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Commissions: Volume 1

Okay, so after a dozen of finished commissions, I thought I should begin sharing the ones that I’ve made so far. With this first post, I’m going to share the first five that I’ve finished and been given permission to post. I will share the following five on another day.

I was genuinely worried when I started commissioning that this would end up being a chore, but it’s genuinely been fun and I’m proud of the output. On top of that, I’ve been writing within a time crunch which I’ve recently shook the burden of. So now I have much more time to write commissions, as well as complete my own work. So if you’re looking for a commission and aren’t sure if you should commit, read the stories below and see how you feel about them and then consider whether I’d be a good fit for making your fantasies come true with the written word.

Also, if you haven't voted for the best stories of 2022 poll yet, please do by clicking here

Without further adieu!

A Friendly Game of Baseball

“Come on, Mark! Let us come over, it’s been three weeks since the last time.” Reese said this with force, even as he stood there naked, his cock half-hard.

Next to him, Mason stood, equally as naked, and even harder. Mark looked at his two friends, and in the moment, much like others, he wondered why they were both so hard all the time. Mark turned around with his back to the falling warm water, his dick flaccid. He didn’t say a word.

Reese looked Mark in his eyes firmly. “Come on, man. It’s like we’re not even friends anymore.” He had to speak quietly as his voice would echo off the gym shower walls.

Mark winced at Reese’s words. He had never really had very many friends to begin with.

“Okay,” he said.

As Mark turned around to dip his face into the warm water. Mason and Reese looked at each other, their cocks stiffening, and they both smiled.

As Mason and Reese followed Mark at a short distance, afraid they would be seen with him, they whispered to each other about what of Mark’s mother’s bras and panties they were going to sneak out of the house this time. It was always so easy. Send Mark downstairs to the basement freezer for ice creams, and one of them goes to his mom’s bedroom and raids her underwear drawer without issue. Her body must have filled those garments so perfectly, what with its shape, size, and softness. Now instead, those stolen pieces of underwear would be filled by Mason and Reese's probing tongues and stiffening cocks and balls. They both swore they could still taste Mark’s mom Melissa through the fabric of her underwear. And she sure tasted delicious. Reese especially liked to lick the innermost center of the bra cups, assuming that it was the general space her nipples would rub against as she got lost in her work at the office.

When they got to his house, they wasted no time asking for ice creams. The plan had worked so consistently that they were starting to get sloppy. Even still, it never seemed to matter. Mark was either an idiot, or so desperate for friends that it made him blind. He didn’t even seem to bother asking them why they always wanted the ice cream which was at the bottom of the freezer and hardest to get to.

As Mark ran down the basement stairs, eager to make his friends feel at home in his house, Reese took it upon himself to go to Mark’s mom’s room.

He looked at her underwear drawer as if it were an old friend, and upon opening it, looked at its lacy, soft contents as if it were a buffet. He licked his lips. Just as he plunged his hand within to grab at one of Melissa’s double-D bras he heard a soft gasp behind him.

He turned around, and even through his mortification, felt a sudden thrill at seeing her standing at her own doorway, her voluptuous body, the one that filled the bras and panties behind Reese now, stood there like a gorgeous vision, the Platonic form of femininity itself.

“What are you doing Reese?” she asked. There was a startled innocence in the question, one which didn’t put Reese at enough ease for his own liking.

“I- uh,” he turned his head to see your mom’s bathroom door. “I needed to use the bathroom.”

“Oh,” she said. “In my room?”

“Mason is using the other one,” he rocketed out, surprised at himself for coming up with it so clearly.

“Oh. Well, he’s out now,” she said and looked down the hallway toward the living room. Reese couldn’t see it, but Mason stood there, looking back at your mom with an awkward smile. At the same moment, Mark came back up the stairs with three ice creams in his hands.

“That’s okay, I’m already finished,” Reese said.

As he walked past Mark’s mom, feeling the shape of her body in the air as she passed, he turned around one last time at the doorway to see her from the back of her head, as she looked down into her open underwear drawer, not moving, her hands at its edges. Even as Reese stood there, a pit in his throat, he took the opportunity to look down at the shape of her ass, making sure to get his fill, before turning around and leaving Melissa’s room, possibly forever.

Reese and Mason had found an excuse to leave as early as possible. “You know Mark,” said Reese. “I can tell that you really don’t want us here. So we’re going.”

Keeping Mark on the backfoot had become such an element of their strategy that even in moments of panic on their part, it was the thing they defaulted to in all dealings with him.

“Do you think she knows?” Mason asked Reese.

Reese’s hands were holding onto the chain-link fence as he looked at the baseball diamond and the young players who competed there. He said nothing.

“What are we going to do?” said Mason.

Reese had nothing to say, only watching the mechanical nature of the game. After a few moments of silence, one of the players hit a pitch coming his way and it rocketed off the top of his bat and came over the fence, landing directly next to Mason and Reese. Mason said nothing, not even seeing it coming or landing, only looking at his friend for answers. Reese instead had caught the trajectory of the ball as it exited the pitcher’s mitt, flew into the sky with a beautiful arc, and landed on the ground next to the two of them as if it were fate. He followed it diligently for its entire trajectory.

“Reese,” Mason said, trying to shake him out of his stupor. “What are we going to do?”

“He knocked it out the park,” Reese said softly to himself.


“He knocked it out the park. Knocked it out.” He looked up into his friends eyes. His voice rose from being cold and lifeless to suddenly bubbling with life. “Knock her out!”


Mark continued on toward the ice cream shop with his remaining lunch money jingling in his pocket. He didn’t know why those two wanted him to go to the ice cream shop. His mom had just bought ice cream, they had plenty enough of it at home.

When he got there, he bought the two caramel twists his two friends had asked for, realizing that he had no money leftover to buy anything for himself. Oh well, he thought. It’s okay. They’re my friends. Friends always come first. That’s what mom says.

When he got to the baseball diamond he looked around. They told him they’d meet him here. He stood there for so long that both ice creams eventually melted and he was forced to grab paper from a nearby trashcan to clean his hands. He had no reason to stay there, but he was afraid that if he left and his friends came later, they’d despise him. They were his only friends and he didn’t want to lose them. He was so afraid of the thought that he had even left the now-empty ice cream cones on the nearby bench to show them that he had got them the ice creams they wanted and they wouldn’t get mad at him.

Once he worked up the courage, he decided to head home.

When he got there, the house was quiet. His mom’s car was outside, but he didn’t hear her preparing supper like she usually would be. He went to the kitchen to wash his sticky hands. He passed by his mom’s bedroom to see her sleeping snugly in bed. She deserves the rest, he thought. She works hard enough.

When he got to his bedroom, he hopped onto his computer and seeing that his two friends were online, and not wanting to put pressure on them by mentioning that they had ditched him, he messaged them asking if they wanted to play something.

“Yes we do,” replied Reese, almost instantly. “Hey, why don’t you hop on discord?”

Mark was eager to do just that. He put on his headphones.

Reese was already speaking before Mark got his headphones on. “-ow is she? Is she still snug in bed?”

Mark didn’t say anything, assuming Reese was talking to Mason.

“Is she? Mark? Is she in bed?”

“Who?” Mark asked, his brows furrowed.

“Your mom?”

Mark sat there for a moment, not sure how to respond.

“My mom?”

“Yeah, your mom, Melissa. Is she in bed still?”

Mark turned around and looked in the direction of his mom’s room, even though there were multiple walls between him and his mom’s sleeping body.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “How did you-“

“So you said you wanted to play a game, Mark?” Reese said. Mason was snickering on his end as Reese spoke.

“…yeah,” Mark said. “We can play Fortn-“

“Me and Mason played a game early. Just the two of us. Sorry you weren’t there. I hope the ice cream was good though. It was… the game… how did I describe it, Mason?”

“It was like playing baseball,” Mason replied, laughing through his words.

Mark just sat there, feeling a rising unease at the shadowy void at his ears that the two laughing boys’ voices emerged from.

“Here Mark,” Reese said. “Let me show you us setting up.”

Reese posted a video and Mark eagerly played it. It was a cellphone video of what looked to be a kitchen counter. On the counter sat a frothy Starbucks cappuccino, exactly the kind that his mom liked to drink. Suddenly a hand came into the frame with its index finger and thumb clamped around a little round object. The thumb and index finger separated from each other, and the little blue object landed in the impenetrable cream and froth causing a momentary *plop* before disappearing within.

And that’s when you noticed it, from the video, the sound of your mom’s voice. She was calling up from some distant place. Her body seemed to be in motion as she spoke and there was a slight echo to it. The camera turned and you saw a doorway. It was the doorway to your basement. Your mom emerged from out the darkness all at once, her tits and thighs jiggling. “Sorry guys,” she said and she lifted her hands. In her hands were two ice creams. “The strawberry ones were just crammed so deep into that freezer.”

Mark looked on, astonished.

“As you can see, Mark. We had our ice creams too. Our favorite flavor in fact. What’s our favorite flavor again, Mason?”

Mason began to laugh a giddy, excited laugh. “It sure ain’t strawberry,” he said.

Mark’s stomach began to churn.

“Do you know what our favorite flavor is, Mark?” Reese asked.

“Tell him, Reese,” Mason insisted forcefully.

“Do you?”

“Tell him, Reese.”

Reese posted another video. Mark didn’t even remember clicking on it, yet the video played.

Mark’s mom appeared as the first image in the video, a closeup of her out-of-it face, looking quite unlike he had ever seen her, even in her moments of extreme flu or exhaustion. He heard Mason’s giggling again, both live and from the video, his two voices, one of the present and one of the past, dancing around the other through Mark’s earpiece.

“Our favorite flavor, Mark,” Reese said. “Is caramel twist.”

Suddenly, in the video, a big cock appeared into view, and before Mark could even register what he was seeing, it began forcing itself into Melissa’s open mouth. Reese’s two sets of laughter rose uproariously. The one from the video said “Fuck her mouth, Rand,” and his live voice reiterated with “he fucked her mouth!”

The camera than seemed to jostle, as if it changed hands, and suddenly Mark was looking at Reese standing there, naked from the waist down, deepthroating his mom’s face. His mom’s clothes were torn from her body, half-hanging, with her big tits bubbling over her bra, her brown nipple free and seemingly licked to stiffness, and her butt crack peeking entirely over her panties, her cheeks large, brown, and bare. Mason, the new cameraman, grabbed the back of her hair and pulled its beautiful strands into a demeaning pigtail. “Oink oink” Piggy, he said, and continued laughing uproariously.

He pointed the camera back at his friend thrusting, his balls meeting the woman’s chin the way baseball’s smacked dead into a chain-link fence. “We really did knock her out the park, hey Rand?”

Reese pulled his wet cock out of Melissa’s mouth, grabbing it by its stem and using it to slap the drugged woman in her face, making a “Klok” sound with his tongue as he did. Mason liked that joke most of all. He hunched behind her, his other hand holding her newly fashioned pig tails, and he pressed his cock between her butt cheeks horizontally. “What’s a baseball game without a hot dog to go with it?”

He thrusted his cock between her brown cheeks. Mark watched, horrified as his mom’s ass had become the bun for Mason’s hot dog, enveloping it almost entirely and giving it pleasure with the embrace of its soft, warmth. The same hard dick he had seen every time in the showers as those two begged him to go to the house yet again.

As Mark’s erection began to rise in his pants, a sinking feeling began to fall in his stomach. It was just starting to occur to him. Mark didn’t have a friend in the world, at least not a real one. He realized that now. Nobody. Nobody except his mom. And he was now watching as Mason pulled his cock from between her butt cheeks and repositioned it in order to press it into her asshole.

“She was so tight,” Mason said live.

“Oh, she’s so tight,” he said in the video as he pressed the head of his cock into her opening hole.

Mark’s mom’s voluptuous body got used and reused for half an hour longer, all of it happening, reflected in the moisture accruing in Mark’s wide eyes. He watched, his entire world falling around him at once, all while his mom’s snoring, over the sounds of fucking, laughing, and cruel taunts, could be heard from her bedroom, even while the flesh of her body, from only an hour earlier, smacked loudly into riotous life.

“Watch this one,” Mason pleaded to Mark, unable to contain himself. “We thought since she was nice enough to offer us her hotdog bun, that we should do our best to return the favor.” The two of them turned around and pushed their asses into her face, almost looking effeminate as they did. Their cock throbbed as they sandwiched her there, and in doing so, pinning her face between their soft pincer, each took turns submerging her face into the darkness of their ass cracks, rubbing their ass flash, inside and out, up and down the length of her entire face, with such force that her bottom lip could visibly be seen getting dragged along the ass with its motion, occasionally exposing her bottom row of teeth.

“Look,” Reese said in the present. “She’s licking out our ice cream cones.”

At this Mark couldn’t contain himself, and he pulled his dick out of his pants and began to stroke it, even as tears began to flow. It was so much to take at once, yet even still, he felt like all the shock, the pain, the worry, and the hurt only contributed to an even stronger vibration running through him, giving him an even harder cock.

“Now get ready for the frothy topping,” live Mason said to Mark through his chuckling.

“We’re going to get her nice and frothy,” he said in the video as his cock came closer to her bewildered face, which was still fresh from being rubbed up and down by the naked asses of both boys.

“Like whipped cream,” Mason said live. “Like whipped cream,” he said in the video, his voices overlapping by a significant margin.

Mark watched, in both horror and ecstasy, as the two boys who had lied to him about being his friend for just over a year now nutted on his mom’s defenceless face, the contents of their balls emptying all over her in thick and satisfying volleys. Mark could see their balls tightening to do it, as well as the vibrating flesh of their inner thighs.

“You have permission to nut too now, Mark,” said Reese. It would have made sense for it to come from Reese’s live voice, but it hadn’t. It had come from the video.

Mark as always, did what his “friends” told him to do. Even still, he had no will of his own. It was the last act of friendship he’d ever have with either of them, and he came, thick glorious nut after thick glorious nut, all over the bottom of his t-shirt, even as his eyes gushed with tears which wetted that same t-shirts upper half.

Mason gasped. “Reese, I think he’s actually cumming.”

“Shh, let him finish,” Reese said softly.

You finished, and when you were done, your balls empty, you just sat there.

“What’s a game of baseball afterall,” Reese began rhetorically. “Without an audience to enjoy it?”

And with that they were gone.

Mark knew that the life of this video wouldn’t just die here. That it would find a cult following in the darkest halls of the internet. He knew men all over the world would see Mason’s hard cock hugged by his mom’s butt cheeks and that there was nothing he could do about it. He imagined the audience, each in their own bedroom, but together as one, like thousands watching from the stands at a Redsox game.

Mark was far from deep, but when he went to his mom’s room and lifted her covers, seeing her sticky with his friends’ (he had to learn to stop calling them that now) cum, her face still smelling like their ass cheeks, the only thought that occurred to him before he started his work was that every good baseball game needed a thankless janitor afterwards to clean up the mess.

It may have been thankless, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t fun.

Two Stormclouds in Paradise

I didn’t hear it, and, even more sadly, didn’t smell it. Instead I seen it. Seen the rumble of her butt-cheeks through the front door window of the house. My beautiful mother Hannah had just let one rip as she passed through the kitchen, the same kitchen where I eat, and I had just missed its sweet sound and smell. I opened the door and went in, but my mom was already in her bedroom, and the smell she had left behind had mostly been wafted out the open kitchen window. I was only catching the remnants of it. And though the echo of its occurrence existed somewhere, the speed of sound moved quickly, and I had missed my opportunity to hear the loudest fart my mom had likely ever ripped, judging by the way it made her cheeks rumble. Either her ass was getting fatter, which was saying a lot, or she was farting harder than she used to.

Given this change in the situation of my mom’s ass, and the farts which wafted out of it, I had bought her something special. Something which she was wearing when I seen her through that window. The leggings which I had bought her for her birthday, which more than perfectly shaped the flesh of her ass, provided for a breezy fabric which sounds could escape through, and smells could drift out of, to satiate the hunger of my nose, ears, and cock.

I snuck slowly to her bedroom door and kneeled down with my phone out, eager to see if she was changing by filming underneath the door. She was whistling, which usually meant she was changing, but I never knew for sure until slipping the eye of my phone camera beneath that door. I slowly positioned the camera, and then I pushed it into the crack.

When I did, my phone stopped short and it made a solid thud noise. Something was blocking it. But what? My mom stopped whistling. I tried to lift myself to my feet noiselessly, but I was making too much noise. I stopped cold. My mom began to step toward the door, but just as she was about to open it to see my kneeling there with my phone on the floor, a trumpet-like toot noise blasted within the room.

“Ugh,” she said, in sort of a surprised whimper. Her footsteps began to move further away from the door and I took a sigh of relief. On top of that, she had farted inside and wouldn’t be spending the entire day in her room. Which was good, because I couldn’t seem to smell the fart underneath the door, despite the fact that I used to be able to do so. Whatever was in the way of my phone was getting in the way of the smell as well. It wouldn’t matter though. I’d be in that room soon enough. Plus she was likely naked while farting so none of the smell had wasted itself sticking to the fabric of her clothes, instead wafting through the room without obstacle. The whole place would be a hotbox of her sweet scent. I just needed to wait for her to leave it. If she would leave the house, I’d be spending the rest of the day rolling around on her bed, jerking off to the gift in the air that she had left for me.

My mom’s footsteps continued further and then stopped at the opposite wall. The bedroom window slid open.

I gasped, and when I did so, I did so audibly. Seconds later, after a flurry of footsteps toward the bedroom door, the door flew open.

My mom looked out into an empty hallway. She was fully clothed. In clothes that were very different from what she was previously wearing.

I sat in my room, pouting about that jam underneath the door, whatever it was, and the sudden decision, unlike any my mom had made before, for her to open her window and let the milk and honey of her brapping dissipate into nothingness, becoming one with the smell of the grass and the flowers in our backyard.

“I just want to kiss that farting ass,” I whispered to myself.

My cock was out and I was tugging on it now. But before I could finish to that visual of my mom’s butt cheeks in yoga pants rumbling from the pressure of excess gas through her crack, my phone buzzed. It was my girlfriend Karishma. She wanted to hang out.


Karishma sat on the other end of the couch with the heels of both feet resting in my lap. We were hanging out in the basement of her parents’ place. It was musty in their basement, and the TV was small, but it turned out that hanging out here rather than at my place was the better idea. Just as I had left my house, my mother’s boyfriend Jonas had his car parked in our driveway and he was walking up the stoup. He smiled at me as I passed him. I gave the bare minimum of a smile back, just enough to not let him know how little I cared for him.

Jonas was my age. Though he was taller than I was, better looking, better dressing, more fit, and more charismatic. On top of all that, he was fucking my mom. Then there was the matter of the gaseous expulsions from between my mom’s spacious butt cheeks, the ones I had loved since childhood, and how they had seemed to be increasing at this particular point in her life. Something about middle-age, while also increasing the size and softness of her ass, seemed to also be increasing the frequency of her farts, as well as increasing their total volume. While all this was happening, Jonas, a man who likely wasn’t even smart enough to appreciate these beautiful trumpet blasts from heaven, was sucking all her farts into his lungs, leaving very little for me.

He was almost certainly giving my mom’s fat ass a thorough pounding now, just as I sat here, and doing it all the more loudly now that he knew I wasn’t at home. With my luck, my mom would find it impossible to hold her gas in as her body was pummelled by the aggression of his thrusting pelvis and the smack of his hips against the soft flesh of her butt cheeks.

As I sat there, thinking about it, my cock getting harder under Karishma’s heels, I looked over at her. She was looking at the TV silently, almost not even registering that I was there. I followed her legs up to her ass, which sat there in yoga pants, and seeing it, I admired its modestly-sized perky shape, which cut its own definition in the fabric, making the bare traces of her nudity imaginable to an onlooker (thought true knowledge of what it actually looked like in the nude was for me, and for me alone, to know). Just looking at that ass, I was glad I had come here rather than she coming to my place and letting Jonas get another hardy look at it. I was sick of the way he glared at it. It was like my mom’s ass, big and fat, wasn’t enough for him. He had to take everything from me. Drink my rivers dry and breathe up all my air, so I’d be left dehydrated and out of breath. Even my girlfriend’s ass, with its smaller size, belonged to him, every pound of its tight flesh.

Feeling like I needed to make up for the day’s disappointment, I scooted up the couch, feeling the length of Karishma’s slender legs crawl across my thigh as I did, and when I got close to her face, I grabbed her chin with my forefinger and thumb and turned her gaze toward me. It took a few seconds for her eyes to unlock with the television. She looked at me with her deep eyes. Eyes I could get lost in.

“What?” she said.

I leaned in for a kiss. And then we began to lock lips passionately. My eyes were closed. Her eyes remained open and she looked over at the television every once in a while as her lips kept moving against mine. The show she was watching must have had her hooked, because she put up some resistance when I tried to turn her over in a way that made it impossible for her to see the TV, and remove her pants. But eventually she gave in, and I was then face to face with her naked ass, perky and smooth.

As I began to kiss both cheeks, and she began to moan with pleasure (though still trying to get peeks at the television) I began to run my hands against her stomach and thighs. And as I kissed more, I started to push against her stomach, first softly. Then with a little more force. The same with her sides. Her eyes slowly unlocked with the TV as she started to feel the same pressure against her stomach and thighs from my palms pushing into them over and over again, and she looked back at me through the corner of her eye.

I backed up and began to remove my pants. I then leaned in against and began kissing her perfect ass while jerking off. And she began to moan again. And suddenly, seeing if surprise would do the trick, I let my sneaking hand come up against her stomach all at once.

“Ugh,” she screamed.

Her butt cheeks flared outward, but no noise or smell came out. It was an involuntary muscle spasm, that was all, from the sudden shock of being jabbed in the abdomen by my greedy hands.

“What are you doing!” she said.

I kissed her right cheek as if nothing was happening. “Fart for me, babe,” I said, subconsciously trying to make it sound like the most normal thing in the world.

I suddenly noticed something about her face. I looked up to see her eyes looking back at me over the round hill of her ass, burning with rage.

“What!?” she demanded.


“What the fuck…”

The door to the basement opened up. And within seconds, Karishma’s grandma stood at the top of the stairs. She looked down at her granddaughter, her bare ass up in the air. And I kneeled there on the couch, looking up at the old woman, my cock exposed and hard.

She got up and pushed me back against the couch.

Before her grandma could ask what was wrong, Karishma answered while walking up the steps bottomless. “He tried to get me to fart in his face.”

Karishma’s Grandma’s face took on a warped look of horror. I sat there, the object of that horror. Within seconds Karishma had disappeared up the stairs. Her grandma stood there for a few seconds more. And I sat there on the couch, motionless, with a hard dick and nowhere to hide. Karishma’s grandma shook her head, casting shame upon me in that old-world way, and was soon gone. And I sat there, in their basement, alone, watching the show that Karishma had been enjoying just a minute earlier.

If I wanted to smell and hear a fart, the only one to grace my nose and ears would be my own.


When I got back to my house, I was shocked to see my girlfriend’s car in the driveway, parked directly next to Jonas’s. Even still, with that clear evidence that she was here, I was somehow shocked again to come inside and to see her sitting next to my mom on the couch.

When I came in, they both shot glances at me as sharp as daggers, and it occurred to me right there that the news of what my girlfriend discovered about me, and all the disgust that came with it, had been transferred to my mom. She sat there next to my girlfriend, their asses similar in gorgeousness, but very different in shape and size, glaring at me with disappointment and disgust.

It was then that I noticed the coffee table was filled with open and half-eaten bags of chips, cans of fruit, and half-drunken bottles of fruit juice.

Before I could register what that all meant, my mom spoke.

“You think that’s funny jabbing your girlfriend in the ribs like that?”

“Huh?” I said.

“You think it’s funny trying to get her to fart? Your girlfriend? Like an animal?”

I didn’t say anything. There was nothing I could say. I was being held to the floor with a heavy blanket called shame. There was no way to lift it or squirm my way from beneath it. I was pinned to the humiliation of the moment, without even the motion of neck available to stop looking my accuser in her beautiful eyes.

“Are you going to answer me?” Her ass shook as she chastised me.

“It’s my fetish…” I said weakly, trying to conjure empathy in her.

“Your fetish?” she repeated, her eyes wild. “Your fetish?”

Before I could say “yea…” weakly, she responded.

“You think I don’t know about that fetish? That’s not the issue. You can be turned on by anything you want. That’s none of my business. But what right do you have to jab your girlfriend like that, trying to make a mockery of her? You think she’s your own personal fart box that you can just manhandle and push and prod and get your little braps?”

“I… it’s…” I was about to fumble my way into a defence, getting three or four words in before it hit me. Brap. She said brap. She didn’t say fart or toot. Or flatulence or expel gas. She said brap. The very term of the fetish itself.

And that’s when Jonas came down the hallway. I looked at him, and he had a smile on his face from ear to ear. Then I looked down at the coffee table, all the fruits and snacks and food strewn across it. And just then it hit me. My eyes went wide with horror.

“Me and Karishma have decided that since you can’t keep your hands and your nose to yourself, that we’re going to give what you’re so eager to get that you’re willing to take it, to somebody else. Jonas, you ready?”

“Ready as ever,” he said with a smile. Then he winked at me.

I watched with horror as the two girls in my life got up, both still scowling at me, and then turned around and went down the hallway with my worst enemy, both asses trailing behind, big and plump, and small and perky, and with both their stomachs full of fuel.

“No,” I said to myself quietly. Then “no!” I said it more loudly.

“You should have thought about that before you did what you did,” my mom yelled down the hallway. I heard her bedroom door shut.

“No!” I screamed.

I ran down the hallway, and halfway to the door, I heard its lock click shut.

I fell down to my knees, still sliding on the hardwood, and I stopped firmly against the door. It was as if I had hit steel.

“Don’t worry, Karishma,” my mom said. “Jonas is a gentleman. That’s why I’m head over heels for him.”

“He’s really tall,” Karishma said. I could hear her say it as if she were looking up at him.

“No,” I groaned and began to paw at the door. I was pressing my cheek flush against it.

“Why thank you, Krishna,” he said.

“It’s Karishma,” I replied through the door.

“Thanks man. Karishma.”

“My pleasure,” she said. “Here, to repay you.”

When I heard it, I almost died. It was my girlfriend, somehow, without seeing it or knowing what it sounded like, I could identify her by it. It was a toot. A toot which had come out of her perky, well-shaped ass. And it had come out for him.

“Oh!” he said and began sniffing audibly. “That smells exquisite.” He started to sniff more.

My lower lip was hanging open and began to drool without realizing it. My eyes were as wide as silver dollars and I looked at the door with such violence that it was almost as if I believed I could cut it in half with my gaze.

“Bend over, sweety,” my mom said. “He likes it when I bend over.”

Inside, my mom and girlfriend lay before him with their asses in the air. They were both wearing leggings and looked down at his prizes with a smile. He wrapped one arm around Karishma and one arm around my mom and then he squeezed on his right side.

*Brraapp* went my mom’s ass.

“Hannah,” he said.

Then he squeezed on his left.

*brrropp* my girlfriend’s ass said for him.


“Karishma,” I said through the door.

He turned and looked over at the door. “Oh, thanks man. That’s right.”

I grunted in pain.

He turned back and looked at the two asses. He grabbed each at its furthermost edge and then pressed them together. My mom’s ass nearly pushed my girlfriend’s off the bed with its gigantic size, though my girlfriend’s ass beat it in shape and firmness. He let go of them for a bit only to suddenly press them back together, and in doing so, forcing another fart from both.

The duel solos of their farts, like a new Freebird, danced one with the other, as delicately as ballet but with as much force as a 1950’s jitterbug.

“Oh,” he said. “Combine you two make quite the scent.”

The girls giggled.

The three of them stopped when they realized they could heard something. They looked over at the door. They could hear my frantic sniffs at its base.

My mom looked at the base of her door with such disgust, it was better for me that I couldn’t see that expression.

Jonas smiled at the door. “Oh, sorry bro, but you won’t be able to smell anything. I had that door sealed. Just as a way to keep the scents in. I’m a Brap enjoyer myself. Doors and windows shut tight so I can enjoy to the best of my ability.

I didn’t groan or cry so much as scream like a demon piglet on the other side of the door.

Jonas’s smile disappeared. He looked at the door.

*Brap* My mom farted playfully to get his attention back on what mattered.

“Oh,” he said. He laid his big hands on both asses. “How about I get these two wild things naked.”

“Of course,” my mom said.

He looked over at Karishma. “Krashmer.”

“Karishma,” I screamed.

He continued without pause. “How about you?”

“Of course,” she said, her eyes wide, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Okay then,” he said. He let his fingers slide in the waists of both their yoga pants, and with a deep fart-filled breath, he took both down in a sudden tug.

Both my mom and girlfriend’s asses exploded into view.

He spanked the left cheek of my girlfriend and the right cheek of my mom. They both gave separate sounds which formed together as one.

“Now fart for me,” he said.



And their farts came together just as beautifully. “Ughh,” he said. “You both fart like angels.”

They hit him with another volley, with the synchronization of Napoleonic cannons or instruments in an orchestra. Cascading toots, not so much as stumbling over the other, but leapfrogging and swinging about with hands locked by their fingers, two dancers in perpetual merriment.

“Kroshma,” he said.


“Your farts are exquisite. They’re like perfume.”

“Thank you,” she said, with her eyes wide with surprise, looking over her ass at his handsome face. “No one has ever told me that before.”

I slammed my head against the door. “Karishma, what are you… no….”

“My pleasure Krooshmi,” he said. He took in a big whif. “My pleasure.”

My mom looked over at her. She grabbed her hand and squeezed it affectionately. Karishma looked at her and my mom smiled. Karishma smiled back at her, keeping her eyes locked onto my mother’s, even as she blew another fart. My mom smiled back, eyes locked, and blew her own. Karishma’s smiled grew wider, and she blew another one, this time louder. Then my mom smiled more and did the same.

They were competing now. Competing playfully for who could blow the loudest, wettest fart.

Jonas stood at the end of it, both asses backing up, smothering his face with their cheeks and the gorgeous smell of their release. “Fart for me, my little fartists,” he said. “You’re both my little fartists.”

My girlfriend giggled at her new title.

My cock throbbed as I tried to imagine her cheeks rumbling next to the rumbling cheeks of my mother, a sight which he was now witnessing. They had stood up and they backed him up against the bed rest, now both forcing their butt-cheeks in their face, rippling as they blew gas at him, loud, wet, and with deep aroma, the sounds only competed with by the sounds of their feet waddling around the sheets of the bed, their infectious giggling, and my horrified screams on the other side of the door.

The entire space between Karishma’s butt cheeks was wet with Jonas’s saliva, something which I was sure I could heard happening. I was sure I could hear when he switched from kissing and tonguing her ass to when he was doing the same to my mom’s. Something about the change in volume and the suppression of the sound of it, which would be more pronounced when happening between my mom’s much larger butt cheeks. I could also tell who was farting on his tongue, and whose ass he was sniffing by the nature of the whiff.

Worst of all, at the end of the day, I could tell who was farting by the sound it made when it blew bubbles through the puddle of cum he left on each ass.

“So Krotchma,” he said.

I didn’t even bother correcting him this time.

“You’re a natural. You know…” he said, sounding the way everyone else did when offering a sly suggestion. “If you’re at all interested, you can be my designated farter. Just like Hannah here. And… you know… fart for me whenever you’d like.”

She gasped. “I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s just that I’m addicted to your sound… and to your smell… it’s just that…”

“I’ll do it!” she exclaimed.

He stopped cold.

She leapt up to him and hugged him. As they kissed passionately, his lips tasting like her farts, my mom began to work on his cock with her mouth.

He looked at the bedroom door. “Don’t worry,” he said to it. “She’s still yours. I don’t want to have sex with her. I just need her to fart for me, my little fartist here.”

“Orggghh,” I said in a half-human exhausted grunt.

He turned to look at my girlfriend. “I think that means he’s okay with it.”

She ignored the dichotomy, instead looking him in his eyes. And before he even had a chance to look away, she did another thing for him.


Meals on Wheels

When Jack opened up his algebra textbook, he was greeted to a surprise hand-drawn image of his sister’s fat ass.

His sister, her face almost anime-like, looked back at the viewer with lines which representing blushing on her cheeks.

Jack felt a hand slap him on his shoulder. “Looks just like her, doesn’t it?” Thomas said as he came and sat down next to Jack.

“Looks just like who?” Jack said, playing dumb.

“Like your sister,” Thomas said and smiled.

Whenever Thomas smiled, he reminded Jack of Jabba the Hut. He was a disgusting, slovenly creature which seemed to glide around rather than walk.

Thomas pointed his fat finger at the book, aiming directly at the center of the overlarge ass. “I think I got your sister’s ass down perfect, don’t you think?”

Jack didn’t say anything. He only ignored the slob.

“You’re her brother. You’ve seen her changing. Please tell me if this is accurate.”

“It’s not,” Jack said, and slammed his book shut.

“Oh,” Thomas said with a sickening grin. “So you have seen her naked. Do tell.”

Jack didn’t say anything.

After a little silence, Thomas made himself into a further nuisance. “So, have you thought about what I said?”

“Thought about what?” Jack said, annoyed.

“About the hidden cam.”

Jack looked around mortified. A girl sitting at the table opposite his, looked up at the two of them through the rims of her glasses.

“Shut the fuck up!” Jack said in a forceful whisper.

“I told you I’d pay for it. I just need to see that thing in the nude, just once.”

“Shut up, I said.”

“Listen, an ass like your sister’s can’t be shut away forever. Just get that for me. I’ll pay you hundreds of dollars for it. It’s worth it. I can post that thing on xhamster or wherever. It deserves to be seen by thousands.” Thomas was speaking about this as if he were talking sports.

Jack had no choice. He stood up quickly, clutching his book under his arm, and stormed out of the library.

Thomas looked around himself with what seemed like genuine bewilderment. “I told him I’d pay for it.” The entire library looked over at the fat oaf. They were shocked and appalled by his very presence. He seemed to be none the wiser.

Jack emerged from the front doors of his school, and stood under the shade. He was waiting for his sister and was shocked to see that she was late. It was very unlike her to be late, and he stood there, almost worried that something was wrong. More than that though, he thought about getting home. As mortified as he had been due to his interaction with Thomas in the library, he couldn’t lie to himself, he had felt aroused by Thomas’s constant begging for that hidden camera footage. Jack just wanted to get home now so he could open up his textbook to that little image of his sister that Thomas drew. The fat ass. The blushing face and those big eyes. How could such a disgusting oaf create an image so beautiful, one which captured exactly what Jack knew to be the essence of his sister as sexual being.

Jack liked to imagine what it would feel like hiding his phone inside a black sock like Thomas suggested, placing it among discarded clothes in the bathroom, all while his sister Lorraine banged on the door because she needed to take a shower before school. Trying to hide his shame and nervousness as he left the bathroom, passing by her, not able to look her in her eyes. Sitting on the edge of his bed with a pit of nervousness in his stomach as he listened to his sister’s clothes coming off, dreading each silent moment, fearing his camera had been discovered. Then finding a moment of peace as he heard his sister’s bare foot rubbing against the porcelain of the tub, turning on the tap, and washing her body beneath it. Shaking as he knew his camera caught everything through the clear shower curtains. Going in after she had left the bathroom a steamy paradise, grabbed the sock and placing it in his pocket as quickly as he could in case she came back. Going to his room, dropping the phone from his sock onto the bed. Opening up his list of videos, finding the latest one and hitting play.

All of this was arousing enough. But then he took this thought to its logical conclusion. He imagined sending the video to that fat nothing Thomas. The one person out of all people who did the least to deserve it. The thought was enough to make Jack cry, both for good and for bad. Jack would always tell himself that it was just for the sake of fantasy that he entertained these thoughts. But in the deepest recesses of his mind, he knew that wasn’t true. That he really did want Thomas to get a better peek at his sister, and maybe, even if just for a short time, he wanted the video he sent Thomas to end up on xhamster, where his sister’s ass could be viewed by thousands.

Speaking of Jack’s sister, where was she?


Jack heard it. And as he heard it, turned his head to look in the direction of where it came from. It sounded like his sister.

He took a few steps in the direction of the sound.

“Stop, I said.”

“Come on!”

When he heard that slimy reply, his heart began to race. He knew that voice from anywhere. It was Thomas.

He began moving faster.

“I… uh… no.”

“It’s okay.”


When Jack heard the car horn go off, he picked up into a run and moved at full speed in the direction of the sound.


He heard it again. He was now bolting.

“Mmm, delicious,” he heard the voice say.

When he rounded the corner, he saw his sister’s car sitting there. He saw his sister too. But now he noticed something was wrong. Her face was way too close to the windshield. And that’s when he noticed it, her massive tits pressed up against the steering wheel.


And then he could make out what was behind her. Her body extended backwards into the backseat, and the flesh below her waist, much to Jack’s horror and surprise, was completely nude.

And then he noticed something seemed to be moving behind his sister’s naked ass. After some squinting, he realized it was a head of hair. Its strands bobbed around as they jerked about. And that’s when Jack realize. He could recognize that stupid haircut from anywhere.

Jack dropped his algebra book. It crashed to the floor below.

Lorraine moaned.

Thomas took his face from her ass. “Oh,” he said with a smile. “You want me to stop?”

She didn’t say anything.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, and he plunged his face back between her ass cheeks.

Lorraine hadn’t expected anything like this could happen. She saw her little brother’s friend coming toward the car. And she had expected his little flirting as usual. But when he insisted he get into the back seat and the two of them drive off aways to apparently meet Jack, she began to feel uneasy. When the young man lunged at her from the backseat after she parked, she froze in terror, but she then regained her bearings and put up a fight.

But she couldn’t believe just how persistent he was. When he had violently grabbed her tit from her shirt and pulled it out, and began to suck on it, she knew that things were hitting a point of no return. And that’s when his cock came out.

“Stop,” she said.

“Don’t scream so loud,” he said. “You’ll scare people.”


“Talk too loud and your brother is going to hear,” he said as he rubbed his cock against the bare flesh of her giant butt cheeks. “You wouldn’t want him to think that we’re an item now, would you?”

She bit her bottom lip with anxiety.

“Now just let me cum on these fat cheeks.”

She wiggled her ass to get away from him, only turning him on further. Not only was he aroused, but his second most common state of being was also stimulated by the jiggling fat of her ass. That was his appetite. He lunged in toward her ass with his face.

Lorraine exploded into a strange and unwanted pleasure. Thomas’s tongue worked its way against every square inch of her inner ass. Hearing her moan, he went for her asshole with his tongue.

“You want me to stop now?” he asked rhetorically, feeling her shiver.

“Uh uh,” she panted quietly, feeling the wet tongue massage her between her butt cheeks.

“I can’t hear you,” he said in a sing-song voice.

“No,” she said.

“Keep going?”

“No… I mean, yes,” she panted.

“My pleasure.”

Jack stood behind the bush, filming the action with his phone, using his other hand to tug on himself. It was as if he were living in his greatest dream and nightmare all at once. He was terrified that at some point he’d wake up, only hoping that somehow, video footage could be retrieved from a dream.

Jack lifted his face from Lorraine’s ass, pushing against Lorraine's hand as she tried to push his face back between her cheeks. He then stood up, and when he did, Jack’s jaw dropped at seeing his exposed penis.

Jack knew that that very penis was meant for his sister’s ass. That it was designed for it. That they were always meant to be together.

Thomas put it in.

Jack filmed as Thomas clapped his sister’s giant butt cheeks. Whatever repulsion his sister had had toward Thomas had not only evaporated now, but had some how inverted into pleasure.

“Is this the best dick your pawg ass has ever gotten?” Thomas asked.

“Yes,” she moaned.

“Is this the best dick your pawg ass has ever gotten?”

“Yes!” she wailed. “Fuck me harder. Fuck me harder.”

Jack couldn’t believe what he was capturing on his phone. His sister, the respectable teacher in the making, being absolutely ravaged, and enjoying it, but the most disgusting and pathetic person who had ever lived.

It was just too amazing. And soon enough, the world would be able to share in the moment when Jack uploaded the video to xhamster.

But until then, Jack filmed as Thomas fucked his sister’s face.

This moment would only be the beginning of Jack’s sister as Thomas’s play thing. Later, Lorraine would show up at Thomas’s dorm from time to time, eager for another round. Jack would hide his phone in the dorm before that just to capture the magic of it on video.

Jack’s favorite moment of all though was when, after a beautiful moment of fucking, his sister looked up at her conquer as she clung to his chest. “Do you love me?” she asked him.

His hand fell toward her ass, and he gripped one of her cheeks in his palm. “I love this,” he said.

There was a wateriness in her eyes. “But that’s me,” she said. “It’s attached to me.”


Jack could see the hurt in his sister’s face.

Fortunately for him, and for his entire audience on, this moment didn’t stop her from coming back to Thomas’s dorm for her weekly fun. And Thomas, being the glutton that he was, ate her up always as if it were the first time.

Paradise by the TV Light

Ricky saw his friend Tommy coming up the driveway through his living room window. Ricky looked at his watch. He was still annoyed. Tommy had his own apartment, and he lived there alone. Ricky saw no reason why the two of them couldn’t hang out there. Instead, Tommy insisted that he come here. His claim was that it was because his apartment was too small.

“Okay,” Ricky said, rolling his eyes over the phone. “Sure.”

Ricky could see the excitement in Tommy’s body as he walked up the driveway. On top of that, he seemed to be whispering something to himself as he went.

Suddenly, Ricky heard soft barefoot footsteps come from out the kitchen. “So,” a soft feminine voice asked. “When’s Tommy coming?”

The front door opened up. Tommy peeked his head into the house. He didn’t even see Ricky, instead looking past him, and when he caught sight of Brie, Ricky’s beautiful mother, he smiled.

“He’s here,” Ricky said. He sighed.

Ricky had always had trouble making his mom laugh at any of his jokes. Somehow, Tommy could do it without breaking a sweat. In fact, many of the jokes Tommy told Brie over her homecooked lasagna were jokes that Ricky had told Tommy. Further, they were jokes Ricky had told to his mom directly, jokes which she stood, stonefaced at, sometimes not even seeming to realize that humor was intended to begin with.

Ricky couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Was it that success, like the kind his friend Tommy had in life, changed the very way people viewed and judged you? By the way Ricky’s mom giggled and slapped Tommy softly on his wrist at each joke, Ricky had no choice but to assume so. Or was it good looks and charisma which made a joke land when it would previously crash and burn when said by a less impressive face or with more awkward comedic timing?

Ricky didn’t know. He was “hopeless.” That was Tommy’s favorite word for him. Hopeless with holding down a job. Hopeless with maintain self-esteem. And, most of all, he was hopeless with women.

Ricky watched jealously over his mostly uneaten plate as his friend’s hand clasped onto his mother’s and squeezed playfully in the middle of a shared laughing fit. Their eyes locked onto each other’s for a second, and they both held on for a little too long for Ricky’s taste. His mom especially. Ricky then watched as their hands slowly unbuckled from each other’s and separated.

“I don’t get it,” Ricky’s mom said suddenly.

The two boys looked up at the older woman.

“Two young strapping men here, and they’re wasting their Saturday nights hanging around with an old mother.”

“What do you mean?” Tommy said, laughing.

“You guys could be out at a party or at the club.”

“What would we do there that we couldn’t do here?” Tommy asked with good humor.

“I don’t know,” she said. She shrugged her shoulders. “Talk to girls.”

“Well,” Tommy said, his voice soft. “I’m talking to a girl right now, aren’t I?”

Brie lifted her eyes and looked into Tommy’s.

Ricky had no understanding of women and how they worked, but looking at his mom now, he wondered if whatever it took to make that furious rubbing of nude bodies together happen had just occurred tonight.

Ricky shifted in his seat, and then the memory of the time he walked into his mom’s room, wanting to grab the hair-dryer from her bathroom, only to see her standing there, naked, motioning with her arms frantically for him to leave, her tits shaking from the motion. Ricky looked at his mom, seeing a weird light in her eyes as she picked at her lasagna. He began to wonder if that version of her, the version without anything to cover how she really was beneath all those clothes, would be seen be seen by his friend tonight.

He saw the two of them peeking over, as if trying to get little bits of the other through the corners of their eyes. Their feet, his friend’s big, his mom’s small, shuffled under the table.

Ricky took in the two of them, then he looked down at his plate, cut off a piece of lasagna and put it in his mouth and started chewing.

Ricky shook under his blanket in the TV-lit darkness. He wondered if today was the first day he’d ever see something resembling sexual activity. He wondered if he’d get to see his mom’s tits shaking again. He wondered if he’d see his friend’s body as it thrusted into his mom’s, and he’d be able to take notes on technique. He wondered if he’d be able to see their lips meet in passionate kissing. And he wondered how many of the different positions he knew from porn (and knew thoroughly) would the two of them be involved in this night. That is, if anything were to happen at all. Ricky knew that it wouldn’t, even if some strange part of him wanted otherwise.

The movie ended up being alright. Ricky had positioned himself on the couch specifically in a way where Tommy would have to share the other couch with Brie. He watched periodically as their bodies seemed to crawl closer and closer toward each other’s under the shared sheet, every time he looked over at them.

“That girl is beautiful, isn’t she?” Brie almost whispered into the darkness.

The young woman on the screen stood naked in her bedroom, looking out her window at a bird tweeting on its branch.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Tommy said with absolute confidence.

Ricky looked over to see the two of them were now wrapped around the other under the sheets. He could see his mom’s bare feet peeking out from underneath the covers, with Tommy’s feet in his socs right next to them.

Ricky was glad that his only belt had busted a few days prior, because it meant he could safely remove his pants under his covers without being heard. He did, and he felt the soft fabric of the covers against the tip of his ever hardening penis.

Ricky’s arousal must have gotten ahead of his better judgement, because suddenly, out of nowhere, he looked over at the embracing bodies, each belonging to the two closest people he had in his life, and he said “whatever he wants to do to you, mom, just let him do it.”

Brie looked over at her son. Her eyes reflected the blue light of the TV screen.

Tommy looked at his friend, and then nodded at him. He turned and kissed Brie on her bangs. Then he turned back to Ricky. “She’s already started,” he said, and he grabbed the edge of his covers, and in one fell motion, he ripped them off his body.

Beneath, now exposed to the light of the TV, was his nudity from the waist down, and his hard cock, throbbing now in Ricky’s living room, embraced by his mom’s hand, which was still jerking it off, even as he face showed shock at the moment being exposed to her son like this.

“Good mom,” was all Ricky could bring himself to say as he stroke more passionately. “Keep doing that.”

Tommy looked down at his dick being played with at such an angle that it made his chin disappear into his neck. “You treat it good,” he said. He looked over at his friend and nodded again with real camaraderie. He then turned and reached for Brie’s shirt, and at grabbing it, dropped it down, exposing her breast.

“You were right,” Tommy said. “Her nipples really are brown.”

Brie noted that her son had told Tommy about the time he had accidentally walked in on her changing. She began to stroke Tommy’s cock harder. Tommy exposed both her breasts and began kneeding them in front of her son.

“Yes,” he said, and he kissed the right tit. “These are beautiful. Come here.” He reached into the covers and grabbed her around her waist. “Come up here,” he said, and pulled her up.

Brie tried to bring her covers up with her, but Tommy pressed them back with the flat of his hand.

“No,” he said. “Your baby wants to watch this. He wants to see me inside you.”

Brie didn’t say anything. She only nodded. She tried to make herself helpful as her pants were removed, and for a second, and only a second, her eyes met her son’s, and then her sight was dragged down toward his cock, which was being jerked slowly by his hand. She quickly turned away.

Ricky grabbed the base of his dick and he wobbled it back and forth for a second.

As Brie felt Tommy’s cockhead pressing against her wet hole, she suddenly felt fingers on her chin. “Look at your son,” Tommy said, looking firmly into her eyes. He turned her head until she was looking back directly at her son, who sat there in bliss tugging onto the cock that she had recognized as Ricky’s father’s.

Tommy’s dick pushed deep inside of her.

She panted.

“Is he bigger than dad’s,” Ricky asked in a hushed whisper.

She didn’t even think about it, she just nodded with one eyelid drooping in bliss.

“Good,” Ricky said.

“Are you going to cum for your baby boy,” Tommy asked, and he brought Brie down to his face, beginning to suck on her nipples.

She nodded.

“Huh?” he asked again.

She nodded again, her eyes closed in ecstasy.

Ricky watched as his mom’s tits shook in the darkness. They looked the same as they did on that day when she frantically motioned him out of her bedroom, but they were on repeat, with the same motion over and over and over again. Ricky watched Tommy pull her heavy butt cheeks apart, exposing the inner core of her ass, her butthole visible and illuminated by the blue television light.

“Does Tommy’s dick feel good,” Ricky asked.

His mom nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Enjoy it.”

After a while, the lovemaking between the two was invisible to Ricky’s sight. The movie was over, the television screen black. The it had been nighttime for hours.

Ricky listened to the their two bodies shuffle against each other in the darkness. He heard their panting, whispering, and moaning. He smiled to himself, just as invisibly. And though he couldn’t see much of what was going on, he didn’t need to. He had already felt the greatest orgasm he had ever experienced, and he was now just lying back in the cool night air and enjoying its aftermath.

His mom had already had her orgasm. She had had a few.

And Ricky smiled as he heard his mom pant a specific way again.

Because he knew there was another orgasm coming along and that it would be the only sound he’d hear for a moment on this eventful Saturday night. What better way to spend it?

Crouching Tiger Mom, Hidden Dragons

Yixin moved through the classroom to his seat. He could see Xenxen and Maggie following him with their eyes. He ignored them, smiling at the corner of his mouth. He took his seat. He was early for class. He always was. The value of punctuality was drilled into him, not just by his mother, but by his entire culture, as could be seen in the packed space of his classroom, almost every student had arrived five minutes or more before the instructor got there. Today they would be getting back their tests, and Yixin sat there, smugly smiling to himself, with every expectation that he would find himself at the top of his class, yet again.

When the instructor arrived, Yixin was proven right. The paper sat on his desk. Beside the mark, the teacher had scrawled in pen: “The top of the class again. Your mother must be proud.”

Yixin smiled at the page, then he looked up to see Xenxen looking back at him, playing with her black hair. She then looked away. He kept his eyes on her, admiring the smooth, pale flesh of her skinny legs, which was visible all the way to her two feet, one crossed over the other in wood-soled flip flops. Her skinny arms extended out of her dress, one hand on her desk and the other still preening her hair as she looked ahead, waiting for her assignment. Yixin watched until he seen the paper being slid onto her desk. The instructor gave her a stern look, and looking at the page, her usual bubbly nature stopped cold. She seemed to be frozen into a humble stone, her gaze down at the face of her paper, and whatever was scrawled on it by the busy hands of the instructor.

Yixin looked away, and out the window at the mountain range in the distance. It was strange how such a wide open and beautiful land could feel so oppressive. Not just under the weight of its government, but from the ground up, where its soil seemed to steam with thousands of years of Confucian values, the strength of which could not be broken by Hegelian navel-gazing and Marxist economic notions, even after seventy years. The air was permeated with this tradition, and keeping it alive through flesh was Master Kong’s greatest soldier, the Chinese parent. He knew by Xenxen’s sudden paralysis that her world had stopped as well. And he knew who it was in her life was responsible. He looked down at his own test.

“Your mother must be proud.”

When Yixin got home, he was already reaching into his backpack with a smile as he came through the door. When he heard the shower, he sat on his couch, waiting for his mom to come out. His test sat face up, proudly, on the table. The water shut off and he could hear his mom open the wooden shades of the bathroom window, meaning she was now in a towel (the apartment over could see directly into Yixin’s bathroom through the window of their own. Yixin would often catch the neighbor’s daughter bathing, and she’d exchange blushing glances at him and his bare chest as he admired her skinny tanned frame). The bathroom door opened and his mom continued to her bedroom and started to get changed. Yixin looked down at his test. He was getting excited even looking at it.

When his mom finally emerged from her room, she walked out into the living room, and Yixin became concerned when he saw that the stern resolve usually seen on her face, seemed to be even more stern than usual.

He didn’t know what to say. She looked at him, and a slight tinge of vulnerability seemed to form in the nuances of her mouth, but it happened so quickly Yixin was resigned to believe it was only an illusion.

“I something wrong, mom,” he finally asked.

“We’re moving, John?” she said. And that’s when he realized the vulnerability he thought he saw was actually there, even if hidden beneath his mom’s usual stern-faced bravery.

“Moving? Moving where?” Yixin’s voice cracked.

“To America.” She said it as if it were just another fact of life, and, knowing her, any decision she made often became exactly that even if just through her will alone. She exhaled, causing her chest to fall slowly. There was a subtle shudder which ran through her, one which Yixin could only notice because they had a disproportionate effect on the movement of her breasts, much more than on any other part of her body. Maybe it was this shudder which motivated her to explain further, something which she never before felt the need to do when it came to her own decisions made for her son. She continued: “You know we’ve been having troubles making ends meet, Yixin. Uncle has heard the stories. Grandma has told him. He said I could work at his restaurant in Ohio.”

Yixin said nothing.

“Ohio,” she repeated, and she seemed to be standing there, examining that strange word with the tip of her tongue. It was as if it was surreal for her to even say, never mind the fact that she would be living there soon enough. She looked back up at Yixin. “You may not like it,” she said with an air of slight obeisance which cut through the stern façade. “But I’ve already decided. I know it’s for the best.” She seemed to be about to turn around to leave, but then she stopped and looked back up at her son. “For the both of us.”

Yixin nodded, and they both just looked into each other’s eyes. Then she turned around and disappeared down the hallway.

Yixin sat there. There house was quiet as if it were the personification of his mother’s quiet resolve. It was a gentleness in the moment, that while somewhat profound, would not answer back to any inquiries with dialogue. Its authority was based on love, but it was also absolute. Yixin knew this, and he accepted it without complaint.

He looked down at his test on the table. It sat there. “Your mother must be proud,” it said.

And that’s when Yixin realized. She hadn’t even asked about his test today.


Over in the neighbor’s bathroom, their daughter stood under the showerhead, feeling it wash over her. She kept looking over, through her window into Yixin’s, expecting him to open up the door and come nude into his bathroom like he did every day at this time. He was the cutest boy she’d ever seen. Instead the bathroom stood empty.

Yixin sat in his room, the only sounds he could hear were those coming in from the street below. “America,” he said to himself. Visions of wide open spaces, images he wasn’t even sure where he had first witnessed them, burned in his mind. The sun kissed the top of some of redbrown rock sitting desolate in a beautiful desert landscape, with a solitary vehicle sending up dust as it moved down the highway.

Yixin looked at his magazine, the one he kept hidden from his mom in his drawer, beneath his socks and his underwear and his school uniform. It sat on his mattress, open, with a gorgeous blonde woman in a red onesie, her hands running through her hair, her posture leaning back, with two giant breasts peeking out of her top, the cleavage of which seeming to dip within itself innumerable fathoms. Her mouth hung open as if in the moment of orgasm. She was waiting for him. Not her, but a million women like her. All of them there, as real as the Xenxen or Maggie or the neighbor’s daughter, but with bodies that had shape and flow and diversity. He focused on her expressive mouth.

“America,” he said to himself. He smiled.


“Meilian,” Tony called.

Yixin’s mother struggled to get her apron back on. Though she was eager to get back inside. Her uncle warned her not to linger out in the alley while throwing out trash, but when she heard the sound of English being spoken by the pile of rubbish just a few feet away from where she was smoking, she naturally dropped her cigarette, snuffing it out under her heel, before she moved toward the strange apparition. Instead of a ghost or spirit, she only found Frank, the local homeless man.

He peeked his head out of the garbage, and noticing the vision of a woman before him, had took on the notion that your mom had dropped, assuming her to be some strange vision, an entity that had crawled out of his wet dreams only to stand before him, baffled, in his meagre reality.

“Will you look at that,” he said. “Fresh chop suey.” He extend his hands out.

“Chop suey,” Meilian said. “We no serve.”

He extended out his jet black hands at her, as if trying to summon her weighty breasts out of her apron with the power of mind alone. “Come to papa, Chinagirl.”

Yixin’s mom heard her brother calling just then and she turned around quickly, not sure of what was happening, only knowing it was no good.

When she got inside, Tony, her brother, was already yelling at her. He had chosen the name Tony for himself because of the Hong Kong actor Tony Leung. Yixin’s mom had told him about his uncle’s dream to go to America and marry a blonde “babe.” Yixin looked past his screaming uncle, as his mom walked past tying her apron against her slender back, and at Tony’s wife. She was short, a little hunched back, and Chinese. She spoke little English other than what she needed to get by in Ohio. She wasn’t ugly by any means, in some lights she was actually very cute, but she was far from the blonde “babe” that both Yixin and his uncle seemed to share such a fascination with.

Before Yixin could wonder at what blonde beauties this part of the nation held, he turned to see a beautiful young girl come toward him. As she neared, Yixin smiled, only to notice as she got closer that she stood a few inches taller than him. Yixin looked up at her. “Table for two” she said.

Her breasts were big and round, soft and white, but with a pinkish tone that was quite unlike the flesh of any girl back home. It was only now, looking at the girl up close, that Yixin realized that she was likely within his age group. From afar, especially with her sunglasses on, she looked like she could have been older.

Just then, not far behind her, a tall young man, also seeming to be older at a distance than he revealed himself to be as he got closer, came in. His open palm placed itself confidently at the small of her lower back.

“Hello!” she said, snapping Yixin out of his stupor. “John?” She was looking at his nametag. “Can you please give us a table for two? John?” She said John with a strange affectation. It was snappy and dismissive. He had never heard anything like it before.

“Uh, yes,” he said, and he went to go lead her and the young man she was with to a seat.

When he did, and the two of them sat down, she said thanks with an equal snappy dismissiveness and her boyfriend smiled mischievously. As Yixin walked away, he could here the young man asking his girlfriend “what’d he do to you?”

Strangely enough, Yixin was asking himself the same question. He had never been treated that way by a woman before. He wondered if he might have had food on his face, or if restaurant work was an especially shameful job in this country. While he stood at the front wondering, he could hear traces of his mom and uncle talking from behind the counter.

“He’s a Hēi guǐ,” she said. “Outside in back.”

“Oh, Frank. I told him to go sleep behind Chen’s restaurant. Before the health inspector comes and sees him sitting there.”

“He said he wants chop suey. But he doesn’t look like he has the money for it.”

“He doesn’t.”

“He wants it for free?”

“How did he ask?” Tony asked inquisitively.

“How?” Meilian answered, not understanding the question.

Tony rolled his eyes and threw his notepad down on the counter. “If you don’t want more interactions like that, you might want to wear something that hides you a little bit better.”

“Hides me?” Yixin’s mom genuinely did not understand. She stood there confused. “Why would I hide.”

Tony laughed at his sister. “Oh, you’re going to learn, only too quickly.”

Yixin noticed how exotic his uncle sounded. It was like the dust of America had rubbed off its magic into the nooks and crannies of his native language. Yixin was astonished by this country’s ability to do this to everyone who touched it. He was too smart to believe in any notions of something like magic soil, which upon standing on, you absorb its fundamental essence. But if any country had anything like that, it would be within the rivers and hills of this country.

“Just get up at the front there with your son,” Tony said, pointing her there with his notepad in his hand.


Yixin turned around to see a young, pretty brunette. He blushed seeing her, but was shocked to see that her chest was as flat as any Chinese girl. Before he could be too disappointed, she turned around to look at the three people behind her, and when she did, he could make out the size of her butt, which sat curiously hugged, almost to the point that she might of well as been nude, by her black yoga pants.

“A table for four,” she said. She turned back around and looked Yixin in his eyes. He smiled at her, big and genuine. She smiled back, a formality and he felt it. It hurt. Even still, he was thrilled by the shape of the young woman’s body. It was so near to him, yet so far.

Suddenly he felt a soft feminine shape next to him. He looked over, startled, to see his mom standing there, looking at the four young people with a smile. “Hello,” she said. “My name,” and she pointed at her chest. “My name Amy.” Her hand floated to Yixin’s back. “Here, my son, John.”

“Okay,” the young brunette said, almost interrupting. “I’d like a seat for four.”

“Ah yes,” John’s mom said. “Over here.”

As she guided the woman and her friends, John followed them with his eyes, his sights on the center mass of the young brunette’s ass. He couldn’t believe an ass could get so big on a girl that was far from fat. When his mom motioned toward the table with an outstretched hand, they all sat down, and John felt himself shudder both with arousal and angst when he saw that giant ass press itself into the pressurized and varnished wood of that seat.

“Just wait here,” Amy said. “Server be with you shortly.”

As she turned around, John’s gaze was somehow stolen from the perfect ass by the expression of one of the young white men. It seemed to be following John’s mom as she walked away. “Damn,” he said. “I’d like to crack open that fortune cookie.”

John froze.

His mom came back to him, a smile on her face. She was happy to have seated her first customers. “Job well done,” she said in English, rolling the “ll” in a way that made it sounds like an “rr” and “dd” all at once. John saw his mother’s sweet smile in the foreground, her eyes like downward facing crescents, and just behind her he saw the two young men at the table examining her from behind with big smiles.

John looked back at his mom, noticing something about her for the first time in his life. She smiled with her shirt and apron protruding considerably from her upper torso. Her skirt curves around her waist like the hills of the Steppe.

John looked away.


John felt a strange rapture and simultaneous sickness, not unlike that which he felt the first time he saw the neighbor’s daughter remove her towel after noticing they both entered their bathroom at the same time. It was strange that he could feel that sensation again when he was only looking at two clothed bodies. One of them decorated by flowing blonde hair, which fell over her cleavage in flowing strands. The other a gyrating, shifting ass in black yoga pants, pressed against a quaint wooden chair as she gestured to her friends rudely and expressively. If this arousal was what they brought to him while clothed, how would he feel seeing such things without their cover.

He couldn’t wait to find out. With these two, something failed to connect. He was sure it was the uniform. But he knew at school, where the prospects would be more, and the rules, being American, would be considerably more lax, his chances would be through the roof. This was the land of opportunity. He knew that. He had loved this country before he had ever dreamed of living here. Reputations like America’s don’t come without reason. They’re earned. And he would experience all the pleasures these pinkbeige bodies had to offer soon enough. He had nothing, if not patience.

He could only imagine what it would feel like to lock nudity with women like these, but before the thought could even form, he was astonished to see that it had formed outside of his mind, as if he had influenced it, out in the real world, at least in its motion. One of the young men sitting with the big-butted girl put his hands before him and began to gyrate as if making an orgasmic face. He then made a spanking motion. The girl with the butt leaned over and slapped his shoulder. “Stop!” she said angrily. “I can’t fucking take you anywhere.”

Just as the laughing young man stopped his crude gesture, John’s mom approached the table, clearing the plates and leaving four fortune cookies in front of the four young faces. “Ah,” the young man said, looking up at her. “Fortune cookies. Very magical.” He winked at John’s mom.

“Ah, yes,” she said, and bowed slightly. One of the young men snickered as she did. The other had the same malicious playfulness in his smile, but without laughter. John’s mom turned around, smiling to herself, and walked off. She didn’t seem to understand that she was the butt of some joke.

“I think I’ve come down with the yellow fever,” the young man said.

“You always say that,” said the girl in the yoga pants, her butt straining in the chair as she did. “You say that about Tony’s wife.”

“This one’s different, though.”

“Different how?”

“Look at her. When’s the last time you see a ricer shaped like that.” He held his fortune cookie in his fingers. He looked at the brunette up and down in her chair. “She looks like you.” He cracked open his fortune cookie.

“What’s it say,” asked the other young man at the table.

The first young man smiled with the cookie in his hands. “Would you believe me if I told you?”

“I wouldn’t believe anything you say, even if you showed it to me,” the brunette said.

He held the tiny piece of paper below his wide grin with anticipation.

“Well, show it to us,” his friend said with impatience.

“Patience is a virtue,” the young man said. He motioned his head toward the counter where a statue of the Buddha sat. “Ask him.”

“Show us or shut the fuck up.”

The young man slowly turned the piece of paper around. The table rose to an uproar, causing everyone in the restaurant, except for Uncle Tony, to take glance at them. John’s mom included. She then looked away to put a table of empty glasses into a sink bin.

As the day came to a close, the customers gone, John approached the deserted table. He looked down at the chair which had only been recently smothered with fleshy white gorgeousness. It looked so ordinary now. He grabbed at the deserted napkins and threw them into his little bin. Then he did the same with what was left of the food. The brunette had the only plate without leftovers on it. He wondered for a second how she could eat so much and stay so thin, but the answer occurred to him pretty quickly. After he was done with that, he moved on to the discarded fortune cookie fortunes. He grabbed the quieter of the two young man’s fortune, and the fortune of the other girl, and threw them into his bin without fanfare. Then he picked up the fortune of the brunette.

He slowly unraveled it in his hands.

“You have what many want but can’t have,” it said.

John looked at the fortune for a moment. Then he rolled I up and put it in his pocket.

He then circled around the table to the plate of the young man with the rude gestures. He lifted up the fortune, recalling the hearty laughing of the young American troupe an hour earlier. He opened it up in his hands.

It said: “That which you desire…”

The bottom half of the message was covered by John’s thumb. He moved it.

“…will fall directly into your lap.”

John grimaced.

But for whatever reason, he didn’t throw away the fortune. He rolled it up and put it in his pocket next to the other one, and continued cleaning the table.


John was ready for almost anything that school in America had to throw at him. He really believed that as he approached his first class. But when he stood at its front, seeing a sea of a white faces glaring back at him with extreme boredom, all while his teacher introduced him to the class as a “new student from the far east,” he began to feel an unease. When he heard a snicker coming from one of those faces during this introduction, and he realized he couldn’t figure out why anyone would snicker then, his angst only grew.

It finally reached its zenith when he was pointed by his teacher toward his seat, and upon going there, he realized something was missing. It was only after he sat down that it started to register for him. He looked around, and saw the pretty faces, ears, cheekbones, noses, eyes, and chin, of all these various white girls. But with the exception of the girls whose heads he could only see from behind, he noticed that every face he looked at was in side-profile. Every girl looked ahead toward the blackboard, or they doodled in their notebooks or tried to subtly text on their phones beneath their desk.

It had hit him right there.

None of them were looking at him. Not a one. He thought for a moment that maybe Americans frowned upon staring, but that hadn’t been his experience so far. People seemed to be much more direct, loud, and boisterous in this country than in China. On top of that, he had seen the way various customers examined his own mother, up and down, seeming to be surprised by her, her body especially, something which gave John a strange pride, the thought alone that his mom defied such a basic stereotype. He had never seen her through that lens, although noticing the attention she got from Americans, it had only served to now allow him to entertain the thought of his mom’s body as a sexual object, conceptually speaking that is. The thought occurred to him, and then was swiftly discarded, that John’s reason for being obsessed so much with shapely white bodies was that he had been primed for it by the one and only shapely body he knew back home. The thought, though logical, revolted him, and because of that, he let it drift into the backwaters of his mind like fallen bamboo trees.

John sat in his first class, trying to pay attention, but only being ripped from the blackboard by the vibrating sexual energy created in him from every female body in proximity to his own. Thick beige thighs emerged from strained jean shorts or was revealed in its silhouetted size and shape by the tightest of pants. He couldn’t believe how many girls felt comfortable dressing this way. Did they not have parents to tell them no? He thought of the neighbor’s daughter, and the look of aching naughtiness in her eyes and mouth, and what her parents were doing out in the rest of the apartment at that very moment when his eyes and her eyes met.

He snapped back into the present. He looked around, and saw no eyes looking back at him. Not even for just a moment. A drop of sweat began to trickle down his forehead.

The next class was much worse. Not only did he have to go through another introduction, one many of the students in this class, sharing the other one, had to go through twice. Two layers of boredom was quite the thing to witness. Especially when it had to be witnessed on many faces at once.

What really made this introduction worse though was that the teacher asked John to introduce himself.

He stood there for a moment, a snicker among the crowd, and then his teacher coaxed him on to speak. “Hello class,” he said.

Another snicker. This one clearly from a different part of the class. He had made two minds find humor in him by doing two different things. He couldn’t know what those two things were. He just knew that those two little snorts came out not because they were felt, but because they were felt so deeply, they had nowhere to go but out into the real world. He knew that others had felt the same, but they had been able to hold it in. That was all.

“I am from China. Not very far from Shanghai. Shanghai is kind of like China’ New York.

But instead of big apple, it big mandarin.”

The class stared at him. The girls’ looked into his face with lifeless eyes. It was amazing to see such variety in eye color while also feeling like every eye was the same shade of grey. And though each had her own mouth, with her own shade of lip-color, the expression of boredom was universal throughout. Even the solitary black girl in the back of class, looked at him without seeming to register him at all.

He shuffled around awkwardly. He had gotten that mandarin joke from a brochure at the airport, one which promised to make Chinese tourists and immigrants palatable to American tastes. He now realized that that brochure had betrayed him. And he had only realized it in front of what now felt to him like a firing squad.

‘Uh, I… I work hard. I try, always do my best. Do my best for China, and now I’m in home of the brave and free, I do my best here even more.”

Beyond the random volleys of snickering which filtered up indistinctly through the crowd, the faces being made now, as if he had just said something beyond absurd, were what really dug a knife in him. Worst of all, he noticed that these faces were all overwhelmingly female.

By the time he had made his way to his seat, the occasional feminine eyes, nose, mouth and chin followed him, only to look away when he sat down and returned their gaze, but not due to any butterfly-like shyness, but instead to not let on too much how weird they were finding their new classmate to be.

John sat there for the remainder of the class. His body hunched up and his eyes straight ahead. When he realized few others in the class were taking notes, he set his pen down on the page and let his arms fall to his side. After a while, he even stopped looking at the blackboard.

He only looked down at his page, the place where he had wrote down the message left under the Statue of Liberty. The one the teacher had moments earlier said was central to America itself: “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free.”

John looked down at it, his mouth dry.

“The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.”

That afternoon, he had showed up at his uncle’s restaurant, only to find his smiling mom waiting for him. He looked at her strangely. Something about her smile seemed larger than usual.

Before he could even ask, or even decide that he wanted to, his mom looked at him and said “Americans are so nice,” and eyes and smile widened for an extra second before she turned away and went back to the kitchen.

John saw the table of “nice” Americans as she did, their eyes following her, watching every gesticulation of her body as she went. John looked back, seeing it in all its detail, as if seeing his mother through their eyes, her rich Asian flesh gyrating and fluctuating wildly with even her most quaint and subtle movement.

Their “nice” nature ended as soon as his mom was off the clock. Which was a shame. Because John would have to deal with them now that she was gone.

That night, John lay in his bed, looking up at the ceiling of his very own picket-fenced American house. The night was quiet. More quiet than he could even imagine. Only the occasional car passing by every few minutes. The room seemed massive around him. He had more space than he knew what to do with, and before he could find some way to fill it, it sat conspicuously there, offensive looking in its voided being.

The bodies of various Janes and Sarahs and Charlies came to him, articulating themselves through each stretch, pressure, and jiggle, and though he felt his cock begin to throb, a sharp emotional pain, so intense as to be almost physical, emerged at various points in his chest, shoulders, and neck every time he thought of those eyes. Those many-colored eyes, unique and various, but all universal in their sharing of one or two emotions. The first, confused mockery, and the second, worst of all, indifference.

And so John dropped these thoughts out of self-preservation alone. He was sure this pain would kill him in his sleep otherwise. Yet his cock still remained hard. He touched it, and at touching it, began to feel the need to stroke it. And when he went to his memories, oh how remote they felt, of the girl in her bathroom next door in China, he felt a strange revulsion at the unremarkableness of her skinny body. She had been ruined, ruined by what this country had to offer only to draw away from him with cruel malice, like he were a fish in the water swimming open-mouthed toward a black yoga-pantsed white ass. After it was snapped from the water’s surface, he could only look around, and in looking around, see nothing but that skinny girl, shy of her own tiny breasts and the line in her small bony ass, a mockery of femininity, a poke to its eye and a spit on its cheek.

Though when he thought of those well-formed white bodies, he could only wince through this pain. He was trapped between a rock called mundane and a hard place with a sign above it which read “horror.”

But the thoughts of breasts, big and large, and asses, shapely and fat, kept coming. And the “yellow” skin of his next door neighbor filled his thoughts as well, as if she were his cavalry, there to save him from the cruel witcheries of those divine white bodies. And as these two figures of his thoughts, memories, and fantasies waged war within him, the line between each began to blur, and get fuzzier, and blur more until at some point, there was no longer any line, and the images became one.

A ”yellow” body, familiar to John through his own life, yet shaped as beautifully as the bodies of American girls, getting John’s cock hard with real excitement without guilt or fear. And he imagined this body as water ran down it, falling to the bathroom floor only to swirl around the drain at its center. He imagined it as if he were seeing it through the open window from the apartment across.

She had forgotten to close her blinds.

And that’s when he had realized it, when she had turned around, at the same moment she obscured the black crack of her ass, and exposed the dark nipples on her breasts. It was her face. He knew it. Knew it better than any others.

That stern look, proud and brave, throughout anything.

And then she seemed to notice him there, staring at her. And when she did, the corners of her mouth rose, and her eyes became thin with intense joy.

“Americans are so nice,” his nude, shapely mother said to him.

And John came all over his massaging hand.


John’s first gym class was the nail in the coffin he had mentally fashioned for whatever was left of his self-esteem. He thought he could see his shrinking spirit as it circled down the drain in the shower room. It was in those gym showers that he realized that penises either hung a little to the left or a little to the right. He never noticed this because his was too small to hang in either direction.

White dicks slapped between thighs as they moved to their respective shower head. John had to remind himself not to stare. He had already received a reputation for being Asian and weird, he’d hate to get an added incorrect wrap as being gay too. That definitely wasn’t true. He almost wished it was though, as he had to try to mentally suppress getting an erection the best he could during class, as he watched the shapely bodies of female students move around the gym, catching, throwing, and dodging dodge balls in shorts and sweatpants. This suppression turned out to be fruitless when he noticed one of his gym classmates was that very girl in the black pants who had come to his Uncle’s restaurant weeks earlier. Now she was wearing black shorts, equally as tight as the pants she wore in the restaurant.

John wanted to do nothing but run to the bathroom and jerk-off, and he wondered how all the male students in class couldn’t all want to do the same, and then he wanted to find a hole to crawl into an die when he thought he overheard somebody, a deliberate male voice, whispering to another among the furious playing "little donger.”

He knew it had to be about him. And when later, a dodge ball came his way and hit him directly in his genital area after being thrown by an unseen hand, the feeling became overwhelming. He looked around for who could have thrown the ball, and while no face showed the guilt he expected, one of the male faces looked very familiar to him.

It took him a moment, but then he imagined the face in a state of mock-arousal, and the décor of his Uncle’s restaurant became the mental background to that sight. That was it, he was the guy who was hanging out with the girl with the nice ass. The one she “couldn’t take anywhere.”

And then, all at once, the memory of why it was that guy made that raunchy face came to John, and the recollection of who it was aimed at. And with that thought came the thought of his mom, naked in the shower, her shapely body overrun with water. “American’s are so nice.” She smiled with her eyes and mouth.

John’s cock throbbed harder, making a tiny tent in his gym shorts.

And then it happened, the only thing that could save him from universal humiliation, because just a second later, a ball hit him in his face. And with that, his erection was gone.

As he stood in the showers, he thought about that big-bottomed brunette, and at imagining her, he realized, based solely on the placement of the girl’s locker room in relation to that of the boy’s, that her and all the other girls were only on the other side of this wall, just as naked as John and the other boys now were.

He imagined the water running down her body, and, for only a second, he imagined it as if he was seeing it through two sets of window frames, one larger than the other due to perspective, as if he could see through that wall.

Suddenly, he was hit in the shoulder softly with the backs of four fingers.

He turned and looked and was surprised to see the guy from the restaurant there.

“Hey man,” he said. “Just to let you know, it’s not considered acceptable to get a chub in front of others in this country.”

John didn’t understand. He looked at the face of the young man, who wasn’t looking into his eyes. The young man pointed downward subtly towards John’s thighs.

When John looked down, and he saw his prick there, red and hard and aggressively so, he almost felt his soul rip itself out of his body.

The young man took his eyes off the wall ahead and looked around the shower. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I honestly don’t think anyone noticed.”

It took John a second, and when the meaning behind that statement finally clicked, he felt a double shame.

The young man stood there, within the stream of hot water next to John, and then realizing his shower neighbor had been made self-conscious, he said “what, you’re already smart. Do you want to be packing heat too?”

John understood this figure of speech, “packing heat,” and at knowing for sure that he did not “pack heat” his face began to burn even more.

“Listen,” said the young man. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Just chill.” After a few more moments of silence, he said “I’m Tom. Nice to meet you.”

John looked at him, and then said “like Thomas Jefferson?”

Tom’s hand went up in the air with his palm up and his head shook for a second as if in annoyed confusion. “Yeah,” he said. “I, uh, I guess. Sure.”

John looked down. Then he looked back up at the American boy. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s fine. You’re from another country. Who knows what kind of things go on there. I understand. You can be weird, just don’t be get-your-dick-hard-in-the-shower weird, deal?”

John didn’t say anything.

“I’m only telling you that for your own good.”

After some more silence, John couldn’t help himself. He looked down at Tom’s dick. It was one of the dick’s which hung down on the left.

After a second of subtle peeking, the thought occurred to him that that was the dick which Tom had joked around with his friends about putting in his mother back at the restaurant. With that realization, the subtlety of John’s glare began to evaporate, and the advice to not get hard evaporated from his memory with it.

Tom, likely noticing it through the corner of his eyes, looked over. John didn’t realize he was being watched, until he looked up and saw Tom’s eyes locked onto his, looking worried. There was a few seconds of silence. And then Tom said “don’t tell me that you’re gay AND Chinese.”

John shook his head convulsively and looked away. It was as if things were fated to never get any better ever since he stepped foot on this country, the land of the “Free and brave.”

After a little more silence, John said “hey, I want to show you something cool afterward.”

John looked at him, surprised. It seemed like this American had something that he genuinely wanted to share with him.

“But I think you should probably have your clothes back on before I show you.” That was some kind of joke. “And I can’t show you here anyways. It’s on my phone.”

John looked into his eyes for a moment. And then he said “alright.”

Tom shook his head and looked back toward the wall. “Alright,” he repeated, doing so in a way that imitated John’s accent and the humor he found in it. It was okay though, John didn’t notice.

“What are you doing over there, Tom? You comparing chopsticks?”

John and Tom sat in the corner of the change room. Tom waved the classmate off. “Fuck off, man,” he said. And he opened his video folder on his phone. John watched him as he did it, finding the strength to ignore the ridicule through Tom and his obsessing with whatever it was on his phone. The young man with the funny comments just smiled and looked at his friend, and they both left the change room.

By the time Tom had got to the video he was looking for, most of the changeroom was empty.

“You know, Suzy?” he asked quietly while still looking at his phone.

“Suzy?” John repeated.

“Yeah, Sujy. That’s exactly what I said. Remember, the one at the Chinese place you work at?”

John’s heartrate began to rise.

“She was just out there. In gym. Brown hair. Very big… in all the right places.”

“I know her,” said John.

“You do?”

“Yeah,” John said, trying to not sound too overeager.

“Ahh,” Tom said, nodding. “I figured she’d have left an impression on you. She always does. You’re not the first.”

John didn’t say anything, almost as if he was terrified that if he spoke, somehow something in the nature of his accent would burst the moment like a balloon.

“You know, I used to date her. I mean… back when we were kids. So… it’s no big deal, but still. We’re just friends now. Anyways… her cousin was over at her place, and I don’t know how things are in China, but here in America this guy would be considered a little off for this. But I’m not complaining. This has been going around. I’m going to show you this but only if you promise to keep it tight. You know what that means? Keep it tight? Like a Chinese ass. Small and tight, okay? Not a word to anyone.”

John nodded. His mouth was getting dry.

The changeroom was empty now.

“Okay then,” he said. “I trust you. Without further adieu, here it is.”

He pressed play.

John sat there for a second, the light of the phone shining on his eager face, and, after a given moment, that eagerness turned to a wild astonishment.

Tom looked over at the immigrant. “Wow,” he said. “So your eyes really can open up.”

They both sat there, nothing being an indication of what they were watching except for the sounds of a shower and innocent whistling.

“Her own cousin. Can you believe it? Is that normal in China? To spy on your relatives? Either way, like I said, I’m not going to complain. We used to go out, back when our moms used to drive us. Before she looked like… well… looked like that.” He nodded to the face of his phone with a big dumb grin. “So I feel like I’m owed seeing her like this.”

John said nothing, only trying to wet his dry lips slowly as he gawked at what was before him.

Tom looked at the wall, as if trying to see the girl in question through it, if she were even still in the gym. He looked back down at his phone. “And that’s it,” he said. He put it back in his pocket. There was some silence between them. Tom seemed as if he were readying to get up and go, but then he said “I was going to ask if they have girls like that in China. But then I remembered, that new girl at the restaurant you work at.”

John felt his face beginning to get hot. “You know who I’m talking about, right? The one with the…” he held his hands in front of him in semi-rigid claws. “… you know who I mean. Can I ask you a question? What kind of rice is she eating? I mean, I don’t think I ever seen a girl from Asia who looked like that.”

John felt a strange mix of sickness, fear, arousal and pride. Tom was right, virtually no Asian woman was shaped like his mom was. He knew she was a one in a million spectacle just for that. And he smiled and refused to look Tom in the eye.

Tom, noticing something was up, spoke. “Oh, do you have a crush on this little lady in question?”

“No,” John said quickly. “Not me.”

“Oh,” Tom said while nodding. “So you are gay.” Tom was smiling.

“No,” John said, almost doing so as quickly as possible.

“Okay,” Tom said smiling. “Not a fag. Note taken. So what is it then, chongers don’t like other chongers? Why are there so many of you fuckers then?”

John said nothing, still unable to look Tom in the eyes.

“Oh…” Tom said.

John looked up.

“Is she like your aunt or something?”

John said nothing.

“Older sister?”


“Fung shui home decorator? What? There’s something you’re not telling me. Just because your eyes are mostly closed, it doesn’t mean I can’t see them. I know you guys have souls, despite what everyone else says.” He patted John on his shoulder with a strange assurance. “Is she… I don’t know… your mom?”

John’s body went tight.

“Oh,” Tom said. He began to laugh. “I… uh… I apologize then. Forget I mentioned it.” He looked over at the wall for a second. His brows furrowed, then he snapped his gaze back at John. “You sure she’s your mom? That woman’s got to be like twenty-something years old.”

John shook his head.


John shook his head again, this time less forcefully.

“She’s in her forties?”

John’s head stood motionless. Then he gave a subtle nod.

“What the fu… She really is eating some kind of super rice. They should import that shit here. Causes women to not age and to grow in all the right places. Fuck…”

He shook his head again in disbelief. Then he stood up.

“Anyways man. Two things I want to say before I go. One, just because she’s your mom, doesn’t mean I’m not going to jerk off to her. Two, I’m going to show you the ropes from here on out. You’re making me sad with all your gook moping. I want everyday of your time here in America to be like Chinese New Years. As opposed to regular New Years, which is what we celebrate here.” He grabbed John’s shoulder again and rustled it. “So let’s get together soon, and, if I happen to fuck your mom, then that’s cool too.” He winked at John. He let go of his shoulder and began to back up toward the door. “And that was a joke, just in case you don’t understand,” he said. “Joke.” He said it again more slowly.

He opened up the door, shot one last smile, and then let it close behind him.

John looked at the bare door, then he turned around, packed up what was left of his gym clothes and left the gymnasium.

That evening, his mom came home from Victoria’s Secret. He had passed by her open bedroom door on the way to his room and he stopped dead when he saw her standing there, her giant heavy breasts supported firmly by her new black bra.

She looked at John. “Look,” she said in Mandarin. “This is a common size here. I don’t have to order my bras from the net anymore. It feels like home.” She positioned and repositioned herself, at an angel between John and her mirror. As she looked at her reflection, John looked at the really thing, marvelling at how her breasts sat firmly within that beautifully designed set of cups, their material lacy, and though his mom didn’t seem to be aware, the design of the bra was sexual in nature, meant to entice. John half-cringed, while also struggling to not become visibly aroused in his face and posture, imagining his mom at the Victoria’s Secret outlet, buying the bra without any understanding behind its implications. He imagined a white clerk, male, at the till, handing her her bag with a big smile, just imagining in his fevered white imagination that which John was seeing now with his own two eyes.

John sat next to his mom at the kitchen table, trying not to peek over and at her well-supported cleavage. Her slender index finger combed over the page. “Now, what does this mean?” she asked. He drew his attention away from his mom’s heavy chest to try to remember his lesson from pre-calculus as best as he could. He began to explain the math to her, math she already knew, and she nodded her head with a reserved pride in him, one which could never, and would never, be articulated in plain Mandarin.

After she was done her probing through John’s work, she did something uncharacteristic of her. “So,” she asked. “How are you enjoying yourself in your new home?” She leaned forward slightly toward the kitchen table, her heavy breasts resting on it. She seemed to be overtaken by some invisible ghost of swoon, whose power over her was so intense she betrayed her usual tiger mom stoicism.

John’s eyes were fixed on her breasts, which were ballooning from their pressure against the kitchen table. Looking at them, he thought about her question for a second, and slowly, but with a definite direction, a smile began to form on his face. He looked back up into her eyes. “I think I’m beginning to like it,” he said.

“Good,” she said. “Made any friends?”

His eyes were locked on hers. “I think I have,” he said, and he sat in the moment, not believing that he had said it, and believing even less that it was true. But when he looked back up at the smiling corners of his mom’s mouth, he knew it was.

That night when he lay in bed, he looked up at the roof. He took in a good, deep breath, turned over, and fell peacefully to sleep.

The following evening, his mom, after getting home from work, scoured through her underwear drawer, her brows furrowed. It was missing. Her new bra. Where did she put it?

At the same time, Tom sat at the edge of his bed, his eyes wide, and his jaw hanging open, as he looked at the giant hollow cup of the bra that dangled before him.

Above the bra, John’s face floated, brimming with pride. Pride for his mom, and the size of her giant Asian tits. Pride for what he had done in taking her bra from her drawer. And pride in the emotion he had left on his first American friend’s face.

Tom’s wandering fingers, seeming to be unsure of themselves, found the inside of her bra cup and he let his fingers brush within its semi-spherical shape. His eyes were deadest on the sacred artifact he was now manipulating: “Her tits must be bigger than Ms. Summers’. This is an unbelievable cup-size.

John’s face began to slowly beam. He felt like he was going to burst with pride, imagining his own mom, Chinese from the top of her head to the soles of her feet, as the equivalent to a busty milf American.

Tom brushed his hands through them, and then along the bra’s strap. When he found the bra’s tag, he pulled it close to his face so that John had to take a few steps forward to accommodate Tom’s pull. “34 G!” Tom said loudly.

John didn’t understand.

“Your mom has 34 G tits. Do you know how big that is?”

John shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning upward uncontrollably.

Tom looked back down at the cups of the bra. “34 G giant yellow tits were in these. Oh fuck.”

He looked up at John, his eyes shining. “Can I…” he began. “…rub my face in them?”

John seemed confused for a second. “Yes,” he said. “You can do you want. It’s your property.” He smiled.

Tom grinned to himself. He grabbed the strap of the giant bra. “My plopelty,” he repeated as he held the empty bra in front of him. “My plopelty indeed.”

He held the giant bra to the side of his face and his expression exploded into one of ecstasy. He took a whiff. “She smells how she looks,” he said.

John could tell that that was intended to be a compliment.

“Okay,” Tom said, still in the throes of his own joy. “I’m going to have to be extra thorough in making your time in this country a good one.”

John nodded as if to thank his guide in advance.

“First things first,” Tom said. “I’m going to teach you the difference between L’s and R’s. Because L stands for Loser, and R stands for Retard, and you come across as both when you can’t differentiate them. You understand?”

As Tom spoke, John only nodded, hanging onto every word, every bit of advice, and every form of reinforcement, positive or negative, knowing that he was in good hands. He had found his guardian spirit to help him through this strange land of the brave and the free. All he had to do was listen and learn. And this was no problem for him at all. After all, his mom had taught him how to do that as well as anybody. And seeing how well he learned now, John knew she would be proud.

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