Bumpy Ride 2: Resort

The sea was golden, unbroken. Its surface glimmered, reflecting the heavens above. Rays of light poked through the amber-soaked white clouds, as if ordaining the water with their purpose. The sun was absent from the horizon, finding its eclipse behind the hill that the locals referred to as the “sacred one.” The edges of the buddha statue which sat there glowed, hinting at the fallen sun’s glory.

Suddenly, there was a break in the ocean’s pristine surface. Gold emerged, first unbroken, then as a series of collected strands, before a face, smiling, prideful, eyes shut, absorbed with itself, came with it. Her elegant throat and shoulders below. And then, like nothing else before it, two large breasts, subject to overresponding to every movement, emerged, bringing up spilling water with them. The rest of her came up not long after. Her bikini tight against her curvaceous body, her hands ran through her hair. She then stopped, looked out ahead, wiping the water from her eyes. “How was that?”

Tom sighed silently. “Good,” he said.

Evelyn, big goofy smile on her face, emerged from the waves. She reached out to Tom as she walked up the beachhead. “Here,” she said. “Let me see it.”

Tom handed her her phone. She looked over the footage of herself. “Wow!” She said. “It’s like I’m a mermaid! Isn’t it?”

She tilted the phone to her son.

He watched on screen as her breasts again almost literally pop out of the water, bringing ungodly spray with them. He looked away. “Yeah,” he said.

“Isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

She untilted the phone, just staring at it, shaking her head. “The Thailand air must do something to me.” She looked around. She covered her eyes and looked to the mountain. The Buddha, golden and wise, stared back down at her. She stared up at it, a smirk in the corner of her mouth.

They walked up the winding path, turning the occasional head. Eyes, whether they belonged to a local, an Asian tourist, or a western one, turned to watch the voluptuous lady, with the blushing, squinting young man next to her, as she emerged from around the bend, a strange vision, both foreign to the landscape, but yet somehow fitting with it perfectly.

Tom looked up at the mountain, his eyes narrowed from the sun which peeked through the hills.

“I won’t get mad you know?”

“Huh?”

“Your religious beliefs are your own, sweetheart.”

He looked at her face. That expression of self-aware benevolence coated it. Tom suppressed his annoyance. He looked back up at the hill, and when the sun was again obscured behind another peek, he saw the buddha there, staring off at where they once were on that beach.

“If you feel any weird sensations rising, don’t just assume that they’re wrong because they’re not Christian sensations. Or white sensations.” She stumbled a bit on the path. Her giant tits shaking as a  passing Japanese onlooker’s mouth fell open. “Whether you want to be a muslim, a buddhist, a witch, whatever. There’s no shame in it. It’s between you and whatever faith speaks to you.”

Tom stared at her, seeing the self-satisfaction in her face. He was still amazed by the ability she had to entertain entire moral arcs, their beginning, middle, and end, all within the vacuum of her mind. She minded the path, trying to avoid stepping on stray rocks with her bare feet. And while she did that, she multitasked, finding slots within her little redemption arc (always for others) that she could plug her own son into.

Tom turned away, shaking his head. By the time they had found flat ground again, by the time Evelyn’s hair and body were dry, the sun was a glowing slug on the horizon’s edge. The buddha sat in shadow.

“It’s a shame your dad and sister couldn’t be here,” she said. She looked at Tom, then down at her drink, taking its straw in between pursed lips. Bodies splashed in the pool behind her. Tom was very aware of just how near-to-nude she was, the table above obscuring the tight fit of her black bikini, her thick thighs and ass basically spilling out past it, falling against, and even off, the seat. But he could see passers-by, including the smiling-staff, appreciating her as they went, this foreign ball of sex and sexuality which had plopped itself down, not only in their country, but in their place of work. She looked up, straw still resting on her bottom lip, big tits resting against the flat surface of the table, her ease at odds with the private hullabaloo occurring in the minds of everyone around her, their entire interior world filled from edge to edge with the particularities of her shape, and the softness, they could only assume, its impossible voluptuousness provided.

“Yeah,” Tom said. “Dad probably would have just spent all day going over his stock portfolio in the hotel, so…”

“On the hotel balcony,” Evelyn added. “Oh, he would have loved it.”

Tom felt his mother’s toes meet his shin. “Sorry,” she said. She looked around. Then up at the mountain. It couldn’t be seen now, but Tom knew the buddha stood there on its other side. “There’s just something about this place. Something so… I feel like I’m at one with everything. You know?”

She leaned forward, expecting an answer from her son. Her tits more or less rolled against the table, the cleavage between them seemed to be in motion with them, as if it were an object itself attempting to reach shape. Tom, still reeling from jetlag, still somehow found his usual cleverness among the miasma. “I’m more of a duality man myself,” he said.

“Oh,” Evelyn started, wide-eyed. “Then maybe Taoism would be more your thing. I was reading about it on the plane. The yin and the yang, two forces at war with one another.” Her hands came together, fingers interlocking, over the cleavage of her two breasts. “You see?”

Tom looked past her deliberate example to the undeliberate version resting there on the table beneath it. “I think I have an idea…”

“Oh sweety! You get that from me. Your dad isn’t much into these deep ideas. ‘If I can’t see it, it’s not real’ he says. Like he knows everything. ‘If I can’t hold it in my hands, then what good is it?’ If he isn’t going to grab life by the horns, then, what else is there to grab?”

Again, Tom looked down at his mom’s breasts.

They sat there for not long before Evelyn suggested the spa. “We might as well, right? I mean, it’s included in the cost.”

Tom felt a sinking sensation in his gut, though he didn’t truly know why. “Yeah,” he said. “I think that sounds fine.”

Evelyn tilted her head. “Of course it does, Tom. Why wouldn’t it?” Her tits, looking just as inquisitive, sat off-center against each other on the table.

Evelyn’s tits spilled clear from her white towel, giving Tom a clear, unobstructed look at her pink nipples for as long as it took her to wrestle them back into cover again. The size of her tits, the way they jiggled at every touch, made her attempt to reclaim her dignity almost more immense than the dignity lost to begin with. Even still, as soon as she was covered again, she smiled with that same smug expression as if nothing had happened.

“I need this,” she said.

Tom watched her bend close to the bench and loosen her towel again. For a snap moment, he saw her boobs come free, her nipples press against the massage table and disappear beneath her smooth torso. Then he watched her pull the towel over her naked ass. “Sorry,” she said, and giggled to herself. “Didn’t mean to flash ya.”

Tom’s cock stood erect in his towel. He turned toward his bench, afraid to drop his towel. But at hearing two voices speaking Thai getting closer down the hallway, he let his towel fall loose, his erection fly free, and then he fell to the table, pulling the towel haphazardly over his bare ass. His cock, rather than feel uncomfortable, felt good beneath the pressure of his warm and blushing body.

The two men came into the room. Their Thai stopped suddenly. Tom looked over, not being able to see them yet, facing down. But he could see his mother. Her breasts, beneath her chest, ballooned on either side near-comically. He knew what was going on in the masseuses’ heads. After all, both their voices were male.

“อีกอันเช่นนี้,” one of them said.

“คุณหมายความว่าอย่างไร?” Said the other one. “ไม่มีใครมีหัวนมเหมือนอันนี้. เธอดูเหมือนสัตว์ประหลาด.”

“สัตว์ประหลาดที่สวยที่สุดที่ฉันเคยเห็น.”

Evelyn looked over at them with one eye, not moving her head to do so. “Hello.” Her voice was strained by the position of her body. “How are you, gentlemen?”

The two men looked at each other awkwardly. “ใครจะสัมผัสร่างกายของเธอก่อน?”

“ฉันต้องการ.”

“ฉันเห็นเธอคนแรก.”

The other approached her. He stared down at her smooth back, and her giant tits spilling from beneath her. “มันไม่สำคัญ เราทั้งคู่จะทำทุกอย่างที่เราต้องการกับเธอเมื่อยาหม่องเริ่มเข้ามา.”

“Oh,” Eveyln said, winking to her son. “These guys sound like pros.”

Tom felt the hands on his back, bitter, disappointed hands. The lotion being applied burned and chilled him at once.

He watched the same balm pouring thickly onto his mother’s back from the bottle held above her. The man standing over her looked down at her like she were a steak. Her shut-eyes twitched with both pleasure and raw discomfort from the lotion.

“โสเภณีอเมริกัน,” he muttered to himself. Then louder, to his friend: “องคชาตของฉันได้ลิ้มรสอวัยวะภายในของผู้หญิงผิวขาวก่อน.”

“Yes, yes,” said the other in English. He looked up at the analogue clock while his fingers rubbed into Evelyn’s smooth back. “เธอจะนอนหลับในไม่ช้า แล้วเราก็มีเวลาอยู่กับเธอเกือบทั้งชั่วโมง.”

“อย่าพยายามมีเพศสัมพันธ์ช่องคลอดของเธอก่อน.” Tom felt the man’s finger jab into his flesh.

The other one shook his head calmly. “ฉันจะไม่ คุณก็รู้ว่าฉันชอบเอาปากใหญ่ของพวกเขา.”

Your mom looked up at him with one eye.

He smiled, that famous Thai smile, down at her.

“Oh, I love this language,” she said to Tom.

Tom stared at her.

“You could tell it’s been around forever. It reminds me of the temple we saw. The one with all those vines all over it. Like it looks old and kind of crummy sitting there. But it has more soul than anything we have in America, even the stuff that isn’t crummy and old. You know?”

Tom stared at her, deadpan. “That’s how I know something is spiritual,” He finally said. “When it’s crummy and old.”

“Exactly. What are they saying, Tom? You’ve been practicing, right?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “They’re talking too fast. Everyone here does.”

“Wow,” she said, her eyes shut peacefully. “They must be smart then. Ooh.”

Tom looked at the man’s hand rubbing into his mother’s lower back. He could see the barest hint of her ass-crack peeking out past the edge of the towel. The man’s hands occasional found themselves where her skin ended and the towel began, and each time they did, the towel was nudged a little further on down. Tom felt a rush at seeing it, of anger, but not just that, of something else.

The man’s hands, after doing their mission down south, rubbed upward again, finding her flanks, rubbing them to ecstasy, finding the edge of her breasts in the process.

Tom felt angry, but he was shocked how relaxed he felt still. He thought at first it had something to do with the quality of the massage, but he noticed that the world was somehow beginning to feel ‘pinker’ than usual, and that the rays of light which shone through the window, seemed to flutter in place.

“มันใช้งานได้,” one of them said.

Tom’s ears perked up at that one. The masseuse was speaking slowly enough this time that Tom could understand. “It’s working,” he had said.

Working? Tom mouthed to himself.

Just as he did, he noticed his eyes felt heavy, and his mother next to him lay with her eyes shut entirely.

Tom saw those hands go lower, their fingers finding her towel. They gripped its end. They, suddenly, in a fell swoop, they yanked it down, exposing a flesh-colored blur, and indistinct line of black, like an object struggling to take shape, running through it. Tom’s eyes fell shut.

In a dreamlike haze, one vivid but shadowy, like it were shades projected against a ragged and angular wall of stone, he felt the radiating waves of pleasure against his back leave him, leaving him adrift in nothing. Then he saw two figures, indistinct, as if through dirty glass, crowding around a voluminous figure, pink and white. The two figures seemed to have their way, and the third pink figure was either compliant or oblivious.

Tom then suddenly felt flush with a certain panic, a dreamlike terror. His eyes, as if being pried by irresistible force, snapped open.

His vision, still smoky and ethereal, came to him, and the forms took definitive shape. An attractive woman, pink and luscious, sat between two brown bodies. One of the men, looking familiar, humped into her, his penis disappearing inside that voluptuous castle. His face was ecstatic and blissful, as if enjoying the pleasures of the body itself as against his most sensitive region, as well as enjoying the fact that he had penetrated this “castle’s” defenses at all.

The other one, starting familiar and becoming recognizable as the man who recently stood over his mother, sat on a table, his pants gone, his thighs thick and brown, and his penis nowhere to be seen. That’s when Tom realized, it was swallowed whole by a feminine face. The man’s head fell back in open-mouthed pleasure. He thrust upward with as much leverage as he could muster sitting down, and his testicles, nice and smooth, slapped against the pretty face.

Tom looked at that face, its breasts, gigantic and round, below it. The one breast which wasn’t being manhandled by the man penetrating her was smacking against her chin. Tom focused on that face, despite all the chaos which surrounded it, the primordial violence which appeared as such as soon as it was relegated to his barest peripheral; and what he saw was a beauty both beyond belief, but also familiar.  

Then it began to take shape, and he saw there, his mother, her chin being smacked by her own giant tit, her cheek being prodded outward by that cock within.

An anger took Tom, but it was competed against by a rising pleasure, an ecstasy, both from the sight and from the defeat it implied.

The man thrusting into her pawed at her breast, gripping it with abandon. “คุณอยู่ไกลบ้าน แมรี่ลิน มอนโร,” he said, with a smile halfway between pleasure and distaste.

Despite how quickly, how strained, and how vague the idiom, Tom could make it out, or at least he thought he could. The man had said: “You’re far from home, Mary,” or something of the sort.

He shut his eyes. Every few moments--maybe seconds, maybe years—he opened them to see the figures, brown and malevolent, surrounding that white, manipulable form. Hips gyrated with evil, with jealousy and one-upmanship. A pink tongue like appendage extended itself, falling over thick brown rods which twitched at its touch. One face licked another. The pink form was bent into ungodly positions. Tom felt, in one fevered moment, as if he were watching some form of cosmic relaxation happening, not just for one figure, not for the two others, not even for all three, but for all three and him with them, and possibly, for some figure beyond them all, some figure which they only existed as atoms within.

Tom finally found unbroken sleep. And when he did, the figures faded, leaving him to an unparallelled peace.

He opened his eyes to see his mother’s eyes staring, only inches away, directly into his own. He jolted backward.

She was leaning against his table with her arm beneath her chin. “You too?”

“Wha-what?”

“You fell asleep too. Oh, god, that was relaxing. Wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Tom said, groggy and barely conscious.

“I feel like my every fiber has been massaged to completion.” She suddenly shot up.

Tom was fully awake now.

His mother stood there naked, unceremoniously. Tom got one good look at her giant breasts, adorned with her pink nipples, before she spun around. He stared at her ass as she walked back to her clothes. He watched her ass jiggle as she went through her bag. She pulled out her sunglasses first, placed them on the crown of her head, then she dug in again, ass jiggling, and came out with her elephant-print sweatpants she had bought in Bangkok.

Tom watched her ass disappear within those pants, her big butt cheeks lifting against their waste, changing shape to slide past it, then falling into, and giving shape to, the seat of those pants. The elephant on her backside ballooned outward, its stoic face going bug-eyed from the pressure of the flesh it stowed within.

Tom wanted her to turn around, but by the time she did, her shirt was on. Her breasts, now covered, swung within them.

She looked up at the clock, then down at her son. “And the day is so young yet. You ready for more?”

“Yeah,” Tom said, his grogginess destroyed by the sight.

“Okay, good.” She stood there for a moment, staring at him. “Well… aren’t you going to put your clothes on?”

Tom looked down at himself to see his body, uncovered, fully nude. His cock was rock-stiff, unignorable in the sunlight which spilled through the window.

He shuddered forward. She looked up at the clock as if it were nothing. “Eleven Thirty-Five. Almost time for lunch.” She turned to her blushing son with a wry smile. “How do you feel about Thai food?”

Tom’s pants slid up over his throbbing cock.

They walked down the resort path. Evelyn seemed to have a new lease on life. Even Tom noticed just how loose and limber her shoulders and hips were with every step. It was as if every part of her were as go-with-the-flow as her giant tits were on any day, like the softness of her tits, their effortless weight, had become her entire being.

Tom, paradoxically, felt unsatisfied. As if his relaxation had started, had been teased at, only to be abandoned, leaving him worse off than when he started.

“There’s just something about this place…” Evelyn said suddenly, wistfully.

“Yeah…” Tom said. “There is….”

He stared at the back of her head as she walked, not seeing her face. He then looked down at the seat of her pants, to see that elephant, looking as if its head were about to blow, staring back at him with one eye.

As they went, they heard the commotion typical to the resort. But moving on further, the commotion only gained, until they could hear it spilling acutely around the next corner. Evelyn just kept on, with Tom staring at the back of her head. And then there was a crack, and then a voice over a loudspeaker. “The only ‘you’ is the ‘U’ the in Unity. That is to say…”

Tom caught up with his mom, only to catch her lips moving, mouthing the next few words: “…the U in Unison. And the U in understanding.” She turned to look at her son. “The synchronicity,” she said.

Tom stared back at her.

Her blue eyes were wide, she then turned and ran forward.

Tom bolted after her, watching the elephant shake about violently, as if its component parts were about to fall to pieces from the violence waged against it by the cheeks of her ass.

She rounded the corner, then stopped.

“Mom,” Tom called, trying to outperform the voice on the loudspeaker. “What are you-“

He came behind her and stopped dead. Beyond her blonde head, a crowd stood, looking up at a man on stage. A short Indian man, dressed in the typical western style, but with a look of serene wisdom on his face. “Existence is an illusion, without a doubt, but it is no triviality. It is a thought in the mind of God. And insofar as it is that, it contains value. And you, all of you, as thoughts in God’s mind, do as well. More than you know.”

Evelyn stared up at the man, her blue eyes as pristine as the ocean’s. “Jhooth Bolana,” she said. “Jhooth Bolana Adhyaapak.”

“What?”

“Mr. Adhyaapak…” someone called in the audience.

“Please, please,” The man on stage said. “Just call me Jhooth. Formality is only illusion. Understand.”

“Mr. Adhyaapak. I want my business to finally take off. How would I go about it?”

“Go? There is no ‘go.’ All things, all time and space, exist as one within this very moment. To ‘go’ isn’t to move, but to be moved upon. To become that which you always were. If you want your business to become a success, just know that it is, believe it, and it will be. Because it already is. And if it wasn’t, you already know that too.”

Tom scowled. “What a crock of –“

“Profound,” Eveyln said, turning back to her son. “I know.”

As she stood there, staring at Tom, her features filled with wonder, Tom looked past her to see the man on stage, his eyes white like marbles in his dark face, staring down at their general direction. Tom’s eyes fell shut, knowing his mom’s cleavage, big, white, and eye-catching, had done what it always had. It drew the world to it like a magnet.

Evelyn spun back around, and as she did, those big white eyes on stage snapped away. “Ladies and gentleman. I wish I had more time to spend with you, but prior obligations beckon me. Rather than be sad at our parting, just remember, this moment, like all moments, is eternal. And in that respect, I am with you always.”

Tom sat with his mother, picking away at the food on his plate. He still felt groggy (though that wasn’t quite the word) from the earlier massage, and the food on his plate, if he squinted at it, almost seemed to be moving. Everything still was, the shadows cast by the sun, and the pebbles on the ground. Even his mom’s cleavage, a solid black line between two walls of beige, couldn’t seem to sit still. Its blackness itself seemed to be substance rather than void.

“I can’t believe I saw him in person,” Evelyn said. “I was listening to him on the plane-ride here. I didn’t even know he’d be in Thailand, never mind in my own resort.” She shook her head, cutting her food with a knife. “And he always talks about the importance of synchronicity…”

Tom didn’t even want to ask. He only stared at his mother, occasionally looking down at her big fleshy chest, its voluminous mass shaking every time she cut food.

“I must be doing something right,” she continued after chewing. She swallowed. “Adhyapaa- uh, I mean- Jhooth, always says that once you begin noticing synchronicity, you’re on the right track.”

Tom couldn’t contain his annoyance. “What’s synchro-“ he stopped short.

“Synchronicity? Well, it’s…”

Just as she said that, the man in question, escorted by an excited restaurant greeter, was lead to the table next to theirs. The greeter pulled out the chair for him, and the man, Jhooth, smiled at him, bowed, and took his seat.

Evelyn stopped her explanation dead. “What is it?” she said. She turned in her seat.

Tom could see the back of her neck and her arms go red. It wasn’t until she spun around quickly (the man’s eyes turning to her as she did) that Tom could see her breasts were red too. “That’s him.”

“The one and only,” Tom said dryly.

“I can’t even imagine him eating?” Evelyn said in a hushed tone. “What do you suppose his favorite meal is?”

The man was staring at the back of Evelyn’s head, doing so without subtlety.

“Oh,” Tom said. “I think I have some idea.”

Evelyn busied herself with her food, eating now out of nervousness. Tom looked down, seeing her breasts shaking now with every stab of her fork or motion of her knife, more than usual. He looked down at the plate. Sitting there, on its edge, neglected and vacant, sat a black-eyed shrimp, looking up at Tom. Evelyn poked at a salad leaf and the shrimp shook and bounced off Evelyn’s plate, landing beneath the raised edge of Tom’s.

“Excuse me, miss.” Tom looked up to see a big brown face, almost as if it were protruding from his mom’s shoulders, looming there.

Evelyn looked up to see his eyes. “Adhyapaa- uh,” she shook her head, embarrassed. “I mean…”

“I just wanted to say, ma’am – and I apologize for interrupting – but I can feel an aura coming from this table. Or at least I think I can.”

Evelyn stared at him, her mouth hanging open.

The man adjusted himself with apparent nerves. But when he spoke, he spoke with absolute tranquility and assertiveness. “Do you have any indication as to why that might be?” His accent was thick, something from the Indian sub-continent, but his English was perfect, even exceptional.

Evelyn stared at him for a moment longer. It wasn’t until he started to bring himself up from his knees wordlessly that she blurted: “Yes! Yes! I do… I’m…” She stopped herself and motioned toward Tom and herself frantically. “We… are probably the source of what you feel.”

Jhooth kneeled down, his restraint absolute, his eyes, Tom noticed, hadn’t even been on Evelyn for a while now. He looked down at the table. “Yes… yes… there’s quite a bit of energy though. Almost…” he shook his head. “Almost a dangerous amount.”

“Danger…” Evelyn’s face dropped.

“Oh, no, no!” he said, putting out his hand to wave away the concern, his fingers hovering closely above Evelyn’s chest. “I don’t mean… it’s not to say that I see you…” he stopped himself. “…either of you, as dangerous. I’m just…” he exhaled and shook his head, brows furrowed. “I just… don’t know.”

“You --- don’t know!?” she asked, astonished. Her breasts jiggling from the indignation in her posture. “But you know everything.”

He laughed to himself, shyly. “Ah,” he said. “I see my reputation precedes me. Magnifies me unjustly, even. I assure you, ma’am. I know a lot less than I’d like to know. But I appreciate your faith in me.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, her breasts jiggling below the man’s big white eyes like a tempest. Even still, he didn’t look down, only regarding her blue-blonde gaze, regarding the words as coming from a place of merit. “But if there’s anything at all nefarious, or…” her gaze became distant, her voice filled with affect. “…unique about my – uh – our… energy, I’d trust you more than anyone to know what it is. I’ve read all your books. I know the universe didn’t give you all that wisdom without purpose.”

“Ah,” he said, I see. “The universe, though a harsh mistress, filled with riddles and intrigue, always does what she does…”

“…with a purpose in mind,” Evelyn said, finishing his most famous line.

He looked up, portraying his shock. She smiled to herself with a pride so heavy it would split her bedstand as she slept dreaming of it. Tom looked down at her chest, seeing her breasts in the usual fulness they had whenever her spine shot up, vertical with pride. They were blemished with little spots of blushing red and pink now.

Even still, Jhooth’s big eyes did not look at them. “I believe synchronicity has brought us together. If you do not have prior engagements, I believe it to be important that you come with me to my villa at the resort’s edge.”

Tom noticed that the man hadn’t looked at him once. Even now.

“Yes,” Evelyn said, her big tits bouncing as her body thrust forward. “We will!”

Tom saw the man’s brow twitch at that first syllable: “We.” An imperfection perhaps in the universe he claimed was so perfect. Even still, Tom, still buzzed and hazy, couldn’t separate the anxiousness in his stomach from the warmth rising in his chest.

Evelyn’s big tits, blushing and pink, rocketed up from the table with a jiggle.

As the three of them left, the fallen shrimp sat there, neglected and expressionless, within the shadow made by the edge of Tom’s plate.

The elephant on Evelyn’s ass was being stretched to its breaking point. Tom could see that up-close as he followed his mom, just a stair behind, up the stone steps to Jhooth’s villa. It seemed to be almost entirely made of glass, at least on the side which aimed east toward the ocean. Tom saw the eastern horizon, bare of a sun, and he turned to find it. He found it crowning the head of the distant buddha. He felt a thud against his toe and turned to stabilized himself.

“Watch your step,” Jhooth said, without looking back. “The walk can be perilous.”

Evelyn giggled to herself, knowingly.

“Oh,” Tom said with some sarcasm. “Foolish me.” He looked up at the back of his mom’s head with a scowl. She was still giggling to herself. “I supposed if I fell off the edge though, it was meant to be.”

His mother suddenly stopped and he bumped into her from behind, feeling the cheeks of her ass against his chest. She looked down at him. He braced himself, somehow assuming her to be angry at the morbidity in the thought. Instead, her sudden shock fell into a warm smile, the two emotions seeming to be more naturally inclined with one another than should have been the case. “Exactly…” she said. She brushed his shoulder with encouragement, then spun back around. “Everything happens for a reason,” she exclaimed as she went.

The elephant’s sorry head was beginning to malform into a strange white mask.

Evelyn’s tits rested heavy from her chest, as her legs were wrapped up with one another in the lotus position. The soles of her feet were pointed upward. The distant sea, and the sky, gaining an orange hue, framed her within the window’s edges, and Tom was enjoying the sight. The villa itself, its view especially, was gorgeous. And his mother, both face and body, was not unpleasant within the context. She looked good, embedded there, with all the perfections and imperfections of her flesh. Her flawed humanity seemed less of a detriment so far from home.

She leaned her head back and her breasts rocked with the motion. “Mm, what’s that smell?”

“That, my dear,” Jhook said as he walked into Tom’s line of sight. “Is the aroma of incense.”

“But it smells so…”

“Heavenly? Yes… it’s not the kind you’d be used to back home, in your Christian churches.”

A look of knowing pride came to Evelyn’s mouth.

It must have been the wafting smell, smooth and otherworldly, but vaguely sweet-sour, which allowed Tom to let his guard down. That was his only explanation as to why his mother’s smug worldliness in this moment, rather than bother him, only caused him to consider how good that expression made her look, at least aesthetically.

She pulled her calf up. Her legs were sensual, the soles of her feet and the underside of her toes almost repeating, in metaphor, the shapeliness of the rest of her.

Jhook, rather than bothering Tom himself, seemed to add to the sight as he kneeled down next to his mother, placed his hands on her shoulders, and then pushed her torso forward, so that it leaned toward the floor. “Joga can tell us everything,” he said calmly. He brushed her blonde hairs out of the way with his brown fingers. “The spirit, as opposed to what is taught in western traditions, is not a visitor in the body, but is the body’s architect. By stretching…” he placed his flat hand, fingers outspread, against her lower back. “…one stretches the cramped parts of one’s soul.”

The ecstasy Tom was beginning to feel was reflected in his mother’s face. Her eyes were shut, mouth hanging open, above her leaning, hanging breasts. Jhooth’s other hand pulled her up.

Tom watched her tits, as if they were moving in slow motion, rise, becoming one with her motion and one with her breathing. Even, as strange as it was to say, one with his own.

Jhooth only looked down at her. He grabbed her, pulling her back against his body, her torso falling between his thighs as he lay back on the ground. Tom could only see his mom’s breasts up in the air, her face, and Jhooth with it, obscured by them. The sight of the sun obscured by that Buddha, becoming the halo of light at its bronzed edges, flashed in Tom’s mind as vividly as if he had seen it before him.

He heard an exhalation, and couldn’t place who it belonged to until Jhooth spoke. “To stretch the body is to stretch the soul, and with a soul as strong as… some… are… there’s always a lot to stretch in order to uncover these deeper, primordial truths.” His brown hand came up, resting itself just below her throat. “The primordial truth wrapped within every man and woman, a truth crying out…” his fingers rubbed against her flesh. “…crying out to be exposed.”

His fingers came down, grabbing the edges of her shirt, and tore them open. Tom watched, as if through a haze, the air itself a form of pleasure, as his mom’s breasts fell free, the cleavage between them destroyed by their freedom. Her pink areolas framed against the deepening sky.

Two brown hands came up over them like a bear over a mountain, and then gripped onto them, sending her white flesh gushing between their fingers.

“The soul needs to be worked to be…” Jhooth exhaled hard, coming up with Evelyn in his arms. “… to be truly discovered.” His eyes were shut, his mouth trembling. Evelyn’s face, eyes still shut, was overcome with a strange peace.

Tom watched it, watched her drooping lip and serene cheek and brow. Some distant part of him, some atom awash in the sea within himself, contained a profound worry, but it was nothing compared to the pleasurable waves, which seemed to expand every time he sucked in that aroma-rich vapour, splashing against his rocky precipice, wearing it down, washing it into a smooth, flat beachhead glimmering gold-orange in the sun.

Tom watched hazily as the brown hand squeeze his mom’s breast, the other one sliding lower against her belly and within the waist of her pants. “And watching a soul being explored…” he was staring at Tom, his hands moving without caution or shame. “…can often be as rewarding as exploring it yourself. One can feel oneself intoxicated with the beauty of it.” Tom could see a bulge in his mom’s crotch moving within and without in accordance with the man’s brown forearm. Evelyn’s leaned back against the man’s chest. He smacked her breast and she winced as it jiggled, and then the pleasure came back, expanded, as her tit settled back into its usual stillness.

“No clothes, naked,” Jhooth said as he pulled his hand out of her pants. He grabbed their waist and pulled it lower. “The soul should be naked and exposed, shameless, not as if shame was to be disregarded… but as if to know that shame has never been.” Tom watched his mom’s pussy lips, juicy and thick, emerge from out her pants. Jhooth cradled her back as if she were a baby. Tom breathed in that aroma, feeling himself elevating with every breath, its being permeating his own as if it were a spirit there to guide his. His mother appeared to him, being cradled, as if she were a young woman, fresh and forward-looking, and Jhooth, for split moments, looked almost as if he were some combination of black and Hispanic. A familiar essence to Tom, one which he found, when coupled with his mother, to be pleasing beyond belief.

He felt a sudden, soft, fluffy presence fall on his lap, and he looked down to see the face of the elephant protruding out at him. He looked up to see his mother nude in her entirety. He looked down at her pants in his lap, and at seeing that strange, primordial face protruding up at him violently, he brushed it aside, only to realize he was completely nude underneath. He narrowed his eyes at the sight. “I…”

Jhooth stared at him. He looked to his side to his shorts sitting there, folded nicely. He looked back at Jhooth, who was nude himself, holding his mother’s leg in the air by the back of her knee. Tom felt his mother’s thigh stretching as if it were happening within his own soul, and he groaned with pleasure.

Jhooth’s brown penis throbbed near the opening of Evelyn’s body. “Nude souls, when in contact, when in the throes of pleasure, produce a beauty deeper than can ever be evoked with words. The surrender to the coming pleasure, the willing of it by their silence, is the sweetness of folding back into primordial being.” Tom watched the man push his throbbing penis head against the lips of his mother’s orifice. “The oneness beyond distinction.” He pushed himself inside.

The incense floated from their plate behind Tom’s head. He turned to see it, seeing world’s rise and collapse within its haze of all-feeling blue.

He then heard, and was startled by, fleshy, wet, corporeal noises, noises which contradicted the etherealness of the moment. He turned around to see Jhooth, the wisdom in his expression falling, being replaced by a sweaty-faced determination, soon giving way to a sweaty-faced mania. “No hiding place for the American soul,” he said, his voice trembling. “When it opens up to us, we see it for what it is.”

Tom saw the strange beauty in the man just as well as he saw the traditional beauty in his mother. The brown testicles which slapped against her waiting pussy lips, occasionally obscuring the fine blonde hairs in her pubic region.

“That’s the danger of the spirit, its overwhelming power. It is retained… oh god… retained in the emptiness of its core. So vast and voluminous. A library of blank pages. Its librarian a mall mannequin, and nothing more.”

Tom stroked his dick, watching the sight, the cock which ran through her, while simultaneously seeing, in his now-vivid mind’s eye, his mother, nude as she was now, in an old dilapidated shrine, struggling against the blank length of a unwound scroll, her tits jiggling as she struggled upward with wide-eyed desperation, as if terrified of being pulled into the blank whiteness of the page itself.

When he refocused again he saw her, laying chest-down, a distant worry, within the center of her pleasure, visible in her brow. Her tits compressed against the mat, and the man, chubby and bearlike, over top of her, thrusting into her from behind, their bodies flush, near-intermingling, his brown spilling into her white. “The truth is inside you,” he whispered into her ear with a calm which contradicted the current sight of him. His thrusts were nearly juvenile, pathetic, and rabbit-like.

After a while, he pulled out, lifting her ass in the air. “Stretch to feel your soul release,” he said. She did it, the first indication in a while to Tom that his mom was even conscious. She spread her ass cheeks. Jhooth looked at him. “Watch, and you will see the origin of truth.”

Tom looked directly into his mom’s ass, seeing her puckering butthole as if it were the origin of everything.

The world collapsed into this oneness with a fleury of groans and slapping noises. Big brown lips sucked, licked, at a lone aureola atop a beige mountain. A hand ran over a pink landscape, its fingers penetrating at some primordial hole within. His mother occasionally appeared to him amongst this phantasmagoria, as figures in primordial poses. Her legs spread wide, her pussy pulled open with her fingers, her ass in the air, or the leg above her head.

“Ohh ffucckkk,” cried the universe, though in symbols rather than words, and Tom, being unable to differentiate himself from the universe now, felt its pleasure. “Fffuuuccckkkkk. I- I’mmm cummminnngg!”

Tom, in this explosive moment of pleasure, however short, had been one with the universe.

Tom opened his eyes next to the glass window. The world had shape, had angles and dimensions and differentiation, but it was still so foreign. The sheet of blue outside seemed to drag and pull, and with time, it became the ocean. The blemishes which floated, like aeons, above it, soon became smudges on the glass of the window. Tom looked down, seeing his mother, seeing her clothed. Her radiant beauty went from supernatural to real before her, from angelic, to Eve-like, to mortal, and finally becoming the Evelyn he knew and, occasionally in odd moments, loved.

The elephant on her pants just stared up at Tom.

“Ah, I see you’re awake.”

Tom looked at the man. He was fully clothed, staring down at Tom without shame or nervousness. Of course he was though, what did he have to be nervous about? The plate of incense sat spent on the mantle behind him. Tom noticed the strangeness in his own thoughts. He recalled a dream, one intense, amazing, and horrible, with his mother being had. He shook his head, looked up at the man, his big white eyes looking down bravely. Tom heard his mom rustling to consciousness next to him.

It wasn’t until he thanked them for the opportunity to “explore souls so large,” and ushered them out at the top of the stone steps, that Tom noticed something along the man’s otherwise impenetrable exterior. It was a bead of sweat at his temple. It broke, rolling down the side of his brown face.

“Let’s go,” Evelyn said, sounding at peace. Her star-struck ways seemed to have been entirely washed away by a reverence for the experience. She seemed to almost be eager to leave the moment as a way to keep it pristine and sacred, as if to keep that villa on the hill as a little box of spirit at the back of her consciousness and memory. Being there any longer would tarnish it all with the tangible and corporeal.

As Tom followed her, the day breaking, he stared at the elephant, whose face was only a face in analogy now. At least its body still shared some trace with the mammalian.

Tom sat at the edge of his hotel bed, deep in thought. Impressions, vague and strange, ran through his mind. He saw his mother, eyes shut, mouth open on a yoga mat, with that horrible man clinging to her, penetrating her with a quivering cock while the sky went from blue to purple behind them. “What was in that incense?” he murmured to himself. He saw the man’s hand grab and grip deeply into his mother’s giant breast. And while the sight made him hard, he was glad, oh so glad, it was only a dream.

Even still, he didn’t feel horrible having that sight, especially given how vivid it was, for his personal use. He looked over, seeing the elephant’s wide eyes sitting flat against the bed.

“Yeah, you and me both, brother.”

“Ta-da!” he looked over to see his mom standing in the doorway of the bathroom, one arm on the doorway as if to keep herself form plunging within her own beauty. “How do I look?”

She stood there, her dress a gawdy gold, her hair done-up in a way that was both classic and timeless. Her cleavage sat deep between both breasts, exposed so far down its length that if it were exposed any lower, there would be no cleavage at all, only two hanging breasts for the eye of anyone looking.

“You look great, mom,” Tom said, shocked by how naturally it came out.

Evelyn, never being able to spot her son’s sarcasm anyways heard it as she heard everything else. “Don’t I?” She stepped from the doorway and admired herself within the mirror.

Tom sat there, his dick hard, staring at her from behind. Her beauty, still glowing with that archetypal energy he was now noticing in everything for the past few hours, radiated before him. It took him a bit for the dread to begin, and, as it begun with the day’s strange haze still rich in him, it had all that much more of a sinister bent. He imagined those eyes, those faces, bent into natural shadow as they gawk at her from tables, benches, and alleys.

That bitterness came to his tongue, the one which motivated all his flippancy. “Where’d you get that dress, Fort Knox?”

“On Rodeo. When me and your father went to L.A. that one time.”

Tom thought of something clever to say, some irony to offset his growing bitterness, but the fog in his brain, no matter how much it enlivened everything else, dulled his own abilities.

As they walked down the path, its edges lit by orange light. He couldn’t believe anything could be so beautiful. The orange reflected itself off his mother’s smooth skin. Her breasts were like planets, reflecting this solar light no different than if it were their own.

“Here it is,” she said, her arms outstretched. “And not soon enough. I’m starving.”

A waiter, a short and rough-looking local, holding a tray of drinks caught the sight of her open and expansive cleavage, and hooked a chair leg with his ankle. The chair itself was rooted firmly by an overweight filipino gentleman. The waiter tumbled forward, drinks and all.

“Opa!” said Evelyn, playfully while they were still clattering against the pavement.

The waiter looked up at her from the ground, now only with disgust. The rolling cup, tapping against the ground, found the leg of a chair and stopped.

Eveyln’s tits jiggled as her ass met the wicker seat. “Oh,” she said, feeling a soreness. Then she looked around. “This place is just so beautiful.”

Tom just stared at his mother, her giant tits, her blonde, elegant hair, and the wonder in her blue eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

The waiter came. “What will it be, madame?” His English sounded nearly robotic.

“Oh, wine! White wine. The best you got.”

“And you sir?” he stared down at Tom, as if looking past him.

“The same.”

“Very good.” The man turned and left, and as he did, he murmured something in Thai. Tom’s ears twitched. “Western whore.”

Tom sat there, his mother continuing to wax poetic about the decor. He was pretty sure that he heard what he thought he did from the waiter. But not only was it hard to believe because of how shocking it was. But he also didn’t remember reading up the word ‘whore’ in Thai at all.

“Ah,” Evelyn said, falling back into her seat, her tits jiggling. “This place. I swear.”

Tom felt a panic, but this time, after sitting in it, he could trace its true source. “I’m going to head to the bathroom,” he said.

Evelyn didn’t answer, only gazing at the décor and people watching.

Tom got up and headed to the bathroom, feeling strange, as if leaving his mother at the table were some form of danger in-of-itself. The bathroom, with its dead bulbs, half covered in shadow, didn’t help.

He took a piss in the urinal, his cock growing stiff in his fingers as he did. And he stood there for a moment, even after finishing.

Then two men, members of wait staff, came in, each settling on his opposite side at the urinals.

“How would you like to suck on those?”

It was in Thai, but Tom could hear every word. Not because he understood them all, but because that which he understood somehow naturally filled out that which he couldn’t.

“How could such nice shapes be given to such worthless people?” the other said.

Tom stood there, looking down, his brow tightening, his mouth going dry.

“Golden big-tit whore. Who’s the guy she’s with, he’s like half her age.”

Tom’s cock grew harder in his hands. He had already finished pissing, but he couldn’t move.

“Her son.”

 “Really?”

“Yeah. They even look the same.”

“But who would dress like that, like a no-good whore, in front of her own offspring?”

“An American,” the other said, confidently. “You work here long enough, you’ll see it.”

“Disgusting people,” the other said, urine still evacuating. “But also very delicious.”

“They deserve to be fucked. Whether she likes it or not. That’s what she’s built for. That’s what she advertises of herself. If I walked around a billion baht sitting just on the palm of my hand…” he held up his flat palm. “…I’d deserve to have it snatched from me. Any white ‘woman’ walking around with her big white tits hanging out like that deserves to have them grabbed.”

“And licked.”

“And fucked. And everything. And not just by one guy.”

“By all of us.”

“You’re getting it.” His stream began to slow down. “Too bad justice isn’t real.” He shook his cock a few times and then zipped up. He walked past Tom with the other on their way to the sink.

As they washed their hands, one of them looked over at Tom, who just stood there, staring down into the urinal, perhaps to make himself invisible. “That isn’t her son standing right there, is it?”

“I don’t know,” the other said, without looking over. “I can’t tell. All white people look the same.”

They both left, and Tom stood there.

He went to the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. Seeing his blue eyes staring back at himself, he could see his mother reflected within him. Suddenly, his neutral mouth warped into a bitter scowl. The sight of his mom’s body, carried by the sudden vividness of his imagination this day, came back to him, her careless expression as she gawked out at the world, her own personal zoo. Little did she know, the world gawked back at her. Tom jaw was almost sore form clenching his teeth.

“Justice isn’t real…” he repeated quietly. “This fucking universe has no point. I don’t care what that Apu fuck said.” He washed his hands. After he was finished he looked for paper towel. The dispenser was empty. “For fuck’s…” he wiped his hands against the flanks of his pants. Then he noticed something. It was a small bean-shaped impression against his palm. He reached into his pocket. Sitting there was a tiny object wrapped in wax paper. He brought it up to his eyes. He leaned and looked out the doorway, seeing nobody coming, his mother just beaming from ear to ear and saying god-knows-what as the waiter who was just demeaning her placed white wine before her.

Tom came back before the mirror, and he opened the object.

It sat there, staring up at him, a little pill, one with a lotus flower carved into it.

You must discover the souls of those you love. He saw that big, brown face above him. Those eyes distant and wise, staring down at him as he lay on that villa floor. While you still have form to do so. If you wait for the next life, your cards may not be so lucky. He peered over at Evelyn, lying on the floor, her breasts open, exposed and drenched with cum. He turned back to Tom, handing him that little object in the wax paper. This is all a dream, he said. But very soon you’ll realize. Dreams are often more real than life.

Tom stared down at the little lotus, feeling a vibrating hum run up his body, one both electric and horrible. He saw that pudgy brown body, saw it in detail, thrusting into his mom with pudgy hips, her tits shaking, running against the yoga mat below her. It had all been… real…

The revulsion, the horror, the violation was too much to bare. Tom felt, and the hazy fuzz of everything didn’t help, as if he were standing, lucid within his own nightmare. His cock throbbed in his pants, and he looked down at the little pill, proof that his mother’s big tits, big mouth, and big luscious interior had all been violated once again, the tip of that brown penis to the end of its dark trunk all submerged within her pink, wet warmth. He looked up from the pill, up into his own reflection, half-covered in shadow. There, as if outside himself, he saw a big dumb American, being gawked at by the consciousness which wore him as skin.

His horrible awe gave way to something else. His teeth clenched, his brow furrowed, and he walked out and toward the table, that pill clenched in his palm.

When his ass found his seat, it did so with such force that his mom’s tits jiggled from the shock. “It took you a while, Tom. Did you fall in?” she asked, then laughed at her joke as if it were the first time she had told it.

“They really fuck you in this country,” Tom said bitterly, the double entendre being deliberate.

“Really?” Evelyn mused. “How? Everything’s so cheap here.”

Tom stared at his mother. “It sure is.”

She turned in her seat and looked at the bathroom. “Why? Do they charge for the bathroom here?”

“No, I was just thinking out loud.”

“Oh good,” she said. “Because I need to go.”

Tom watched her get up and go, turning every eye she passed, the gold of her dress competing with the every gaudy ornament within the restaurant.

After her fat ass disappeared, stepping aside for a boy in the middle of his already-daunting puberty, before stepping into the bathroom, Tom looked down at his drink. He extended his palm, dropping the pill into it and watching it dissolve there. After it was all gone, he sat for a few moments more, then he leaned over the table, switching out his wine for his mother’s, sliding each glass past the other as if sketching out a circle with their bases. He looked down at his pure glass nonchalantly, completely possessing himself, knowing somehow that that was the way to do something like this, the only way to get away with it. To act and then to live with that action as if it made no difference. He lifted the glass to his mouth and took a sip.

He didn’t even have to look up to see her coming. He could see her tits jiggle violently in his upper-peripheral. “Were they out of paper towel in the men’s washroom too?”

“That they were,” Tom said, then he took another sip.

“Huh.” She wiped her hands against the flanks of her dress.

“Maybe wait ‘til the waiter gets back. You can wipe them on his shirt.”

She lifted her wine glass and then sat there, seeming to consider it. Then she shook her head. “No, no,” she said, “I don’t think they’d like that.” Then she extended her glass, clanked it against Tom’s on the table, and said “cheers.” She brought the glass to her lip and took another sip.

The glass sat on the table, completely dry.

Tom felt his mom’s foot meet his under the table. “What’s this?” she said.

“It’s my foot.”

She seemed to ignore him, only staring off into the distance as she felt his foot, first one and then the other, with her own.

“What are these?” she didn’t seem to be joking.

“Those are toes.”

She started to laugh, but not as if it were funny, as if she were surprised. “Toes. They are toes. Aren’t they.”

Tom stared at her, seeing her chest sway, the cleavage between them as a consequence, in a way that felt careless. Her upright posture had dissolved in a jello-ey mess.

Tom felt her toes in her dinner shoes with his own. His dick was hard. His lower jaw in a half-hang, and no words came out.

Evelyn leaned forward on the table, her cleavage compressing itself against its surface and her torso, squeezing out towards her son. “Oh, wonderful, wonderful stuff.” She kept laughing. “Oh.” Her hands came over the table, grabbing it at its edges. Her face fell against it. She shut her eyes, enjoying the sensation of the tablecloth against her cheek. She pushed her toes between Tom’s. She began mumbling. “These aren’t Avery’s, but….” She laughed, lower and harder. “Tom,” she said, coming back upright. “Tom. Your father would have loved this dress.” She looked down at herself, looked down at her cleavage. “He loves them.” Tom wondered if she was referring to what he thought she was referring to. “He always says it’s my eyes that got him. But I know that he’s lying. It’s these.” She looked at her son. “What do you think, Tom?”

He sat there for a moment, trying to not give into his rising thrill and worry. “I agree with you. He’s lying.” He said it flatly.

She looked back down at them, and began talking with pressure in her speech, and her teeth clenched. “They’re just so… big.” She exhaled. “A literal pain in the neck.” She grabbed the part where her neck and back met. Then she leaned in at Tom, her tits pushing against the table, and she grabbed his hand. She stared into his eyes with her own. “Which do you like more?”

He stared at her, wordlessly. Wanting to ask what she meant before he proceeded, but knowing that he didn’t truly need to. He knew what she was asking. “I’d say your eyes.” Her eyes were still locked onto his, somehow sure he wasn’t finished. “But I’d be lying too.”

She fell back, her features filling with mirth, a giggle or two coming from her sweet expression. Tom admired her tits. “I knew it! I always knew it.” She looked back at him. Then grabbed his hand again. “Here, come dance with mommy.”

Tom was stunned.

“Come on. Come on. Look, I’ll show you.”

She stood up with him, then pulled him closely, staring into his eyes for a response as she pressed his trembling chest against her own.

“Yeah… those are better, aren’t they, sweety?”

Tom said nothing.

She grabbed his hand and guided it along her waist. “Feel mommy’s butt,” she said aloud. Many eyes turned to look, astonished. Tom felt his mom’s ass fill his palm. “I know it’s not as big as some... of the moms in town.” Tom clutched it deeply, not knowing, not caring about the difference, only squeezing his mom’s butt-cheek as hard as he could with his full palm. “I want it to be bigger for your dad.” She pulled away, looking into Tom’s eyes sweetly. “Something like John’s mom, you know. I can feel it in him. Those are the types he’s always chasing after” She then turned her head away. She pulled her son close and tight. She sighed. Then she pulled her face back and looked down at her tits. “Guess these guys alone aren’t good enough.”

“They’re perfect, mom,” Tom said, his voice strained. Everyone nearby stared. Those further on stared as well, though with less pause, not hearing the conversation at hand.

She pulled him close, rubbing her tits on his chest. “Does this feel good.”

“Yes… amazing…”

“I’m glad someone thinks so. I feel crazy. Not in a bad way, not in a good way. Just… different. Very…”

Tom thought she was going to say ‘spiritual’ but she didn’t. It seemed like that was the last thing she’d say now, despite it never applying more, perhaps never applying at all until this very moment.

“You want to see me do something crazy, Tom?”

Tom looked at her, not knowing if he should. But it came anyway, he nodded his head.

Her serene look of measured arousal slowly gave way to a wild naughtiness. She turned and leapt atop the wicker chair with one foot, and then atop the table, landing with the other. The chair fell and rattled against the floor. She stood there, staring off in the distance, as if she weren’t being watched by a few dozen eyes. She shook her hips, her energy driven upwards now, and as her shoulders swayed, she pawed at the strap of her dress, loosening them over her arms. Her tits fell out, now only covered by tight-fitting lingerie. “Men of the world,” she called. “Women too, I don’t discriminate.” She bent over, her big ass expanding in her hanging dress. She slapped her ass. “Everyone in the world, even my little boy here, wants me to be the piece of ass I was always meant to be.” She grabbed at what was left of her dress, pushing her thumbs within it. “The best version of myself. What I am at my core once you dig past every illusion.” She thrust the dress down, exposing her big ass in its beautiful lingerie panties. “My husband bought these for me. He says I would look cute in it. I will neither confirm nor deny.” Her body gyrated, her curves shaking, including her massive tits. “But I do know, and I’ve suspected ever since, that what he really like about it is that it makes me a look a little more… oriental…”

She fell to her knees, running her fingers through her luscious hair, teasing it wild where it was once pristine.

“I came to eastern mysticism to be like my Chinese friend. It’s funny… I don’t even know what her religious beliefs are. I’ve never even been curious about them… I think that I was just looking for something. Like if I gave myself an added dimension, whatever it is, just…” she reached for Tom’s wine, lifting it to her chest and pouring it over herself. “… let it pour over me, that my husband would look at me the same way he used to. Even if just for my big tits. I want to be his object again. That’s all I ever wanted.”

Tom stared at his mother, jaw agape, seeing every artifice stripped from her, not just in words, but in her very mannerisms and expression. Even in her exaggerated strip tease (where she was now pulling at the cheeks of her ass with her chest poking outward) there was an honesty in her now which blew Tom away even more than the terrifying spectacle.

“I just want to let you all know… if my husband won’t give me what I want, no matter how hard I try, my son will.” A gasp ran through the silent crowd. “As long as he can catch me!”

She leapt form the table and bolted out of the restaurant. Tom stood shocked for a moment, then he bolted after her, wincing when he realized what it looked like, how his mother had set it up to look like nothing else. But even still, he couldn’t abandon her in this state.

He shot through the open restaurant’s doorway.

Back at their table, sitting within the stunned, horrified, and frankly titillated, crowd, sat an empty table. Its top holding two empty wine glasses. An empty dress, brilliant and gold, sat against the backrest of one of its quaint wicker chairs. The other chair lay on the floor.

Evelyn looked to Tom as if she were about to jiggle into nothingness within the darkness she bolted through. She’d emerge under the resort lights every so often, shocking passers-by with her jiggling, laughing shape before disappearing back into the darkness, a giggle in the night.

“If you want all this, Tom, you’re going to have to chase me.” The joy of being chased, both the physicality and adrenaline from it, but also what it implied, what she was reliving from her young life now in immediate and acute fashion, sent her into a brilliant ecstasy. If I get away, I’ll pass out somewhere where you can’t find me, and someone else is going to give it to me nice and hard.” That’s at least what her breathless screams, when added together, sounded like.

Tom knew she was heading to the beach, and he was frantic, in fear that a violent wave would catch her in her zealotry and pull her into the ocean. His dread rose.

When he got to the beach, he saw nothing but crashing moonlit waves and the whole of the pacific beyond them. His mouth was open. His eyes were wide. “Mom!!!” He ran forward, then stopped, sucking in breath. “Mom!!!”

He suddenly felt himself being grabbed. He didn’t even have to spin around to know who it was. He could feel those big tits pressed firm against his shoulder. “Got ya!”

They both fell to the sand.

Tom looked up and into her face.

“I’m glad you caught me, baby.” She leaned in and kissed him on the forehead. “Are you gonna stick it in, nice and deep in mommy?”

Tom didn’t say anything. Only staring at her for what felt like a lifetime.

She stared back, her eyes still luminescent in the barely-visible night. He felt her hand, flat against his body, and running down, past his side. He flinched in the sand until the hand found his hip, then it glided over his waist, and he sat there, looking up as he felt his mom’s hand over his penis. She gripped down, the object, hard-stiff, filling her fingers through the fabric of his underwear and pants. “Oh,” she said softly, sweetly. “Don’t ever tell me mommy doesn’t know how to show you a good time.”

Her face came down, her blue eyes shutting, leaving only shade, and Tom felt her lips meet his. They kissed, close-mouthed. Evelyn’s lips danced upon his, losing and gaining contact, drawing them up, meeting them, kissing until the back of his head met sand again.

Then they pulled away with a pucker. Tom opened his eyes. She was looking out past the ocean, her blonde locks falling over her curious expression. Tom stared at her. He then bent his head back against the sand, seeing the ocean, upside down, come into his line of sight. The dark waves crashed, their broken and frothy surface reflecting a full moon.

Suddenly, Evelyn’s face, upside-down itself, broke in. “I can’t tell who the ocean is, it or you…”

Tom stared.

“Here,” she said, sounding years distant from that strange thought. She began wrestling at his pants, he looked down, watching his mom wrestle his cock out. Once she had it, she gripped it. Then she began to stroke it, less in a sexual manner, more like it were a massage. “It’s nice, Tom,” she said. “It’s not you, but it’s also you…” Her tits pressed against his shoulder. “It’s all you.”

He sat up and held her, watching his cock be jerked off, enjoying watching it as much as he enjoyed feeling it. The waves crashed the shore again.

Evelyn moaned. “Oh, Tom,” she said. “Help me get this off.” She looked down at her bra, and Tom immediately grabbed at it. But just as it was almost off, she said: “I want to be inside you.” Before Tom could even think on what that meant, the bra fell, and her tits, after a moment, sucked out of view.

Tom’s cock fell free against his body. He spun around, seeing him mom bolting to the ocean, her underwear coming off with a few hops. Tom, still buzzed from the day’s earlier experiences, saw his mom disappear into the first wave, and rather than panic, felt a warmth. She seemed to be disappearing into the landscape itself, becoming this strange land. Somehow it all fit.

The wave receded and she emerged, her hair slick and wet, looking to him with a smile.

She yelled over the crashing wave, and Tom couldn’t hear, so he ran close, smelling the salt in the air as he did. “Take pictures,” she said. “Take pictures of who I really am.” Water crashed against her after she was doing saying it, and it pulled back, running past her bare tits, as she stood there with her eyes closed, her tits at the mercy of the water’s sucking violence. She looked down at them as Tom began snapping photos. “They’re always moving, Tom. Like the world. Like Time.”

Tom’s cock hung out, and he stroked it while snapping more pictures. The violence of the water against his mother was electrifying to him, the way it made her bob back and forth and struggle to stand, smiling and grimacing on occasion, falling twice and shrieking with joy as she was sucked back and getting up again for more. The jiggling of her flesh made it all just seem so right. It was as if, just now, he was seeing the world for what it really had been. He was shocked, almost baffled how it could all have been so hidden from him.

Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

He turned around.

The man, a local, looked at him for a second, then looked down at Tom’s waist, his eyes going wide. “Sir!” he said. Tom only stood there, doing nothing, somewhat defiant. The man looked past Tom, saw Evelyn, and ran for her. “Ma’am,” he screamed. As he gained distance, Tom could see he was wearing a resort security outfit.

“It’s okay,” Tom yelled to the man, who wasn’t listening as he went ankle deep in the water. Then he began to murmur to himself: “she belongs there…”

Evelyn, upon recognizing the man (he sort of emerged as a figure within the otherwise haze of the night), began laughing, and bolted forward, somehow juking him, despite the weight she carried on her chest.

Tom watched as the man tripped into the water and his mom emerged around him, sending up spray.

The man got up, out of breath and angry, his uniform and shoes wet. “Ma’am!” he yelled after catching his breath, and began running. “Ma’am! You can’t-“ Tom sensed a real bitterness to the last scream. As soon as the man cleared the water, he bolted toward Evelyn, who was running, giggling as if it were only a game.

“You can’t- You must put on clothes!” he screamed, and she could hear him gaining with the rapidly changing volume of that scream behind her. She braced herself for impact.

Tom saw her gain on her with an instant, grab her, stick out his foot, and trip her to the ground. He landed on top of her, and suddenly, his frustration, combined with the touch and feel of Evelyn in his arms, made him forget what he was doing. Either that or it didn’t matter anymore.

Pretty soon, his pants were off, and his penis, relatively small, was free. He pushed it into her pussy from behind, and she giggled all the while, becoming silent when he grabbed the back of her blond head and pulled it toward him.

He began swearing into her ear in Thai, doing so between thrusts, and Tom listened, watching, silently snapping photos as it happened. “Fucking- fucking white whore. She’s going to… get herself… killed… like… oh god, she’s… going to get me…. fired…”

Evelyn was silent, seeming apprehensive, but a smile emerged slowly on her rocking face. The contrast in beauty between her and the man who enjoyed her was stark. His hands came around gripping her tits. “Enjoy the real me,” she said, her voice sounding like hiccupping with every thrust. “Even Avery doesn’t get to the enjoy the real-“

Tom sat there, hard, finding it impossible to not live vicariously through the joy of this little man. The man’s hand gripped at his mom’s tits, almost with violence, the same way Tom could imagine him reaching for and clutching large stacks of money which had fallen into his lap in a life where he never had enough of it till then. This land just didn’t mean poverty of wealth for the locals, but also poverty of experience. Poverty of color. Now color had come, and the wave crashed the shore with no less intensity than the man’s hips crashed against Evelyn’s ass.

The man hawked and spit on Evelyn’s face, his disgust and lust indistinguishable from one another.

She shut her eyes, then opened them as the driblet passed. “Whatever you need…” she said.

Tom loved his mother, he knew it then.

“That’s it,” she said, her body jiggling and rocking from the violence of the thrusts. “Get it out. Get it out. Use me to… get it out.”

The man did as he was told, and gripped her giant breasts, their flesh surrounding his tiny fingers, as his eyelids drooped. “Ooohhhh” he said.

Tom watched the man’s thrusting increase, his body tense, then saw as the man collapsed, his every fiber coming loose, as he fell on Evelyn’s ass and spine. His face, lips first, fell to the back of her head, and while he rested, eyes shut, exhausted, even a little in shock, Evelyn was below, a grin in the corner of her mouth, a sparkle in those blue eyes.

The man’s eyes then shot wide. He looked down at her. Then he thrust himself upward and stood there on the sand, his ass bare. Another wave crashed while he considered her. Then, with a choke in his throat, he bolted, only pulling up his pants as he went.

“Have a good night!” Evelyn called, regarding him with her face still on the ground. She then looked to Tom, still smiling. Then she got up to her feet. Tom watched from the sand as she did, still stroking himself. As she got close, he noticed something in between her legs.

“Come here,” he said, looking down at it. She did as she was told, looking down herself. As she neared, Tom could see it, dripping in white globs from out her pussy. Tom laughed. “Here.” He reached for her lingerie bottoms in the sand and brought it between her thighs, wiping away. Evelyn’s body jerked as she watched silently.

When he pulled the underwear away and regarded it, he saw a little figure, one elephant-like with a hollow eye, looking back up at him, nearly pristine.

He looked back up at his mom with a warm smile. “Come here!” he said again in a playful growl. He grabbed her and brought her down to the sand. He rolled over once with her, kissed the nipple of either giant breast. “Poor guy,” he said, and tickled his mom’s sides, feeling her giggle below him. “He probably thinks he did something wrong.”

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed, a look of sadness coming to her. “He didn’t do anything wrong,” she said.

“I know,” Tom said, stroking her blonde hair. “I know.”

The door to the hotel room rocketed open and Tom stood there, his mom, entirely nude, being carried in his arms.

“Tom,” she said with a glaze in her voice. “Did we travel through hyperspace?”

“No, I was carrying you.” He took her to her bed and laid her down.

She lay there in wonder. “I didn’t know you were that strong, Tom. I’m universes wide now. Your arms don’t stretch that long…” She seemed to consider it for a moment. “Do they?”

He stared at her eyes, her bangs falling over them. “For you, my arms stretch everywhere.”

He fell to the bed, embracing her, then they kissed. Amy took her head away after a few moments. “What’s that?” she asked.

“It’s my foot, mom.”

“Oh…” She tilted her head. “I keep bumping into it everywhere.”

“It must be fate…”

Tom leaned in, kissing, kissing harder, pulling away to kiss her giant breasts, sucking them every few pecks, going back up, one kiss at a time, to find her lips again. Finding them, he continued kissing while inserting his penis into her.

Evelyn felt it, and she seemed please.

Tom regarded her, feeling her wet and engulfing him. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Her eyes lit up. “The world?” She then squirmed beneath him, as if trying to get up.

Tom nodded. “Uh huh.”

The look of joy, rather than broad in the form of a smile, was deep within her eyes as she lay her head back.

With that, Tom began thrusting.

For the next few hours, they sucked and fucked one another, the dividing line between motherhood and lovers, taboo and justice, love-making and rape, no longer existed. He loved making her feel good, and loved hurting her, love those sudden looks of realization, and loved that confusion on her brow, and he rode that wave, bending her over, letting her ride him, eating her ass, letting her eat his. Every time his cock was free, she sprung for it with her tongue and lips, and he’d lean back on his own heels watching her suck it. Likewise, he had mauled her breasts, enjoying that his mother was not only his lover now, but she was his sloppy seconds.

The sky began to purple, and then glow, and the sun rose against the water. Evelyn fell in and out of sleep now, but showed no signs of sobriety. Tom sat on the hotel chair, his penis flaccid against his thigh. She stared at him, longingly. He reached for the phone and dialed “1.”

Four minutes later, a member of staff stood at the doorway. He held a tray in his hands, perfectly still, and he stared across the room with his mouth open.

Evelyn’s ass was up in the air, her breasts compressed against the bed, pushing up against her face. Cum dripped from her pussy, glimmering in the rising orange sun.

“That’s my cum,” Tom said invisibly, as if reading the young man’s mind. The man walked in, seeing Tom sitting there around the corner. Tom sat with one foot on the chair, his arm resting on his kneecap. “We’re mother and son, me and her.” He motioned to the two of them slowly. Then he took a deep breath and exhaled. “We’re Americans.”

The young man stood there, then he turned and looked at Evelyn, who now squirmed, semi-conscious.

“Close the door,” Tom said. “You can’t just rape an American with the door open. It would be a scandal.”

Tom watched the young man go to town. “Yeah, use that American ass,” he hissed. “She’s so high. You can rape her for hours straight.” The young man continued, his brown-yellow body against Evelyn’s pale skin. He leaned down, sucking her big tit. “Nothing better than a drugged white woman, hey? It’s like Christmas.”

It must have been the words which set him over the edge, as soon, the young man’s butt cheeks began to tense up, and he released himself deep into Evelyn’s body. He then lay there, wrapped between her thick white thighs.

“Here,” Tom said. “Watch how we do it in Ohio.” He brushed young man out of the way and mounted his mother. Her inserted himself. “While I get started, call up some other staff. Everybody you can.” Tom took a few thrusts then stopped. “If you can get the two guys who work at that restaurant, the one with all those lights. Um..”

The young man mumbled the restaurant’s name.

“Yes! That one! If you can get them too, that would be great. We didn’t get to tip them last night. Right, mom?”

His mom looked up at him, distant but satisfied, then she nodded her head.

“Yeah. They’re going to have some fun with you. Lord knows they deserve it.” He began thrusting again. He kissed her passionately as she did. He then, in between kisses, spoke to the young man, who was now on the phone. “Tell me when you’re ready again. We’ll flip her over. We’re going to stuff every hole.”

“Why?” the young man asked, just as the voice spoke on the other line. He then was occupied.

“Because,” Tom said, looking deep into her eyes with passion, his soul welling up. “Because she deserves it.”

Evelyn lay there, stuffed and ridiculous by three cocks, with three more standing aside for their turn. He jerked off there, watching it, completely at peace within the moment. All the previous days psychedelia had seemed to fade and he was left with a very grounded, but still profound, afterglow.

After the men were finished, Evelyn’s body brought into so many forms, all of them meaningful even without the coloring of that incense, Tom shut the door on the men, not saying anything. Then he turned around. He rounded his mom’s bed, seeing her laying on the floor on its other side. 

He looked down at her, she looked back up at him with hollow eyes, filled with nothing except wonder. She was still only just reaching the peek of her trip. Tom stood there, holding his penis as the sun rose, illuminating him with gold above.

Evelyn saw him there, standing on a mountain, a statue of gold.

Tom released.

Urine, just as gold, splashed in her face.