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Best Stories of 2021 (As Voted On By You)

2021 has passed, and with it 12 more stories to add to the heap. This year the moms of my stories had cigarettes put out on their ass-cheeks, ate cum-condimented hamburgers, were milked like cattle, were driven through the city in a pickup truck while covered in garbage, were made into a European art installation seen by thousands, became a playground for the family pet, had their vaginas filled with itching powder, had their faces covered with an unmentionable substance, spent eternity with a vengeful spirit, became the subject of scientific research, were gamed by superhuman premonition, and ruined their own surprise parties through a grievous mistake. In other words, this year was a fun time.

This has been, by far and away, my favorite year of writing. The only flaw was that the length of these stories almost always became unwieldly by the time I was finished them. That isn’t a strike against any of these stories, as I think they all earn their length. But it would have been nice to have variety in that regard. But where the stories lacked variety in word-count, they gained variety in everything else, including plot, character, tone, texture, theme, and even genre. The stories range from being up-close and personal character studies, with a level of detail on character thought and motivation that I’ve never been able to achieve up until now, to being slapstick comedies, not unlike previous tales I’ve written except in the extent to which the slapstick escalates. Some of the stories had you following the mom along, behind the clicking of her heels, as she scoured through the streets of Chicago to dredge up dark truths, and others had you listening to the gurgling of the mom’s cries as she was dragged into the watery depths, desperately seeking to avoid that which she wished would stay buried. As one story had you holding on by the edge of your seat as you rode the wild mood swings of the mother’s internal stream of conscious, others had the mother passed out and silent while happenings as pertinent to her as explosions and machine gun fire occurred all around her.

Thematically, almost nothing here is new, just the same themes I’ve always been obsessed with, but this time expanded upon, in some cases, better than I’ve ever been able to accomplish before now. The beauty of the female body, the wide variation in human intelligence and competence, female neuroticism, male perversion, the unlikelihood of circumstance, the pain of inequality, the transcendence inherent in mundane human experience, fear of aging, youthful rambunctiousness, the natural clashing of cultures, the importance of art, the danger of petty emotions, the reverberating influence of past mistakes, the inability for mankind to forever maintain purity, and the celebration of quirky personalities and lifestyles are among the many themes I’ve explored in these stories.

One of the things that many of you have noticed is the moral nature of the stories I’ve written this year. While I’ve used stories as cautionary tales before, this year every story is spurred on by some sin of the mother character which, if not justifies, at the very least foreshadows the undoing of the mom character at the very end. For this reason, every write-up for a story below will list the mom’s sin as I see it, and why that sin lead to the conclusion of the story the way it did. Some might say that I’m holding the mom character to a higher standard than all the other characters in the story, and I wouldn’t disagree. I could list dozens of reasons here why I think that’s acceptable, but I don’t want to bloat this intro with all of that. The one obvious thing I will say though is that stories aren’t real life, and because of that, standards in stories don’t have to be applied universally to all characters, as to hurt a fictional character in a story by hoisting them by the petard of their own mistakes isn’t the same as hurting a real human individual. And fictional characters, unlike real human beings, don’t have equal rights. Just like cops in movies can shoot first and ask questions later, yet in real life we would see this as abhorrent behavior, so too can moms in my stories have giant objects shoved up their ass for the crime of not saying bless you after someone sneezed. Think of the morals of these stories as idealized versions of what we could be rather than a demand that we never make a mistake in our real world lives. The moms are punished not because the mistakes they made are unforgivable, but because the mistakes they made were still mistakes, and they face the fate they do not because the punishment fits the crime, but because the punishment makes us cum. Besides, when I was young and I slipped up, my mom gave me a spanking on my bottom. This is just me returning the favor.

Before we get into the results and stories themselves, I also want to thank my list of muses this year. If you thought my list of stories was small this year, my list of muses is an even more exclusive list. There were 8 total. Ava Addams, Karen Fisher, Ryan Conner, and LaSirena69 all appearing for one story each, with AJ Applegate, Alexis Texas, Valentina Nappi, Kelsi Monroe all appearing for two. Every single one of these girls is as much worthy of praise for inspiring these stories as I am for writing them. In almost every case I can think of, starting from the beginning of my blog, it’s been the women and their images and gifs that inspired the story, and not the other way around, with a story written in a vacuum and later amended with the images and gifs. Without these women, I’d be nothing. If this year, my moms came across as more rich in detail and motivation, it was only because I read that detail and motivation in the faces, bodies, and recorded sexual acts of these beautiful creatures. It’s for this reason that creative writing of any kind is only my second most-admired profession. The first is, was, and always will be people who have sex on camera for the purpose of arousing others. So god-bless these Aphrodites who give our visual embodiment of pure bliss we call porn. They do what our moms don’t but should, and because of that, they’re better moms than our real moms will ever be.

But enough with the gushing, on with the list:


Votes: 5 Percentage: 7%

Normally it would pain me to see a story I love this much so low on the list. But when I see the entries that beat it out, I can’t be too upset. What my personal number one story this year was in terms of plot, character, and originality, this story is to theme and motif. This story was a day-glo trip through shadow and sudden bursts of light. Every ass mentioned in the story is highlighted and color-coded by bright shades. A claustrophobic moment in a dark locker, capped off by the wetness of urination and the red-heat of humiliation, is mirrored again in the open and airy darkness of a public park at night, which ends in the sweet moisture of water from a dripping leaf and the cool, riveting breeze of possibility. Again this series of motifs is mirrored at the end a third time when the trapped innards of a wrecked automobile masquerade as the limbo after death and a hotbox for reflection, again ending with uncomfortable wetness and humiliating discovery, bringing the story full-circle. The constant references to visual stimuli, like the red of the mom’s dress mirroring the red of the escaping truck’s taillight, and the red of a lit cigarette cherry at night, as well as the minor detail of the mom and dad never looking at each other’s faces directly unless it happens through the reflection of a mirror or the viewfinder of a camera; details like this probably lend themselves better to film than they do the written word, which might be why this story didn’t land for others as hard as it did for me. After all, I see what it was I was going for better than those who are trying to derive something from reading it.

Sin: Vengefulness

This is less the sin of the mother, and more the sin of the father, whose punishment is delivered via the mom character and her body. This is another element of the story which elevates it in my estimation. The only interaction the son has with his mother is watching her pass by wordlessly through the hallway, seeing the naughty photographs taken of her by his dad, and of course watching her getting fucked at the story’s conclusion. The reason for this lack of a visible relationship within what’s shown in the story is because the mom is supposed to come across as nothing but a trophy wife for the vanity of the father character. That’s not to say that she isn’t more than that outside of the specific frame that the story covers, but the feeling you’re supposed to derive as you read is one of disconnect and frivolity between the characters. The love between the mom and dad is real as far as I’m concerned, as an example, but the focus of the night for the dad makes it feel cheap in the moment. In this sense, she’s the most innocent of all my moms for 2021. Or is that only a superficial conclusion? After all, is not her ass big enough to carry enough sins for the both of them? By being the father’s object for revenge against his graduating class, whether or not she’s aware that that’s what she is, she is more than a fair target for retaliation, as she’s the stick the father character tried to beat his former bully with. When it’s slowly revealed, bit by bit, just how bad the former-bully has it in the present, it reframes the father’s attempt at revenge for what it truly was, an act of needless cruelty. In this sense, the story is the spiritual sequel to another Alexis Texas starring classic, Cheeks. In that story as well, the mom’s revenge against her former adversary, in place of magnanimity, is what ultimately leads to her downfall. In this story, the mom is no longer the instigator, but she is more than fair game.

Honestly, I could write an entire essay on this story, as I think its many and shifting layers call for an equally as multiplitory examination of them. I might do that one day, but given the story’s low placement in this poll, this isn’t the place for that.


=11) King Me

Votes: 5 Percentage: 7%

This is another one that I absolutely love, though its lower placement makes much more sense to me than that of Bright Red. This is true for various reason. First of all, this is one of my grossest stories. Second of all, much of its word-count is dedicated to spoofing the cliches of action films and the ultimate impotence of hyper-masculinity and chivalry against the immovable object of beta-male conniving and the will to violate. Third of all, much of the fucking happens “off-screen” and without fanfare. These are all things that can get in the way of one’s arousal while reading this one. So I understand the lukewarm response. But to me, the grossness of it is in perfect contrast to the beauty and purity of the mom herself, with each bit of muck and grime like a dagger aimed at the bubble of her life. The subplot with the cowboy police detective, and his will and ingenuity, is perfectly deflated by the reality of his opponent, the overweight failure of a kidnapper who somehow managed to rig himself a beautiful woman as his sex-slave and escaped from it all unharmed, and with one final visual joke aimed at the “pigs” that he hates so much. And the lax and tensionless way the mom is fucked throughout the story not only adds to the sweaty grossness of it all, and sits in perfect opposition to the urgency of the cop sub-plot, but it also feeds into the mediocre, couch-potato world of the kidnapper, which is at odds with the universe of success that the mom and her family live in, filled with direction and purpose, and goals which are so meticulously crafted, that even her jogging is scheduled and made into a goal-directed activity, aiming at constant improvement.

Sin: Privilege

The mom in this story is privileged through her wealth and beauty. Unlike my other stories this year (not counting La Grande Illusion) the mom in this one doesn’t have much time as a sober, acting character in order for her to accrue guilt as the story proceeds. But as each plot detail unfolds, and the reality between the life of the kidnapper and the life of the mom start to emerge in stark contrast, the moral center of the story starts to emerge with it. The mom spends her waking intro to the story trying desperately to ignore the literal dog crap around her, not seeing in it the flashing warning sign it provides. This inability to adapt to the danger of the moment continues as she sees one passed-out person after another. This type of obliviousness, at least in terms of implications, is the type of obliviousness that only those in a privileged position can afford to have. On the other end of the spectrum, her kidnapper, living nothing but a life of mediocrity and hardship, is the most on-point and ingenious character in the whole story. His most picturesque moment, the placing of his hairy and toenail-chipped foot on top of the beautiful face of the mom, ironically under the cleansing water of the shower, is one of the many reasons why I wish I knew how to paint. The beauty of that visual will stay with me until my first signs of dementia. In the end, the mom is forced to do what so many others who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks are forced to do. That is, eat shit. All while her knight in shining armor throws up but a few feet away. Going back to my statement on muses, if Valentina Nappi’s features weren’t so beautiful and dignified, that sort of ending never would have came to me. I guess beauty begets beauty, proving the villain’s expectations about that world right again. And thus justifying his bitterness at being held outside of this self-fulfilling whirlwind.


10) Milk

Votes: 8 Percentage: 11%

Milk is the one odd-man-out this year, most likely due to the fact that the bulk of the story had already been written in 2020 only to be finished in the early part of 2021. The goal of the story initially was to make the prose feel thick and pure like milk. In that sense, the story was a raging success. My personal opinion is that the story, outside of its individual elements, most of which are great, was as one quite a failure. Clearly many readers disagree with me on that. And to some extent, I get it. The individual elements of the story never coalesce to form one big picture. An example of this is the ending, where the implication is made by the son that the mom is a cow of some sort. It’s a great ending to the story, no doubt about that, but nothing in the story previously hints or foreshadows that this is where it would end up. For some reason, the son buys a pair of giant fake breasts that resemble his mom’s, and then nothing happens with them, in either plot or theme. The voyeurism moment, and the gif accompanying it, are basically perfect, only for the result of it to be that some acquaintance of hers from the past had found the video. For some reason, just before the magic moment, the son passes out and has a vivid hallucination of being arrested by the police and going to prison for life. All of these elements, all of which are great on their own, sit haphazardly placed together without any real connective tissue, in terms of either plot or theme, to keep them there. This is incredibly strange to me, as very few, if any, of my stories are like this. Almost everything I write, whether I try hard to make it this way or not, ends up having a symmetry to it. I’ll write one insignificant plot detail early in the story, not thinking much of it, only to discover a way to callback to it later in the plot, and in doing so, creating satisfying payoffs and thematic repetition which makes everything cohesive. But yet… there’s something about this one, something I can’t put my finger on, which makes it work. And if I had to guess what it was, my only answer would be that the milky prose is the unifying element that keeps it all together. And this milky effect wouldn’t be possible if the story was too well-structured, would it? In the end, the story isn’t about anything other than nourishment of the most motherly kind. Why would anyone expect Milk to be solid?

Sin: Bounteousness

The literal Alma Mater of this story is basically spilling through and over the fabrics which contain her. She almost is the perfect representation of the sexualizing of moms that has been happening, even more so very recently than in years prior, of moms in internet culture. Some might object to the sin of the mother being related to her physical features, something which she has no control over. But I frankly disagree. While there is without doubt a tragedy to the mom inheriting the body she did, that doesn’t exempt her from suffering the fate that the body itself deserves. In the end, a cow may have been born a cow, but it’s still a cow, and like a cow, it needs to be milked.


Votes: 9 Percentage: 13%

This is my most gimmicky story of the year. But the nature of that gimmick, and its interplay with the usual plot elements of my stories, is what makes it so good. It has all the classics: a recently deceased father, a reluctant but learning brother, an oblivious mom, a disrespectful authority figure as the bully, and a son with traits that on the surface seem to mirror that of the autism and Machiavellianism that characterizes many of my other son characters. The themes of fate, careful planning, the rareness of certain opportunities, and the benefits of genius are all here, but each one is turned up to 11 due to the supernatural twist within the plot. The son in this story isn’t just smart, he’s psychic. He isn’t just autistic and detached, he is so absorbed by every possible outcome that he has no interest in his social world whatsoever. He isn’t just thinking ahead, he’s knowing ahead. He isn’t just influencing his mother’s fate, he’s been controlling it since the beginning, without mistakes, miscalculations, or the stress of having to get it right. In other words, the plot and character of this one are a metaphor for what my stories, especially those of this type, usually entail. I don’t really have much to say about this story. It’s cleverness for cleverness-sake, but the end-result of that cleverness is a story about a beautiful older woman who isn’t capable, and never had a chance, at escaping a coming indignity. The twist at the end (which I think I made a bad job of making clear) that the son isn’t just capable of predicting the future, but also capable of manipulating objects with his mind, implying that it was he who caused the plane crash that killed his father, to me is the final nail in the coffin for the hopes of any of the characters having their own separate freewill in this son’s world. It’s the mechanical-ness of this story, and the mom’s naked place within it, which makes it so hot. She’s like soft puddy being squeezed through gears of iron. She goes where she’s pushed. She has no choice.

Sin: Lack of forethought

The irony of this sin is that to not have it would literally mean that the mom had psychic powers like her son. Without that, his will is unbeatable. You then might say that the mom’s sin is no sin at all. But I’ve foreseen that objection and countered it decades ago. If the mom didn’t deserve her fate, then why did it make your cock so hard to see it? Checkmate.


Votes: 11 Percentage: 15%

Ah, the one where the forty-year-old who lives with his mom busts fat nuts in the hamburgers. Nice! The true star of this story is the character Dan. He’s established early on as being dimwitted, lazy, incompetent, and a burden on everybody around him. He might be my greatest underdog, as unlike the kidnapper from King Me, who at least showed great creativity and technical ingenuity, Dan has no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Yet, it’s through this utter lack of positive traits which makes Dan paradoxically so easy to root for. He represents all of us at our lowest. When we discover, relatively early in this one, that he has been nutting in the burgers of attractive customers for years, it fills us with satisfaction. Not only is Dan a burden, but he’s a burden that makes it a point to empty the contents of his balls onto the beef patty of smiling female customers, all of whom are guaranteed to be much more productive members of society than he ever will be. The realization that comes with this revelation is that even through Dan’s laziness, he had managed to fill the insides of women all across the city with the sweet fuel of his testicles, an accomplishment that, whether intended by Dan or not, is extremely vast in scope and impressive in follow-through. The impressiveness of this feat, followed by the even more impressive feat of having his way with the mom character, is the contrasted with the daily goings-on of the rest of society, and the question is raised, who is truly more productive? I think those of us with this fetish all know the real answer to that.

Sin: Over-Industriousness

Fast food is one of the most telling symptoms of our modern world. Things move fast these days, and our window of time to ourselves is squeezed shorter and shorter, for the sake of a productivity that half of us don’t even appreciate. The tendency to rely on fast food, in place of preparing our own meals, giving us time to reflect and appreciate, is a testament to the breakneck speed of our modern era. In this way, The Spirit of the Beehive is a Tortoise and the Hare story. No matter how conscientious and successful the mother character is, slow and steady (or at least slow) end up winning the race in the end. And the reward for the victor is the loser’s luscious body. I’m team Dan ‘til I die.


=6) Samsara

Votes: 12 Percentage: 17%

People have noticed the biblical influences, both implicit and explicit, on-the-nose or subtle, in my stories for years now. The talking of the mom’s ass in some of my earlier stories being a literal pun for the talking ass (donkey) in the Torah. Occasionally, descriptions of heaven or hell, the comparing of individuals to messiah-figures, references to rebirth, guiding lights, the conquering of evil, the immortality of the human personality and implications; all of this is very occidental in its spiritual flavor. Samsara, as the title suggests, is the first story I’ve ever written that was heavily influenced by the religions of the oriental world. Hinduism, Buddhism, and Taoism become prominent here, both in explicit references, as well as in the moral compass of the story. The Samsara of the story’s title is the endless cycle of life, death, and rebirth that all humans are subjected to, the suffering inherent within being a sort of a choice, in the sense that how we feel about what we’re subjected to in life is always within our control, in one way or another. Nirvana, which is literally symbolized in the story as being within the darkness of the mom’s ass, is where soul’s go when they let go of the attachments within life that lead to suffering. Though no explicit reference to reincarnation is made in the story, the focus on Gary the hamster sheds a light on the possible range of forms our soul could take when reincarnated after death. The cruelty within the story, which is probably well above the usual range for me, is meant to symbolize the cruelty and pain of life itself. The need for revenge by the cousin, the fear and humiliation of the brother, and the unceasing worry of the mother for her son are contrasted with the more “still” natures of Tony and the other bullies, who seem to take life as it goes, the protagonist son who recognizes the stupidity in trying to achieve revenge over diplomacy, and the simplicity of Gary the hamster, who just wants the simple things from life. In the end, those who lose in the story are those who dwell in their negative emotions, and those who win, are those who learn to accept the ebb and flow of life itself. And this leads into the sin of the mother.

Sin: Worry

The worry of the mom in this story manifests itself in many ways. Tears, restlessness, clumsiness, potential car accidents, the need to be busy. This worry, the famous worry a mother feels for her vulnerable son, is understandable to a degree, but it is completely useless to help anything about her son’s situation. In the end, the mom’s body can be enjoyed by everyone in the story who isn’t filled with negative emotions. Even the cousin character finds momentary peace in utilizing the mom’s body, but the effect is fleeting, and the result humiliating for both him and her. This view of morality might be hard for the western mind to wrap its head around, but that doesn’t make it illegitimate. If you disagree but seek to better understand, try closing your eyes, clearing your thoughts, and focusing on the slapping of the mom’s ass as it’s DP’d by Tony and his friends. Does that make you feel good when cleared of all other concern? Yes? Well, maybe that’s your Atman trying to tell you something.


Votes: 12 Percentage: 17%

The amount of moving parts in this story is simply astounding. This is one of the reasons why it is that Milk perplexes me as much as it does. After all, everything being juggled within this story is not only of a wider variety of shapes than Milk, but also heavier and with more of them in the air at once. Yet with all this, nothing in this story feels disconnected from anything else like it did in Milk. While I would put 9 out of the 12 stories I’ve written this year within the top 20 stories I’ve ever written, in many ways this story, though not my number one favorite, is the one whose success astounds me the most. While Trading Places from the previous year is overall a better story (I’ve grown to realize it’s one of my all-time greats) La Grande Illusion is a much more mature and confident exploration of some of the same themes. On top of that, the themes of race, immigration, or purity aren’t even necessarily the primary themes of the story, depending on how you look at it. The story is just as much about artistic drive and sacrifice, the idealization of moms as untouchable objects, the commercialization of the human body, and the transformative nature of time. On top of all this, it’s also a love-story. In many ways, this love story is central to understanding the nature of the whole. Rachel, the love interest, is meant to be the polar-opposite to the mom character. Where the mom is representative of the France of old, Rachel represents the new. Where the mom is a figure of French purity, Rachel is one of interracial cross-pollination. Where the mom is an example of untouchable chastity, Rachel is always in reach and available as a source of easy pleasure for the characters. Where the mom is understood through circumstantial glimpses into her past in the form of disconnected sentences she repeats in a drugged stupor, Rachel is understood by her words and actions in the present. Where the mom has to be drugged, Rachel complies willingly. Both the mom and Rachel are representations of France itself. The proposal to Rachel that happens at the end of the story is symbolic of the son’s preference to France as what it is now versus what it was in the past. Just like the hidden camera footage from the son’s new rival earlier in the story involves the camera passing under a partition, one of the last things the son sees before the end of the story is the highest point of the portable background being used to photograph Rachel in the studio, witnessing the exact spot where that background ends and the shadowy blackness of the studio ceiling begins. That’s what the Grand Illusion of the title is in reference to. It’s the name of a French film with similar themes, that is, the illusion that as people we are really all that different. The illusion that the borders between us are real. At the end of this story, that illusion in penetrated, and through that void spills thousands upon thousands of naked black bodies, young, strong and erect.

Sin: Purity

The mom’s sin happens to be the thing that makes her so appetizing, especially to the eyes and thighs of foreigners. That is the purity of her Frenchness, which manifests in her both genetically and culturally. For the entirety of the story, unless otherwise noted, the characters are supposed to be speaking French, yet I knew that I had no choice but to write the few words of the mom in actual French, even though it was unnecessary. If translated or understood, those bits of dialogue include references to the mom’s past, cluing us into her long and storied life, which comes across as essentially French in spirit, with quaint references to young romance, flowers, picnics, and familial relations. Through these dreamy interludes, you could almost imagine a time in the streets of Paris where every set of calves which peeked below the skirt of a flowing dress was of a shade of creamy white, and every hand hanging to one of those hips a similar, if more suntanned and rough, shade of white as well. While there is definitely something charming about this thought, its charm is short-lived when compared to the constantly renewing thrill of French asses coming into forceful contact with black and brown pelvis, cheeks jiggling from the slaps of black and brown hands, and thin pink lips meeting the large, protruding black ones on black faces. When the mom’s final scene is manifested with her as a photograph, her very body representing France itself, as it’s stuffed by the cocks of ethnically African gentleman, I know my white readers felt the same thrill I did, and rejoiced at what it represented and implied. The end of Europe’s repressive purity, and the start of a new and more colorful age.


Votes: 13 Percentage: 18%

My Halloween special that came out a few days too late for Halloween. The goal of this one was two-fold: 1) to try to make a story that genuinely worked as a horror tale the way that Spanked worked as a noir. 2) to try to make a story where daylight was more frightening than the dark. In both those goals, I think I’ve succeeded. The story feels like a nightmare and a wet dream all in one. Unlike previous horror stories where I based my model for the villain off of Michael Myers, using John Carpenter’s usual motif of an enemy with the barest of features, symbolizing an enemy “other” that we have no reason to know or understand, the villain of this story is far more relatable in personality and motivation. His goal is revenge and sexual release. He is the victim of a great injustice, something I’ll get into below when I discuss the mom’s sin. The titillation of the story comes not just with the final fate of the mom’s body, but also with the psychological torment she goes through on the way there. The story is an exercise in persistent cruelty that the reader doesn’t realize is justified until near the end. The son in this one fulfills his typical bluvelvet role as turncoat against his own mother, but in this story, his journey there is just as much one of discovery and revelation as it is one of arousal. And that’s what has made this past year of stories as good as they have been. It’s the heightening of the character’s roles as a result of feeding them through the tropes of other genres. By making this one into a mystery-horror story, the simple tale of a mom getting fucked is elevated to cosmic significance. The son is now an unsleeping guardian of truth, doing everything he can to uncover what was made hidden by the salutary nature of water. The mom is now the purveyor of a great wrong whose consequences ripple through time, disrupting the placidity of her life. The bully is a genuine malevolent force that can’t be stopped, much like the tide, only understood. And the permanent enslavement of the mom’s souls at the end, forever to be fucked by the man she wronged, takes my usual theme of the irreversibility of sexual acts to new heights.

Sin: Murder

The actions of the mom in this one, though they take a while to bob to the surface, are completely shocking and despicable. Luckily, her punishment in turn almost matches their severity. While I genuinely believe that all my mom characters have deserved their fates, I knew that I had to really push it to the limit in this story, not only to match the creepy and unnerving mood up to that revelatory moment, but also to twist the expectations of the reader. Once that moment happens, the grungy and dust-caked feel of the story’s emotional palette feels warranted, and in turn, the hallucinatory ending, with all its merciless cruelty, feels exactly like what it is: a triumph. In the end, this becomes a horror story with a happy ending, where good defeats evil and the resulting orgasm of that deserved victory never ends, nor does the horror and humiliation of the woman who brought it upon herself.


Votes: 16 Percentage: 22%

This is my favorite out of anything I have ever written. Nothing really comes close for me. What was originally meant to be a small parody of the film-noir genre, one that didn’t take itself too seriously, ballooned as I wrote it into the most wild, creative, dedicated, and specific story I’ve ever constructed. Like I said early with It Came From Beneath, the brilliance of this story is how it takes the usual tropes of my style and elevates them by transporting all my usual archetypes into the shadowy and ambiguous world of the film-noir. On top of this, it and Wet Between the Cheeks are my only two stories where the mom serves as the primary protagonist, who we follow from beginning to end, her emotions and actions being the driving element of the story. The actual date of the story is some time in the 1930’s. Prohibition has ended, European fascism looms like a shadow in the conversations of the characters, women and ethnics are looked at skeptically (and the mom is both), and everyone speaks about sex through euphemistic phrases. The mom character, the best character I’ve ever written, stalks the streets of Chicago like an advancing jaguar in a creature feature, sits behind her desk, feet up, smoking a cigarette, cracking wise like a Howard Hawks private eye, lowers herself on wings of sympathy for the weak like a big sister in a Frank Capra film, is enamored by the silvery light of the big screen and all its magic like a teenage girl out of Rebel Without a Pause, runs down lanes under sparse street lights like a potential victim in a Jacques Tourneur thriller, wears her very Italian beauty on her sleeve (or rather on her heels) like the eye candy in a Fellini film, evokes our sympathy like Audrey Hepburn, makes us laugh like Jean Arthur, and becomes the embodiment of the elements themselves like Lillian Gish. She is so much of what I admire in women, both idealized and real. And she lives in a world so eager to grab at her, in a time when doing so would almost be seen as okay, and she dodges and repels these slings and arrows with such skill, bravery, and class, that when she does finally succumb to one of her attackers, mostly due to her virtues working against her, it feels deserved. The same relaxation afforded her at the end of the story is the same one we feel as readers to see her finally get her comeuppance, almost wondering if a character so well-equipped and likeable could ever suffer such a fate. After all, the magic of the movies has made us feel otherwise. This is the beauty of the story. It stomps down on the figure of feminine virtue with such a muscular thrust, and it provides the reader with no hope that the story will ever end any other way, no matter how many times one reads it. But be careful that you characterize the story as one of evil overcoming good until you read what I have to say about that below.

Sin: Pride

The fact that the mother of this story is my strongest character already makes her a figure of arrogance among all my others. She preens and poses as if she’s aware of her place at the top, and the fascination she fills the readers with. It’s as if she knows that we’re all hanging onto her every word and gesture, and she gloats, bathing in that attention, never expecting to offer its sweet implication. She is an Icarus, flying above wave and below sun, on the wings of her own charisma and wit. Even meta-aspects aside, there is something shameless in it every time her feet, admittedly striking in their Italian nuances, are rested in plain view. The pride she takes in one-upping men and their desires, and her failure to spot a real sexual threat to her as soon as it disguised itself as a crying young man (her being reminded of her son being the perfect Trojan horse). The mom, in her freewheeling pride, is a symbol for the rising fascism of Italy, with all its bravado and its promises to save the world from itself. In the end, as true in this story as was proven true by the conclusion of the war, American democracy, as represented by the blonde hair of the man under the hat, eventually won out, and not only fucked fascism in its evil mouth, but also farted in its bewildered face. Don’t feel sorry for the mom. If she would have won in the end, maybe we’d all be speaking Italian. And what use are the trains always running on time when they’re never being ran on your mom’s ass?

Like Bright Red, I’ll probably be writing an essay about this story at some point, all about its references to film, literature, history, and politics. There’s a lot to unpack here, as even as the writer of this one, I derive something new from it every time I read it. Also, don’t expect this to be the last you see of this little lady. I honestly don’t thing I’ve wrung her ass out hard enough yet. Hopefully the sequels live up to the original.


Votes: 17 Percentage: 24%

Another story, like Spanked, with the mom as the subject of the story rather than its object. If you haven’t read this one, don’t read ahead, as much of its power relies on its various turns in plot, which will be spoiled here. As you can tell by its placement, this one was highly regarded, not just by others, but by me too. I honestly fell in love with the mom from this one. She’s only a few years older than I am, so much of her fears about getting older were mine as well. Though this is an anxiety that’s often more troubling for women than it is for men. Her sister, younger and less neurotic, serves as the perfect counterbalance. The mom’s mind is tortured by the thought of her sister’s fresh ass and sitting demons of inadequacy and panic that exist within those two luscious cheeks. This border-line incestuous component, an element I use often, shines brightly, not only in moments of the mom imagining her husband and her sister having the sex that she imagines she’s being deprived of, but also in a moment involving the mom accidently coming across her nude sister in swimming pool showers. AJ Applegate was perfect for the purposes of this story, as her ass, amongst the best in the business as far as I’m concerned, does genuinely pop less than asses with more definitive shape, like that of Alexis Texas or Kelsi Monroe. The difference here is not one of quality of ass, as Applegate’s is basically perfect as far as I’m concerned, but of its more modest nature. It’s a working-class sort of ass. It’s shape and size big and luscious, blushing pink at moments, jiggling perfectly, but it does lack the Hollywood style of polish that other muses I regular use possess. And this is what puts Applegate in my top three pornstars of all time, and makes her the inspiration for some of my best work, she is the most beautiful example of Girl-Next-Door that I’ve ever been able to utilize. In this story in particular, she is chased by the specter of her own multiplying anxiety. Devoid from proper and correcting stimuli, she swirls down the drain of her own making, and even her moment to rise again like a phoenix from the ashes of her own insecurity, is robbed from her when she realizes she had nothing to rise from.

Sin: Insecurity

In the end it’s the mom’s lack of faith in her own beauty that ends up popping the bubble of her suburban happiness. This is a story of what-if, but its punch is that the what-if being manifested is only manifested through the most ridiculous of mistakes. Whether anybody saw this ending coming, its actual nature was somewhat that of cliché. I’m sure there are dozens of episodes of TV sitcoms which end the same way. What makes it feel so fresh here though is that the stakes are raised by the hinging variable, which sways off the doorpost of that cliché, is that of sexual loyalty. This means the stakes are inherently high. About as high as it can get without leaving a mark. And in the end that’s what happens. The only indication of the mom’s mistake, invisible to everyone else except for her, is that uncomfortable sensation between her cheeks. It’s a classic morality tale. In the end, Doug’s behavior is of course completely justified. He was thrown a golden opportunity, something which he recognized almost immediately, and he capitalized on it, getting to enjoy the subject of his maddening lust in the prime of her beauty. Not only would any of us take that chance, but we’d also be morally wrong not to.


Votes: 19 Percentage: 26%

This one really does deserve its high placement, though I will admit I have stories I prefer much more than this, but there really is no beating the purity of what this one sets out to do and then accomplishes without hitch. The story doesn’t just take a plot element from Samsara, the itching powder, but it also takes its very concentrated degree of cruelty towards the mother character. But what makes the story interesting, and, in many ways, better than Samsara, is how it strips it of all its fat – in the form of themes, implications, moving parts, and characters – and instead only leaves the actions themselves, and their consequences, for us to enjoy. The mom in this one isn’t anything more than collateral damage caught in the whirlwind of youthful rambunctiousness, cruelty, and indiscretion. By the time she realizes what’s happening, she’s caught in between fight or flight, and neither is easy when your insides feel like they’ve been stuffed with insulation. In the moment, she chooses that latter, and in doing so, gives the probing camera a 360-degree view of her body. Then she fails to achieve even the privacy of her own washroom, the ridge of her bathtub being used a mantle to prop up her fallen ass for the camera. When the mom’s humiliation comes, its sudden and absurd, but as the story keeps going, the cruelty is never let up on. It continues to increase to the degree that it completely removes the mom, incapacitating her in her function as protector of her own son, and that’s what hammers the final nail in the coffin of the son’s dignity in the final action of the story. He opens his mouth up because it’s the logical conclusion of everything that’s happened before.

Sin: Sloth

The mom and the son in this story are completely disconnected as characters, sharing no scenes together until the moment of her waking up into humiliation. When this moment finally comes, it’s as if their world’s are colliding, and the dog-eat-dog nature of the young male pecking order had not only evaded her awareness up until now, but by the time she becomes aware, it is through the cruelty of that pecking order sneaking itself into her most private place, and the place where her son herself found entry into this world. Maybe sloth isn’t the right way to put it. It might be ignorance generally. The mom’s sin effectively was failing to be aware just how horrible the world her son was forced into is. It’s a world where one can’t even afford shuteye without suffering for it disproportionately. In the end, this wild world uses even the jiggly flesh of her body for the thrill of its own creative destruction. It’s that cheeky irreverence which has catapulted this story so high up on this list for you guys, I’m sure.


Votes: 21 Percentage: 29%

From a technical level, this really is the best story of 2021. It’s definitely the most polished, even more so than Spanked, with the way it juggles storytelling and prose, character and plot, theme and motif. Even with a minimal number of references, the city in which the characters live in feels developed and real, and the evening shift, and the world it shares with the son in his living room, all feels so plausible. This is important as it situates the mom within a world of rules and consequences. Factors don’t just float into being when needed for the sake of the story. Even when they technically do, it feels as if they are well-worn and were waiting in the pockets in the reality of the story to appear. The mom in this one is compared to three things by Dr. Pretorius (one of my best non-bully/son/mom trinity characters ever), the first being an explicit reference, the second implicit, and the third a coincidence. It’s this string of objectifications, robbing the mom of her status as a living, desiring being, which give the story its pleasant devilishness. The first of these three references is her Pretorius-assigned nickname, Alexandria, in reference to the city in Egypt where Alexander the Great established the greatest library (a store of knowledge) that humanity had seen up to that point, establishing the mom, through the eyes of the good doctor, as something magnificent who knowledge can be derived from endlessly. His second reference, implied in a way that makes her butt-cheeks squeeze tightly to each other, is his comparing her to the great white whale Moby Dick from the book of the same name, implying that she’s an object of great and singular obsession for him. These two references not only objectify her, but they also pedastalize her as something above that of common nature. The third reference, now unintentional, does the reverse. When the story shifts backwards in time to detail the invention of the tranquilizing-agent designed by Pretorius for use on Alexandria, it’s described how he tests this agent on a white-tail deer. Besides the obvious point that this deer has a white tail, and so does Alexandria, and both deer and mom are majestic in their own ways, both in their own habitats, the implication that the mom will have to be put out, like an animal is, for the sake of science, rather than pedestalizes her, lowers her to that of mindless beast. The real thrill in this story, and if I had to guess the thing that solidified it as being head-and-shoulders ahead in the number one spot, is the moment when it’s revealed exactly what’s inside Dr. Pretorius’s book. The knowledge that the mom was, and had been since before the story started, thoroughly examined and quantified by the wide-eyed asexual zoologist and his begloved hands, is what really set the reader over the edge in an orgasm, or epiphany, of fulfilled justice. And it explains why her cheeks clamped so hard whenever she seen him. They were trying to defend themselves.

Sin: Intelligence

While it is heavily implied that the son’s partner’s perception of how Alexandria sees him might just be a product of his neurotic temperament, or his insecurity about his intelligence, this doesn’t give the mom an excuse. Even if she was completely devoid of the arrogance over her own intelligence, and the lack of it in others, that her son seemed to have in spades, the way she made her son’s partner feel, even if inadvertent, made his treatment of her, when the opportunity so graciously presented itself, justified. In the end, the sin of perceived intellectual superiority can only be proven to be her son’s alone, whereas the mom’s real crime here is being caught within the whirlwinds of three male egos. One representing pure masculine id (the partner), one representing the ego (the son), and one representing the super-ego (Dr. Pretorius). This might be a small crime, but I’m draconian in my treatment of my mother characters. The mother in Spanked may have been the type of hero Alexandria read about in her escape from reality through books, but Alexandria, in being much more realistic to how actual mothers can be, ends up being almost as great a character, and in the end, it’s almost as satisfying to see her groped by the rough hands of brain and brawn, mind and matter, lust and curiosity, old and young, and clever and dumb. And reading about her being pinned there, like a butterfly to felt, is what made this story so satisfying for so many of you. I hope when you hear the famous phrase “there she blows,” it reminds you just as much of her as it does the whale that phrase was originally used for.


So that’s 2021. My favorite year on this strange journey so far. It was fun putting these 12 female bodies through such a ruthless gauntlet for your entertainment, and I look forward doing it more in the future. It still blows my mind how many cocks have been jerked off around the world to the fates of those moms. That’s why I never give them an inch. It’s the catharsis we all deserve. There’s clearly something primordial in the process. I don’t know what it is, but I know that the deeper these stories dig, the better I feel after I’m done them. And I’ve had people tell me that they feel the same as readers. While some of my biggest fans see my stories as acts of cruelty, and I don’t dismiss that reading as it’s blatantly true in many ways, I tend to agree more with the other half of fans, who see the more positive and uplifting aspects in these stories. My ultimate goal with every word I write is to celebrate beauty. I’m not sure why that intention comes out the way that it does, with the stories that I’ve written, but I’m glad it does. And I’m glad you guys have been along for the ride.

In case anyone is curious as to what my personal favorites are, here’s my list:

1) Spanked.

2) Bright Red

3) Body of Knowledge (Alexandria)

4) King Me

5) Wet Between the Cheeks

6) It Came From Beneath

7) La Grande Illusion

8) Samsara

9) Horsin’ Around

10) The Spirit of the Beehive

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