Good Deeds

Your mom clung to her towel. You stood there, nude as the day you were born, your feet damp against tile, staring off at the shower drainage. Your brother stood off to the side, a full foot taller than you, his gaze stuck on your mom.

He had a look on his face, make-shift and hollow, as if he was only waiting to enter the shower, waiting for your mom’s cue, yet he stared at her towel, unable to stop himself, waiting for it to drop to the tiles at her feet.

Your mom looked back at him, seeing the growing apple in his throat, the fine hairs finding life these last few months on his upper lip and chin.

He stared at her desperately. “Are we going-- to go in?” His soft, sweet voice cracked, implying the man he was soon to become, the man he was transforming into before her very eyes. He looked down at her towel, the way it hugged her form, eager for what lay behind it.

Your mom looked to your little, precious face. You looked back, confused. She then looked back again to your brother. “I think…”

Your brother’s face dropped.

“I think I’ll put on my bathing suit.” She reached into her duffle bag on the bench.

Your brother stared at her, stared at her body, terrified she would sneak the bathing suit up beneath her towel, putting it on, doing so without removing her towel at all, only letting it drop when she was nice and decent, all her most important bits covered.

“You should put yours on too,” she said, fishing out the orange fabric into her shaking fingers. “After all, it’s called a-“

There was a sudden banging at the door, startling her. She looked over at it, eyes wide.

“We need to hurry,” your brother said. “People are waiting to use the showers.”

She looked back at him, horror in her eyes, her towel clutched to her body. The door knocked again. She looked over. Slowly, the bathing suit bottoms fell from her fingers back into the bag. “We’ll be out soon,” she called to the door.

Then she looked to you and your brother. You stared back inconspicuously. Your brother stared back without a breath.

Soon, the towel around your mom’s body loosened, and then, it slipped off, falling to her ankles. The bare crack of her giant ass appeared. Your brother’s towel dropped soon after, his hard prick twitching, unable to keep his eyes off your mom’s naked and robust body.

You all got under the dual shower-heads, in that tight space beyond the concrete partition.

Outside, the teenager waiting on the grass for his turn was just about to bang on the door again, when the door to the adjacent shower room opened, an old man stepping out onto the concrete in his rubber flip-flops and towel.

“Finally,” said the teenager. “What are people doing in these things, jerking off?”

The old man gave the youth a scowl, gripping his towel harder, before leaving.

Your mom stood beneath that jet of warm water, stranded there. It ran, clear and steaming, over the body of her ass, falling to the tiles at her heels.

Your brother stared at that ass as the water washed it smooth, his little red prick raging in the damp air.

She couldn’t even bring herself to turn around, only staring up at the shower-head, its steel face inert staring at hers, an anchor of banality in this strange and foreign moment. She felt as if she should be angry, and some part of her was, but she also couldn’t shake the feeling like this had to be somehow her fault. Like all beautiful women (all shapely beautiful women especially), she knew it was she who drew out this animalism into daily life, and she knew just how chaotic and unpredictable that male beastliness could be. Even when – and it disturbed her to think about – it was coming from her own son.

She had seen, firsthand, the world change around her as a response to her puberty, experiencing it from within herself. The transformation was hers, happening in her body, her shape, her form, her sensuality, yet the world around her, having not changed in any universal sense, was now showing a completely new face to hers, a face which was always smiling. Not smiling the way many did when leaning down to meet the smile of a small child. This smile was far wider, far more menacing, far more wicked, and, in some ways, far more honest.

She thought of this, the irony of it, her puberty being this great catalyst, the great shift in her life. And now, just behind her, not fully grown, the P-word had taken hold of her son’s life and hormones, and would throttle it just as violently. She wanted to exist in sympathy with it, wanting nothing more than to be able to know her son’s pain, and to have her son know hers. But she knew, seeing the way he grinned at her, now like everyone else, that it was exactly this ‘P-word’ which would serve as the first separation with him. Perhaps the only one, but the one, she knew, would prove the most important.

She remembered the shock of seeing that expression on the face of her own older brother. Seeing the fever in his eye as she caught him sneaking looks at her through the doorway in her childhood home. She remembered her loving uncle, remembered the shock, when he volunteered to her dad shamelessly to be her doctor. And she remembered the blow to her faith when the local Shia imam (from her mom’s mosque), and the beloved Zoroastrian priest (from her father’s temple) somehow both failed to live up to their own piety whenever she was in their immediate presence. Their wandering eye caught against her body, filling themselves with it, and filling her with an unfortunate agnosticism at an equal speed.

Her first boyfriend, pudgy and asymmetrical, had dug at her hard soil back when she was an ugly duckling, only to find out that he had struck gold as your mom’s awkward foray into puberty continued. He continued to strike gold (almost every night he could) for the next two years, enjoying everything her newfound womanhood had to offer, every sensation, sight, taste, and smell in the privacy of his bedroom, taking pride in the incredulous gaze of onlookers, who couldn’t believe the little troll which hung from such a beautiful princess’s arm, which pummelled her nude ass beyond walls that no one else would see through.

To no one’s surprise though, he fumbled. She, halfway to sleep, felt his fingers reach into her waistband as she lay in bed, thinking nothing of it, until she heard the many murmurs behind her. She spun around before he could pull down her pants, exposing her to his Dungeons and Dragons buddies who all stood there with bated breath. She stared at them all, shocked, with them staring back, shocked themselves, disappointed they didn’t get to see what her boyfriend had promised them. Then all of them, with slowly rising shame, backed out of the room. She then looked over to her boyfriend, who sat there on the bed, looking at her with a face both pale and blushing. His fingers were curled up like rat claws, as if still pulling down her pants in this moment. Those fingers would never touch any part of her ever again.

Her third cousin caught her on the rebound, seducing her with his Persian charms, eventually convincing her to play with his dick in his car after a family get-together. A week later, she kissed his tip. A few days after that, she was riding it in his backseat, shocked that sex could feel good for her too. They began dating, but your mom was eager to never share news of their distant relations with anyone, knowing how frowned upon it was in America (or how unspoken), but she also found quite a bit of warm comfort at the thought of her new body (it felt like it would always be new to her) being insulated within the cramped conch shell of her own familial network. The Persian community in your town was tight-knit and insular, removed from the larger white community that surrounded it on all ends. The men in this community spoke a language she understood, in more ways than one, and her giant and ever-expanding ass felt less exposed whenever she was among her own, even if the looks and jeers didn’t ever stop.

That relationship though eventually ended. It happened one day during a check-up. Her uncle, pulling her butt-cheeks apart with gloved hands (he assured her it was standard procedure), suddenly felt the violent urge to ruin something beautiful. He claimed, speaking dryly, to have seen her boyfriend out with the big-titted blonde cheerleader. Your mom at the time was too young to recognize her uncle’s vivid and salacious descriptions (“I saw him—through the windshield of his car, I swear to god--sucking on her nipples in his passenger seat. I mean, licking them with the tip of his tongue. She was moaning. Didn’t even know I was standing right there, in front of the headlights, watching.”) for the obvious lies they were. She just stared ahead at the wall, despondent, feeling alone again, as her uncle (for her health) squeezed her naked butt-cheeks together as one with heavy breaths.

Unsurprisingly, her uncle’s ploy to get a piece of her was unsuccessful, and your now-single mom instead met one of his coworkers, the man who would turn out to be your father. He was nowhere near as attractive as her third cousin, and though he made more money, he drove a less attractive car (that backseat of which being where he first exposed his less impressive white penis to her: “ta-daa”). Luckily for him, she settled, not having it in her for the wild young womanhood that the white and Hispanic girls she grew up with were in the throes of at the time. She rode his cock for the first time in his backseat, staring out the back window, deep in thought, until her thinking was interrupted by his rising moans. She sat there, feeling him finish inside her. Then he held onto her, tugging her nudity against his, with as much love as he showed to her pre-orgasm. She felt her heart beating fast at the realization, the sweetness of his breathing and the competing beating of his heart against hers, and she gripped onto him there with equal tightness, her body spilling over his.

Your mom wanted the whirlwind that came with her beauty, its cruel package deal, to end, and she had found some solace, no matter how small, with your father as an anchor. Even her uncle, as he probed her ass with a busy finger, couldn’t shake her from her newfound love with any of his obvious lies. She could tell they were lies now, right up front, because she knew your father as well as he knew himself. She felt solace then, happiness, stillness, and she smiled to herself, laying there, her chin resting on her arms, as her uncle spoke. He stared down at the back of her head, seeing his lies had no effect on her any longer, resenting it, resenting his window closing and the mistake he made allowing the two to meet in the first place. He grit his teeth, plucked his finger out from between your mom’s ass cheeks, wound his hand back, his eyes on her right cheek, and swung with an open palm.

Your mom snapped back into the moment. The shower-head was above, blank-faced, staring down at her.

You looked to your brother with confusion. He was looking at her ass, transfixed. She looked up at that shower-head with a distance in her eye.

You then, seeing something on the wall, shuddered.

Your brother looked to you. He saw the look on your face, saw you looking past him. He turned around to see what startled you. A spider, big and hairy stood there, still and sticking to the wall.

The eight-legged beast, stark against the white wall, sat lost in its own world. It was fat and there to hydrate itself after its recent meal. It crawled along the wall tiles, avoiding the streams of water which danced around its various legs, threatening to plunge it leagues below. It moved, ignorant to the nature of its predicament, trying for the life of itself to not be washed away.

A shadow, big and malevolent, loomed above it. A hand came down, grabbing its leg softly. The spider struggled.

As it was lifted into the air, feeling void on its every side, it clutched at the surrounding deadness, its thoughts filled with a panic without name. It found no support, and the world, in all directions, lay distant. It stayed that way until something came close. Something big, beige-brown, and soft.

The hand held the spider over the surface of that soft object. The spider had stopped struggling. It only looked down now, wondering at the thing which lay below.

The fingers let go, dropping the spider onto that round surface safely, its fall perfectly broken on that soft bedding, the fine, invisible hairs of it seemed to be welcoming the spider, and its eight adjusting legs, as its new home.

Your mom stood there, unawares, her thoughts spinning, and with her son now at the center of that maelstrom, contributing to it, strengthening it, and, worse, renewing that calcified horror with a new flavor. She shuddered, feeling the sickness of it crawling over her flesh. Assuming her thoughts to be the only thing which made her flesh shudder so.

You and your brother watched the little eight-legged fiend crawling along her ass cheek, it struggling to keep its grip as it moved across the soft flesh. It found her crack, almost slipping down within it, almost being sucked there by the flow of water. Finding its footing again, one of its legs probed in between her cheeks. Then, as if for your entertainment, it moved its body forward, pushing itself within those two walls of endless flesh, its legs contracting against itself to fit.

As you stood there staring at it, you recollected on how your grandfather, in temple, had told you about spiders, about how they were evil, that they worked on behalf of evil forces, soldiers for an evil as old as time. Your mom told you to not worry about that stuff. “Spiders aren’t evil,” she said. “Just gross. There’s no such thing as evil things.” She stared across the temple with a look of disgust in her eye. “Only gross…” The priest stared back at her with a grin in his mouth.

You stared at her ass. The spider no longer visible, having found its new shadowy home. You looked to your brother, who also stared at the long black line, as if he were waiting to see where the spider would emerge. His cock twitched red and impatient. He looked up at the back of your mom’s head, a guilt on his face, one coexisting over top of a strange mirth. “Mom,” he suddenly said.

“Mhm,” she responded, not turning around, not wanting to.

“A big…” he stopped and shuffled in place for a second, looking back down at her ass. He then looked back up at the back of her head. “A big – hairy – spider…”

She became more still than still.

Your brother’s smile went wider. “It just… just went in… inside…”

Your mom spun around, splashing water in a violent thrust, her eyes electric with horror. “Where?” She looked over to your brother, then you, then past you, then to the ground, dancing about to avoid any potential creepy crawly, but she saw nothing.

“No,” your brother said, frantic from excitement, his voice cracking, his lip trembling, masking it, conveniently enough, for a parallel sense of fear. “It’s in…. it’s in… in… “

“Yes!? Yes!?” escaped her throat breathlessly.

“It’s in your butt!”

Your mom spun, almost jumping in place, her whole body jiggling, captive to the terror of her mind. Your brother reached for her ass, grabbing her cheek, it filling his palm, his cock twitching violently at its touch. He pulled on it, opening the space between, finding the spider hiding there, its eight eyes blinded by harsh light.

Before your brother could even get him, a stream of water washed the little guy away like an old nursery rhyme. You saw it with your own eyes, its black and hairy form disappearing down the drain. Then you were shocked to see, with your mom still begging there, not being able to stand still, for him to get rid of it, and your brother saying to her, without skipping a beat: “Just wait, just wait, I’ll get it.” He gripped onto her giant chunk of his ass flesh. “Stop moving.”

He stared down at nothing, only that giant ass, and the space between it, the hole between those giant cheeks which puckered at his ever prod. He gripped her flesh frantically, as if a spider were there, and tugged at it, as if trying to shake loose the ghost that the spider left behind.

“Stop moving!” he demanded, doing so with authority. “Or it’ll crawl in…” His other hand shot up to your mom’s ass, both of them now gripping thick handfuls of cheek in their fingers, occasionally brushing and smacking it. “I- I-“ It looked as if he was about to say he ‘got it,’ but he stopped himself. “It’s- it’s- man, this frickin’ thing.”

Your mom, feeling little legs scaling over her, over all of her, not being able to differentiate it from the sensation of every droplet of water, twitched in place, no less suddenly than your brother’s red cock, which twitched with an intensity matching hers, but with a very different spirit. That red twitching cock met her ass, poking it from time to time, leaving a trail of something thick and viscous, which was soon washed away by falling shower water.

She pulled away, feeling the prod of his cock like it were spider bites, and your brother, with sudden intuition, stuck out his leg. She fell over his ankle, falling forward, with him holding her arm, falling with her weight. She thrust her open and frantic palm out, it meeting the wall tiles where the spider originally began its strange journey. Your brother, riding that inertia, fell with her, finding her backside, his raging prick meeting it, dissolving into its flesh as if it were the shape and feel of his apocalyptic joy itself.

As your mom met the wall with her hand, then the floor, much more softly, her panic rising, she suddenly felt something—something familiar, but now more familiar than it ever should have been—pressed snugly against her ass. The sudden sensation, like your father stood behind her, holding her, while naked, occurred to her, as if it were real, for only a fraction of a second, before being replaced by the realization of what it was she actually felt.

Her eyes went wide, even before she stabilized against the ground. She stared ahead now, across the length of the shower room, toward the door which held her in here with your brother, feeling that little hard object jabbing against the prodigious volume of her right ass-cheek, feeling in it, as disturbing as was it was paradoxical, the feeling of a prod much more familiar and comfortable.

Her son, heavy and stiff, adjusted himself against her body, his cock scraping against the thick wall of round flesh. Your mom knew what he was trying to do. Or at least she thought she did. She felt himself rubbing his frustrated sickness, all concentrated within that stiff little flap of skin, against her ass. It wasn’t until she felt it run against the line of her ass-crack and slip noiselessly between her cheeks that she understood.

“Sweety,” she said dryly as she put her hand behind herself.

He said nothing, adjusting himself further.

“Sweety…” She pushed at his hips, trying to get him off (and out) of her.

He cleared his throat, but didn’t move, providing a solid wall against her desperate fingers.

She pushed harder. He was forced out, he adjusted, enjoying the feeling of her fingers against his pelvis, then she lost leverage and he fell back in, feeling those cheeks rub past and engulf either side of his irritated prick.

Her expression was still, her eyes focused on that distant door and the world outside which peeked under it. She refused to panic, terrified at what you’d think seeing that. She was terrified the moment was strange enough already. She pushed again. “Sweety… just…”

“Wait,” he said softly. “Just wait…”

She was silent then, feeling her son on top of her, defeated by just the faintest push back, terrified by the escalation and all it implied.

You watched for a minute straight, the falling water beating against your ear as an inert soundtrack, as you watched your brother’s butt-cheeks, tensed against your mother’s much larger, softer example of the same. His pelvis rested on the giant cushion of her flesh down there. His hips slowly twisted, rotating every-so-subtly. Your mom’s hands lay between their bodies, fingers to his hips in impotent protest, given up but still lingering.

Your brother then pulled back, his prick coming out, redder and spicier. And he looked down at her ass, a fever, like a possession, over his red face. His hip against her ass, he leaned in again, his cock pressing into it. Then leaned back, his cock throbbing in the steamy air.

He looked up at you. You looked down at him, seeing in his face a new man. He motioned beyond you. You turned your head to see the bar of soap sitting on its stand. You looked back at him. He nodded his head again impatiently

You moved for the bar of soap, grabbing it, then you turned around. He lay there waiting for it, his hand outstretched there on the floor, still resting against your mother’s soft body. “Come on,” he said softly, waving his fingers.

You leaned down slowly, handing it to him.

He turned around without thanking you, looking down at your mom’s ass.

Your mom suddenly shot up, crawling to her knees along the wall, her butt jiggling in her desperation, her relief to get up.

Your brother, getting up at the same time, tried to apply the soap, but she reached out without looking him in his eyes and grabbed it. “Let me...” she said.

Your brother stood there, his hand empty. He watched your mom apply the soap to her chest, her arms and under-arms, her thighs down to her calves.

Your brother watched, looking unfulfilled, as she put the soap back on the stand.

“What about…” he nearly stopped himself, unable to believe he was about to say it. “What about your…” he said, finally.

Your mom turned around, looking him straight in the eyes for the first time in a while. His prick raged just below her field of vision, popping up into sight at just its barest edge. “What about it?” she said.

Your brother said nothing, only staring, then, as if possessed, he reached for the discarded soap. Your mom didn’t even have time to turn around. She simply felt the sensation of it against her ass cheeks.

He knelt there, his knees on discolored tiles, face-to-‘face’ with your mom’s giant ass, lathering it up before him.

She didn’t respond, didn’t protest or try to stop it.

Time passed, she knew not how long, every second feeling like years, but she knew that her ass would never be more clean. Your brother just stood behind it, rubbing the soap bar, which was diminishing down to the size of a gum-stick, against her flesh, watching each cheek give in its infinite variety of ways within layer upon layer of lather. “I could wash it for you at home,” he said softly, halfway in between suggestion, question, and fantasy, his voice almost giving before finishing the sentence.

It had been this, out of all the things he had done, which broke the camel’s back. She stood there, wordless, feeling the bar glide against her skin, feeling the fingers which pushed with it, meeting cheek, and feeling the thing which caused it all poking against her thigh. She stood there silently, taking it all. But she did so with a firm sense, one unassailable, that whatever this was, whatever demon conjured it up into her sweet family dynamic, she knew, with all the strength of her being, that it ended here.

As soon as she thought the lathering would never end, your brother grabbed her hips, turning her around, watching (closely) the water washing away the suds, exposing that pure, cleaner-than-clean, ass, the one he hadn’t seen his entire life, until now.

She said nothing, only standing there, his hands on her hips, even taking away the brushing of a few loose suds with his fingers. His hand was the one which reached for the tap, shutting off the water.

You all stood by the bench then, next to your fresh clothes waiting, and you watched as you brother dried your mom, sucking every bit of moisture from her ass cheeks with her previously discarded towel, all while the rest of her dripped. Her butt cheeks were red from the friction, and he even dropped the towel from one hand, brushing her cheek with his fingers without explanation, only doing it with a blank face, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

She struggled to get her panties on when she saw him reaching for his phone, and she saw the disappointment in his face when she managed it before he could lift the eye of its camera. She then got pulled her jeans over her ass, and she stood there clothed, feeling human again. Your mom then got down on her knees to help you put on your pants, and your brother stood next to you, as if he was waiting his turn.

She looked over at him, and he looked down at her expectantly. She looked down, seeing his cock throbbing there, too near her face for comfort. She did up your pants and stood back up, saying nothing. He stood there for a few seconds more, hoping she was getting to it. But she never did. He instead stood there, the two of you waiting, as he put on his clothes (your mom turned away).

As he reluctantly pulled his pants back on, the only sound of fanfare was the dripping of the tap behind you as its rhythm against the tiles.

The three of you went back out into the waning daylight, moving as if nothing had happened, just a mother with her two sons. When you found your dad at the campsite, his eyes wet against the burning fire, he asked “what took you guys so long? Did you fall in?” He smirked.

As you imagined the spider ‘falling in’ to the drain, being sucked down into the blackness below, your brother imagined that very same spider, ‘falling in’ to the crack in your mom’s ass, the start of his well-provided opportunity. And your mom, feeling a shudder run through her, also imagined her ass-crack, in sensation alone, and the thing, small but familiar, which ran through it but minutes earlier.

That night, you and your brother slept in the jeep while your parents slept in your family tent. “Why do they want to sleep in the jeep?” you both heard your father ask from within the tent. The two of you, standing next to the jeep doors, looked at the tent flap.

Your mom didn’t answer your dad’s question.

Your brother his mind visibly filled with furious thought, only stood there, his fingers on the door handle. You could tell somehow, even then, that he would rather have his fingers around the tent zipper, readying himself to crawl in. Eager to sleep that night within your mom’s sleeping bag. Eager to be trapped naked with her there. To rub her with himself the whole night.

You both lay in the jeep, eyes up to the roof.

Your head swam, and the darkness all around almost made you see your thoughts, your various confusions and bafflements, circling above you like goldfish. But before you could reach out to grab one, and squeeze it for information, your brother spoke: “I love mom’s butt,” he said. He lay there in the silence afterward, the air permeating with that statement. You looked over at him, not seeing anything, only a wall of pitch blackness inches from your face.

It was strange. You didn’t know what it meant. Only that he had said it as if it were an affliction. Like a sickness he had to get out by saying it. And you felt in him, after saying it, a great relief. Soon after a new restlessness permeated the air, like he had more to say. Then he spoke. “I want it,” he said, the pressure in it severe enough to burst metal. Then, all at once, the metal burst. “I want all of it,” burst out in a jagged whisper. “I want to kiss it, and lick it… and spit on it. I want to sleep on it, and hump it, and feel it.” You heard him adjusting in his sleeping bag. “I want to take pictures of it and show it to all our friends. I want to take all her clothes off and force her to run around. And people can spank it. I want Mr. Lerat to be naked with her. Like dad. I want him to roll around with her naked and hump her. I want to eat cheerios from it. I want to hurt her. I want you and me to be naked with her. I want to smush it against the window when people pass in the car.” He sighed in the dark, restless, eager. “I want her naked in front of my class. I want her kidnapped like that girl on TV. I want dad to look for her but never find her. I want her to rub her butt on all my friend’s faces. I want to let guys into her room while she’s changing. I want her to shower in Coach Stark’s house. I want him to be our dad.” He stopped for a bit, but it was as if you could hear the busy fury of his thoughts. “I want to be like dad…. I want to be her dad. I want to be her brother. I just want to hold her down, and spank her, and yell at her for trying to…”

Suddenly, he shot up, a barely legible figure in the darkness. The door opened up and never shut, and you could tell, by the lifting of a great weight which previously hung in the air, that he was no longer in the jeep. The door hung open, fresh night air spilling in with the sound of crickets.

Your brother snuck along the jeep’s edge, his trembling hand guiding him, trying to not disturb the pebbles below his feet. The tent stood in the distant moonlight. It neared, becoming more visible, coming closer with each step.

He kneeled down as he got close. Then he crawled toward it, reaching for the zipper, grabbing it, slowly pulling it open. When it was open enough to look in, he pushed his head forward, getting his eye toward the gap. Just as he did, his eye focusing against the dark, he froze.

There in the darkness, even more suggestive in low visibility, he saw the ass he desired so painfully. It existed there, big and luscious, nude and bent over. But now, it was riding over the lower half of your father. One of your father’s hands shot up, grabbing her right cheek in the dark.

She panted there, her body writhing against his in a way that your brother had only seen recently in porn. The soles of her feet bare and white to him. He could have peeked his head in just a bit more and put his lips to them. Their bodies, their contrasting tones, writhed against each other’s. Your brother saw your dad’s cock (or at least he thought he did) much like his own, but bigger, thrusting through your mom the right way (the way he attempted in the shower but couldn’t manage). A smell came from your mom’s body, one your brother never knew, and it, riding to your brother’s quivering nostril, intermingled with the scent of your father, which sat bitter in your brother’s exhausted palette, a deep offense.

He clutched the flap of the tent, a malicious spirit, watching. The darkness all around him, all around the moment, obscuring the very intensity of his scowl. Your mom’s ass, as if indifferent to its roundabout infidelity (as far as your brother estimated), only stared back at him, its face blank, even in its beauty.

Your mom felt your father gushing inside of her, his groans quiet, trying to not wake up the kids. She waiting for him to finish, rotating her hips to help it along. He had grabbed onto her, basically attacking her in the night, and she was shocked, for the first time, feeling the need, the urge, to reciprocate, not just physically, but with everything she had, feeling, as your dad’s cock plunged within her, the bitter afterglow of your brother’s earlier activities leaving her.

The whole world, beyond the tent and out into eternity, faded, the only thing existing being the two of them. Every jeering face, every equitable chuckle, and seemingly banal offer for god-knows-what, every door held open and playful joke and flirt, and, most of all, every tiny little prick. All of it died and was washed away in this moment.

She still sat on top of him, still far from orgasm, but still, in some way, satisfied. She then, breathing slowly, stared off into the darkness, her mind filled with thoughts of her family reunion last year. Seeing her third cousin there and introducing him as such (and only as such) to your dad. He, with his Iranian wife beside him, gave her a look (and a hug) which reminded her of her deep family roots, a shared culture, and an intensely erotic and intimate past. She had gone to bed early that night, in her hotel room, only for your dad to come in, make passionate love to her in the dark, his clean-shaven face against her smooth cheek (when did he find time to shave?), feeling herself, for the first time, overcome with his touch, lifting her in rapture, giving her release for the first time in a long time. He left, coming back hours later. She gripped him again, hugging him close, only to feel, in her rising dread, the hair of his thick beard against her chin. In the morning, at breakfast, her cousin gave her that look from across the table with his clean-shaven mouth. She looked back down, horrified.

She convinced her husband they should leave early to “make sure the kids are fine.” They did, but not before her uncle, older and greyer, offered to give her another ‘check-up.’ She obliged, fearing what havoc he’d cause behind the scenes if she didn’t (she knew just how prone your dad had been to believing all his brother’s lies throughout the years). She lay on her hotel bed, face-down, as her uncle prodded and kneaded her fully-grown ass, without gloves this time, as his two sons, her first cousins this time, stood there watching. Soon she had three pairs of hands all over her ass, all while her uncle pretended to be showing the ropes to his sons (only one of whom was in school to be a doctor—the other claiming to ‘run a porn studio’ only after prodding her for a while). Your father stood outside the hotel door with the suitcases, waiting patiently, none-the-wiser to what could be happening within.

She slowly slid off your father in the tent, hearing a sudden tearing noise behind her. She spun around, her ass falling to her calves. The tent flap stood there, slightly open, the night air spilling in.

“What?” your dad asked, settling. “Saw a creepy crawly?”

She didn’t respond, only staring at the space occupied by nothing.

Your mom woke up in the morning, the air fresh and alive with the sounds of singing birds. She looked over, throwing her arm, a sudden urge coming over her to grab your father. Her hand fell to nothing. She opened her eyes, only seeing an empty sleeping bag. She looked to the flap of the tent, seeing it closed. She stared at it, then she rolled back and lay there, staring up at the tent-top. She licked her lips, then laughed to herself quietly. She smiled, enjoying the moment. Then she turned over, reaching for her bag. Again, her arm fell limp.

Panic shot through her, and her arm shot out again, again finding nothing. She spun around, and sighed with relief, seeing her bag off in the very corner of the tent. She crawled out of her sleeping bag, nude, and toward her clothes. Looking within, she fished for her underwear, shorts, and shirt. She set them aside, putting her shirt on first. It was only when it was halfway on that she felt a strange sensation, like she were being watched. She spun around.

Sitting there, in the gap of the tent flap, was only daylight air, fresh and spilling in. Her ass, big and bent over, faced it, struggling to look over the prodigious hill of her own ass cheeks as she sat there on her knees. She kept her eyes on it for a moment. Then she turned back around. Stepping into her panties awkwardly, then sitting back down and rolling her shorts up her thighs. She turned back around, again to an open tent flap, crawled toward it, and emerged out into the outdoors air.

Your brother, still and motionless, sat on the bench, facing away. She stared at the back of his head, her gaze fixed on him. Then she took her first step.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Good m-morning,” he replied, his voice cracking.

She rounded him, then looked down at his face. He didn’t look up, only staring down at his hands.

“Where is everyone?” she eventually asked.

“…I think they’re at the park.” Still, not looking up.

She nodded slowly, then she turned and walked on.

Your brother lifted his gaze, locking onto her ass as it went in her shorts. As soon as she rounded the corner brush, he thrust his hand in his pocket, feeling for his phone.

He brought it up to his eyes, which, when the phone turned on, lit up.

The impatient teenager from the previous day walked the path, swatting branches with a stick he had found. Three young women, all blonde and in swimwear, passed by giggling, and he stopped to stare at them as they did. A huge grin took over his face, and he clutched his stick firmly, imagining running up to them and hitting the one big ass of the three with his stick.

The thought was so exciting to him, he wanted to walk into the brush and hide, removing his own shorts to tug himself to the thought. Before he could make that move, he heard another pair of flip-flops coming up the path. He turned to see your mom coming. She looked to him, looked away, smiling awkwardly. As she passed, he looked down at her shorts, seeing the prodigious amount of flesh she tried to hide within. She walked alone ahead, with no one else in sight, and he imagined, with the full strength of his youthful creativity, what would happen if she really were as isolated as she seemed, as if there was no other human mind for miles, a day’s travel or more in every direction.

The thought of one hard thwack to the back of her kneecap, a tug against her shorts, exposing all that was hidden there, and an hour of fun against the back of her ass as she cried to the indifferent trees and clouds, it filled him with an ecstasy that was hard to truly quantify, never mind put words to.

He watched as that ass bobbed in those inconspicuous, and, frankly, plain shorts, until she was around the corner, leaving him alone with only her recent memory. Or at least that’s what he thought.

Suddenly, a hand fell to his shoulder.

He spun around.

Your brother stood there, gripping his phone in his palm, looking back at his soon-to-be new friend with a smile.

Your mom sat on the swing next to you, reaching over to clean something from your face with her thumb. She smiled warmly, smiled at the same way she used to smile at your brother (you don’t remember the last time her gaze met his with any warmth at all. It had been months at least, which felt like years to your young mind).  As you looked back at her, you couldn’t help but think how differently she looked clothed from what she looked like naked yesterday. You tried to imagine it, seeing her there, her skin tone unbroken from forehead to foot, the cheeks of her butt hanging of the swing. You began to laugh.

Her head tilted sideways, her smile uncertain. “What?” she said.

Suddenly, her expression turned to shock and she disappeared from your sight. She was thrust forward. Your dad laughed behind her, watching her body fly up and into the air before falling back toward him in a smooth arc. He caught her in his arms, stepping backwards to absorb her, and he began to kiss her on the back of her neck.

Your mom’s right flip-flop hung from her toes, as she shut her eyes, feeling the pleasure of your father’s touch much more viscerally than she had ever felt it before. She leaned back into his arms. “The boys can shower together tonight,” she said, after some thought.

Your dad looked down at her, a wry look in his eyes.

She sat with the back of her head against his sternum. “We’ll be all alone then.”

He backed up with a smile on his face, the biggest, cheesiest smile he had ever had, and placed his hand on both your back and hers. With a vocal thrust, he pushed the two of you forward. You both sailed beautifully through the air, falling back softly. He did it again, then again. Not a word was spoken except for the occasional giggle or “whooh.”

Behind the three of you and at some distance, two young boys, both taken up by the gift and curse of their own puberty, sat on a fallen and stern tree trunk, looking down at your brother’s phone, then back up at your mom’s ass, sitting snug, cradled both by her shorts and by that swing.

They looked back down at the phone. Your mom’s ass, naked, bent over and full in her tent, stared back at them.

“You’re so lucky, bro,” the other said. “My mom’s a fat pig.”

Your brother grimaced, scrolling through the photos. “My mom’s a pig too,” he said.

“And she’s fat. Just in all the right places. Wait- go back to that one. Jesus.”

“You like seeing her butthole?”

“Yeah, go back, go back.”

“This one, you can see her face in the shot.”

“Send these to me.”

Your brother looked at the side of his face, the young man’s eyes glued to the phone screen. He grinned at his new friend. “I’ll send it. Sure.” He was silent for a few moments. “On one condition.”

Your mom giggled with you as you both glided upward.

“You share the photos with everyone you know.”

You both came down, caught in your father’s arms.

Your brother’s new friend looked to him, and slowly, his mouth formed into a matching grin.

Your dad’s mouth came down, kissing you on the top of your head. Then he turned to your mother, his kiss meeting the back of her neck. His hand rubbed the small of her back. Her ass, in her shorts, sat silently below.

Your brother stared down at your mom’s ass, as the orange glow from the shower room lit up the waning evening. Your dad and mother stepped through the doorway first. She followed, with your brother close behind.

Your mother suddenly stopped, turned around, and put her hand out against his chest.

He looked up at her, shocked.

She stared down at him, firm, your father behind her. “I think it’s about time you and your brother shower on your own.” He stared up at her, shocked by both the statement, and her resolve in saying it. “Don’t you think?”

Your dad leaned over her shoulder. “This shower over here…” He motioned to the next one with his thumb. “…should be open. If you need anything, just knock on the wall.”

“They won’t need anything,” your mom said. She turned around and pushed your dad back in.

Your brother looked down at your mom’s ass, clothed for only a few moments longer, as the door fell shut on it.

“They’re big boys now.”

The door lock clicked shut.

Your brother stood there, his hair wet, his ear against the wall.

“Hear anything?” his new friend asked, standing in the room with you, outside the showers and fully clothed.

“I think-“ your brother said, leaning in closer, harder against the wall. His cock twitched achingly. “No,” he said with real bitterness on his lips.

“He’s for sure giving it to her hard in there. There’s no way he isn’t.”

Your brother’s finger curled against the wall, his teeth clenched.

You stood in between these two older boys, baffled.

“If you could, would you fuck your own mom?”

You were startled, not by what was said (which you didn’t quite understand anyway), but by the use of that four-letter word.

“How is that even a question?” your brother said.

“Fuck! You’re so lucky. Have that ass jiggling around you twenty-four-seven.”

Your brother only looked at him bitterly.

“Maybe she’d let you… you know…”

Your brother didn’t respond, only looking to the wall. He thought he could hear the sound of slapping, hints of it being reflected in the sounds of falling water. His imagination filled, his mother and father’s bodies, close and in contact, alive with wild thrusts, his own eyes viewing the situation with all the activity, force, and wily intentionality of a camera on a porn set. His mother moaning the way your brother assumed all women must. That’s what they did in all the videos, after all.

His father, within the fury of your brother’s thoughts, soon transformed, feature by feature at first, then all at once, into your brother. He pulled his cock from out the glove of his mother’s insides (your brother imagining the sensation as best he could and obviously failing), only to have her lean down, put her mouth to it, and begin sucking it, licking his shaft and sucking his balls. He imagined himself on the ground, his ass and thighs wet against the running warm water, as your mom rode on top of him, her wet ass shining and luminous against the light above, its thick volume splashing against the falling stream and the water pooling up on the ground around them.

He imagined laying there, her chest against his, holding her cheeks open, watching them as she kissed him on his neck. Then seeing, in the distance, a little black dot. Focusing on it, the black dot becomes visible, with eight little eyes. He holds your mom’s giant ass cheeks open as the dot nears, moving along the ground in quick bursts, getting bigger each time. Until it, with its eight busy legs, crawls up between your mom’s giant cheeks. And just as it does, he lets go. Your mom’s cheeks fall shut over it in a satisfying smack.

You stood there, staring at your brother leaning against the wall, busy with a strange and foreign ritual: the pulling of his penis, his eyes falling shut, his breathing growing heavy.

His friend looked down at your brother’s penis from the bench beyond. “I think if you showed her that thing, she’d go for it. It’s really good. Bigger than mine.”

Your brother didn’t respond, only tugging himself harder.

“Did you ever try?”

“I showered with her yesterday,” he said, maintaining patience. “It was hard and everything. I even touched her with it and she wouldn’t budge.”

His friend was shocked, only sitting there for a moment. Then he spoke: “What a whore.”

Your brother only nodded.

There was some silence, only the sound of water, your brother’s heavy breathing, and the friction of his fingers against his prick.

“I guess there’s only one thing to do,” his friend said.

Your brother didn’t say anything, only staring at him as he continued to jerk off.

“We catch her out in the woods.”

Your brother suddenly felt a shudder run through his body. Before the visual could even come to him, his mom bent over, her thick body taken from both ends by the both of them (presumably while you watched awkwardly next to a tree), he felt that sweet sensation that he had only discovered months ago. It ran through his body, sending little pleasurable shocks to his testicles, and leading to an explosion of white liquid from the tip of his cock. Your mouth fell open, watching it. The thought of attacking his own mother in such a way, even without context, just the abstract notion, was a bliss unlike any other.

It soon began to fade, but its moment felt eternal, until he was finally just standing there, naked, in more ways than one, and shocked at himself.

“I can just hit her in the back of the knee with a stick, and…”

Your brother just turned around. He reached for the soap and began to wash himself. His friend tried to continue talking, only to realize nobody would respond. Then he, feeling the energy had changed, turned around, and left.

As he stood outside on the concrete, he looked back at the neighboring door, imagining your mom nude within. Suddenly, a young man passed by. Your brother’s friend reached out, grabbing stranger by his shirt, stopping him in place.

The guy turned, startled. Your brother’s friend only stared at him. After a moment, he said “you want to see something cool?” and he reached into his pocket for his phone.

Your mom rode your father’s cock again that night in the tent. She did so without abandon, lost in her pleasure, reaching so close to orgasm, never quite getting there, but enjoying every moment, no fear in her, not even a nagging inkling, that there was anything to worry about this time. She was right. The tent flap remained shut tightly, and your brother lay in the jeep with you, his eyes aimed up to its ceiling.

Just as he was about to nod off to sleep, he saw something thick and black moving directly above him, scuttering to the center of his field of vision there up on the ceiling. He shut his eyes for a moment. Then, soon after, they shot open wide.

Your mom woke up again to the sound of birds chirping and the smell of fresh grass.

She reached over blindly, finding nobody where your dad had slept. She looked at his empty sleeping bag, half-open, smiling at it, remembering the bliss of the night before. She yawned, then she leaned up, looking toward the tent flap. It sat there, shut securely. She looked up at the tent ceiling, seeing morning moisture peaking through as vague shadows. She lay there for a quiet moment. Then she reached over, her fingers meeting her bag.

She leaned up, zipping it open, eviscerating it for the day’s clothes.

Her ass slid up the fabric of her sleeping bag as she gained leverage to search deeper. She felt the fabric of her shorts within and pulled, when suddenly something caught her eye. Something moving.

She dropped her shorts, staring at them as they lay on top of her other clothes. On top of them, walking along their seat, sat a spider, big and hairy, which almost seemed to look back at her, as shocked by her as she was of it. Then, suddenly, it skittered forward. She dropped back, silent and wide-eyed, staring at it. “God-damn it,” she said softly to herself.

She then felt something. It was along the length of her outer-thigh and ass, and she twitched in place, still staring at the spider on her pile of clothes. She thought nothing of it, familiar with that feeling of being crawled on every time she saw a spider, or centipede, or beetle, no matter how distant they were from her. Then she felt it again, against her calves, moving over the ball of her heel. She fidgeted more, her unease rising. The spider still sat there, as if watching, waiting. Then she felt it, this time on her arm. She looked down.

Looking back up at her, its eight eyes wet and black, was a spider.

She sucked back air but made no sound.

She looked down where, out the mouth of her sleeping bag, more spiders, too many to count spilled outward, and moved inward, each on skittering little legs. She shrieked, moving upward, standing, feeling them fall from her thighs, her hips, her ass, as she kicked loose from her bag, feeling them being destroyed by her body, feeling others still alive and well, and not knowing which she hated more. She hopped loose, wiggled, snake-like, toward the tent flap, and after pulling it open only a bit, she dived through it, her naked body, itchy on its every inch, emerging out into the light of day.

Her thighs were caught as one in the tent flap, and she fell to the gravel below, twisting and kicking, until she found the wherewithal to lean forward, over the spiders which travelled her thighs, and rip open the tent flap with her gripping fist. She scrambled to her bare feet and bolted, rising upward as she did. She hopped in place, patting at herself all over, watching them fall to her feet and scurry off (if they were lucky). Not only did the ones finding themselves under her hopping feet not make it, the ones which were unlucky enough to be between her clapping cheeks ate it just as quickly.

She looked down at her crotch, swatting some away from the lips of her body and from the black forest of her pubes, swatting some away from on top of, or beneath, her tits. It was only then, as her screams died, not from a lack of terror but from exhaustion, that she heard it. Voices.

She looked up, seeing faces, a small sea of them, many of them male, gawking at her, shocked by what they were seeing.

She looked back down, swatting still, the skin of her body growing red from panic, white with humiliation, and pink from swatting. The shame and mortification rose, competing with her horror and panic, the both of them not just adding to the other… multiplying.

The people, including one young man, only stared at your mom. The young man, who seemed to be exactly where he needed to be, with a smile on his face, others with shock or fear for your mom, some with visible guilt, as if they were doing something wrong by standing there, witnessing her as she was, and, despite the context, enjoying it. But they couldn’t stop themselves. Her body, thick and voluptuous shook before them, shaking and discoloring at her terror and humiliation, her limbs in active motion slapping at her flesh, the fat on her body jiggling, her panting, even in its horror, unavoidably erotic.

Your mom thought of spinning around, running to the privacy of her tent to clean herself, but she remembered that that was where they were coming from. The thought then occurred to her as she kicked and jumped and swatted: The Jeep, and she sprung toward it, leaping, showing her tits to those who had only seen her ass, and her ass to those on the other side who had only seen her tits. She reached for the jeep door, only to realize…

There was a face staring back at her, one big and familiar, yet different, growing different everyday. It looked at her, with bright eyes, and a big, sickening grin, and below its chin, which was just beginning to show its first few growing hairs, was a phone, its little black eye filming, with its screen, and the image displayed on it, casting a familiar beige-bronze light onto that face.

She stared at your brother, seeing in him the pure form of betrayal. A sickness rose in her, and, for a moment, she was completely still. Then, even with the rage in her eyes terrifying, even to your brother, she began to kick, and swat, and jump against the sensations continuing all over her.

Your brother opened the door, his camera still trained on her. “Inside, mom. Let me help.”

Your mom’s gaze shot up at him, shooting him in the heart with a look of pure hatred.

He stood there, his knees propping him up on the seat, his mouth agape, holding the door.

She moved away as she swatted, doing so out in the open, not stopping herself.

And as your brother filmed, enjoying every moment he caught, enjoying every tot and jiggle of her body, and the men who watched with him, the ones lucky enough to be passing, absorbing it all themselves, something in him, some rising dread, told him that things would always be different from this point on.

He had gone too far now.

And as he looked over at his new friend, who stood there, eyes like devil’s coal, burning, the finality of what he had done, what he had spent the whole night creating, spider by spider, began to sink in.

His stomach had dropped. But, even still, he turned to watch his mother, filming every moment, because he knew a moment like like this, one so pure and perfect and wonderful, would never—could never-- happen again.

Not with her.

Summer was already over, fall had begun, and your mom, after dropping you off home after school, kept your brother in the car.

“Where are we going?” he asked, dry-mouthed, after a few minutes of silence.

Her hands were on the steering wheel, only looking ahead. It had been two weeks since she last looked at him, doing so through panic and that dreamy pane of glass in the jeep. “We’re going to grandpa’s,” she said.

Your brother sat there, motionless, looking at her, with his face going pale. He turned and looked ahead at the road, and what it would soon force before him. His heart began to race uncontrollably as he saw that familiar bend near.

They pulled up in grandpa’s driveway. A rusted-out car sat off to its side, one he once cannibalized for parts, but never had the will to trash once it was clean of all use.

Your brother sat in the car as your mom got out, and he only stared at the front door, even as her thick body passed his field of view. She opened his door. “Come on,” she said.

Your brother did what he was told.

Only five minutes later, and your brother was wailing, crawling down the dark of the hallway, as his grandfather whipped at each set of ribs with his belt.

Your mom stood in the living room, listening to his cries, shuddering with each one. Her uncle stood in the kitchen doorway, scowling at the mouth of the hallway where your brother was getting his just desserts.

He crawled back again out into the open, pleading, squealing, turning on the floor, throwing his hands up above himself to block fruitlessly.

Your mom looked away from his howling, wet face, not wanting to see it and recognize him the way she used to. She looked down at the floor, thinking about your dad, thinking about how horrified he’d be by this moment, how much he abhorred physical punishment, and, paradoxically, how horrified he’d be that his son did what he did. Your brother’s phone lay there on the ground, in a dozen pieces. It was the look on his face, when your grandpa smashed it, which mortified your mom the most. It wasn’t the smashing which got to him, it was the destruction of what it held within, and which now no longer existed. Your mom felt that sickness running against the surface of her body finally leave her, a rising security coming to take its place, knowing that those humiliating images of her would be gone for good. But, with that, a growing pang only gained in size within her heart, its rattled cage being filled with the sounds of your brother’s cries for mercy.

She gripped the fabric of her sweater, knowing that this, your grandpa’s old-world method, was the only thing which would make your brother stop. That it ran in the family, this virile rambunctiousness, this aggression, especially in youth. A rambunctiousness which only responded to one thing.

“Agghh!” your brother screamed, turning, wailing with his forehead against the floor. “Stop! Stop! Pleeaasseee!”

Your uncle scowled down at him from the kitchen. “You don’t sexualize family,” he said firmly, his brow contracted into that pure middle-eastern rage. “It’s a sin. Perhaps the worst sin. Khok”

“It’s not just your mother you sexualize,”  your grandpa said in between swings. “It’s my daughter, his niece, your father’s wife, and your brother’s mother too. You don’t just humiliate her and yourself. You humiliate all of us. The whole human race. Good Thoughts,” he said, starting with his familiar mantra. He took another swing. “Good Words.” Another. “Good Deeds.”

Your brother growled inhumanly on the floor.

Your mom, only looking out the window at the wind against a solitary tree branch, said nothing. More than that, she did even less.

Your mom opened the front door, ushering your brother out. He limped, his eyes red with tears, his face bloated with twenty minutes of sobs, but with no other marks to mar it (your grandpa was careful). “Let’s go,” she said, still not looking at him, not having the power to. He limped forward.

As she was about to follow, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see her uncle’s face. “I know this might not be the best moment, Esh Man, but you’re well overdue for another checkup.”

Your mom looked over to her dad on his couch, who looked back at her and shrugged inconsequentially, the belt still hanging from his fingers.

Your brother sat in the passenger seat, looking up at your mom still holding the front door of the house. She leaned back into the house and the door closed. He sat there, ruminating on what he did for an hour, before the door opened back up again, and she waddled over to the driver seat.

They said nothing the whole ride home. Your brother didn’t even look at your mom once, not even when she adjusted herself in her seat every few moments, shaking an uncomfortable sensation from her backside.

“What are they?” Edith asked. “Indians? Arabics?”

“No,” Gertrud replied, rocking gently in her rocking chair. “I’m told they’re Persians.”

“Like the carpet?” Edith rocked too, matching her friend’s pace.

“Apparently they’re from Iran. The wife is. The husband is Dutch-Irish or the like.”

“Well, it sure makes a beautiful mix.” Edith looked out the window, seeing you, in the throes of puberty, sitting on your stoop, uncomfortable in your own skin.

“You should have seen the other one. Now that was a handsome young man.” Gertrud lifted her tea to her mouth and took a sip.

Edith looked back over at her friend. “The other one? Oh dear, what happened to him?”

“Oh, nothing. He seemed to have some sort of falling out with his parents. Rumor is with the mother most of all. He left when he was a teenager, and no one’s seen him since.”

“Oh my, that’s dreadful.” Edith sat with the thought, staring ahead with her elbows on the rests. “Nothing’s more important than family.” She was no longer rocking. She looked up. “What do you think it was?”

Outside your mom came and sat down next to you. Just from pure spontaneity, she grabbed you, pulled you close, and kissed you on the side of your face.

“Whatever it was,” said Gertrud. “It must have been bad. What else could ruin a mother’s love?”

Neither of them, in their silence and years of experience, could come up with anything. In place of an explanation, they both shuddered in silence, reflecting against the horrible gaping void and the explanation which hid, thick and black, within it.

You, breathing heavy, your teeth jittering, placed the device, watched the fabric of your sock fall over its eye, then placed it again, trying to not only set it up, but set it up to actually catch something this time.

You stared at the eye, sitting there, thinking you had it, when there was a knock on the bathroom door. The sock fell back over. “Coming!” you called, your voice strained, shaky. You, again, pulled the sock back, giving the camera lens room to breathe.

You stood up, watching it go small and indistinguishable against the clutter as you gained distance from it. You took one last look at it, seeing its little black eye, before turning around and opening the bathroom door. Your mom stood there, big and voluptuous, holding a towel.

“What were you doing?” she asked.

Your tongue was stuck to the roof of your mouth. Little fine hairs freshly sprouting above your lips for the first time. “Nothing,” you said, your voice cracking.

She regarded your face. Then she smiled at you. “Just to let you know, we all went through this too at one point. These… um… changes…” There was silence for a moment, and you felt the heat rise to your face and the angst ease itself out of your stomach. Your mom exhaled through her nose. “Listen, if you ever need any help or advice, I’m always here for you. I’m your mom, remember?”

You regarded her warm smile and eyes for a second, then you nodded. You slinked passed her, your sudden awkwardness in the past few months, blindsiding you, slinking your shoulders, curling your spine. Your mom turned, watching you go, smiling, happy to have you, thoughts of how you could have come about differently swimming in the back of her mind, even as something else in her, something automatic, suppressed them of any specifics. Never mind any past unfortunate examples.

She turned around and headed in, shutting the door behind her. Even from your bedroom, you could hear the sound of her clothes falling to her ankles.

Your mom stood nude in the shower alone. She looked up at the shower-head. It stared back down at her, neutrally. That was just how she liked it. She reached for the knob and turned.

When you came back into the bathroom, its walls and air sticky with humidity, you shut the door and locked it. You then turned, looking down at where you placed the camera in the laundry basket. At first you couldn’t find it. You began to panic. You reached down for it, brushing things out of the way, until you felt its little familiar body through that sock. You picked it back up. And as you did, you felt your blood run cold. The lens was obscured again. Your heart sank.

You slunk back to your bedroom and shut the door.

You plugged it in by USB cable, and, seeing the file, your hopes weren’t high. You opened the video, seeing yourself, ugly and strange looking against the boy you were only three months ago, foreign to even yourself now, as you nervously put the camera in place, playing with it to get the right angle, playing with it to make sure it was turned on, and, for the largest portion of time, playing with it to get that flap of sock material out of the way. Past-You breathed heavy as he did this, only getting more nervous as the seconds passed, looking to the door, knowing your mom had already grabbed her towel, and would be coming in any minute.

There was a knock at the door, causing you to jump, even in the present, and then Past-You called “Coming!” and you went to the door, opening it with visible nervousness. You wanted to die just watching yourself.

“What were you doing in here?” a voice called from outside.

As Past-You and your mom talked through the doorway, your mom invisibly, and you with awkward gesticulations, you watched, your stomach sinking as the flap of sock sank downward over the eye of the camera, obscuring the sight.

Then, the sinking stopped. The bathroom was still mostly visible, though not from your shoulders up.

“If you need any help or advice, I’m here for you.”

You watched yourself, now yourself sans head, slink past her, then you watched her come into the room, her head also missing from the frame, obscured by unfortunate fabric. She closed the door behind her and then stood there. You watched, your fingers crossing ‘til they hurt, as she began to go for her clothes. Her thumbs prodded into her waistband as she leaned down to pull.

Your breathing stopped. Your hand froze against your throbbing cock.

Your dad looked down at the soft hand on his happy cock.

It stroked it up and down, the beige-brownness of its slender fingers satisfying against his pale shaft and pink cockhead.

He ahead to the highway, breathing heavily as he stared through the translucent splats on the windshield.

His pants sat in the back seat, where your mom demanded they stay, along with her own. They would dress again, she said, when they got back in the city.

Your dad tried to keep his eyes on the road, and his hands at ten and two, all while your mom sat there, nude from the waist down, bare ass dug firmly into the heated seat. She stroked his cock, just as she had been doing for the past two hours.

“What happens when we have to stop for gas?”

She looked at the gas gauge, seeing the tank still three quarters full. She smiled playfully. “Well I guess I’ll just have to give the clerk a show.”

Your dad laughed. “Yeah, sure. You aren’t even comfortable in a bathing suit.”

She pulled her hand from his cock, and rested both on his hairy pink thighs. She looked up at the side of his face. “What is that supposed to mean?” He was shocked by the suddenness of the question. “We were at the beach for a whole week in summer.”

He gulped and shook his head. “And yet you never went swimming without a big t-shirt.”

She was frozen for a moment, deep in thought. Then the moment passed, her fingers fall back on his testicles. “That’s because my body belongs to only one man.”

He looked over to see her grinning both sweet and sour at him. “And which man is that?” he asked playfully.

No words came out of her mouth. Instead her face, still grinning, lowered itself closer and closer to his lap. He kept his gaze ahead, then his mouth fell open at feeling her wet lips wrap around his shaft. As she began to work her sloppy magic, he took his hand off two and reached for her bare-naked ass, feeling it firm and heavy there. He squeezed it, just at the moment when she began to lick his balls. He had no idea what had happened in the past few years to make her so frisky, so often, but whatever it was, he was grateful in a way he had been for nothing else.

The road ahead, just as it had for the road past, held great treasures, he was sure of it. A sign passed, Atlantic City, 3 miles. He looked down at the top of her head, then to her ass, then ahead to the road. I’ll tell her in 1, he thought. He gripped a heavy palmful of her ass, the flesh squeezing through the gaps between his fingers.

“He put it in here,” said your mom’s uncle, pushing against the door.

“You’re okay with this?” your dad asked.

“It’s a job like any other job.”

The room opened up to them, big and artificial, with camera and sound equipment opposite a couch. Sex paraphernalia of various sorts lay strewn about. Your mom looked up at the wall above the couch. PORN DUDE CASTING in big cartoonish letters stared back at her.

“What the hell is this?” your dad said, and moved for an object sitting across from the couch.

“That’s his character,” your uncle said. “The star of the show.”

Your dad lifted it in his hands. He looked down at it, a giant plastic head with bright orange hair. It stared back at him through its spectacles. “Does this character have a name?” he asked, not looking up.

“It does indeed. It’s The Booty Mangler.” He looked at your mom, who blushed, not returning his gaze. He leaned toward her burning ear while your dad was distracted. “I need to talk with you alone later.”

Your dad was still fixated on the absurd object. “Wait,” your dad said, looking up. “He’s the talent?”

“Yes,” your mom’s uncle said proudly. “He’s the star of the show.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“It’s his dream. Just because I’m a pious man, doesn’t mean I have to be a prude. And the helmet keeps him anonymous.”

“In your own home though?”

“Better here than anywhere else. Besides, I’m used to seeing big naked behinds, of course. It’s kind of my career, isn’t it?”

Your mom again blushed, this time her face burning red through her bronzed skin. Your dad looked down at the plastic head, shaking his own head in disbelief at it.

Your uncle leaned in to her again to whisper. “That’s kind of what I needed to talk to you about.”

“So he likes big butts then?” your dad interrupted.

“It runs in the family.”

Your mom, without even looking over at her, felt his grin next to her. It’s only a few days, she thought. Then the reunion’s over, and we can get home.

“You know what?” her uncle said suddenly. “I think I’m starting to notice a resemblance?”

Your dad looked up from the head with incredulity. Then back down at it. He looked up to your mom, then lifted the head next to his own. “Sweety? What do you think?”

Your mom stood there for a moment, holding her arm at its elbow. She nodded slowly.

Her uncle looked down at her face, smiling warmly, though he could see her ass protruding behind her in its usual unignorable way. He felt a rush of heat and something like the buzz of static electricity having her near him again after so many years of separation.

Your dad put the head back down. It sat there, inert, staring at the wall. “That’s enough of that,” he said. He brushed his palms on his sides. “So you guys are going today?” he asked your mom’s uncle.

“Just to set up for tomorrow, yes. With my brother not here,” he said with a sombre air, looking over at your mom, his brother’s daughter, then back to your father. “We have to set up.”

“And you’re sure you don’t need my help?”

“Would benefit from? Yes, of course. Need? No. You’ve had a long drive. Get your rest.”

“And I suppose you don’t mind if we use your showers.”

“No, no. My pleasure of course. Hospitality is a divine virtue.” He looked over to your mom, the only other Persian in the room. “Good thoughts. Good words…”

“Good Deeds…” your mom finished faintly.

“Good Deeds indeed.”

Your dad smiled and moved for the door. He grabbed your mom by the crook of her elbow. “You coming?”

Her uncle grabbed her other elbow. “Uh, before you go,” he said. “I just have something I needed to talk with you about.” He looked to your dad. “Something family related.”

Your dad stared back. “Oh, of course,” he said. He let go of her arm, then stared at the two of them standing there, their skin the same in its rich hue, as if in conspiracy against his own and all the melanin he lacked.

Your mom looked at him, feeling that old familiar hand clutching her elbow, knowing the places it had been, and been often, and now sought to be again.

“Okay,” your dad said, backing toward the doorway. “Just know there’s room for two.” He shot your mom a wink and then disappeared.

Your mom stared at the empty doorway where he once stood.

Your uncle still clutched her arm. Then he let go, walking past her to the doorway. He leaned out, looking down the hall, then leaned back in and shut the door. He turned to your mom, staring at her for a moment. Then he came close to talk low.

“The family business I was referring to is in regards to your health.”

She stood there for a moment wordlessly. An air conditioning unit clicked on in a distant corner of the house. She swallowed. “Oh?” she said, her faint voice cracking.

“It’s been years since our last checkup. When was it…” he feigned as if struggling to remember.

Your mom heard your brother’s screams, all those years ago, play in her head, echoing down that hallway, and echoing further through the long hallway of time past. “It’s been a while,” she said, struggling to appear casual.

He looked to her. “So…”

She stared back. Then looked behind her and around. Then back at him.

“Here’s as good a place as any. You guys are staying in my usual workspace. I don’t want to get clinical where the two of you sleep.”

She looked at him. He looked back, then looked down and behind her. She turned, looking past her ass to see the couch waiting there. She struggled to get the words out: “I don’t know if…”

“Bottoms off,” he said. “And lay down there.”

“I don’t think-”

“Let’s hurry up. I don’t want to spoil your husband’s vacation by reminding him of work. Just quickly now. While we have time.”

Your mom stood there, hanging on, hoping time itself would save her. Then she turned, reached her thumbs into her pants, and pulled downward. She felt her ass come free, and felt her uncle’s eyes on it. She cringed as she bent down to pull her pants and underwear from her ankles, cringing harder when her ass jiggled as her foot met the floor again. She then stood, her arms slightly bent rigid before her thighs.

“Okay, lay down so I can get some leverage over it.”

Your mom did as she was told. She lay there, chest down on the couch, her chin against her forearms.

She felt her uncle’s pressure against the couch as he sat down next to her with a squeak. Then his fingers, after so many years, came, ungloved, against the soft surface of her ass. “Okay, old friend. We have some catching up to do.”

As he poked, podded, squeezed, spread, and contracted, your mom lay there, staring into space. It took her a while, trying to block out the sensations, to notice what she was looking at. The black eye of a camera, sitting there flat on its tripod, stared back at her, and she felt her stomach drop.

She stared at it as her uncle spoke. “It’s always a chore, checking on yours. What with its size and all.” He exhaled as if tired, though his voice-box trembled as he did. “Anything for family, I guess.” His finger probed in, knuckle deep.

She stared at the camera, looking for any signs of life there, any sound which could tell her, mortify her in doing so, that the camera was on. Seeing none though, she still couldn’t shake the thought. And as her unease grew, not helped by the feeling of her uncle’s probing digit inside her, she couldn’t help but speak up. “That- um… that’s not…”

Her uncle looked up from her ass, and toward the camera.

Suddenly, there was a squeak at the door.

Your mom tried to twist in place, but was pinned there by the thumb which prodded within her.

“Oh,” her uncle said. “You.”

Your mom’s heart pounded, her mind busy with excuses, with explanations or alibis, or anything to tell her husband, despite knowing better (despite always knowing better), that it was alright. That this was just a natural thing. A regular occurrence. A family courtesy.

“You’d be late to your own funeral, wouldn’t you?” her uncle continued.

“You two shooting a scene? And in my studio?”

“This is my house, son. Technically, it’s my studio.”

One dread fell from the cup of your mom’s heart, only to be replaced by another.

“It’s been a while. You remember your cousin?” Your uncle asked, still probing your mom’s ass.

Her first cousin stared down at her ass. “I never forget a face.”

She leaned her cheek hard against her own forearms, wanting to fall into herself and disappear. “Hello,” she said softly in farsi.

She heard a scraping noise, then saw him in her peripheral, pulling up a stool. He sat down on it, next to her ass. “Cousin,” he said. “As beautiful as ever. How have things been?”

She looked at him, then back up at the camera lens, in silent prayer that it was dead.

“Huh?” he asked again. Then he reached out, grabbing a palmful of her ass from his father’s clutches, shaking it as if to wake her up. “How have things been?”

Your mom could hear the shower in the background, knowing your father was there, hating that he was too far, too distracted to keep this moment from being, but also fearing he’d close the distance too quickly, stumbling on this dynamic and being frozen within its strange Parthian reality. “Good,” she said, again softly.

“Good,” he said, giving her ass a playful jiggle, then letting go. He looked back behind himself, and she could swear she saw him looking at the camera eye. “Like my studio?”

She lay there for a moment, wincing at an especially firm prod by her uncle. She then nodded.

“Mm,” he said warmly. Then he looked down at her ass, its weight jiggling there. “This is not too different than what goes on in here any other day.”

“My office is occupied,” his dad said, his eyebrows tight as he probed.

“So you use mine.” He looked at your mom’s ass as if it were her. “You guys could have slept here. There’s much more room. Plus, it wasn’t being used.”

Your mom’s eyes were locked on the camera, and it, in its life or inertness, was locked on her.

“I thought-“ your uncle started then stopped.

Your mom looked back through the corner of her eye.

Her cousin looked up at him. He mouthed something, then shook his head. Her uncle looked nervous, even regretful he had said anything.

Her cousin looked back down at her ass, this time more absent-mindedly, seeming to be in thought. He sat there for a few minutes more, watching it be manhandled, and then he adjusted on the stool, apparently restless, and his mouth finally fell open with a word. “I guess- hm,” he seemed amused in himself, his face growing red. “I guess I should ask. Cousin, would you-“ he stopped in his tracks, his throat clogged with the words. “hmm.” He laughed at himself. “Okay. Let me get this out.” Your mom looked at him with the corner of her panicked eye. He was looking down at her ass. Suddenly, it all burst out at once: “I really want to shoot a scene with you.”

Your mom’s eyes went wide, and she lay there, still staring at him with that one eye.

Her cousin only sat there, seemingly relieved that he had said it, even excited that the notion was out there now and couldn’t be retrieved. “You’d be perfect for the whole aesthetic and theme of my series. I mean…” He stared down at the shape and size of her ass, as if that itself were the best evidence for his claim, self-evidence that required no counsel.

“Tell her about the mask thing?” his dad said, probing her hole once again.

“Oh yeah, yeah. If you do, you can wear a mask of course. I mean… I do too… so… I know the importance of anonymity.”

She looked over, seeing the plastic head sitting there, staring directly at her.

“I was saying,” her uncle said. “It looks like her husband, doesn’t it?”

Her cousin laughed. “It does, it does. See?” he said, placing his hand on her ass-cheek. “You won’t even notice a difference.” He gave it a squeeze.

She said nothing, only staring, feeling nauseous, feeling scared, feeling her world falling out beneath her. Feeling shame both familiar and new. It was always too familiar. Always too new.

“You know what my character’s name is?”

“I already told her.”

“The Ass Mangler.” He squeezed her ass.

“What a strange concept,” her uncle said, poking into her unoccupied cheek with his thumb.

“I mean, I’m a professional now. I know what works and what doesn’t. I got an eye for talent. And there’s better talent to reach out for than the talent I have laying right here.” He gave another squeeze.

“And you got an eye for business too. It runs in the family.”

“Right. And I thought this could be a way to help you cut into the business. My business I mean. I mean, you’re only going to be here for a few more days. It would just be this one time. This one scene, perfectly anonymously. But I know this will be a big one, I know for a fact it will, you’re helping me get this thing even further off the ground. So making you a partner is… You’d deserve it.” As he sat there, waiting for his answer, he clutched onto her ass, doing so as if he were holding on for dear life.

Your mom sat there, her ass already sore with squeezes and probes against its thick flesh, and now in acute pain from her cousin’s desperate and absent-minded grip strength.

She readied to say no, but her panic rose, as she realized that when it would come out, it would, beyond her ability to control, come out in the form of a scream. Either that or a growl, spilling out with curses, in farsi and in English, and the full extent, an unbroken body, of built-up hatred over the years.

“I mean,” her cousin continued. “If you think about it. These checkups aren’t very much different from what I do. From what we’d do. It’s just this time, we’d pay you to do it.”

Her uncle growled, feeling her butthole close painfully over his finger. She lifted herself up on her palms, in a sudden storm of rage, when, the new silence formed by the consistent sound of the blaring shower-head was replaced by the loud sound of its absence.

Her cousin shot up, looking at the place, through the wall, where the bathroom was. The stool fell down behind him. “Well, anyway. I should get some things done before we go to the hotel. If you need me, dad, just call.” Your mom listened as he left the room.

‘I’m just about done myself,” her uncle said. “Yup, yup.” He poked more, grabbed her thighs, spread her cheeks, contracted them, then stood back up. She felt his pressure leave the couch, her body elevating with the sound of a squeaky spring. “Good as usual he said.” He then went for his finger to pull off a glove that wasn’t there. Realizing it, he shook his head. He moved to the door, stood there, stared at your mom’s ass laying there on the couch, her head turned away, only facing him with the unbroken wall of black hair behind it. Then the bathroom door opened, and he turned and left, closing the door behind himself as he did.

Your mom laid there for a bit.

“Warm enough for you?” her uncle asked your dad outside.

“Oh, I like it cold. It keeps me on edge.”

“You white people are a strange bunch.”

She heard the door to the guest bedroom open and close. After a few minutes, she got up. She sat there, looking at the door. Then she looked at the camera, and the window behind it, with the ready-made curtain, hastily installed, ready to be pulled across whenever shooting started. The camera stared back at her without judgement. She slowly stood up. Then she, one step at a time, reluctant from fear, approached it As she did, her heartrate rose. She neared its body, and when she was close enough, she leaned forward, looking behind it. It sat there, not a hum, its switch turned off. She breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back.

Then, suddenly, the door rocketed open behind her.

She froze.

“Oh,” said a voice. “Sweety. Four hours in the car wasn’t enough?” Your dad stepped in, his eyes on her naked ass and thighs. He closed the door behind himself. She turned to look at him. “Now you wanna be my pornstar too?”

He fell to the couch and he felt her kisses, half-licks sometimes, land against his mouth, chin, and throat with not only feisty aggression, but with a sudden, almost, desperation. He groaned, kissing her back, then laughed awkwardly, pushing her sweet weight off himself. “Wait,” he said. “Wait, wait,” pushing harder. “Wait. If we’re going to do this. Let’s do it right.” He looked around. “It’s not every day you get to live out a porno.”

Your mom looked down at him.

He looked back up at her, lovingly. “I bet your ass is better than every girl he’s had on this set.” She felt his hand grip her right cheek. “If he weren’t your cousin, he’d be offering you an arm and a leg for a shoot with this thing. He’d probably give you stake in the business.” He laughed at the absurdity of it.

She was silent.

He exhaled heavily. “-kay,” he said. Then leaned forward to look at the door. “When they leave. Then we put him to shame.” He looked back and around the room. “Just wait a second.” He pushed her off him softly. And she sat there on her calves, watching him move across the room. He moved to the camera and her pulse rose. He then stopped, turning the other way. He kneeled down, his arms extended out toward the plastic mask. He took in his loving hands. He looked down into its eyes. Then looked back up at her, him and the mask both. “You ready to get your booty mangled, sweetheart?”

Your mom sat there, the head in her bare lap. She stared at it, awkwardly, listening to your father outside, talking with her uncle and cousin, biding his time until they left and he could come back, unnaccosted for the next few hours, to the fun which waited in this room. Her bemusement turned into a smile.

She put the head back down next to her, and looked up.

The black lens sat there, still staring, almost startling in its silence.

She stood up. The couch squeaked beneath her. And she walked slowly toward the camera. The light spilled in from the little window beyond it. She grabbed its tripod and positioned so it was perfect. Then she leaned over it to the back, and she made a clicking noise with her tongue, flicking the inanimate air. The camera sat, still off, but she backed up, demure before it, playful as if it were on.

Then she went and sat back on the couch. “I am a pornstar,” she whispered to herself. “A pornstar for one and one alone.” Her shame in her ass, the shame in her body, and in her beauty, and in her very being from fourteen onward, faded, as it always did, at the thought of your dad’s touch and sight. It was through him, through that exclusive portal, that the tragedy of her life became its greatest blessing. And she would ruin that for no one. For nothing. And for no amount. Her ass, the albatross she had to carry, became like a sacred heirloom, not just beautiful, but holy, whenever she thought of him. As far as she was concerned, and for as much as she was beginning to believe, she was given that ass for his sake, and for the sake of everything which came from his love for her. Everything else was just the unfortunate flipside of that coin, the con she had to bear so the pro could be all that much more fulfilling.

She waited there, listening with her chin down for the sounds outside to stop, and to hear those footsteps, longing and loving, coming toward that door. She stared at the door in wait.

Your dad stood at the entrance of the house, leaning his chest and hip toward it, hiding the irrepressible excitement in his pants.

“Are you sure you don’t need my help?” he called to them, only doing so because he was confident they’d say no.

“We’re fine. We’re fine. Like I said, get some rest,” your mom’s uncle said.

“There’s beers in the fridge, by the way,” said the cousin.

Your dad smiled, then he turned within, shutting the door behind him.

As your mom sat there, looking down at how thick her thighs were, somehow shocked again by them, she felt a dark shadow on her. It took her a moment to realize that shadow was real, and when she did, she felt a chill run through those thighs. She shot her gaze upward, and the shadow was sucked away. Before her was just the camera, with the window behind it displaying nothing but the unbroken daylight of her uncle’s giant lawn.

She then felt a rough prod against her ass. She looked down, seeing nothing. Then she stood up, pulling the cushion away to find a long and forgotten brown dildo lying there. She picked it up and threw it. It bounced against the ground, hitting the wall on the opposite side. She plopped back down. And, after taking another look at the bare window, nothing but foliage and distant fence outside, she looked back down at her thighs, and the prize which sat snug between them, rich with growing moisture.

Your dad walked through the New Jersey home, rustic, outdated, but large. Lacking a second floor, it was wide, and he shook his head with humor, not only amused with the absurdity of his former coworker’s home, but also with the absurdity of the porn studio which sat within it, right across from the room where he practiced medicine. “I married into this,” he said, shaking his head. He then looked to the door which held his beautiful off-colored pearl within. He felt warmth rising to his chest and loins both. “I married into this,” he repeated again, now proudly.

He stepped toward the door and suddenly felt a shadow flicker over him. He spun in place, looking out the broad window of the living room. The green yard on the side of the house peered back at him, unbroken. He stood there, staring at it, unable to shake the feeling that he wasn’t alone. He backed up and turned to look through the front door, seeing the car still there, then he turned to look out the window again.

A hand fell to his shoulder.

He spun around.

Your mom prodded her thigh with her thumb. Then she exhaled, yawning. Some part of her, awakening due to boredom, was increasingly aware that her cousin’s nude male ass had sat on that same cushion, sweating while his cretinous lap was rode upon by some weak simulacrum of herself. She shook the thought, not just disturbed by it, but disturbed by the added idea that her cousin’s new profession might have had something to do with her, something to do with the effect she left on him, some effect she left on a lot of people. She shuddered at the thought.

Suddenly, something moved outside the window. She twisted in place, as if to find cover where none existed. Then she saw her uncle’s SUV through the glass, moving down the driveway. “Finally,” she said. She fell to her knees, crawling along the ground and toward the window so as not to be seen there. They had seen her nudity, and she knew they’d likely find ways to see more of it in the next few days, but she didn’t want the added humiliation of them seeing her there, waiting nude in that very room for a sexual experience of any kind, even if it were within the context of her loving marriage. If anything, that only made their peering eyes all the more violating. She peered out.

The door creaked open slowly behind her, just as the SUV was at the end of the drive and through the gate. “They’re leaving,” she said, not turning around. There was some ruffling noises behind her as she watched the empty driveway. “Alone at last.”

She kept staring. Then she squinted, feeling strange in the absence of a reply. She turned around.

Your dad stood there, in front of the couch, his head now multiple times bigger and plastic, and his body completely nude. His cock throbbed. There was a quick buzz which came from your mom’s pants lying on the floor. Your dad didn’t even look down at them, only staring ahead, at her.

She walked up to him, putting her hand to the cheek of the large plastic face. “Huh, you want to be the ass mangler now?” She looked up into those large expressive, but lifeless, eyes.

Your dad stared back down at her, wordlessly.

“What beautiful eyes you have, Mr. Ass Mangler. All the better to see me with.” Her fingers crawled down his side, finding his cock, which she gripped in her fingers. “What a big cock you have,” she said with a wry grin. “All the better to mangle my ass.”

He looked down at her with that unchanging face. He then began to nod, slowly.

His cock throbbed in her hands. It had been years since she felt that uncontrollable throbbing, involuntary and even forceful, almost breaking out of her fingers with its power. She smiled at him, seeing the two little black holes where his real eyes were, imagining the excitement which existed there, covered in darkness. “You want me to be your little pornstar badly, don’t you?”

He nodded again. She stroked his penis a few times, then cupped his balls, massaging them softly, knowing their every familiar element. “You know I live for your cock, honey?”

He only stared.

“I thought this moment would never come. Like the world would never leave us alone to each other.”

She then got up on her toes, giving the big plastic grin a deep, passionate kiss. She then pulled her lips away, looked up longingly, and smiled. “It really does look like you. Like your doppleganger.”

She then slowly fell from his sight through those two thin holes, falling to her knees.

She came eye-level to his cock, her nostrils filling with the chalky scent of your dad’s testicles.

She looked up at him from beneath that cock, glaring with two loving eyes. “Annndd…” she began. “Action!” Her mouth tongue shot out, making wet and warm contact with the tender flesh of his balls.

His head fell back. Her tongue, in response, her eyes alive with a wily awareness, probed at his most remote places, licking the crease of his thighs, getting deep beneath so that his cock rested on her forehead as she licked his taint.

She then pulled back. “They tried to keep me from this for too long.”

Your dad stared down, expressionlessly. His cock twitched.

She thrust her open mouth at it.

The cock didn’t stop twitching. It twitched in her mouth, against her tongue and against the roof, pushing her lips and cheek aside with its power, twitching and throbbing like it had years earlier, at a time when they were both much younger, both much more naïve and much more hopeful, appreciative even of everything they had, a time before marriage, before childbirth, when they believed the whole world had been stretched out before them, for them and them alone.

Even then though, she now worked him in a way she never did back then, lusting for him in a middle age in a way she could only loved him in his youth. Giving him pleasure in a way which caused all else, everyone, including her previous two, to be brushed off to the side. Her cousin, her uncle, all of them drifted away like leaves over a river, being washed in the surf, even faces (and bodies) which came to it her uninvited, eager and naïve, only for her to shoo them off quickly, not wanting to remember.

“It’s only you,” she said. “It’s only ever been for you.” She let go of his cock and stood up.

She pushed him to the couch. He fell back, almost stumbling, yet the expression on the face never changed.

“I want you in me,” she said.

She lifted her leg up, crawling on top of him, losing control in herself. She grabbed his cock, feeling it throb. “Oh, baby,” she exhaled in farsi. “Oh god, my baby.” It throbbed all the way inside her.

Once it was in, it twitched violently inside, as if its every fiber on its surface was eager for the every fiber within her. As if it were feeling it all for the first time.

She looked up at the logo, PORN DUDE CASTING. She stared up at it as she spoke, gyrating her hips as foreplay for the cock. “Was it everything you ever dreamed of? Me, your own personal pornstar, babe?” She had seen his porn history two or three times, giddy with herself at having found it before he could cover his tracks. Images of thickly-shaped women, darker more often than not, filled the screen, and she felt a strange pride, deeper than she knew, at seeing how close she was to his ideal, or, maybe, how close his ideal was to her.

“Your fantasy is finally coming true, sweetheart,” she whispered in his ear. And then she began to get to work.

She could feel just how much a change in context changed everything else. His cock was wild within her, same size, same shape as usual, but now with a new life, as if it were twenty years younger. Memories of what her ex, her second cousin’s cock assaulted her, feeling her husband’s cock now in a way which dredged up that strange, and only partially welcome, nostalgia. Your mom rode, disturbed by the thought but not unaroused by it. Even then though, she let the image of her ex’s face fade, filling itself with the face before her, your dad’s magnified by five in size and emotion.

“Yeah, fuck this big Persian ass. Fuck this ass.” She brushed aside the nostalgia with race play. “Show me what you got, Ass Mangler. Mangle this Persian ass.” She could barely believe the words which spilled from her lips. She could barely believe how naturally they did.

“I’m yours. I’m yours,” she said. “All yours. I was only ever yours. You like fucking me on camera? Huh? You like fucking me on camera?”

He nodded. Or at least she thought he did. The mask was unsteady on his head.

“Who are you going to show it to? Who, huh? Your friends? Your boss? Who?” She turned and looked at the camera, imagining with the full weight of her imagination that it was on. That it wasn’t just recording but livestreaming. “Who, huh? The world?”

The thought of her ex faded, obliterated by the current pleasure, which, as strange as it was to say, eclipsed all other pleasures. Your mom looked to the mask, and, without realizing it, only saw that. Even your father behind it was washed out by the waves of thrill which crawled through her body and conscious universe.

“You’re the Ass Mangler,” she said. “Your cock is for mangling my ass. It was always meant for- uh! Your cock was built for my ass. My ass… ugh… was built for your cock.”

The waves of pleasure were extreme now, so extreme the ‘O’ word occurred to her, and then dropped from her awareness, perhaps from the childish belief that she could jinx into non-existence.

Good Thoughts. The phrase came to her suddenly. Then she mumbled it to herself. “Good Thoughts.”

She kissed him again on those inert lips.

“Good Thoughts,” she said now, more audibly. “Good Words.” She felt a flutter run through her, one which jiggled the every fibrous inch of fat on her thick body. She had never felt more pleasure, not any other time, and not with anyone else. It was coming: Orgasm, and there was nothing she could do to stop it, even if she wanted to. “God Words!” she repeated.

The waves came, obliterating her mind for the following few seconds. She gyrated over him, not believing this could happen to her, her whole being dissolving within an overwhelming, shapeless bliss. She felt as if she would melt into his lap, and exist there as a tan-beige puddle, and be nothing but pleasure for him there forevermore.

“Good Deeds!” She repeated. “Good Deeds! Good Deeds! Ughh!”

Her convulsions began to slow, her pleasure, while still overwhelming, didn’t so much as wane, but give room for a coming, and blissful, afterglow. Her gyrations slowed until finally, she lay there, feeling like her whole form was liquid, satiated on his lap. Then soon, realizing the climax of this moment was hers alone, she shot up. “Good Deeds,” she said again. The cock fell from her body, and she got on her knees dutifully.

“Ugh, we’re the sexiest couple in the world,” she said in between sucking his cockhead. “The whole world exists for the two of us.” Her mouth was then rich with wet sounds. She plucked the cock out again. “I exist for this cock. I was shaped for it. Molded for it.”

“And it was molded for me.”

She had pride now in her puberty and his both.

She thought of your puberty in a flash, and all the raunch it implied, and she had pride in that. She had pride in her body, in your dad’s cock and the way it throbbed. In her dirtbag cousin’s business, and the hope for its success. Even her uncle’s prodding of her ass, through all these years, seemed to have its place now. “Sex is good,” she murmured to herself, and sucked your dad’s cock with the strangeness of that sentence repeating in her head. Not strange because of its content, but strange because she had to say it before realizing she never believed it until this very moment.

She loved every ass, imagining each one which had been in here. Loved every cock. Loved every raunchy grin, and feverish pair of eyes. Loved every wandering pair of hands, and every jiggling bit of ass flesh. And as all the various perversions ran through her mind, the smell of her third cousin’s car, the sterility of her uncle’s office, she even remembered the sensation of that shower water falling over her, and the feeling she felt, looking over and seeing that developing cock throb at the sight of her.

Good Thoughts, Good Words, Good Deeds, she thoughts. And her tongue, subconsciously, vibrated with that syntax against the flesh of the twitching cock.

She got up, turning away from him, goading him wordlessly to take her, presenting her ass to so he could do what he wilt with it.

She could feel warm water falling over her, could feel herself flush against its warm fingers on the tiles below. And she could feel that thing, throbbing, hard, and eager, being thrust within her by an eager and naïve pelvis.

She didn’t shake the thought, she didn’t even try. Then she felt it, that sensation in those thighs behind her, a long time coming.

The contents of those testicles, as if imprisoned for a decade, had escaped, finding the warm world within her, where they always dreamed to lay.

He brushed her there, standing in the joy of the moment.

“I love you more than anything in the world,” she said. It didn’t need to be said. Your dad knew it. Yet she felt the compulsion to say it all the same, as if this time, it might be missed. As if she were making up for some misconception, some sad element of circumstance many years in the making.

“I know you do,” she heard echoing from within the head, your dad sounding twenty years younger.

She turned around, grabbing it by its cheek. She leaned in, giving it a kiss.

She clutched onto him, her body against his. She swayed there for a bit, then she turned around, looking at the black of the camera. She laughed to herself, plunging her face within his chest. She looked back up at it. “I wish it really was on.” She looked back up at him, feeling a sudden urge to speak. “I’m yours to do what you want with. Whatever you want.”

He stared down at her, and she felt, somehow, like she could see an expression beyond the placid one which met her.

She then laughed, her forehead falling to his chest. Without lifting her head back up, she spoke. “You know what my cousin asked?” She laughed again. Then she looked up. “Promise you won’t be mad.”

He didn’t say anything.

“He wants me to be in one of his videos.” She pushed her head back against his chest, almost dying of embarrassment. She laughed again. They both stood there. Neither moving. Then her hand fell, sliding against his chest and stomach, down over his pubic hairs. Then she found it there, waiting at the end of his body, and the end of that torso, throbbing hard, as if new, in her hands.

She looked back up at him, into those two holes, and she swore she could somehow see the eyes within. She then put her head back down, continuing to feel his cock. “And my uncle…” she started. The cock, impossibly, got even harder within her fingers. She stood there for a moment. She looked up again, for one final confirmation. “They said I could wear a mask.”

“No mask,” came back so quickly and firmly she no longer had any doubt. She nodded to him, then placed her head against him.

All things, no matter how dirty or sick or wrong on their surface, became beautiful when it came to your dad. Even this, as strange as it all was, would too. She was sure of it. She would do anything for him.

Something flashed past the window, casting a glimmer on the two of them. And your mom’s gaze shot up. “They’re back already,” she said. She let go of your father. “I won’t let them know you want it,” she said. She kissed his plastic cheek. “Let’s make this as naughty as possible.” She then let go of him, jogging toward the door. She opened it, stood in the doorway, filling it beautifully, and shot your dad a wink, then she turned around and ran out.

Your dad moved to the door, shut it, then he turned around.

He headed to the window. Grabbed the head, and lifted it off his own. He peered outside.

The SUV stopped in the driveway. Your mom’s uncle stepped out. “Leave it to Mariam to be kind enough to do it all and be absent minded enough to forget to tell anyone.” He slammed the door shut.

Your mom’s cousin stepped out. “Well at least it was a fun car ride.” He slammed his door.

The door to the backseat opened. “That’s the silver lining. I got a good look at the New Jersey countryside,” your dad said, stepping out of the vehicle. He sighed and shut the door.

“Your wife isn’t mad you left her, is she?” your mom’s uncle said, heading with the others toward the door.

“I texted her when I left,” your dad said.

He stood with that giant head next to his hip, staring out the window. He turned around, his features older, less adorable an innocent than they were all those years ago at camp. The innocence had been beaten out of him, both by his grandfather with that belt and by his great-uncle, and all his formative years, abandoned by his parents, forced to experience his most formative years alone. He moved toward the door, throwing the plastic head on the couch, then he stopped, turned around, at hearing them within, and headed toward the window.

He opened it up, knowing it was only a few second jog to get to the shed where he had been hiding for the past few days. He was in his early twenties now, too old and masculine to play off this moment to the neighbors, if they saw him, as cute. At most they’d go “those crazy Iranians again.”

He hopped out the window bare-assed and bolted toward the shed. When he got inside, he stood there, nude, awash in the afterglow of what he had just done.

His cock, which he somehow imagined would be worked to a nub, was hard again. He had seen the post for the reunion on Facebook, knowing Atlantic City was only a hop, skip, and jump away from where he had found himself. He had come here with the intention of taking her, his very own mom, through force. He thought it was fate that she was even here to begin with. He had little idea just how much fate would push things in his favor.

He looked to the dusty window, still terrified he’d wake up from this dream.

A spider, big and hairy, crawled across it, architect of its own web. Your brother smiled at it, seeing in it a kindred spirit.

Your mom had told her cousin the good news in the kitchen the next day while her uncle took your dad to town. Her cousin was overjoyed, eager to let her know the good decision she made, how she was helping his company, and, through it, helping herself. That’s when she told him she didn’t want the share. Good Deeds, she thought.

He handed her the mask.

She put her hand on it to stop him. “That’s for uncle,” she said.

He looked on her with shock.

Your brother watched from the window that night, seeing the sight on the couch, both in reality and repeated on the camera’s viewfinder, of his mom’s ass being used nice and thoroughly by the same uncle who threw curses at him from the kitchen doorway. Your mom’s ass gave to both bodies, two pelvises mushing up against her soft flesh. Your brother grinned. She was becoming the porn star he always wanted her to be.

Her big ass rode those two cocks the way it was built for. Her beautiful face showing pleasure, but never, he was proud to see, the pleasure she showed while with him. Cousin and uncle though? They were both very happy boys. Both then, and for then on.

In the morning, the room was clear of all evidence, and the video had already been sent to her cousin’s editor. The only clue that anything happened at all was a new stain on the side of the house, a white one on the stucco directly beneath the window.

Uncle had found that the lock to his shed had been broken, but nothing inside had been stolen. Though a few of his suits from inside his wardrobe did seem to be missing. As far as he could tell, it was unrelated.

The next day, at the reunion, your mom glided around in her form-fitting dress, cognizant, at all times, that she was being watched by someone, but feeling light as a feather to know it.

During a photo, one of her drunk nephews let his hand fall over her buttcrack, and instead of shock or horror, she just stood there with a smile, not only still posing for the photo, but smiling, accomadating when her sister-in-law asked for more.

“Did you see him?” she heard someone say as she moved to the bathroom.

“I did. Are you sure he’s not one of ours?”

“He looks like- But that wouldn’t make sense. What are the chances?”

Your mom went into the bathroom, her ass still sore against the toilet seat from the previous day’s beating from her cousin and uncle.

As she exited, she felt a hand grip her wrist, tugging her into stillness. She looked up to see her aunt there.

“Beautiful! It’s been such a long while since I last laid eyes on you.”

“Aunt Mariam,” she responded with glee. “It has, hasn’t it?”

“The last time- you were about-“ she put her hand out to the height of where your mom’s breasts were now. “Yay high.” She looked back up into your mom’s eyes. “Yet still you look the same.” Then her eyes crawled down over your mom’s body and up. “The same but different,” she said, blindsided by the sheer amount of your mom which existed there.

“Thank you,” your mom said. She went to move. Her aunt tugged harder. “Wait. Just wait. I want to get a photo with you.”

“Of course.”

“Mohammad. Jalal. Over here. Let’s get a photo.” Two teenagers came running. “My grandkids,” She explained.

They huddled up next to your mom, one of them finding the small of her back, another lucky enough to pinch her giant ass.

She smiled for the camera, a member of staff, his face obscured behind it, came closer at her aunt’s request.  

The photo was snapped. She went to move up, and he said “wait, wait. Let me get a few more.”

Your mom stood again, still, feeling the squeeze of her ass. Then her eyes dropped. It occurred to her, his voice. She had heard it before.

One of the hands poked against her ass, pushing in at her crack, as if wanting to poke through and get between her cheeks. She felt it there, crafty and aggressive, like some bug looking for shelter.

Another photo was snapped. “There,” the member of hotel staff said. “All good.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Aunt Mariam said. “How kind of you.” She moved toward him to grab her phone. “How long have you been working here.”

The phone dropped from the young man’s face. He handed it to Mariam. “Oh, just a few days,” he said and smiled.

Your mom froze.

He then looked over at her, still smiling, his eyes growing electric with mirth.

Mariam squeezed his cheek. “Dashing young man,” she said. Then turned to your mom. “Don’t you think?”

Your mom said nothing, only staring in shock.

Mariam and her two boys left.

The young man, your brother, slowly approached your mom, leaning in to her ear. “Thanks for being my pornstar, mom.” He gave her a pat on the ass, all with a firmness that was regretably familiar. His hand left her ass.

When she turned to look for him, he was gone.

She never saw him again. But some tortured part of her could feel him out there, spidery and black, mirthful in some little hole, his eyes alive in front of a glowing screen, filled with the fullness of her, satiated by her every night. Her ass was international now. The refuge of every spider. His legs were just the hairiest. And no drain existed below that could suck his happy eyes away.