn’t say anything as he approached, slowing down now, smiling, with adhesive still attached to his upper lip. He just pressed his thumb into his trunks and pulled them down to his kneecaps, and he waddled, at the same pace of his walk, towards your mom. You and your brother both licking your lips at the monstrous nature of his cock, both for different reasons, yet you both loved it just as much. It was as if while watching a particularly wild porn movie on your laptop, the actor broke the fourth wall by plunging his cock through your laptop screen, into your universe, where it was ready to reak havoc on its inhabitants.

Is this really happening, you asked yourself, whimpering even within the controlled environment of your mind. He’s so close! Just reach out and touch it you beautiful bastard.

It swung passed your faces. He grabbed your mom from the two of you, whose ass was waiting in the air, plump and freshly baked, perfect for his arrival, and he flipped her on her front, and hunched over her face, oh so slowly. And just as you began to think it would never happen, like something or someone would come and pull the break on this express train, His balls touched her cheek. He began rubbing his cock and balls all over your mom’s face, all of it, causing you to groan “oh god!” with pleasure, and your brother to laugh. Your mom’s violator was laughing to himself openly as he did it, making sure to touch every inch of her still face with every inch of his throbbing genitals.

Then, as music somewhere off in the distance played, he got up into crouching position, his balls just touching your mom’s forehead, and he began dancing and gyrating just over her, getting his ass into it, and causing his balls and his dick to slap into her sleeping face sporadically. He then lifted both his feet into the air, and rolled a few inches backward, with his ass falling onto your mom’s face, engulfing it between the pillowy embrace of his butt cheeks, and grabbing her hair for leverage, he leaned back and putting his feet into the air, and just nearly missing you and your brother’s faces, he sat, almost on his shoulders, pulling your mom’s face deeper into his ass, which was now the highest part of his body as far as altitude, by her hair with his arm grabbing it between his thighs, gyrating comically. Your brother admired every muscle in his thigh, which was right next to your brother’s head.

“See the fun we can have when we have no faggots around to ruin it?” the man asked as he looked back and forth at the two of you upside down.

“Umm,” your brother said. “How do you feel about the… faggots… that don’t want to ruin the fun?” And then he grabbed onto the man’s thigh, as if unable to help himself any longer, and he began kissing its underside.

“Oh,” the man said as your brother willingly worshiped his thigh and your mom unwillingly worshiped his asscrack, “a faggot AND you want me to fuck your mom? This little lady here is your mom, correct?” He shook her head within his asscrack in order to emphasize that he was talking about her.

“Correct,” your brother said, taking a half second break from the man’s thigh, and floating up towards his testicles, “but my brother is the one who really wanted to see something like this.” He grabbed your mom by the back of her head and started shoving her into the man’s ass more. He looked over at you and started laughing, noticing that your dick throbbed every time your brother pushed your mom’s head. “Brother dearest, don’t blow your load just yet,” your brother said, “we have a whole day of fun ahead of us.”

“Fun” you repeated in an aroused stupor. “The whole day.”

Your mom’s face rubbed all through the man’s ass and then was free, as he collapsed to the floor, then starting from scratch, pulled himself up. “Well, you guys got a place here? Is that faggot whiteknight waiting for us there?”

“No,” your brother explained, “He’s out with the police, looking everywhere for you. Everywhere but here,”  and he laughed at the thought.

“Good, good. And will they be able to find us where we’re going? The staff I mean.“

“No, I don’t think so. We’re one out of hundreds of cabins. I don’t think they’d even know where to look.”

“Well, if they find us, I’ll hide in the closet and you can show them your mom sleeping soundly. Maybe leave to fill out another lengthy police report about the big bad man, and while you’re doing that, the big bad man can continue with mommy while you tell lies about what I look like and how big my cock is.”

Your brother reached over and caressed the dick in question, then as he used his other hand to lightly lift up the head of yours, he said “it’s not often you get to see two hard cocks on straight guys in the same place, just in inches away from each other.”

Your eyes rolled back into your head. That was the first time anyone had ever touched your exposed cock.

The three of you grabbed your mother, making moving her along the walkway an easy task. Even with her shapely ass, which was bobbing and rippling, each independent cheek, between the three of you, she was as easy to move with help as the pointer on a Ouija board.

When a group of college-aged men rounded the corner and stopped dead, their eyes wide, the three of you passed them, making sure to give them quite a view. “Sorry,” your brother said, “mom had a little to much to drink. We’re just getting the ole’ girl home so daddy can have a little fun.” He slapped her ass as he said “ole’ girl.”

The jocks were excited. Those of them who had girlfriends with them, or dates that night, were going to take out the springlike energy of what you had just pumped them with on the open ass that was available to them, which was significantly less appetizing in shape, color, or the novelty of its release to them. When they got to the corner to turn off, they turned around to watch the four of you until you disappeared in the opposite direction. They then shook their heads in amused disbelief and walked off.

When you finally got to the door of your cliff-side cabin, what was happening had finally set in on you like the treads of a bootprint in mud. Your brother let go of your mom’s calves, causing her feet to fall and trail on the ground, as he searched through his pockets for his room key eagerly, panting quietly as he did.

You held your mom there next to you, warm in your hands, as you waited for your brother. Behind you, two middle-aged women were passing. You and the other half of your mom’s support looked over at them. “Hey ladies,” he said, confidently, with an air of concern and Samaritan goodness in his voice, “watch your drinks if you’re going to the bar. My wife was drugged. She only had one ginger ale and now she’s like this.”

The woman kept looking, with vulnerable concern at the two of you, and your brother finally pulling out his key card.

The man continued: “We’re lucky we noticed in time. Three men were carrying her off when we came back from playing foozball. We approached them and yelled and they scattered and went God-knows-where. Just to think that those perverts almost took the love of my life from me like that. Just imagining what they’d be doing to her now…” he lightly caressed her bare sunlit ass with the tips of his fingers, and then he took in a deep, sad sigh, and looked back at the women with a hand above his brows, “just be careful ladies.”

“….sure” one of them offered.

You heard your room door open up behind you.

“You promise?” the man asked the woman.

“Yeah,” she said.

“Good,” he said, and he lifted your mom up on his shoulders, tearing her from your grip, and subtly, for only a fraction of a second, he pulled her butt cheeks apart, and let go just as quickly. The women walked off with the subliminal image of your mom’s asshole in their heads, neither feeling comfortable asking the other “did we just see what I think we saw?”

Your brother stepped inside the shade of the room and stood sideways, parallel with the open door in his hand. He then lifted one open palm into the air, gesturing for the two of you to come in, and he used the other to pull his swimming trunks down, letting his cock spill out. “Nice room for your honeymoon, isn’t it?”

The man smiled and he lifted your mom up in his hands, holding the full length of her body up in the air with his palms, and he threw your mom a few feet up into the air in an arc motion, making her land squarely on the couch. You marveled at the fact that you just saw your mom soaring through the air naked, which was something you didn’t even know you were interested in seeing until now. Her ass was unfortunately facing towards the back of the couch as she landed, so you didn’t get to see it jiggle with impact like her thighs did.

You pulled down your damp trunks, wet with the perspiration of worry, excitement, and physical exertion, and once they hit the carpet, you made sure to step out of the little tunnels of their legs and kick them aside. You were free from their oppressive grasp for the rest of the day. Your brother admired your throbbing cock, which was now harder than he had ever seen it, your face expressing something to him beyond words. “Is it everything you thought it would be?” he asked.

“Yes.” you grunted out, as feverishly as it was laconic.

His cock twitched at your pleasure. He was more horny now just knowing that you were about to get what you wanted for so many years than he had ever been horny for anything else, even more than when he found his bully passed out drunk on a friend’s couch and he gave him head in his sleep. “Mom’s body really is special, isn’t it?” he said, as he stepped behind you and pulled you closer to him by your hips, his cock resting on the top of your left butt cheek, its head pressing into the small of your back. He whispered into your left ear. “That’s what I feel like when I see you naked,” and he laughed nervously. “Now you know.”

You turned back to look at him as the man knelt down and kissed your mom’s exposed ass. “I’ll let you suck me off,” you said. “Just not now. I always wanted to jerk off for this. That’s how I had it in my head for years. I want it to be perf-” and you stopped, feeling self-conscious about your pretensions.

Your brother smiled, “do you, you crazy diamond.” He kissed you on your cheek. “By the way, I always wanted to ask you to do it. But now I want to watch our mom being ravished, I don’t want to be staring at your pubes all day, thank you very much.”

You both laughed and turned around.

“Violating a woman’s space never gets old,” the man said, and he lifted your mom’s naked ass over him, and then down onto his cock. She slid down onto it until her thighs reached his and his balls were tight against her butt crack. The full length of his cock was swallowed by her being completely.

Time stood still in that moment. You felt the shocking sensation of nostalgia and familiarity, as if what you were seeing something you had already seen before, or as if it looked exactly as it did now in multiple dreams about this day, dreams you forgot the moment you opened your eyes on any given morning after to hear your mom whistling in the kitchen. Dreams washed away by the smell of bacon and the sight of sunlight.

Your looked down at the heaven, his tight pink-beige balls, sitting underneath your mom’s impossibly large ass. Her impossibly shaped ass. Her impossibly hued ass. And best of all, her impossibly available ass. You soaked it all in, knowing that you would only get to see it once. Knowing that the memory would rot and become generic with time. Your mom’s bare ass fading into the ass of pornstars, or, if possible, any future woman you’d have the luck to sleep with. But in this moment, none of it mattered. In this moment, you were here, and your brother and your mom were here with you. Your brother, your mom and this man.

You heard a flapping noise behind you, and you turned to see your brother going to town on himself, enjoying the man’s cock and thighs first, your mom’s ass as its supplementary piece, just as you enjoyed the opposite. You turned back around to see that the fun had started without you.

You whimpered effeminately.

You started tugging.

Within seconds, you could feel it coming over you, just like so many times before, but now more so. 6 days of buildup and 8 years of fantasy all coming to sweet fruition, combined with the buildup of tight pressure from all the stress of the longest day in your life, your hips, your balls, your toes, all tight and ready. And then the feeling of your balls tightening more so and what can only be described as nirvana all through you as you watched another male body, capable of all the same sensations within it as what you were experiencing now, enjoying your mom in the most intimate way. Your brother, knowing exactly what was coming just by looking at you, placed a wad of 5 consecutively stacked tissues, which he hastily ripped from the tissue box beside him, over the tip of your cock, which erupted into it with thick white cum, which, even through all the layers, managed to pool up at the top of the tissue stack.

“Thanks man,” you said, without stopping your tugging motion, and with the other hand you grabbed his wrist to communicate to him that you were done. He pulled the tissues away, which were trailed by a thick, warm rope of cum, which broke off and fell back onto your cock and lap. You used it to moisten up your still-hard dick.

You never stopped the rhythm of your tugs, not wanting to, as you were still horny. You felt like you could never not be horny.

Your brother, having never seen you in such a trancelike state, kept looking over to steal glances at you. Not too long after he grunted out “here she comes,” and you watched with a smirk as he shot his warm load out onto the air in a handful of separate vollies, each at different velocities. They fell into the carpet below, nice and thick and white. He continued to tug himself until he was rid of every last drop, and he thrusted his hips forward erotically a few times before finishing, his face in those moments devoid of its usual composed and self-aware dasterdlyness and now replaced with a goon-like vulnerable simplicity. When he was finally done going through that tunnel of ecstasy, he kicked his feet out and said “whoooo! That was a great one,” and he put his hands behind his head and leaned back on the couch.

The man looked over the bouncing vista of your mom’s ass and said “you guys are really a lot more cool than your dad.” He grabbed your mom’s butt cheeks and pulled them apart with the fullness of his palms, his face red and his voice trembling as he thrusted into the sweetness of your mom. “You might be gay, but you’re not faggots.” He looked into your mom’s face, which was resting peacefully on his chest. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, bitch. Now look where that got you,” he said, arrogantly, and slapped her ass nice and hard.

“Tell me about it,” your brother said, as his cock started to become hard again. “Toll paid, I guess.”

“Toll paid,” the man repeated and smiled, then his face started to let loose, in a state between complete focus and total disassociation, and in moment, it shifted into a Bachic display of ecstasy, and he lifted your mom’s shapely ass off of himself and he began stroking his cock as your mom’s ass sat on his stomach and hips, not long after doing so, he came, thick wholesome wads, all over your mom’s bountiful ass cheeks. “Aaagghghhhhh!” like the echo of a giant, it tumbled out of his mouth, “ohhhh ffucccckkkkk!” Your mom milked those sounds from the teat of his mouth just as effortlessly a she milked his cum from the barrel-like storage of his balls.

“Amazing!”“ your brother exclaimed, and he looked over at you, “he just turned mom’s ass into a Jackson Pollock painting!”

When the artist was done with his magnus opus, he just held her there, then he repeated: “toll paid,” and he grabbed her by her hips and extended his arms, which he then lowered again and then pushed upwards in an alley-oop motion, causing her to somersault over the back of the couch and land out of sight behind him.

Your brother turned over to you. “Mom should be in Circe Du Soleis, hey?”

“Oh yeah,” the man said, excited, “would you like to see her really fly?”

You just kept tugging on yourself, your brother only having the wherewhithal to ask, with a strange lack of confidence in his voice that you weren’t used to hearing: “what do you mean?”

“Here, let me show you?“ He got up on the seat and leaped over the back of the couch. He opened up the screen door and he knelt down behind the couch, coming back up with your mom on his shoulder, and, after steadying her there, stepped out onto the balcony, which was overlooking a 12 story drop into formless wilderness below.

“No, no, no!” yelled your brother, as he shot up over the couch and ran towards your mom. You just sat there, continuing to jerk off, unable to stop, not wanting to tamper with the heaven before you, no matter what form it took. In some quantum realities, ones where your brother tripped on his way to the balcony, or maybe where he didn’t cum before this moment, the man was able to make it to the railing, smile to himself, look back at the both of you with that same smile, and turn his face back around. Then, without pause or reflection, he underhand tossed your mom into the air, over the reach of the balcony’s railing and down passed it with nothing to cup or restrain her as she fell.

Her body tumbled through the air majestically, in each quantum universe flipping about in different patterns and directions, and her flesh rippled with the force of gravity in infinite ways as her limbs floated by her side, before she finally fell into the hidden canopy down below, shrouding her in its mystery. And in those realities, you came a second time.

But this wasn’t one of those realities. In this reality, your brother caught up to the man, “whoah, whoah, whoah, what are doing, you psychopath!?

The man turned around and hoisted your mom up further on his arm so his right hand was free, and he grabbed your brother’s dick, which was made half hard from all the excitement. “If I wasn’t,” he started, “would you love me this much?”

Your brother laughed. “You’re unbelievable!”

The man jerked off your brother, bringing his cock close to your mom, touching it’s tip against the side of her ass. “I have an idea,” he said. “Since you seem to love your mom so much, why don’t you show it by fucking her?”

“Fucking her!?”


“But…” he said, scrambling for a reason why he shouldn’t, “I’m gay!”

“How do you know?”

“Because I like cock! What do you mean?”

You were still sitting inside, tugging on yourself as you watched them, both standing uncomfortably close to the other, with your mom sandwiched between them, her head resting on the man’s shoulder, as he deliberated with your brother over the ultimate fate of her vagina, and the issue of what else it would be filled with today.

“Well, have you ever touched a pussy?”

“No,” your brother said indignantly.

“So how are you sure you wouldn’t like it?”

Your brother laughed. “Sweetheart, I think you’re on to something. I knew I liked you fro a reason.” He pulled the man closer, and your mom with him, and he enjoyed the sensation of the side of her ass pressed against his aching penis.

He watched your mom’s body, hungry for it, as they came back in to the couch. The man parted your brother from the comfort of your mom’s open flesh and had him sit down on the couch.. “Oh, you’re nice and hard. Just perfect,” he said. “Look out below!” and he held onto the last syllable as if you were all hearing it from someone who was in the process of falling down a mine shaft, and he lowered your mom’s ass over your brother’s rock-hard dick.

When her pussy wrapped around it, and he felt it slide down the length of his member, he let out a moan. “Ohhhh, mmmmmm, so this is what it feels like? I think I get it.”

He grabbed your mom by her hips and rocked her up and down over his shaft. He picked up the pace until it was official. You were now watching your brother fuck your mom. Her ass jiggled over top of him, looking just as good as it did over the cock of the man. You could see it on your brother’s face that he was enjoying it.

He grabbed her head and brought it close to him, kissing her on the lips. “What a hot dish you are, mom.” he kissed again, probing between her lips with his tongue until he found hers. “If all women were like you, mom, I think I’d go straight more often.” He grabbed her ass cheeks and spanked her right one. “It’s like an asshole, but – ohhhhhh that’s good – sweeter, if that makes any sense. By the way,”  he said, and he grabbed mom’s butt cheeks and pulled them apart while looking at you, “how does her asshole look?”

“Scrumptious,” is all you said, speaking more articulately with you feverish monkey-like masturbating.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, and then you were lifted up by it. “Why don’t you go and get a taste of it then?” the man said, and he pushed you towards your mom.

You always feared you’d be a virgin for the rest of your life. It looks like that fear was unfounded. You got behind your mom and you pressed your hard cock against the gate of her exposed asshole as your brother held her giant butt cheeks apart in anticipation. It was like a balloon knot against your dick head. You pressed in further and whimpered, not expecting it to feel so good against the head of your cock. You pushed deeper, popping the entire cockhead in, and you continued until you were half way down your shaft, the surrealism of it hitting you all at once, as impossible to ignore as the tight sensation of the titanic weight of your mom’s ass closing in on your cock in literally all directions, measured to the fraction of a decimal point. It was like your cock was at the center of the earth, where only softness and beauty existed without our knowledge.

You pressed deeper, feeling it wrap around your dick all the way up to your balls. And you could just barely feel your brother’s balls below, and like braille, you could feel the part where your mom’s butt cheeks met, the covetous ass crack, against your unexpecting scrotum, which trembled with pleasure.

You just stood there, submerged in your mom, not moving, looking out at the view, the sun low and orange in the distance. You looked down at your mom, her face without deliberateness or competence, eyes barely open. You grabbed the back of her hair, her head bobbing as your brother pumped into her pussy from below her, and you pulled her head up. And when you had the perfect view of the side-profile of her face, you lowed your head to hers and began licking her. First her cheek, then her nose, then her eyelids and her forehead. Her chin and her lips. You made sure to part them and lick her tongue and her teeth.

lalalalalala” came out of your mouth as you rocketed your tongue in and out of it. You never learned how to kiss. By why would you want to? This was so much better.

“Brother,”  yours said, “you are such a fucking pig! I love it,” and her wrapped his arms around your mom, and his hands around your ass and pulled them against the threesome, and then let you go again, trying to get you to start pumping and sharing in the bounty neither of you thought you’d ever want.

You followed his orders, and your mom’s insides rewarded your for it. Your eyes rolled back into your head, as every inch of your cock exploded with tight pleasure and your pelvis was filled with the cheeks of her ass, which disappeared from, and reappeared into, its sensitive grip.

“I’m cumming,” your brother whimpered.

“I am too,” you whimpered, somehow more effeminately.

“Get up!” he said urgently, and as you did, depriving your cock of the warmth inside her, he laid your mom sitting up on the couch, her head laid on the back. The two of you jumped up on the cushions, no time to spare, and you aimed toward her face as you tugged on yourselves. And only seconds apart, two separate sets of hot liquid cum vollies landed on it, causing it to twitch with confused annoyance and do not much more than that.

“Dude,” your brother said as he slapped you on your ass. “There are thousands of little me’s and you’s on her face now.”

The man, who you had both forgotten existed at this point, laughed. “Now can I throw her off the balcony?”

“No!” your brother yelled back.

“Wow! You guys are pretty boring for a couple of queens. Can I at least piss on her face.”

Your brother looked over at you. “What did we do to deserve this? I think one of the guys I blew at some point must have been God.”

You both watched as he pissed on your mom in the shower. Then you turned on the shower head to clean her off, and while you were in there, you decided to test drive your mom’s pussy as the man test drove your brother’s asshole next to you. You held the back of your mom’s knee caps in your hands as you pumped into her, her back against the shower’s dripping wall, trying to learn how to kiss while you were at it. When you came into your mom, you dropped her back down onto her dainty feet and you held her body close to yours and kissed her forehead and nose, and soaked in her face an inch away from it, knowing that even this was impossible under normal circumstances.

You continued to soak all of her in and kiss her chin and her cheeks as you held her up so the man could go in for seconds. Her body smashed into yours with each of her pumps, and her head bobbed. You held her lovingly, promising yourself that you’d always hold this memory, it was the way you always wanted to remember her.

You all crashed on the couch. You didn’t mean to, but you were all so tuckered out. When you opened your eyes again, you were surprised to see your brother laying across from you, smiling knowingly as he looked directly into your eyes, making it clear that what had happened was no beautiful dream, but an even more gorgeous reality. A knowing smile. Like two men from the same war, made brothers by your common experience. You then both looked over at the other couch.

It was empty.

You looked back at your brother. His eyes wide with terror.

Your brother shot up. “Mom!?”

You both got up and looked at each other. And you could see the exact moment on each other’s face when the thought occurred to you both. You turned over to look at the balcony, and you saw him standing there, ass-naked, smoking.

He turned around to face you, slowly. A terrifying grin on his face from ear to ear.

Your brother just looked at him, pleadingly.

He finally opened his mouth: “You should have seen her fly.”

You and your brother just stood there, trying in vain to process it. Your brother’s face, though still touched with terror, was less touched than before. Almost as if the terror of what he thought happened was worse than the reality. He stood there, looking at the ground, and he grabbed his cock, which, like yours, had grown hard underneath his contemplative face. He started stroking it as he sighed sadly.

You did the same to yours.

You both felt really good in a strange way, and you could see it in each other without looking for signs of it directly in each other’s faces.

As you both stroked, the memories of your mom helping you tear open wrapping paper at your birthday, and helping you blow out your candles, or sitting down with you in the kitchen to help you with your homework, became vivid in your respective minds’ theaters, and your brother’s face was the first to show it. You looked up from his hand tugging his hard prick to see his face red and his eyes wet and like glass, shimmering solemnly, his bottom lip quivering.

You followed in this display, remembering the sensation of your mom cuddling next to you, keeping you safe from your bad dreams, in the dead of the night, with only the sound of crickets, your dad’s snoring from their room, and the slight breathing of your mom next to your ear.

You were torn out of your sad nostalgia by piercing laughter. You both looked out at the balcony. “Jesus,” he said, before taking another pull of his cigarette. “Look.” He pointed towards the outer wall of the building, which was just around the wall from where you were both standing. “You guys are such pussies. ‘Oh, my mom died. Whose makeup and high heels am I going to wear now!? Ohhh.’

You both ran outside and rounded the corner to see your mom lying there, naked from the waist down and clean as a whistle. A complete angel, here with you on earth.

Still with you on earth.

Your brother lifted her up and you both began hugging her, not wanting to ever let her go.

You dragged her inside, making sure to keep her away from the man, who just stood there and laughed at the two of you. “Fruitcakes, man. I swear.” He flicked his cigarette off into the empty air, and it spun as it fell down and disappeared within the canopy of tree tops.

Before he left that day, you brother asked him for his phone number. He said, “Oh, I don’t think you’ll need it. I have a feeling you’ll be meeting me again some day. Somewhere with a climate much hotter than this place.” And then he began laughing, deep and hard, his eyes mean with imp-like glee.

You and your brother felt a chill run through you and the sky grow dark.

He stopped laughing. “No, just kidding. I’m not giving my number to a faggot. Fuck off,” and he stepped out of the front door and walked off through the resort.

You both tucked your mom into bed and you kissed her on the cheek. Your brother left the room, and you, now that he wasn’t there, pulled her covers back down, exposing her upturned ass. Your brother, as a gay man, had no idea how painstakingly perfect this thing was. It was a source of madness as much as a source of pleasure, to everyone, including you. You got down on your knees and gave it a few more kisses. Then you thought this will probably be the last time I’ll ever get laid again, and you got up on the by your knees and you straddled your mom’s ass. You pressed your cock into her vagina from behind and you fucked her in what the kids call the pronebone position, licking the side of her face while going “lalalalala” as you did, your mouth making wet sounds as it slapped against your teeth.

You finished inside her, the spoon of your pelvis receiving the fullness of her butt cheeks as you did, and then you pulled the covers over that sacred ass, walked to the door, looked back at her peaceful sleeping face, said “sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite,” shut off the light, and closed the door.

You came out to see your brother sitting on the couch, with his legs pulled up underneath himself, waiting for you. “You probably couldn’t hear it over the sound of you buggering mom, but dad called. He said he’ll be back here in an hour. I told him mom is fast asleep.”

“Good,” you said.

“Exactly. That means we still got an hour,” he said. “And an hour is a mighty long time.” He got up and past you and opened mom’s door. He stood in the doorway and looked back at you, and asked without irony or embellishment “you wanna watch me fuck mom’s face?”

You both went into the room and closed the door. For the next thirty minutes, the bed in your mom’s room squeaked audibly through the bedroom door. And then there was silence. The door opened with the two of you standing there, carrying your cum-spattered mom. You took her to bathroom and shut the door behind you, where one standing on the other side of the door would hear the sounds of the shower and muffled cacophony of brotherly cooperation

Then the door opened back up, and you shut off the lights, and the two of you carried your mom back to her room and shut her door, through which, for the next fifteen minutes, the sounds of strange questions and statements like “do you think we can make her do a full 360 before she hits the bed?” followed by the sounds of male exertion, then by the sounds of pillowy impacts and springs squeaking violently, and always topped off with either “yeaahhh!” or “awwwwww!”

You both sat in the dark, sleeping in the same single bed, holding onto each other, as you heard your dad open and close the front door. You saw the light under your room door and you saw it go out. He opened his bedroom door, and you heard him kneel down by your mom and kiss her on her head. You heard her groggy moaning.

“It’s okay, beautiful. Go back to bed. It’s alight.” He you heard the sound of the covers against his flesh. “It’s okay. I’ll never let anything bad happen to you. I swear.”

And part of you, a little piece (a little piece which your brother could feel from you in the dark), felt a tinge of guilt for what the two of you did. And then you heard that familiar sound. The sound of his rough palm being dragged across her soft skin. Being dragged in a circular motion. “And nobody’s going to take this guy away from me,” he said to your sleeping mom’s backside before the quiet air was pierced by a smacking noise, and then the sound of the side-table lamp being clicked off.

You gripped onto your brother’s arm unconsciously.

The next thing you heard was your brother’s whispering voice in your ear. “Toll paid.”

Toll paid, you thought. And as soon as you shut your eyes, peaceful sleep took over.


You came back from the podium, red-faced and sweating after giving the most awkward and poorly delivered best man speech in all of wedding history. You sat down in your seat and looked over at your brother, who smiled at you approvingly. You shrugged your shoulders and he shot back at you with that smile he was known for. The man who apparently loved that smile more than anybody looked passed his new husband over at you, and gave you a polite smile. You knew what he thought of the speech, and you knew he was too nice of a guy to let you know.

Suddenly a clatter of silverware against glass shattered the solipsism of your embarrassment, and you clumsily joined in on the ritual with your spoon against your teacup. Your brother and his newlywed husband kissed passionately. You looked down to see your mom smiling up at your brother and laughing joyfully. Next to her sat an empty seat.

A few minutes later, your mom and your brother had the dance floor to themselves, twirling around one another. All the guests, those not on your side of the family (which was mostly from your mom’s half of that equation), took the opportunity provided to them by this touching mother-son moment to get a good, shameless look at your mom’s ass in her silver dress. Many of those men with their hopes up, thinking she was single after noticing she had no one else with her that night. Their hopes would be dashed to the rocks when she’d tell them she was married. When some of them naively asked why her husband wasn’t there, she’d shrug and say “he couldn’t make it. He had serious business to attend to,” and she’d stand there, hoping they’d believe it.

Some of them being so sheltered from how most of the world still thought about unions like your brother’s and his husband’s, that they just stood there looking down at her, with their hands on her back, not understanding what kind of man misses out on his son’s wedding.

As the night wore on, and guy after guy went home sad and empty-handed, after being so sure that God would pull them a solid this night, and let it end off with two palmfulls of those fleshy buttcheeks trembling in the dark with them, and the revelation of what your mom’s sweet voice sounded like in moments of acute pleasure and privacy; your brother exited a hotel room on the second floor.

He looked around quickly and adjusted his tie, noticing that the hallway had filled up with drunk wedding-goers on either side, he decided to try to look inconspicuous. He looked over one way to see nobody looking in his direction, but when he looked over the other way, he gasped.

Your dad was standing there, dressed-to-the-nines, and at a time when the party was winding up to its natural end. He looked at your brother, and slowly  walked up the hallway towards him. Your brother stood there, his heart beating in his chest.

When your dad got there, he just stopped, looked at your brother in the eye, and lifted his hand up, open, in front of him. “Congratulations, my son,” he said.

Your brother just looked at him, shocked. Not just at the gesture, but at the realization, transmitted through every fiber of your dad’s aura, that he was being sincere. Your brother lifted his hand to meet your father’s. “Thanks, dad,” he said, softly.

Your dad’s eyes were watering as he spoke. “I talked to your boyfr- your husband down there. I don’t think he knew who I was. I hear he’s a veterinarian. He seems like a great guy,” your dad’s voice cracked slightly. “I’m proud of you, son. It’s not guaranteed in this life that you’ll find someone who loves you like me and mom love each other. I’m just glad you did.”

They both stood there, silently. Finally, your brother spoke. “Thanks, dad,” was what he said, not having the words for anything else.

Your dad just stood there, eyes watering. He smiled and tapped your brother on his elbow. “Come by and visit some time. Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t,” your brother said, and smiled.

Your dad smiled, took one last look at him for the night, turned around, and walked down the hall.

A solitary tear fell from your brother’s eye. He wiped it away before your dad turned around to smile at him before rounding the corner. Your brother stood there, surrounded by a light sprinkle of familiar faces. His bottom lip quivered and he lifted his hand to his smiling mouth as the tears fell.

After your brother collects himself, he puts his hands in his pocket and realizes that his phone isn’t there. He turns around and goes back into the room. A naked, middle-aged man is sitting on the bed. “please don’t tell my son what we did! Please!”

Your brother snapped at him as he passed through the room to get to the dresser, “we’ve been over this! Do you think I want a divorce 12 hours into married life? Give it a few years first. Sheesh. I’m more worried about you. You look like the type to – what do they say – fold under questioning?”

“Just please don’t!”

“Yeah, yeah,” your brother said as he stepped out of the room.

A few weeks later, you and your mom and your dad are sitting in the living room, watching the local news, one member short. Your most colorful and eccentric member.

The pretty woman on the TV says, now with a put-on sombre look on her face, “and in other news, a new craze that’s slowly turning into an epidemic across the western world.”

“That’s right, Susan. The issue of date rape drugs like pink flutter and blue velvet has been an issue for years now, and we’ve done many reports through that time to inform you, our audience, to leave you hopefully better educated in order to defend yourself and those you love. But in tonight’s news, we’re here to tell you about a startling new trend involving these substances taking America by storm. Here’s Bill with the report.”

As the report played, excessive in its needless sensationalism, you began to feel the heat rising to your face uncontrollably.

“And why has no criminal case been brought to court?” the reporter asked a uniformed police sergeant.

“In order for it to be brought to court, the victim has to press charges.”

“Any they don’t?” the reporter inquired quizically.

“Not after they find out that it was their son who drugged them, no,” he said, and he shifted in his chair uncomfortably.

“And what about these video, then. Why haven’t they been removed?”

“The platforms that host this content refuse to remove it on request. They-”

“And that’s legal?”

“It’s legal until the victim says it isn’t.”

The reporter sat there in his chair, in a state of mock-bafflement, the likes of which could have been removed for the sake of time were it not so vital for the shameless theatrics of the report. “So then why don’t they say it isn’t legal? What’s taking the so long?”

“If they bring in the law, whether a criminal case or a lawsuit, the son necessarily comes under our jurisdiction.”

“So he could be held responsible then?”

“Correct. And no mom wants to put her son behind bars.”

Your mom gasped. “I don’t believe this is real. This has to be fake news. No son would ever do that to his mom.” You looked over at her, her disbelief radiated from her essence as she looked over at the corner.

When your dad started in, your turned your head, seeing his enraged eyes, which matched the tone of his voice, which came in a low growl. “No, honey. There are some sick fucks out there.”

“I don’t believe it,” your mom said. “I’m sorry, I just don’t. No son would do that to his mo-”

“Baby! There are some sick fucks out there. All hopped up on the internet and porn and all this sick liberal shit. All hopped up on ritalin or thorazine. People who used to have it beat out of them until all this anti-bullying shit, or people we removed from society by taking them out back and putting a bullet in them. That’s who! Animals! Fucking sick animals that need to be put down! They have no respect for anybody. Not even their own mothers!”

The room was silent. Your mom afraid to say anything. You just looked over at your dad’s bright red face, his lips pursed, clutching onto the remote control like he was hanging off the railing overlooking the grand canyon. Your face contorted into an uncontrollably dirty look, the likes of which he would have recognized if he decided to look your way.

You got up and headed back to your room, feeling your father get farther and farther down the hallway until you got to your room. You shut the door behind you and you got on your bed. You pulled your pants and underwear down, exposing your hard cock. You began jerking it off. Jerking it off with nobody to watch. Just you alone.

You reached under your bed and pulled out your fleshlight. You placed it over your cock and you thrust it in, trembling as it engulfed your swollen member. You got it down to your balls and you started fucking it as you recalled that sacred memory in the shower, your mom’s body next to yours, bumping into you as she took it from behind.

The fleshlight felt nothing like your mom. But it beat your hand. It was hard going back to the old days after tasting that sweet crevice. As you pumped into the device, you imagined your dad, mounted behind your mom, fucking her with all the passion of that pent up rage against people whose lifestyle he didn’t understand.

The hypocrite – the dinosaur with no self-awareness – obliterating your mom’s fleshy behind like it was a piece of meat. The privileged douche, experiencing, and expressing himself through, his sexuality without society putting a microscope to it and picking it apart. Experiencing the private bedroom bliss, feeling entitled to experience in peace the way he felt entitled to your mom’s fat ass. Possibly getting head from her with her ass up on the couch so he could look at it and slap it. Getting head, a practice that used to be illegal in most states, with his insufferable face grunting and grinning. Your mom’s ass his prize for following the rules and never accepting any novel thoughts in his little pea-brain.

You wish you could see him, as the local S.W.A.T. team gears up and kicks his stupid door down. He won’t be so satisfied then. The officers grinning behind their masks as they handcuff your nude and trembling mom, and your dad standing aside, impotently losing his mind as they do.

But your dad would never experience that. After all, he was having sex the “right way.”

As you steered your thoughts back to more pleasant pastures – namely: the memory of your mom’s ass on that couch, the balcony behind them with the heavenly sky, the sun shining through a single cloud – the joy of orgasm starts to rear its pretty head just as you have one final comforting thought: you might not be able to teach an old dog new tricks. But all old dogs eventually die, giving room for new dogs to take their place. New dogs with new tricks.

You cum into your fleshlight blissfully. You let it fall to your bedside and roll along the carpet. You shut off your bedside lamp and you pulled the covers over yourself.

You nestled your head into your pillow and shut your eyes. And that night, just like every night from now on, you slept like a baby.