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.

“Sure.”

“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.

ttttsssssssssss

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.

Alone.

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-

Ttttthhhhhwwwwwwoooooooppppppp!

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.

Cccccrrrraaauuuccckkk!

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-

Ttttthhhhhwwwwwwoooooooppppppp!

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.

Nope.

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!?”

“Yeah.”

“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.

Epilogue

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.

On the Other Side of the Wall

You don’t know of anyone who is anywhere near as adored as you mother is. This adoration was two-fold. Adoration for who she was (her personality), and adoration for what she was (her body and face). You could relate to the first locus of the universal regard for her easily enough. It came as quickly to you as consciousness itself did. There was never a time, at least none you could remember, where your mom’s wonderful psychic being wasn’t everything to you. Your sun in that sense. And at night time, your North Star.

The second source of flowing adoration for her, being her gorgeous face and soft-white body, came to you with puberty, when suddenly, and without warning, the sight of your teacher, Mrs. Zobraya, bending over the desk to reach your class’s freshly marked tests, was all of a sudden the greatest image you could imagine seeing.

Suddenly, you found it very easy to relate, and sympathize with, what it was the rest of the male gender felt for your mom. There was a one-two punch in your head. Two revolutionary notions. They came to you in this order, overlapping each other at their at the point where each thinned out: “I want Mrs. Zobraya’s ass more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life,” and “men want my mom’s ass the way I want Mrs. Zobraya’s ass. It’s the exact same feeling, and they’ve been feeling it for her my entire life.”

And because those two thoughts came at the same time, the twin fantasies were developed together: You straddling over Mrs. Zobraya’s upward facing ass, and plunging into it like it was perfect jacuzzi water in the cup of your pelvis, and feeling all it had to give, which was a lot, judging by the size of it. Likewise, the thought of your gym teacher doing the same to your mom. His muscles and white flesh, with all his light blonde peach fuzz glowing on his legs and stomach, behind your mom’s soft rump, pumping into it in the sunlight that was let into her room through the horizontal slats of the blinds. My god, both thoughts were just heaven to you.

You would play with your dick thinking about these ideas, sometimes not being able to separate them. Your mom’s body would become Zobraya’s and vice-versa, leading you to often imagine your gym teacher fucking Mrs. Zobraya, which was nice. A little bit more than nice actually. But the first time you ever had an orgasm, and what an orgasm it was, was to the thought of your mom being had by your gym teacher. You just hated him so much, and feared him even more, so the thoughts of the his naked body, which you feared and hated every inch of, from the top of his blonde head, down to the orange soles of his big feet, all of it enjoying your mom’s heavenly body for an end the universe must’ve known was evil, it was just too much not to love.

And as you graduated high school, the thoughts of Mrs. Zobraya faded with your contact with her. Her ass was like a dream. Vivid and gorgeous when in recent memory, but gone like the sands in the top half of the hourglass by the two exterminating blades of time and gravity. But you would never lose contact with your mom, her ass would sometimes come within inches of your face or thighs on a near-daily basis, so the thoughts of her being taken by the world full of men who felt they needed her, your greatest revelation, one that swooped down on you riding the violent wings of fleshy puberty, flooded your mind like your cum would flood tissue or white sock.

Your mom would pick up your white socks from your bedside and take them with the rest of you clothes down to the laundry room. There was no way she didn’t know what you were doing with those white socks she bought you, nor with the tissue box she put in your room once a month after grocery shopping, but she never mentioned it. Why would she? She, like all moms, loved her son, and she liked having her little glimpse into the male world that her son’s odd behaviors provided in a strange way. She at least found it amusing, if not a bit much.

If only she knew what was in your mind that helped you fill those socks and tissues with your cum. She probably didn’t even consider that other men, including your former classmates, had been filling their socks and tissues to thoughts of her and her ass. She was the center of the male universe and she didn’t even know it. Her glowing visage produce enough cum to have it rain from the sky monthly, but she would never know.

All women underestimated the effects of their bodies, especially women who had bodies which were particularly good at producing that effect, just like the young through the generations have always been the ones to underestimate the magic of youth, only to realize what they had after it was too late. Your mom had no idea just how powerful that hourglass-shaped stick of dynamite below her neck was. She had no idea that her pretty face only multiplied its firepower. She had no idea that it was the most important thing in the universe and it was the prime mover of all other things. Even if she did understand evolution and sexual selection’s place in that process, which she never really gave much thought to, it would only serve to gray and dampen her understanding of it on an emotional level, just like how the 1% of men who get to be famous are blessed to experience what it’s like to have women chasing after them, aggressively and shamelessly, but they’ll never know what it actually means for one of those women to peel down his pants and underwear and come face-to-face with the twitching and thankful cock of a celebrity.

Your mom was that. Heaven. Just by showing up. Her mere presence brought joy.

But imagine what joy could be brought to the world if the spectacle of her could be made international and ever-available. Not just international and ever-available, but complete. What if time and space ceased to be an obstacle, but also clothing along with it? What if the memory of her clothed self, and the imagined notion of her naked self, became old-fashioned in the esteemed game of spilling one’s seed to her? What if one could see her anywhere, anyhow, at any time, as long as they had an internet connection? What if they could see her in any state of dress? What if at one point in time in Chicago, a white sock, wet with its owner’s cum, the sweet result of your mom’s sweet body’s effect on the viewer’s sweet mind, hit the ground at the exact same moment that a white tissue, also wet with cum, hit the ground, heavy with the result of your mom’s fleshy visage being made available down in India?

Not just the future of masturbation, now a communal religious experience to shared images transmitted through magic windows. But the future of your mom too. Your mom as one of the first cybernauts, whose succinctly human and idealized human female form is one of the first (comparatively) movements towards that universality.  Your mom’s body, completely divorced from her mind, the obstacle which had to be bypassed, and despised in order to bypass properly, as a God that men around the world prayed to in the most private way. A fevered idol worship of an idol made of living , breathing flesh with prayer as a form of masturbation. Your mom as an idea and an image. Nothing more. Your mom as the abstraction representing the triumph of male technology over the sacrosanct untouchableness of womanhood.

That was the future and you knew it. And you wanted to strap your mom up with the equipment, like a monkey being sent to the stars on a one-way mission, slap her ass and send her on her way. For science. For man. For God.

She wouldn’t be the first. No. The internet was surprisingly full of images of mother’s being made public by their sons. But she would be the hottest by far, at least as far as you’ve seen. The most angelic. The most creamy white and pure. And while you didn’t know the personalities of the other naked female cybernauts you had the pleasure of seeing, you knew that it was unlikely that any of them were near to what your mom was.  Your mom, who was so unbelievable witty, kind and smart, would be an absolute joy for you to multiply her physical beauty passed the point where her psychic beauty could be recognized and taken in. Nobody had the patience to take in all the mental beauty of a stranger. Nobody had the patience to not take in the physical beauty of a stranger. It was the lizard brain’s triumph over the rational pre-Freudian mind.

Your mom as an object to jerk off to to thousands of times more people than she would ever be the comedian, the Councillor, or the teacher. Your mom, the unwitting and unaware dancer at a club with her name as neon right over the front door. The patrons all invisible and silent. Her dance, a salt of the earth rendition called The Working Woman Changing After a Long Day of Work or Perfect Ass Washes up in Shower Voyeur.

These thoughts percolated in your mind over the tea-bag of possibility. They were about to reach a boiling point.

One day, you came home from work to an ostensibly empty house.  You stood in the living room, trying to slide your phone into your pocket, when suddenly you heard ruffle noises from your mom’s room. Her door was hanging open, and the grey paint of her room was visible from your angle. She was humming a song in there. A nice one at that. Visions of what your mom was doing in there flashed through your mind, and your status as ghost in the house your mom never heard you walk into gave you an impish jolt.

Visions of the ends of her hair strands brushing the floor like a moving waterfall, brushing her feet as she bent over to slide her panties off of her legs, her marvelous bent ass facing the open doorway, and the endless infinities contained without it, and her marvelous face towards the ground, where there were no loose factors to be noticed, giving no clue that there were any loose factors anywhere, but especially behind her or waiting in the living room with his phone in his hand. The prettiest dove you’ve ever seen and a sitting duck at that.

All just fantasies and far-off dreams of course. The fevered fancies of a pervert mind. The son of a hot mom entertaining what the minds of the sons of hot moms everywhere entertain, willingly or unwillingly. Just a little extra something blowing invisible with the slight breeze. There was no way your mom was changing with her door wide open, even if she thought you were still at work.

*ZIP*

Your mouth fell open.

Your arms and teeth started to tremble.

Your mind rattled with images, like photos being cycled rapidly on the pages of flip-book. Images of curved and plump flesh and a barefoot coming out of the hole of a black pant leg. Visions of delicate white hands holding things, on her waist, around her knees or ankles, or in front of her. up in the air. Thumbs being pressed downwards between her flesh and clothing material and her back lowering with her shoulders until it’s horizontal, or at least close enough to horizontal for her finger to reach the heels of her feet, and her back coming all the way up to vertical position as loose material, now empty of her, is lifted into the dead air and thrown into the laundry basket. And her (her lower half at the bare minimum), no longer sheltered by her clothy ally as she approaches the laundry basket to discard of the ally no longer protecting her.

You slowly lifted your phone to your face, almost dropping it due to trembling too much. You clicked on the camera app, smearing your phone face with sweat.  The camera app that made amateur photographers of the world. Most pictures, ninety-nine out of a hundred, being just sawdust and clutter. Would your image be different? How about your video? You crept down the hallways slowly, afraid to make a noise, and afraid to pull off what you wanted to pull off. Afraid of fate itself, you heel-toed, heel-toed down the dark of the hall towards it. 

You stood by the doorway, hearing your mom’s familiar humming and bunch of ruffling noises just around the corner. What was waiting for you there? Was it going to happen? Could you do it without getting caught? Did you want to do it? You hit record on your phone and you raised it to about chest level. And you extended your arm. Just before you rounded the doorframe, your mom’s humming stopped. You retracted your arm. Then her humming continued. After a few moments, enough to gain your equilibrium again, you slowly started extending your arm. You were just about to round the doorframe. Part of your couldn’t. You wondered if you ever could do it.

You slowly extended your arm. Stopped. Come on, just do it, it’s your only chance, you thought. If she even is changing, she won’t be changing forever.  It was the call to eternity, and you were afraid to pick up the torch and venture forth. Did you even want this? I mean, you knew you did. You knew what the thrill would be like, but did you even deserve it? Wait a minute, this wasn’t about you, was it? It was about the thousands of glassy eyes with the light of bright fire within them who would get to fill themselves with her if you only extended that arm.

Your phone was right there, recording the door frame, just an inch over and you’d have it. You’d have it all. And finally, you took a deep breath,

…..3

…….2

…………………..1

you extended your arm.

.

.

.


Your mom was still humming that catchy tune into the still air.

It took a second for it to hit you.

…….no.

Please don’t tell me that’s it, you thought. Please. Please tell me she’s going to remove it and start from scratch. Please. Oh god!

But as you watched your phone from that uncomfortable angle, your head against the wall, your mom’s flesh was only covered up more and more by more clothing, until, *woosh* your candle had been snuffed out, leaving only a thin column of smoke, signifying what once was for the taking and was now just a phantom disappearing into the ceiling as you reached for its hand. And then, it was gone. As if it had never been there at all.

You struggled to not choke back tears. You wanted to break down and weep, but you’d blow your cover. You slowly placed your phone back into your pocket, which was a tight fit (it had been stretched tight by your hard dick in the front of your pants. Your hard dick which your phone brushed passed as you put it in. The hard dick who fate paid no mind). Then you nonchalantly walked passed your mom’s door. She noticed you and called to you as you were halfway down the hall. “Hey sweety! How was work?!”

You didn’t answer back. You had never hated her more. You never knew such hate for her could exist like it did now. Fucking bitch, you thought. It didn’t last long. It wasn’t her fault, you figured. She was doing everything she was supposed to do. If she made it any easier on you you wouldn’t have even enjoyed the prospect of it happening. She gave you your moment, which was more than you could have ever expected her to give, and you blew it harder than you blew everything else in your stupid life. But at least with everything else, you had the excuse that to you none of it mattered. With everything else, and everything else only.

You shut your bedroom door behind you, giving yourself the privacy that your mom almost through away. You fell onto your bed and sobbed silently into your cool pillow. You pulled your phone out to see what could be salvaged, if anything. A nipple. A sliver of black butt crack. Anything would have done, like any bit of water would be enough for a man wandering under the desert sun, or any inch of land enough for the man drowning at sea, just a dime-sized column for his toe, enough to keep his head above water.

There was nothing.

You could see your look of absolute gut-wrenching despair in the glass reflection of your phone. You undid your belt. Normally, at around this time when you pulled your belt off, it was so you could play with your cock to thoughts of your mom being fondled or fucked. But now you were removing that belt for a much darker purpose. You had survived it all: The punching, the kicking, the namecalling, the swirlies and wedgies, the isolation, the rejection, and the low self-esteem; all of it tough, none of it insurmountable. You knew you’d beat it in time. You knew there was enough waiting for you in life to brave through all of it.

And what was that “enough” that was waiting for you? Was it this? This softball that fate threw to you with an underhand, in a nice clean arc, as if it knew your meager limitations and sympathized, giving you all the advantage in the world. This was what you bivouacked through the jungles of outrageous fortune for, and it was gone. Your mom was lost. Her naked form was a spirit with the grace of a gazelle, hopping and tiptoeing through thick forest, over river and around trees. It had just stopped to bend over and take its centennial drink of water, making itself vulnerable to do so, and you were right behind its tree, thinking instead of doing. Just like you always did. All you had to do was extend that arm.

And you waited and you procrastinated, as if opportunity was going to come to you a second time with bells on. And when the time came, and you took your chance, it was gone. Its decoy the only thing it left behind: your mom, clothed, decent and with the dignity guaranteed to her and provided for in every other instant of her life. The dignity guaranteed to and provided for most women without getting anything back in return from them for the privelege.

You removed your belt and your pants, leaving only your Star Wars shirt on your red and embarrassed chest. Your cock and balls free, the way you liked them. You opened up your laptop and opened up Google Chrome. 20 tabs of mom voyeur videos were already readied for you. You found the hottest mom you had ever found in one of those videos, who was nowhere near as hot as your mom was, in face or body. And you opened up that tab. You wrote a giant note in your notebook. “Mom, this is what I wanted to do to you,” with arrows over top of it pointing upward and you placed it before your laptop keyboard.

If you were going to leave off the spiral of this mortal coil prematurely, you wanted the deepest and most personal part of yourself to be exposed to the illuminating bright lights of day. Your dick was hard as you turned around to wrap your belt around the hanging bar in your closet, in between the suit you wore on weddings and your fall jacket. The video of the would-be second-hottest mom voyeur victim played behind you on a loop as you did.

When you finished and you clipped the belt into the furthest hole, you took a deep breath, and maneuvered your head into the narrow, corsette-sized waist of the belt. You turned around, looking at your old familiar room through the frame of your closet doorway. Your favorite mom-voyeur video playing. The woman in it just at the moment of removing her pants, unwittingly exposing her luscious butt crack to 2 million male eyes.

It was all so beautiful.

You lunged forward.

All of existence went black.

———————————————————————

*Boom* *Boom* *Boom* *Boom* *Boom*

“Sweety?!”

*Boom* *Boom* *Boom*

“Sweety!? What was that sound?”

*Boom* *Boom*

“Sweety!? Please open up! Are you okay! Babe!?”

You groaned.

You looked up at your door, the handle spinning impotently within the 20 degree limit set by the lock.

*Boom* *Boom* *Boom*

“Sweety!?’

“I’m here, mom!”

“Oh, thank god. Sweety, what was that noise?”

“It’s nothing, mom. Just that bar in the closet fell down.” You could feel its cool metal against the back of your neck and the rough texture of your carpet on your knees, thighs, toes, cock, balls, right cheek and palms.

“Ohhh! Geese! What a piece of junk. Do you need help fixing it? Are you okay?”

“No. I mean, yeah, I’m okay. I can fix it myself though. Thanks, mom.”

“Okay. Geese. You really gave me a scare there. How about next time you leave the door unlo-” she stopped herself, likely thinking about the white socks and tissues. “Well, anyways. Just ask if you need any help, okay babe?”

“I will, mom” you assured her, getting up as you did.

You removed your neck from the loop and slowly placed the bar, with clothing still hanging off of it, onto the ground.

You looked up at your laptop. The notebook still on your bed with arrows pointing up at your laptop screen. That mom’s naked buttcrack, seen by million without her even being aware. It extended from the top of her butt cheeks and disappeared down between her thick thighs. She began soaping up her ass, unaware of the free show she was giving to countless happy dicks, all being manipulated by countless happy hands. Unaware that her son had just placed a window between her and a couple million faces. Unaware the she was bathing in front of the seats at Madison Square Garden with 2 millions dicks being jerked and cumming. So much cum, unfathomable amounts. More than the water spilling over her. Just one sperm in one round of that stuff was enough to give her her son. Galaxies worth of sons were spilled for her, civilizations that would never be. All without her knowing.

You bit your bottom lip as you tried in vain to hold back tears.

It was just so beautiful.

You were as good at suicide as you were everything else.

Which was  good thing.

You were happy to be alive.

——————————-

You were surprised your dick could still get hard after the beating you gave it last night. From 3 o’ clock in the afternoon to 3 in the morning, you did nothing but wail on it. You were never one for going through your mom’s stuff. But you just had to today. There was a desperation in you now that you never felt before. Your mom’s silk sheets felt good against your bare ass, and the feint whiff of perfume in her discarded pants smelled good.  You rubbed the pant seat against your cock and balls.

You weren’t going to lie. It got you hard. But you felt ridiculous doing it. The video from yesterday played on repeat on your phone which was sitting face up next to you on the bed. You don’t know why you turned it on. Looking at it only made you mad and more desperate. You shut it off.

You grab your mom’s underwear drawer, removing it from the chest-of-drawers and placing it on her bed. You ran your fingers through the pile. You began filming her underwear. Not knowing why, feeling like you were accomplishing nothing. You were running your fingers through a void where your mom’s ass should have been. The panties looked limp and pathetic without an ass to fill them. Even more so by the valley between what they were now, and what they were when with her.

You got up on your knees, and slowly brought yourself so your waist straddled the pile. You then lowered yourself down towards it, and when you felt the soft, feathery mountain on your shaft, you began pumping into it, holding both sides of the drawer with your hands, your right hand holding your phone, which still had its red recording light on as you humped away. Each pump went through a different waist or leg hole and you gyrated around, mixing up the conflagration as you did, your balls being pampered by their softness. And for a while, it was actually pretty good. Until you hit the bottom of the drawer with your cock.

“Ahh, fuck!” you got up and violently threw the drawer of your mom’s bed. Your phone went off with it. You looked down at your phone and gasped when you saw its shattered screen. You picked it up and desperately hit the buttons, waiting and hoping for the screen to come up. Nothing happened. The screen stayed black, pitch black but for your reflection cut up by the spiderweb crack that violated its surface. You put your phone down on your mom’s dresser, face down, unable to look at what it was you did, knowing that you were tight on money and couldn’t replace it.

You fell on your mom’s bed, face down, and began to weep. It all came falling down this week. It was unavoidably true now. You were worthless. You could’ve given millions the unfiltered beauty of your mom’s nudity, and failing that, you didn’t even have your phone to provide you solace in your little solitary world.  Your four walls without a window to look out of or let people see into. You didn’t even have the window in your pocket anymore.

You sobbed loudly and uncontrollably.

And then suddenly, you heard the front doorknob turn.

You shot up and ran towards your mom’s bedroom door, tripping on her underwear drawer and falling to your bare knees. You got back up and lifted the drawer, trying to fit it into the grooves of the dresser with her colorful underwear looking back up at you. The front door opened. You finally got it to fit and you pushed the drawer closed with a thud.

You shot up and ran down the hallway, your bare ass naked to the living room, which your mom just walked into, her face down in her purse, looking up just as you disappeared into your room and slammed the door shut. She tilted her a bit, then looked back down into her purse for that business card she had been handed.

It wasn’t there. She must have forgot it at the office. She continued on down the hallway and into her room. It was just as she left it, except her pants were sitting on the bed. She didn’t notice. She throws her purse on her bed. She puts her thumbs into the waist of her pants and leans down.

You listen for your room to the ruffling. The sound of a waistband snapping. And you brace yourself for the cold hard sound of that door closing. Waiting as the sounds of elastic snapping echoes of your mom’s flesh. You wait. Expecting it. And you wait and you wait and you wait. And… it hasn’t been closed yet.

She’s changing with her door wide open.

Again.

Your knees start to tremble, and your arms start to shake. Your mouth is dry. You grab onto your doorknob and slowly twist it. And you open your door. You step out into the hallway, dark but for its only source of light, the natural sunlight spilling in through your mom’s window.

You take a big gulp, and you slowly step towards her door. Heel-toe, heel-toe. You’re almost there. It’s waiting for you. A second chance. You were being handed it on a platter. It was fate. It had been all along. It was here. You were going to do it. Nothing could stop you now.

Just as you got to the door frame, you could smell its wood grain it was so close, you reached down into your pocket.

It was empty.

Your eyes go wide.

You reach down into your other pocket. Nothing there either.

Your phone. You left it in your mom’s room. It was sitting there on the dresser.

You almost collapsed and hit the floor like a sandbag.

You almost screamed.

You were worse than useless. At least the useless know there’s no chance for them. You gave yourself the false hope that there was one for you and you were facing your thousand deaths for it.

You slowly crept backwards into the darkness that birthed you, and slunk back into your room with your mom’s room, ejecting humming and elastic-on-flesh reverberations, still in your site. Just one last look at it and a glimpse of the gray wall inside it, a reminder of what could have been, what glories were contained therein and ready to be extracted for the biggest audience you’d ever by party to. A reminder of what you could have been.

You closed your door. 

The sound of your bedroom door closing must have reminded your mom that you were in the house, because hers door closed seconds afterword. And the humming and the subtle, teasing noises of the state between one method of dress to another, were muffled through two doorways. And they slowed down and slowed down until they stopped all together.

You sat on the edge of your bed with your head in your hands.

As you heard your mom, now undoubtedly fully clothed,opening her door and stepping out into your shared space, you felt like a prisoner, trapped under her tyrannical thumb.  You were confined to this room she gave you at birth and confined within the unknowing limits she put on your potential. Each confident step was an assault on you. Each article of clothing a violation.

And her steps were getting closer. Too close.

Suddenly, there was a knock on your door.

“Sweety?”

You sighed deeply. “Yes, mom?” You try to dry away the tears.

“Your phone was in my room. Open up.”

You sigh again and take a deep breath. You head towards the door and you open it to see her standing there, smiling.

“Here you go,” she says and she puts it in your palm.

“Thanks, mom.”

“Don’t mention it.”

As you got to put it in your pocket, she notices something.

“Did your screen break?”

“Um, yeah. It….”

“How’d that happen.”

“I… dropped it.”

“Recently?”

“Um, no. A few days ago.”

“….oh,” she said. “Does it still work?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, good. You know, if you want to buy a new one, I can help you out with that.”

“Um, no thanks, mom, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure? It looks pretty ba-“

“Yeah. It’s fine.”

“Okay, good.”

You go to close your door and she puts her arm out.

“Is everything alright?” she asks.

You’re startled. “Yeah… why wouldn’t it be.” You look down.

“Oh, I don’t know. You just look… tired.”

“Yeah, I guess I am. I didn’t get too much sleep last night.”

“Oh. Is there any reason?”

“No, just up all night playing games.”

“Oh! I get it…. You know, if you have anything you ever want to talk about, I’m always there. You know that, right?”

You looked up at her, making direct eye contact. “I know, mom,” and you smiled back at her.

She smiled at you, “Okay, sweety. Get some rest.”

“I will mom.”

She backed out of your room and closed the door.

You stood there for a few seconds, silently, staring at the door. You know, you thought, as far as prison wardens go, I can do worse.You backed up and sat on the corner of your bed. You exhaled. You look down at your phone, looking through its shattered veneer. And you caught your reflection in it. You were smiling. You looked content. You looked accepting of the state you were in. The lot life gave you. And why shouldn’t you be. You had been given so much. Why measure your life by what you didn’t have when what you did have was so much more than most people knew to ask for.

You smiled at yourself approvingly. You did good, kid, you thought.

And then it caught your eye. Just a few inches upwards and to the right. You look up to the see a red glow there.

Wait

Is that what I think it is? Was it on the whole-

You shoot up, almost dropping the phone a second time when you did. You turn around to see your laptop sitting on your bed. Your phone charger hanging out of the usb port, unassumingly. The window of your laptop, unshatterd and clean. You hop up onto your bed, and crawl with your knees over to the usb chord. You shove it into the bottom of your phone.

You open up My Computer and you see your phone listed there. You clicked on it with trembling hands. Nothing in the phone. Your heart almost sinks until you remember, you try to put your password in through the broken screen. Somehow, on your third try, it works. Your files are now accessible. You scour through your folders and files, trying to remember how to get to the videos file. When you see it, you start to tremble more.

You click on it and you see a wall of video files. You click on the first one and it’s a video of a river. You close it and you scroll down to the bottom. The last one there, it’s 12 minutes long.

You hold your breath.

You click on it.

And when you do, the first thing that you see, is gray walls.

Your eyes go wide.

You see your fingers rummaging through a soft rainbow of underwear, slowing down in their action, when suddenly, you can see the side of your hip thrusting in and out feverishly.

“Ahhh fuck!”

And suddenly the phone goes flying. Everything goes gray for a second, then pixelated beyond recognition.

Oh no, you think.

And then, all of sudden, you come into frame. You’re looking down at it from the edge of your mom’s bed. The look of shock on your face is palpable. Palpable because you’re completely visible.

Your hand comes down and picks up the phone. You place it onto your mom’s dresser. Tears welling up in your eyes. Welling up in your eyes as the current-you watches on wide-eyed and riveted. The past-You suddenly spins around and falls to your mom’s bed, crying into her sheets, with your bare ass up in the air. Then, without warning, his head shoots up. He gets up off the bed and breaks for it and trips out of frame with a loud thud.

The top of his head comes back into the frame and you hear the sound of wood scraping on wood. You hear a drawer closing just as the front door opens, and he disappears from the shot. You hear your bedroom door slamming. You looked up at it sitting there in front of you, closed. You look back down at your laptop. Your teeth rattling.

And moments pass. And moments. And moments. And the phone sits there in the same shot, which includes the bulk of your mom’s room, all except the left corner. It’s sitting on its side at this point, leaning on your mom’s mirror. Any slight thing can tip it over flat.

And then your mom shows up in the shot. She’s in her work clothes. She throws her purse on her bed, and….

she…..

she puts her fingers down into her waistband and she….

she tugs her waistband down, and

Her underwear comes down with it.

And her butt crack, unobstructed and glorious, comes into full view.

“Ohhhh goood!” you say out loud. You shoot upwards and push yourself back with your heels. Your mom’s ass, completely nude and bent over, compromised beyond compromise. She then removes her shirt and her socks. Every stupid piece of clothing that gave you so much grief. All of it gone. Burned away in the atmosphere.

Her big ass, both cheeks, with a pure-black butt crack, totally visible from bottom to top, to separate them, so fat and nice, nicer than you thought it could be. Your mom’s nice fat ass, just… there. That was all you were asking of it and it pulled through. It was there. There and there only, and it brought with it a joy that was maddeningly circular and infinite, like you couldn’t dig deep enough within yourself to find its source.

And then she turns around. She looks down at your phone, right into the lens, right into your eyes. She smiles. Not knowing that she’s looking into the window. Not knowing she’s looking into the eyes of millions. Not knowing she’s looking at the son who loves her so much he has to share her with the world to keep from going insane.

“Thank you, mom,” you whisper to her. “Thank you for giving me life, and shelter, and food and love so it could all lead up to here. All lead up to this one moment. It was all worth it. All so worth it. They’re all going to love your fat ass.”

You hear a door slam. And your mom jumps, startled. She goes over out of frame, and you hear her door close. She comes back into frame and looks through her underwear drawer. She’s having problems sliding it open. She gets it open, and you watch as she slides on on a nice pair. You knew it felt good on her skin because it felt good on yours.

And then she puts on pants. And then a shirt. And then socks. And then it’s over. Over but not forgotten. Over, but always there for you. There for you and anyone else lucky enough to find it. You copy the file onto your computer.

You look at the file, finding it hard to believe it actually exists. Finding it hard to believe you were, at all times from here on out, a double-click away from heaven.

You open up your favorite porn site. You click on the Upload Video button.

You titled the video Hidden Camera Films my Mom’s Fat Ass.

You wait for your video to process. It asks you what you want your thumbnail to be. You know exactly what you want.

That’s the image you set as the thumbnail as you slap your mom on her butt and send her into cyberspace. Your contribution to the world

Your mom. Your cybernaut. Your best friend.

Your free piece of ass.

Show and Tell


The camera was huge in your little hand. It was magical as far as you saw it. Like an accessory Link would pull out of a big chest to celebratory music, one that made his continuing journey through the dungeon, and the world surrounding it, a relative breeze.  That was you now, equipped with this techno-wizardy, heavy in your hands, handed to you by your teacher. Do what you wilt.

The sun mirrored your joy in the glass of the sky. You felt like an adult. Excited to film your masterpiece and show all your classmates and your teacher. Your little window into your little life, the one you knew so well, laid up on the glass of the AV room’s tube television, rolled out into the middle of the chalkboard for the festivities. But all your classmates had been given cameras just like you. That meant tight competition and a fire beneath you, pushing you to make your film memorable.

When you got home, you greeted your smiling mother and received from her your daily hug, which she kneeled down benevolently to give you, capping off a perfect day at school. She smelled like flowers. Her body was always so soft against yours. She asked you how your day was, and you said good, leaving it at that, too shy to mention the camera that you left on the shelf and the movie you were supposed to film with it.

After she left into the deeper reaches of the labyrinth that was your house, you grabbed your camera and went about that labyrinth, first filming the living room. “This is the TV,” you would say, “where I watch the Ninja Turtles and Spongebob. And this is my mom’s book. It says ‘Pride and… pree joo dice.’ She really likes reading it on the couch,” and you’d pan over to get a shot of the couch, which was dressed with silk covers and a pair of sweatpants. Then in the kitchen: “here’s the stove. I’m not allowed to touch it. My mom bakes cookies in it and mac & cheese on the top. And here is our bowl of fruit.” Two ripe oranges sat next to each other in it. “And here is mom’s banana.” It sat half-eaten on the plate.

You went downstairs to film your Nintendo 64 with Legend of Zelda sitting on its throne in the slot. You brimmed with pride at that one, thinking it would be the centerpiece of your film. “It took me a long time but I beat the Deku Tree,” you explained with pride. “Then you get to go to a big world and fight skeletons tha come from underground.”

You went back upstairs, filming the steps as you did, and your mom’s pink sock which fell from her laundry basket on her way upstairs this morning. You went to your room, bypassing the sound of the shower through the bathroom door echoing through the hallway. The camera, having just adjusted itself to the dark of your hallway, readjusted itself to the soft sunlight and baby-blue walls of your room. You filmed your Ninja Turtle bed covers with pride. And then you filmed your Ninja Turtle action figures, all four of them, standing side by side with fully articulated limbs and their signature weapons in their hands. “My favorite is Michelangelo,” you said, “he’s the funniest,” you giggled.

You headed back through the hallway, passed the bathroom door, which was now barely containing the muffled sounds of a hair dryer. You went into your mom’s room, the soft sunlight less prominent, and her walls a soft beige, where clothing had been laid down flat on the bottom half of her bed over her brown bedcovers. “My mom is going to a fun-raiser tonight,” you explained. “Here is her shirt. And her dress,” you said, as you panned from right to left, slowly “and her undies. And her socks.” You showcased her perfumes and deodorant on her dresser, and in the background of the shot, you stood in the mirror’s reflection. You sprayed one of her perfume bottles into the air, the mist barely registering on film. “It smells lie flowers,” you said. You then filmed her nightstand and her bedside lamp, underneath which sat another book. “Vin… vin duh cay… cay tee ohn? Vin duh cay tee uhn.. of the… Rights… of Women.” You smiled behind the camera, proud you were able to say it. “At least I think that’s how you say it. Mary… Wole stuh… stuh. Mary Wolston… craft?”

You turned around and headed back out into the hallway. You had filmed so much. But you knew you needed more. You needed more if you were going to blow the socks off your classmates and teacher. What you had so far was already so great. But Timothy had a swingset in his backyard, or so you heard from the other kids. You needed more.

As you thought about what it was that would push your work of art over the edge, your mom was singing in the washroom. “The raindrops keep falling on my heaad. That doesn’t mean that I would soon be surely dead. Duh duh-duh du-duh duh-duh duh.”

And then it hit you!

“Because I’m freeeee”

Your Ninja Turtles toothbrush!

“nothing’s worrying meee.”

You ran toward the bathroom door with your camera in front of you, and you tugged quickly at the handle.

—————————————————

Your palms were sweating, your knees were weak, and your arms were heavy as you stood in the front of the class, 27 sets of dead eyes looking up at you as your teacher hooked the camera into the VCR. Your had sat through 20 other videos that day, each one pretty good, but Timothy’s being heads and tales above the rest, just as you feared. His swingset, and now slide, which was a big surprise to you and everybody else in class, as his film’s centerpiece.

You had to beat him. It wasn’t your fault your mom couldn’t afford a swing and a slide for you. And both Anthony and Becky owned a Nintendo 64 with a Legend of Zelda. And 4 others owned Sony Playstations. Half the kids owned toys just like you did, and Jonathan showed off his fully functioning Batman utility belt and his train set. The competition was more stacked than you thought it would be. If you were going to come out on top, it would be your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles toothbrush that would do it. It can happen.

“I think it can. I think it can,” you mouthed to yourself. You gulped.

“You ready?”

You looked over to see your fresh-faced teacher, an ancient man to you, no older than 30 when viewed by a more discerning adult mind. He was smiling as he stood up, his right thumb on the play button of the camera you had brought home only yesterday.

You looked out at the dead-stares of your peers. You gulped again.

“…yes.” you said.

He hit play.

The image of your living room exploded onto the screen. Your two separate worlds, the one at home and the one here at school were united as one now. The dream-like dividing line between them had been erased, leaving only the chalk-like smears on the board between that distinction internal to your understanding.

Your own voice eerily echoes from the TV: “This is the TV, where I watch the Ninja Turtles and Spongebob. And this is my mom’s book. It says ‘Pride and… pree joo dice.’ She really likes reading it on the couch,” 

You looked out at your audience. Their eyes still dead. Were they like that for all the other videos? Or was your video particularly boring? You shuffled around uncomfortably, your teeth almost chattering in your mouth. Luckily nobody could hear that over the sound of, of all things, your own voice.

“It took me a long time but I beat the Deku Tree, then you get to go to a big world and fight skeletons who come from underground.” 

Your viewers took no joy in your explanation of a game that half the class already played, and the other half took no interest in to begin with. You felt like the walls were closing in on you, and the roof, was about to fall in on top of you, straining to hold up the weight and the momentum of the fallen blue sky. You looked over at your teacher. He was yawning. He gave you a little thumbs up through the yawn. A token gesture you knew better than to take as a good sign, even in the naive notions of youth.

“My favorite is Michelangelo, he’s the funniest.” The peanut gallery stood (or rather sat), unimpressed at the pieces of plastic the TV-You held in his hands. Those same hands up on the screen hung now at your sides, trembling.

“My mom is going to a fun-raiser tonight,” You looked over at your teacher. He was yawning again. As if he were trapped in the same yawn you saw him in the throws of last time you looked at him. “Here is her a shirt. And her dress. And her undies.” Suddenly, your teachers eyes narrowed mid-yawn. “And her socks.”

You heard a strange noise to your left. Startled, you looked over to see your classmates giggling. It was the first laugh you heard all day. No other videos got a laugh. You tried to hide your smile, feeling it tug at your cheeks and the corners of your mouth, and you crossed your restless arms, trying to keep them still and inconspicuous, even as electric currents ran through them, from your wrists to your shoulder, all up and down and back and forth.

“Vin… vin duh cay… cay tee uhn? Vin duh cay tee uhn.. of the… Rights… of Women. At least I think that’s how you say it. Mary… Wole stuh… stuh. Mary Wolston… craft?”

“That’s right,” you heard your teacher say from behind you. “Mary Wollstonecraft.”

You bit down on your inner-cheek to keep your the corners of your mouth from betraying your pride.

You then watched your TV-hand put down the book. And the TV-You walked from inside your mom’s room back into the dark of the hallway. Then there was nothing but footage of the hardwood floor and your right foot for 10 seconds. You heard one of your classmates yawning, and you looked over to see a phalanx of dead eyes yet again, as if the laugh you heard earlier was a product of hallucination like one of your semi-annual fever-dreams. You gulped. Your mom’s singing could be heard in the background, muffled by the bathroom door.

“Because I’m freeee, nothing’s worrying meee!”

Suddenly, the camera is jerked back upwards, so suddenly it startles everyone in class, including yourself. And down the hallway TV-You goes, towards the bathroom door. And your TV-hand grabs it, turns the handle, and pulls the door open.

The sudden light blinds the camera, making it strain to mechanically adjust itself to its new context.

“Hey sweety!” you hear.

Suddenly, the camera finishes and achieves its goal of complete naked clarity.

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Suddenly, from behind your head, a cacophony of full-bellied laughter erupts.

“Hooollly” your teacher starts, “Ssshhhiiiiii-”

He stands upright so suddenly, you almost jump back. His chair slides out from behind him and falls over. It was as if he tried to lunge at the screen. But he just stood there. And when he notices, or remembers, you standing there, just below the screen itself, he looks down at you and gives you a thumbs up. “Good job,” he says reassuringly, before lifting his chin back up quickly to view the screen.

That, and the sound of your classmates heavy-bottomed laughter had your cheeks feeling red and your chest feeling warm.

“Hi mom.”

“What do you want, babe,” your mom asked as she tended to her face in the mirror.

“My toothbrush.”

“Why?” she asked. “It’s not bed time yet, silly.” She didn’t make eye contact with you once, even through the reflection in front of her. If she did, she would have seen the camera you held within an inch of your face. But she never saw it.

“I just want to see it, mom.”

She grabbed something off the counter in front of her with her left hand, bending over slightly to do so, and she handed it back to you, palms up, over her left hip. “Here you go,” she said, still not seeing you, only feeling your presence there. “It’s Michelangelo, your favorite.”

You held the toothbrush up for the camera, which would struggle to focus on it, making the black of your mom’s buttcrack go blurry for seconds, before auto-focusing on her ass again. The TV-You tried to fix it with movement as your classmates laughed.

“Big bum-bum” somebody yelled.

“Oh my god,” your teacher barely-said and, more, breathed out. “God damn. Uhhh. Perfect, just perfect.”

You looked back at the TV and you watched as your mom walked out of the washroom. Your teacher exhaled heartily as she walked. And then she was gone around the corner. You filmed her as she left and the hallway was empty. You panned the camera back to your toothbrush. The camera could finally focus on what you thought would be the magnus opus of your film. “And here’s Michael Angelo.” He was standing there on the neck of the toothbrush with his nun-chucks, twirling them. Your classmates were no longer laughing, though some stray giggles burned on like embers after a housefire, even while you waved the toothbrush around and made kung-fu noises with it, the moment you were most excited for.

TV-You left from out the bathroom and you pointed the camera into your mom’s room as she was ducked inside her nightstand’s bottom drawer, with her butt up in the air as trinkets slid audibly over the wood floor of the drawer. Your class was in an uproar again, and your teacher jumped out of his seat again. Noticing that you were startled, he reassured you again. “Great video. Great work.”

As TV-you walked down the hall and through the kitchen to your backdoor. Your teacher got up and shut off the video. You were shocked. You still had the tour of your mom’s garden and the gazebo to show off.

“Wow, great video,” he exclaimed, with the TV-static framing his head like a halo. He pulled the tape out of your camera. “I’m just going to take this and make a copy of it, okay?”

You didn’t know what to say.

“I’ll give it back when I’m done.”  His eyes were wide and wild.

You nodded.

“Big ole Bum-bum,” you heard the class clown say and the class laughed.

“Okay, you can sit down now. You guys be quiet for now, okay? I’ll be back in a minute.” And just before he disappeared into the hallway he looked back and said to you: “great video. Really good work.”

You went back to your desk, right in the middle of the sea of smiling and giggling faces. Sitting back down among them was surreal. Suddenly, 70 degrees to your right you heard “Big ole bum bum. Big. Big. Big!” and everyone around you started laughing as if they never stopped. You bit the insides of your cheeks to keep from smiling as you vibrated in your seat. Nobody had ever gotten a reaction like that for anything in your class. Nobody ever would. You were the king of the world in this moment. The king of the universe.

——————————————————

“Dude, why are we watching this?”

“Just give it a bit, it’s almost here.”

“That’s what you said 10 minutes ago.”

“Shhh”

“We get it! You’re proud of your students. I was too in my first decade teaching, before I got sick of the little shits.”

“Oh, am I ever proud, just you watch and see why.”

“Come on! My wife’s making lasagna. I want to get home.”

“Your wife has nothing on this.”

“Is he your favorite student or something?”

“He is now.”

“Can you fast forward it?”

“Just wait one fucking second. It’s almost here.”

“Ugh…. Is that his mom singing?”

“It is.”

“My wife sings better.”

“I’ve seen your wife. No way she’s better than this.”

“Okay, I can deal with you wasting my time, but now you’re just being plain disrespectful. Don’t think because you’re younger than me I won’t-”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“No! Why don’t you shut the fuck up! I don’t appreciate being dragged here by you and I don’t appreci- ……..

……………..HOLY SHIT!”

“I told you.”

“… I never doubted you for a second.”

“Would you like a copy?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, I would.”

“Just make sure your wife doesn’t see it.”

“Ah, fuck her. My wife can get fucked for all I care. Give that thing to papa.”

————————————————

“Wow! A rainbow sticker! My little man.”

“Yeah! Nobody else got a rainbow sticker.”

“Wow! That must mean you did real good. Was it a test?”

“No, it was a movie!”

“A movie!?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, my little Steven Spielberg. Did you use a camera?”

“Yeah.”

“And you filmed it with your little friends?”

“No.”

“Oh? With who then?”

“Just me.”

“What did you film?”

“Home.”

“What!? Really? How come I didn’t know.”

“Because you weren’t looking, Mom.”

“We must have a really cool home if they gave you a rainbow sticker.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you show them your toys?”

“Yeah…. And my toothbrush!”

“Whoah. No wonder you got a rainbow sticker! Did you show them you kung-fu fighting? Hiya! waa!.”

“Yeah!”

“Like this? Pow! Hiya! Judo chop! Hey where are you going? Are you ticklish.”

“Stop! Stop! ha ha ha.”

————————————————–

“Do you know him?“

“Yeah, I went to grade-school with him.”

“He’s so weird.”

“Yeah, he’s a real freak.”

“He was walking by us in the hallway and Timothy pushed him into the radiator, hard, and he just went all red and walked away like nothing happened. He didn’t even make eye-contact.”

“Yup. You want to see something funny?”

“Don’t push him. I’m one more point away from being expelled.”

“I won’t. Hey! You! Yeah, yeah, you know who I’m talking to! Did he get red like that when Tim pushed him? Yeah, you! Where’s the tape! Where you going?! Tell your mom I said Hi!”

“Oh my god, what a pussy. What tape were you talking about? Was it anime porn or something?”

“No, I’ll tell you later.”

“Can we watch the tape? Or, do I even want to?”

“I wish we could. I don’t know if he has it anymore. And yes, you’d definitely want to.”

—————————————————–

The camera was small. Much smaller than the bag you were carrying it in. You were going to add it to your collection of little cameras. Small and cheap. A brave new world you were living in. The whole set was less than 200 dollars total.  Everything is smaller and cheaper these days. On the bus you held your new goody close by as you played your Nintendo 64 emulator on your phone. You had just beaten the Forest Temple, but your mind was elsewhere. You had a herculean task ahead of you. And unless you had hopped onto the wrong bus, you were on a one-way track there.

You got off at the stop and walked in the direction you needed to go, as if you had no choice in the matter. In some ways, you didn’t. When you got to your mom’s place, you left your bag on the shelf as you greeted her. She stood up on her tippy-toes to give you a hug. “How are you, sweety?”

“Good, how are you, mom?”

“Good as always. How was work?”

“It’s good,” you said, somehow convincingly.

“Good. There’s nothing better than loving your job.”

“I agree.” You looked out into the living room as you leaned on the inside of the kitchen doorway. Everything was the same as it was last week. The same as last month. The same as last year. The same as it was 16 years ago. Only The Handmaiden’s Table was on the coffee table. “I’m just going to use the washroom.”

“Sure, sweety.”

You doubled back around to grab your bag.

You opened the bathroom door. Still the same as when you last stood with your arms in the vent, standing on the same chair that sat in front of the mirror now. You placed the bag on the sink and pulled out the box. “Eye Spy” it said on the shiny cardboard.

I got the vent. The phone charger cam is still here. My shaving pouch is still here and my pen camera is still… yeah, it’s still inside the pouch. And the camera in the floor vent is set up. I just activate that one by remote.

You opened up your box. You laid your finishing touch on your mom’s washroom, the same washroom you grew up with, by placing your new camera in your mom’s bath-scent bottle which sat at about waist level, at almost at the exact altitude you stood your tallest at when you stood there with your first camera 16 years ago.

You placed the rigged bottle back down on the edge of the Jacuzzi. You activated all the other cameras, manually or through remote, and you left the washroom of your youth, closing the door behind you.

“Would you like to stay and eat, sweety?”

“No thanks, mom. I have to go.”

“Oh come on. Just stay for a bit.”

“I’d love to, but I really have to go.”

“Oh, is it a hot date?” she asked slyly.

You just stood there, smiling.  Not lying to her directly, but making her think you really did have a date to look forward to.

“Have fun!” she said with a smile.

You left the house. When you looked back to get one last look at your mom, she was grabbing a towel from the closet.

As you waited for your bus, you thought about the only girl you ever had a chance with. The only one who could look past the stuttering and the blushing and shaking. The only one who knew there was more to you than met the eye.

As your bus pulled up and you were swallowed by its shade, your mom entered her bathroom.

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You met this girl at work. She would always needle you in conversation and push and try to get you to give a little more of yourself than you were used to giving. She wanted to dig passed your surface. And it was uncomfortable and scary. But you liked it. For the first time in your life, somebody cared about you other than your mom.

And then one night, the night when you thought you’d finally get to experience your first kiss, if not more than that, you got drunk in the process of trying to kill the anxiety, and with inebriation came emotion and a naive gravitylessness, and you told her that the only moment in your life that you felt anything like you felt when you were around her was when you accidentally filmed your mom all those years ago and showed your whole class. You told her that you knew your teacher made copies and you knew he still had to have some, at least you hope he did, but you didn’t know where he was now. You told her that if you had that footage you would show it to the boss at work and every guy you hated, just to spite them. Just to say I know you think you’re better than me. I know you think you have me pegged down. You have no idea. No idea. You’d do it just to see the surprise on their faces.

After that, the energy in the room changed. And it never went back to where it was. She cut the night short, saying she had things to do the next morning. And then she stopped returning your calls. And she wasn’t there Monday morning. She had apparently transferred. She had been offered a transfer to a more convenient location months ago, but she stayed because of you.

And then she knew the real you, and she had no reason to stay any longer.

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She was right. There really was more to you than met the eye. But she underestimated how much more it was. She took a gaze down your well and was shocked by what she found down there. Down where light can’t even reach when the sun hits it directly at no angle.

It was a well whose first shovel stroke happened on that day 16 years ago. Before then, you lived a completely dry life. No color, no electricity, no cool water. Just a patch of dirt. And then voila, with just one pan of a dusty AV-Room camera camera, you became somebody. Your mom’s ass was special. You got a nice big rainbow on your assignment that day. It was the only video the class wasn’t bored watching. The only one your teacher took to the AV room to copy. The only one he showed his friends. And judging by the way the teachers and janitor looked at your mom from every parent teacher then on, It was the only one he showed the whole school.

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And after that, your peers would tell your story. And the teachers in the higher grades liked knowing you. Just the novelty of having you around, knowing that what you gave them by accident was a one in a million flash in a pan. Knowing you were your mom’s violating eye and loving you for it, just for a period of ten seconds. 9 seconds more than the necessary minimum. 9 and a half seconds if she and the camera were still. Just one still would be enough. But you gave them that ass in motion. That alone made your birth worth it to them. That alone made you a factor among your peers. You had no swing-set or utility belt. And when you got older, you would have no body anyone would want to cherish or appreciate for its own sake, by virtue of the fact that you were born the wrong sex for it. Your mom gave you nothing you could show off, materially or genetically, physically or psychically, except for what you accidentally caught within your borrowed lens’ confines. That was the only worthwhile thing you inherited. But it was worth more than the inheritance of princes.

Your mom’s ass was so fresh in those days. How you would love to see it. But it was gone. It slipped through your fingertips, just like all the good that came with it. Your mom’s ass was still there. Different, but there. But you eventually became too old to burst into your mom’s bathroom while she was undressed. And when you were young, you had no camera to fill the frame with her. You had missed your opportunity, and missed the joy that came with it. The only joy you ever had. The only moment of color in what was otherwise a gray life.

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But you were returning the color to yourself now, the only way you knew how. You could feel it seeping in through some crack in existence itself. You sat on the bus with each bump and rattle manifest to your senses, and exciting and dear to you. The smell of fresh air and flowers and even exhaust wide in its appeal and nuance. You sat amongst other faces, dry wells or patches of dirt with not so much as a dent in them. None of them knew how deep down your well went. Or could hear your mom whistling down there in the dark, the cool waters halfway up her buttcrack.

They never knew about your former glory or how you were in the process of reclaiming it. How this bus ride, nothing but a teleportation from point A to point B for them, was your travels to providence and milk and honey. They never knew what your mom looked like naked, nor what she looked like to know that they should desire to see what she looks like naked. They didn’t know she was naked right at that moment, and she was being chiseled into stone tablets by digital hands for all history to marvel at and with.

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They didn’t know about the only girl you ever loved or had a chance with and the boss you both hated and the joy you were going to feel when you showed your boss those tablets. The look on his face when he sees those stone tablets on his electronic tablet. They didn’t know that your mom’s ass was the type they saw on this bus, if they rode the bus every day, only twice a year, if that. They had no idea your well hid such treasures. They had no idea all they had to do was ask you and you’d gladly pull up the cool waters of that well and give them a fulfilling taste, any more than they knew that they could ask the woman beside them for the Rothschild fortune and she would give it to them. That was the sole sum of your worth. But what a large sum it was. And you knew it.

You knew just how much you were worth as long as your mom was still attractive, and now that your laptop was receiving multiple wi-fi transmissions saved to video, you’d always be worth what your mom’s nudity is worth now. You’d be worth everything.

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And it was surprising how little your virginity bothered you under that light. It was surprising how little regret you had for that drunk night. She could leave you, but she could never stop you. She could never stop you from what you were doing now. Just like your boss could yell at you and make you work all the unpaid overtime in the world, and he could never stop you from showing him the videos of your mom’s naked body. Wait til he sees how deep your well goes.

You were invincible. Invincible like your mom’s beauty.  Like her ass. Why throw a ladder down to her when you could keep her down there forever? If you listen close, dip your head inside, you can hear her.

Raindrops are falling on my head
And just like the guy whose feet are too big for his bed
Nothing seems to fit
Those raindrops are falling on my head, they keep falling

So I just did me some talking to the sun
And I said I didn’t like the way he got things done
Sleeping on the job
Those raindrops are falling on my head, they keep fallin’

Because I’m free
Nothing’s worrying me

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And nothing would disappear from the internet, which is where you would upload all your footage. You had to. And no censoring out your mom’s face. It wouldn’t be right. Why half-ass greatness, especially when it would take less effort to go the whole way?

You were coming up now to your stop. You had our arms crossed to stop your trembling, and you bit the insides of your cheeks to keep the corners of your mouth from lifting maniacally. That was the last thing everybody on the bus wanted to see. The one person on the planet smiling. Smiling as if he were the sync absorbing all the happiness they lacked, keeping it all for himself. No, you had plenty happiness to share around. If only you could approach them and show them. But social customs were weird. It would have to random strangers on the internet looking for it, and your boss who will just barely give you enough time of day to show him.

He’s seen your mom before, he only needs to see her walk into frame, fully clothed, which will happen the moment the cameras turn on (they’re motion sensitive), and he’s hooked for the rest of it. Especially when he sees the towel in her hand. And even with all your incompetence, you’ll be his number one employee.

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And your mom will be his. His to enjoy. His to show off. His to show what a freak you are, and how happy he is for it. His to pause, fast-forward, and rewind, like his little toy. His to slow down, to capture every nuance of her that she coudln’t even know exists. Have a omniscience of her body she would never be capable of, existing within it and not without it. Within it in actuality, without it in thought. Which is the complete opposite of everybody else in the world.

And that was your well. That was you. Your inner-mind’s eye. Shaped like your mom. Glorious and beautiful like her. Preserved in amber like it through this video stream.

So thank your mom for your rainbow. Life just wouldn’t be the same without them.

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The Golden Scale

Your jaw hung wide-open when you saw how he was treating your class. Like he was your friend, like you were all one happy coalition, 27 students and 1 teacher all on the same star-ship to the same anomaly in space, rather than the dark captain of your crumbling pirate-ship who made your classmates walk the plank regularly for their insubordination or inability to put up with his mental illness which was masked as a form of velvet-gloved sanity, which is what the usual class-dynamic was.

What was the cause of this Damascus-like change in his black heart? (A heart as a black as the tinted-windowed sedan he drove to work every day) It was simple. An easy to prepare, yet hard to require the ingredience for, recipe of two large, white breasts, one nice big white ass, two big, blue eyes, one big smile and a voice like honey that dripped over the thirsty, swollen penis of any man with vaguely heterosexual proclivities.

Check, check, check, check, check.

The need to impress this lovely thing was the carrot on the stick guiding him to the watering hole of decent human behavior. At least for the current week, though your classmates had their fingers crossed behind their chairs that this blue oasis of goodwill would multiply itself into a blue ocean and last until the end of the school year.

If this were only a story about you trying to overcome the meanness of your grade-school teacher, it would end here. But you know that it isn’t. The heavy pit in your stomach as you read this and the gorgeous tingle in your balls and thighs are going nowhere.

Because this fine dish, scrumptious enough to tame the cyclops of your teacher’s inner-self, was no siren on the rocks, or medusa in her tower. She was none other than your own mom.

It was your mom’s golden body, voice, and mannerism, her whole more-feminine-than-feminine aura, that kept the evil at bay. The mouth-watering sacrifice to please the barely-describable child-eating god.

He was a new man under the yellow of this new light. There would be no calling on you to read and laughing at you when you stuttered and blushed your way through it. There would be no flicking your ear as you apprehensively passed him to leave class, catching you just when you thought you were scott-free. There would be no sly comments about your effeminate nature. About how your fatherlessness made you into some sort of a half-man.

It was clear that if he only knew your mom sooner, and was able to joke around with her as he was doing right in this moment, as you and your classmates did your projects in groups with glue and paper, he would have been much kinder to you from the jump. Not all of you, just you. The one he wanted something from. But now that your mom was here, in his stomping ground, the place he argued with the principal that she should never come (changing his tune immediately after meeting her, as all men do), he was now forced to be kind to his entire thunder-rattled flock. She was the observer, and you all were his Schrodinger’s kids.

This was as tall an order for him as they came, but your mom’s ass was a miracle worker. A mover of mountains. How God could put such perfection within some shapes and not others was beyond you, maybe because it was the contrast that made things all what they were, and your mom’s shape was at odds with everything around it for miles at all times. A cost-less pleasure to admire, if you were one of the lucky few to be in her proximity to admire it, but a costly pleasure to take for yourself, as your teacher was now learning. The soft fascism of her ass was as cruel to him as his fascism to your class, though he would never pick up on it, lacking in the humanistic trinity of empathy, logic and imagination as he was.

And the same beads of cold sweat on your hot forehead now transferred themselves to his. For you, it was reading to the class from in front of the ghost-like chalkboard, a daunting task under any context, but made worse by his Scythian arrows that he lobbed at you with each ‘th-th-the d-dog went t-t-to” stutter. For him, the sweat was from him trying to maneuver himself through the obstacles of your mom’s desire, a daunting enough task in any context, but made worse by the knowledge that he did this all in front of a group of enemies that he created. And you were the biggest obstacle of all. The one who could plunge his hopes into the ocean with just one dinner-table conversation with the target in his sights. One word to this juicy fruit, and poof, she was up in the air like smoke, or even liable to scorch him like fire, if the underside of her rock was as multifaceted as he presumed. If her temper, though often sheathed, were half as ferocious as her ass, it could mean his very job itself going up in the air like smoke with her and his chances with her up in smoke with them both.

And to make it all worse, any inch he made towards making her available to him was another inch towards pushing you to telling your mom, an act that would rip him from his high hopes like a storm sucking him out the window of a high-riser. He knew you didn’t want to. He knew how awkward the conversation would be for you, how it would be an extension of the fear you had about reading aloud in front of the class, a fear of all things awkward or revelatory about your lack of manhood. But he didn’t know how far he could push you, and string your emotions along for the ride, laying sticky paper for your mom to casually find herself stuck to, doing this all in front of you, having nowhere else to do it, before you sent his quest for your mom’s golden, whimpering nakedness crashing to the dirt the way he wanted her crashing (eager to see the redbrown dust on her bare-ass), along with his cushy job with its unchecked power over the most vulnerable people in society and his summers off.

And, this house of cards he had placed so carefully would have been made a game of 52 pickup within seconds of you noticing his eyes go wide seeing your mom step into the prize-fighting octagon of his classroom were it not for one thing.

Peer-pressure.

“Dude, don’t say anything. I handed in the report yesterday, a whole week late, and he just smiled and said ‘Good job’. He would have had me doing pushups in of the class a week ago and he’d made fun of my belly that I only have because I sit inside all day trying to finish his stacks of homework. Please, just let him hit on your mom. He won’t get her, I promise you.”

“Yeah, she knows he’s a loser, trust us. She’s obviously just being nice. But don’t let him know. Don’t tell your mom about what he does to us or else it’s all over. He’ll make our lives into a living hell.”

“B-but,” you protested, “what if my mom tells the principal and they fire him, or at least make him be better to us?”

“No, that’s a risk I don’t want to take. What if they don’t fire him? What if he gets in trouble and it only makes him worse? Especially after you took your mom away from him. He’ll be the worst to you out of everybody. Are you going to risk that?”

Your head was spinning, and you could feel the tears well up in your eyes as you thought about your mom’s ass in that class, being pimped out for decent human treatment from a ‘responsible adult’, something that you should have been guaranteed anyways. And while you didn’t want to risk the remainder of the year on the bet that he’ll be fired or behave better after being humiliated by you, you also didn’t want to risk him actually pulling the impossible off, and making your mom’s naked goodness his. You had a habit of always imagining the men you hated most naked with your mom, enjoying the heaven of her body, just a sick sado-masochism of your mind to torture yourself for an impulse you didn’t understand, a ride in your teacher’s night-black sedan into the abyss of your own mind, but you never thought you would have to weigh and count the possibility of it actually happening against the possibility of being destroyed by stopping it from coming to cruel fruition. A golden scale with your mom’s ass on one side, and yours on the other. If you got the balance just right, neither your ass or your mom’s would be pounded into oblivion. Not yours by boot, nor hers by pelvis.

“I guarantee it to you man, he’s not going to get her. She’s just being nice. Your mom is like that. You know. Please, don’t ruin this. He might be nice to us forever because he knows you’ll tell your mom if he isn’t. It’s not like he’s going to give up on her after her volunteer week’s done.”

You heard an annoyed sigh beside you and you turned to look to see another classmate stepping in “how about you don’t tell her anything or I’ll break your fricken arm? How ‘bout that? We’re not asking you. We’re telling you. Your mom isn’t going to hear crap about this. Okay?”

You were visibly shaking. Mouth dry, with your limbs rattling beside you. So much so that faking bravery was a losing proposition. “O-o-okay. I w-w-won’t tell her.”

“Good,” he said, and he patted you on the head condescendingly.

“Your mom will be fine,” the other guy said. “Trust me.”

Maybe it was the threat of a beating from the biggest kid in your class, but you now trusted him. It at least put you at a bare-minimum of ease, enough to keep you from turning inside out in your seat in front of the whole class.

That night, and every night after it, you kept silent at the dinner table. When your mom would ask you a question about your class, your classmates, or your teacher, you even oversold how peachy everything was, in fear that little glimpses of your dissatisfaction would peek through the smokescreen of your lukewarm lies. No, no. Your teacher was wonderful. Your classmates loved him, and you were learning a lot in that class and were becoming more confident in yourself with each passing day, thanks to that wonderful man guiding that ship. That’s what your mom left the table believing, at least you hoped. And the next day in class, you had good reason to believe that your hopes were realized.

And your insides died more and more with each day, watching your mom’s ass being left out to dry, a fair-haired beauty in-of-itself, chained to a stone of your mother, awaiting the cinematic introduction of a 20-foot high ape, just so you and your classmates could breathe easy like the kids in every other class did. Your classmates were now able to do so, lucky enough for them and thanks to you. You, on the opposing hand, had never been more stressed out. The sweetness in your mom’s voice each class only made it harder on you, a drill to your soul, an acid leaking into the dark crevices of your mind, burning each sensitive nook instead of honey delighting the suction cups of a hungry palette.

But then it was all over, the week had passed, and your mom’s time volunteering with your class had passed with it. And the stress and the acid in your stomach was gone with it. And what’s more, the one thing that never left, the leftover, the ghost of your mom’s ass, was the spirit of that week, calm and kind and understanding. Your teacher continued to treat you and your classmates like human beings, as if working to the tones and timbre of your mom’s honey voice. As if each word bounced of the feathery softness of her hapless behind before reaching your ears, which had been accustomed to so much verbal carnage. That verbal carnage was now so rounded off at its edges, that it shared much in common with your mom’s voluptuous butt, including a crack in the veneer, each exposing an asshole if you had the wherewithal and curiosity to brush aside the two soft shells in its way. Your peers had been right. Everything had worked without a hitch. The ends justified the Machiavellian means, and there were no victims, regardless of how questionable the means were. And you were happy. Happy and calm and confident. For once.

A week later, you were at the doorstep of one of your classmates. It was Friday night and also his birthday. You waited there patiently, sweating, part of you hoping someone would open the door, and even more of you hoping that nobody would. You knew why you had been invited. It was as a thank you. That was all it was. A thank you, and a ‘please, never tell her what we were all unlucky enough to know before she came.’

The door was opened by the birthday boy’s mom, and she ushered you in with a smile. It was the only genuine smile directed at you that night. At least while you were at the house. That smile, pied-pipered you through the living room, where the dad was watching hockey, into the basement, where you felt like you were descending into a hell inhabited by all-familiar voices. The guys were playing Super Smash Brothers or shooting pool on the dad’s ungaurded pool table. You stood aside with your hands in your pockets, looking like you were nowhere in particular and nowhere in particular was a place in your nightmares. You half-wanted to nudge yourself into one of these games, but you knew you weren’t wanted. A few people said hi to you as they passed. Including the guy who convinced you his plan would work out fine. He hovered around you, ghostlike, as if he wanted to say something, then he must have thought better of it and he walked off awkwardly.

As the night wore on, and you watched the Smash Brothers tournament from the corner seat of the couch, just happy that they had a full roster of Nintendo properties to keep them from focusing on you and why it was you were even there, the most humiliating olive branch of all. Why were you even invited, other than for the obvious reason? It would have been better if they left you alone. Then you could forget about the devil’s bargain you had made. But they made the mistake of trying to be kind, and you made the mistake of obliging their misguided benevolence, a decision you regretted with each step towards this house, and with each step, your will to turn around grew less and less. And going back home was no longer in the roledex of decisions, as you told you your mom where you were headed and she didn’t expect you back. And now here you were, a fifth wheel on what was ostensibly a vehicle riding a road to nowhere. A boy rewarded for leaving your mom’s ass in the mousetrap, as everyone here was aware, and your mom’s ass was on everybody’s mind as a result.

The sweat and fear had you in the Venn diagram of their empires, or in the no-man’s land between them. As the night wore on, they began playing another fighting game. One with anime characters. First, each player chose a male fighter, never a female one, likely afraid they’d appear gay to their peers, but once that taboo was breached without comment, each player after that, also without comment, chose their own half-naked female fighter to represent their young punchyness in the virtual space.

The female fighters had wardrobes that were unrealistic and impracticable, even more strange presumably because they knew they were in for a fight at a set time or in the near future. Bras, and skirts, and tight tank-tops and one-piece bikinis flooded the screen as you watched. And as if your mind had been read, or you transferred these thoughts through the awkward ether of that basement, the far-fetched dress of the fighters became a topic for conversation. It was a way for them to broach the subject of how irresistible they found these cell-shaded beauties without ever saying that they found them irresistible. They were dancing around the elephant in the room, the elegant perfection of the female form. Ass, legs, tits and thighs.

“Wouldn’t the flaps on her costume fly up if she jump-kicked like that?”

“Yeah, so stupid, right?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“And wouldn’t her boobs fly out of her shirt? Are they glued in her bra?”

Everyone started laughing.

The comedian smiled to himself, realizing he had made his friend’s laugh, “like, they’re so big, the G-force would send them flying out.” Another home-run.

Then, another voice, one you have never heard, from a kid you had never seen, a childhood friend of the birthday boy who went to a different school. “Yeah, and no girl has a body like that. It goes against gravity.”

Everybody turned over to look at him, even the two kids with controllers in their hands, though only for a second, then they went back to smashing their controllers, trying to kill each other on screen.

“Right?” he pleaded awkwardly, afraid in the neurotic throws of youth that he had made some time-hallowed mistake, one passed down carefully from one generation to another, and kept alive by the torch of all under legal drinking age and forgotten in the grey-maturity of adulthood. All of this, and somehow he failed to get the memo.

“Right?”

“There are bodies like that in real life,” someone suggested after some silence. “I’ve seen them.”

Your mom’s pale-white skin wasn’t nearly as good on you. Especially when you went tomato-red with embarrassment and fear, like you were now.

“Really?” The boy asked.

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“Umm, just around,” the explainer said, and looked away awkwardly.

“Really? How many?” asked the new kid.

“….only one,” the explainer offered up.

His makeshift pupil looked around at the others to gauge their reaction.

“Yeah, I agree,” was offered up by one of them as he was playing the game. He didn’t even look over. “I saw one once with huge boobs like in this game, and with an even bigger butt. She had big eyes too. Like cartoon-eyes.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” someone else said.

“You seen her too?”

“Ummm,” he said, “I’ve seen a girl like that, I don’t know if it was the same one he saw.”

You sunk back in the chair. Nobody looked at you. They didn’t dare. They were all hoping you were too stupid to pick up on the quagmire that had just walked themselves into. You could see the guilt through just the side profile of their faces. But they couldn’t lie. Bodies like the ones on the screen now really did exist, and they refused to let anyone believe otherwise in the way that young people never can when they learn a new truth. Especially a truth about the bodies that fascinated them so. You and your mom were collateral damage under the heavy wheel of their impulse to share what they only recently learned. Her body, as a neutral factor in life, though not in its flesh, was there’s to brag about their knowledge of its existence. They had every right, though they knew better than to not feel guilty. That was the trade-off for making your mom’s body a star yet again, a sun in the solar system of this conversation. Though, if your mom’s ass was the sun in the sky, there would be no war, or, maybe, more wars and more child-sacrifices to please it. To feed it and make it happy and to keep it big and soft.

The night wore on and you wore out with it. The Nintendo 64 was shut off and the VHS player was turned on. While everyone was laughing in the dark at the movie on the screen, Deuce Biggalow, Male Gigolo, the light of which reflected within their eyes, you got up slowly and snuck your way out up the stairs, trying your very best to be as silent as  shadow. Your heartbeat itself sounded like it would wake up the neighbors, but not once did one set of a TV-lit yes look your way. You creeped up into the yellow light of the main floor. The birthday boy’s parents were sleeping on the couch with a news program playing in the back. You left the house quietly, making sure to shut the front door as quietly as you opened it. It was 2 in the morning, and you walked down the empty street. The air was warm, but delightful after the cramped humidity of that basement. And the night was clear and open, unlike the crowd of unignorable implications down there.

You walked at a nice pace, but your walk eventually evolved into a steady run as you heard weird sounds in the left-behind dark, often sounding like they were coming from something in the shadows trailing behind you. 

You finally made it to your street and you turned the corner and kept running. And as you rounded the bend, your driveway came into view, and your sanity came into view with it, and then suddenly as you got close, you saw something was wrong. Behind your mom’s minivan, you saw it. And your soul and breath left your body in that instant.

You faltered for a second, but then you continued running, hoping it would up and evaporate as you approached it. And as you got closer, it only burrowed itself deeper into your sinking reality, like a bull in quicksand that fights against it with the same resolve it fought all other obstacles in its short life, making its predicament concrete, boxed and wrapped and placed under a red bow and left on the doormat of Mother Nature and Father Time.

You stood there in your driveway, panting, pleading with breath. Afraid to move. Afraid to do anything, as if each step you’d take would swallow you whole, making you prisoner, encased in the cement of your driveway.

Suddenly, a hand, from outside of your shellshocked dream-state, grabbed you by your shoulder.

You turned around to see your classmate. The one who tried to talk to you earlier that night.

“Sorry,” he said, realizing he startled you. “I saw you get up and leave, and I followed you. Why did you leave?”

You just stood there, looking back.

“You should come back to the party. The movie is funny. Were you scared of the Scary Movie one? That one is a funny movie too. It’s not really scary. You’ll see when we watch it. I won’t tell anybody if that’s why you left.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t even if you knew what to say and had the will to say it.

“Look man. I just wanted to tell you tonight that I’m really happy you did what you did for us. It took a lot of balls, and I’m not afraid to go back to school Monday, thanks to you. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way. I wanted to say that before but it just felt weird. To be honest, you took a huge risk to do that, and I’m happy it all worked out. Because it easily could have gone bad. I know I told you it would all work out, and I really did believe that, but I’m just glad nothing bad happened. It easily could have. Your mom is just such a nice lady and I’m just so glad he didn’t get his chance to pound her.”

You sucked back air suddenly and almost fell backwards. You tried to compose yourself, but it was too late, he had noticed, and you’d never be able to pull back the hands of Father Time’s clock, nor change the impulses and ways Mother Nature placed in the hearts of the young everywhere. He had noticed. And he looked behind you, and when he saw what was sitting there in plain sight, what you had been forced to take into your account of the universe and where it currently was, that monument to the sky itself falling sitting right there, slanted with the incline of your driveway, semi-invisible in the night, the hearse carrying your dignity to its final resting place, in the cold-ground alone, hours before you even knew it was dead.

Sitting there in your driveway, behind your mother’s car, was a black sedan.

His eyes go wide, and his mouth open, thrilled, not scared, in both, and without saying a word he runs passed you and up to your living room window, between the tree and the house, and he looks in and his eyes go even more wide, and he steps back a few paces, almost in shock, before coming to his bearings, turning towards you, running in your direction, then passed you, then down the street, then into the blackness of the night as if he were never there. Another hallucination, just like the sedan, like you fell asleep during that movie, in your secluded corner in that crowded basement, and never woke up. It was all just a dream. Please let it all be a dream. The abyss of your mind pushing you superficially into the mouth of horror one last time before your final victory lap or horse-clop into the sunset.

The air of the night, the most distinct feeling in life, could not be reconstructed by the dreaming mind. That’s how you knew you were still awake.

Your eyes start to well-up. You stand there alone again in your agony and horror. But without anyone to answer for it, and without a ledge nearby to grab and save yourself from drowning in the black waters of it. Your mouth is dry and the world around you feels unreal and fake, like the set of a sitcom. And this unreality becomes more and more vivid as all around you becomes easier and easier to see, first as your eyes adjust to the darkness, but then as the darkness begins to fade. And within an hour, the night is over, and the early morning sun, though not there quite yet, at least not through the partition between the earth and the sky of suburban houses, is preceded by its light.

And no sound above distant traffic penetrates this strange moment, until it does, and it does in the form of voices. First barely audible, then audible, then placeable, then, much to your stomach’s protest, distinguishable and familiar. And you see them round the bend and begin running your way. 13 kids running down the street, first as a blip, then as a cloud, then as a series of faces, each one more stunned and anxious than the last, with the face you had seen up close only an hour ago leading them on this exodus towards you. The birthday boy points at the black sedan in shock, amazed it was really there, knowing exactly where to look for it and amazed that it was exactly where he was told it would be.

They completely bypass you when they get to you. At least the first few rows, but then you’re caught up in the crowd and pushed along towards your house. And you knew who it was that was leading them to this watering hole. You hear his voice among there’s: “hopefully they’re still doing it.” And you’re pushed along without your input one way or the other, until you end up in front of the window, a victim of this strange Ludovico, but not the kind who puts up anything resembling a fight. A captive in chains along a road back to Babylon.

Pinned between the limited space between your house and the evergreen tree guarding it, folded in with the peers who never liked you, one with them physically now while the one apart in any other sense. All other senses in fact. And you all look inside, even you, not even concerned with averting your eyes or denying what awaits you. And because of that, what awaits you is what you see.

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The end of your childhood. But not the beginning of your manhood. That would never come. The man in your house, plowing your mom’s perfect ass had predicted that. He was now hammering in the final nails in that coffin with his very own pelvic thrusts. Your dignity and manhood, partners in oblivion, buried alive, next to one another a Romeo and Juliet who never had their time in the sun, unlike the Romeo and Juliet encased perfectly in the glass of your very own window like a tragic zoo exhibit. Endangered exotic, and colorful beyond imagination.

Two bodies becoming one animal. One animal that was in the throws of tearing you to shreds. The only victims of its claws and teeth in a crowd. The “why me?” of all “Why me’s?”. The upturned shovel dropping cold dirt on your two coffins. You’d be identified as the only individual in that crowd by strangers looking at the out-of-focus photo within seconds like spotting a bunny among foxes. It’s funny how little has to change in a brow to differentiate the look of shocked exhilaration in some faces from shocked horror in another. Your soul screamed from behind the glass of your eyes like your mom being fucked by your teacher screamed from behind the glass of your window. Both zoo exhibits into your utter nothingness and ever-living humiliation, personified, given a specific rhythm being drummed out to the audience surrounding you. *Thwap* *Thwap* *Thwap* like Native American drums. A big black drumstick, and the most beautiful and wide ceremonial drum you had ever seen. The gods would be happy. The crops will be wet with rain.

The cloud about you, and at odds with you, was black and filling with an electrical charge, as if ready to make lightning. Strangely enough, they looked over for your reaction second. First they looked at the birthday boy’s naysaying friend. “See,” one of them said, “I told you bodies like that existed.”

“Wow,” he said, evidently excited, “that’s what they must have based those girls on.”

They weren’t just taking in a wild freak-show, your mom as the star, but also a delight to the senses, though none of them put that into words, each one pretending they were there for the spectacle of it. For all of them, their introduction to the naked female form, and the naked female form being used for what it was made for, was your very own mom. And what an introduction. The best introduction, as there was no number higher than 10, and no number less than 11 representing your mom, and 12 representing her body.

The guilt was still there, palpable in the air of their exhaled breaths, but it was washed out by their spiking curiosity that shot from their skin like electricity.

“She’s getting up!”

Many comments were being made about he size of your teacher’s cock.

“She can fit that whole thing?” the outsider asked.

Some of them looked over at you as if you knew the answer.

“Apparently she can,” said the one who assured you falsely that this would never happen, and he laughed as he said it.

“Watch, she’s getting on top.”

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“She’s like a cartoon!”

“Even better because she’s real.”

“I know.”

“He must be having fun.“

“They’ve been doing this all night,” the ringleader of this mob explained, “They were the same an hour ago.” He was excited to get that out there. Excited because this was all his doing. His and the guy who threatened to give you a beating if you made your mom’s ass too scarce at that strategically vital juncture. Their obligations to you didn’t supersede their obligations to everyone else. In their young minds, where nothing stays static for long, they already moved on from their promise, guarantee and gratitude to you, to their joy in watching a woman with a perfect ass being fucked and sharing it with their friends, especially knowing they had a hand in making it happen.

Even their hatred for their teacher couldn’t touch their thrill. If anything, it could only add to it. Your pain, it could only add to it. The thought that he has no need to be nice to you from now on, it could only add to it. The idea that the worst teacher they were likely to ever have had gotten, and would always have the memory of getting, the most perfect woman any of them were likely to see, it could only add to it. It was a body of factors all in perfect proportion to one another, mimicking the perfection of your mom herself, or the perfection in her body, which was unmatched by anything in nature, including the sunrise that acted as a background detail to this moment. Your teacher was now the luckiest man they ever knew of. The least deserving of that luck, but luckiest all the same. And you were the least luckiest, something they were grateful for, a grateful that exceeded the grateful they felt for you leaving things in place so your teacher believed this could all happen one day. It could happen, as clear as the morning behind and before you in the opposing window, and it so easily didn’t have to with just a few choice words they kept you from saying with threats and promises of a self-serving nature. Your mom’s ass would have been pristine. Untouched by your teacher, and unseen by them. But they made sure, unknowingly, that they would be milking your life, your existence itself and everything in it, for all it was worth, your mom’s body being your life’s most valuable object. Your life would always be defined by your mom’s ass in any case, each outside observer casting it mentally in their favorite shroud (jeans, jeans shorts, sweatpants, tights) but now it would be defined by your mom’s ass naked and being fucked, with no variation in memory or visual.

There was the vague understanding, unspoken among them, that this would be their greatest moment in a long life of great ones. Even losing their virginity to their first real girlfriends couldn’t compete to this. Losing one’s virginity was a universal (for all but you, nuns, and monks), but this wasn’t. This was an incredibly rare moment between them, something that brought them together like brothers, something they had all had a hand in, something that made them all one. All one at your expense. You were the outsider in the crowd. The one whose domination they united over top of, like criminals swearing an oath over the enemy they buried: Your dignity and manhood, and the sanctity of your mom’s ass with them.

Networks of calls, and later facebook friends (when facebook was finally invented) and even a best man at a wedding were formed through this night. Iron-strength bonds, all predicated on the image of your mom being fucked by the worst man they ever knew. You would be party to none of it. You couldn’t be. Social circles, big and beige, as luscious in their radius as your mom’s ass itself.

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That Monday, he came in like a wrecking ball, full of the momentum from two weeks of suspending himself in the dead air like a cloud, against his very nature, and he smashed into the side of your class as if the school was condemned to be torn down. What went up, must come down. He had gotten what he wanted, so the dog and pony show was over. And the rest of that year was a living hell. And you were worse off than anybody. Before he targeted you as just another face in the crowd, fodder for his need to dominate. But now you were his favorite punching bag, and he derived glee from destroying you most of all. His treatment of you was like a warped monstrous thing, beyond even what you though he were capable of. And your classmates watched on horrified, feeling lucky in comparison, knowing that all this was their fault. But they wouldn’t trade their situation for anything, not even themselves, never mind you and your mom’s week of tears and confusion after he had gotten all he could want from her.

And as the years passed, they would forget that it was all their fault, or at least forget what the guilt about it felt like. But they would never forget it. And they would never forget you by extension. And that reputation would follow you into high school, something you were sure of when you saw your former classmates whispering to students from different junior highs in the background, keeping your legend alive, and their bonds tight.

So much for making friends in high school.

But maybe college would be different. How would anyone there find out about what it is you went through. Especially if you went to a college on the other side of the country. You’d be free from the ever-hungry shadow of your mom’s ass, and you’d be able to resettle and regroup and rebuild your manhood and dignity again from scratch.

And then you could be happy. And you’d prove your teacher and old classmates wrong. Right?

You greatly underestimated the power of the internet.