Something happens to you when you see your mom’s ass naked for the first time.
If you didn’t want to see her ass getting fucked, then after seeing it naked you will, and if you did want to see her get fucked, seeing her ass naked will only make that urge stronger.
You were lucky that on the night you-know-what happened, you had just seen your mom’s ass by accident that morning when you walked into her room. She thought nothing of it. But you had been blown to pieces on the inside and reassembled as a new man.
That’s why that night when you saw that creepy looking guy slip something into your mom’s diet coke, you did everything you could to help him get away with it. Your mom’s naked ass was fresh in your mind, and you could imagine all the fun he could have with it. Instead of lacking in empathy, and not seeing things through his eyes, like most people would, you were able to put yourself in his shoes and root for him.
Nobody had the right to take your mom’s ass from him now. Not even you. Not even your mom. When your brother screamed across the bar after seeing that weird man carrying your drugged mom out with him in his arms, you cringed knowing that your plan to distract him and your dad by suggesting they play pool on the other end of the bar had failed.
The bouncers, hearing the screaming and seeing the pointing, held the man with your mom at the door as your dad and brother rushed over there. You trailed behind anxiously. You were all pulled aside into a side room. Your dad and brother pulled out their wallets on the way, eager to show the bouncers that they shared the same last name with your mom.
When the bouncer got you all in the room, your mom still in the man’s arms, much to your dad and brother’s dismay, he asked you all for ID. Another bouncer came in the room with your mom’s purse as your dad and brother showed their cards. The man was sweating and looked pale. Your dad and brother looked over at him as if to say “we got you now, cocksucker.” You felt angry at your dad and brother for their arrogance. Everything about them made you angry right now.
The second bouncer looked through her purse. “I don’t see a wallet here.”
Your dad interjected, “Some kid out there must have stole it.”
Your brother piped in impatiently, “She has her name on her phone!”
“I don’t see a phone in here either.”
Your dad: “Oh for Christ’s sake!”
The look of terror lifted slightly from the man’s face.
The bouncers could see that you were all related by your ID. He asked how and your dad said “I’m their father!” pointing at you, and “That’s my wife!” as he pointed at your mom whose head was rolling backward.”
“How do you know her?” The bouncer asked the weird man.
He stuttered. “She’s my wife. These guys had their hands all over her. I saw it when I came out of the washroom. I’m trying to get her out of here. I don’t know what kind of sick place this is that lets predators walk in here and take advantage of their patrons drunk off the alcohol they sold them and they try to stop ME, her husband whose trying to save her fro-”
The bouncer interrupted him. “Is this your mom?” he asked your brother.
“Yes, I already said that!”
You could feel your heart beating a million miles a second as the bouncer redirected his gaze to you.
“Is this your mother?”
You looked at him. You could feel the eyes of your family, sure and confident waiting for your inevitable and predictable answer on your left. You could feel the eyes of that strange man looking like the eyes of a cornered rat, as the half-open eyes of your mom looked like nothing at all on your right.
You looked over at your mom, vulnerable and ready. In the right place at the right time to have her drink spiked. In the wrong place at the wrong time to be stopped before being carried out the door. Her ass drooped down between his arms. You wished you could snap your fingers and have him disappear and reappear outside with her in his arms, but you couldn’t. That wasn’t the world you lived in. The real world took sacrifice to make anything great happen.
You looked at your mom for one last time that night, then you looked at the bouncer. “I’ve never seen this woman before in my life.”
“WHAT!”is what you heard next to you. So sudden and so loud that you couldn’t tell if it was your dad or your brother who said it.
The weird man to your right was visibly smiling. You could see it from the corner of your eye.
You continued: “I told my dad and brother to stop groping her but they wouldn’t listen. They wanted to take her home with them because mom is out on vacation. I told them it was wrong!”
“He’s lying! What the hell is wrong with you!’ He grabbed you by your neck and your brother started for you when the two bouncers grabbed the three of you and separated you. Your dad and brother’s faces were red with rage. Spit spilled from their lips in strings as they screamed at you “You fuck! You sick fuck! What are you doing!”
You looked them both straight in their eyes and yelled “I’m telling mom what you guys tried to do when she gets home! I can’t believe you two! You-” and that’s when the tears started to spill from your eyes. It was all your pent up frustration at them for trying to ruin this guy’s chance at fucking your mom, but it lent a huge dose of credibility to your story.
Your dad and brother came across as persecutors rather than victims, and they stayed that way as they screamed at you with their deep voices, until the man was apologized to and sent on his way with your mom in his arms. That’s when your dad and brother’s tears started to flow. They fought and pushed and kicked back against the bouncers arms, and all it accomplished was more bouncer running into the room to restrain the three of you. The two giant men holding you made you confident enough to make a show of righteous anger against your family by trying, unsuccessfully, to lunge at them. You were accomplishing nothing but making the bouncers sure that you had real reason to be mad at them. That they actually were trying to take home a drunk stranger to enjoy.
You were all taken outside into the night air and you were held near the wall, as you watched your mom being carried to a Chevette, placed in its back seat, and driven away into the chaos of the city with that smug, satisfied, relieved, smiling face behind the wheel. Your dad and brother screamed and cried and tore at their clothes, but they didn’t fight back. All their energy was gone. They knew that they had dug themselves too deep into the coil of a Chinese finger trap, and all effort to get out would wrap it around themselves harder. They learned in that moment how to be helpless, but they would never learn how to not care.
It was the same pain that weird man would have had if he was successfully stopped last second from taking your mom home with him tonight. Your dad and brother finally knew the horror and pain they almost visited on him. But as you looked at them with contempt, you knew that they wouldn’t understand or make the connection.
You could still hear his car ripping down the streets and you were imagining your moms ass jiggling about with each turn and pull of the hand-brake. It probably looked like jello. He was going to have fun digging in.
You didn’t want to count your chickens before they hatched, so you listened as the car grew more distant. Even though your brother and dad were on the ground wailing over the fate of your mom’s ass, you never knew if they’d discover one last moment of decisiveness and tenacity. But as the car engine and brakes grew more distance, your worry subsided with it. Until finally, you heard nothing.
And the stillness of the chilly night mirrored the stillness of your soul. You had nothing left to worry about any more. You could finally celebrate.
Your mom’s ass would be getting it soon. And that was all that mattered. And for every ounce of respect and love you lost for your dad and brother, it was two ounces of pride you gained in yourself, and 10 pounds of gratefulness you had for being the son of your mom.
Ironically, your mom would be the only one able to forgive you. A mother’s love was unconditional and unbreakable. You were proud of yourself knowing that tonight you proved that your impulse to do the right thing was just as strong.
Your mom woke up in a strange house, cold, and naked, with her ass wet with cum.
“Where am I?” she thought.
The sensation of terror filled her as her awareness started to grow.
Suddenly, she heard a door open. Then footsteps. She closed her eyes. The blackness grew twice as dark as the footsteps stopped right next to her. She was aware that someone was standing there, looking down at her. She didn’t dare move.
Suddenly she felt something on her ass. A wet cloth. Her ass was now clean. The cushion creaked and was pulled downward as the man put one knee on it. Then another. Your mom’s body jiggled around with the drooping cushions.
Suddenly, she felt the man getting closer. Then something on her vagina. It was just touching it. And all of a sudden it was inside. He was going in for seconds.
Your mom held her eyes tight as the strange penis went back and forth inside of her. She wanted to get up and run, but she was too afraid. She had nobody there to protect her, and she figured that nobody knew where she was. She was right.
And for the next two hours she just kept still with her eyes clamped shut, receiving that penis in every hole.
When you accidentally burst into her room that morning (or yesterday morning to be exact) she thought nothing of it. Little did she know it would end up with her being here, literally tasting a cock as it danced back and forth inside her mouth and cheeks as his balls slapped against her chin.
The thought that kept coming back to her was how worried you, your brother and dad must be. Little did she know she was only 2/3rds right. And that’s only because your dad and brother only loved your mom 2/3rds as much as you did. And this was what love looked like. Never mind felt and tasted like.
It was a setup from the very start. Your late father’s cousin wasn’t going to be at her house. She had been gone for a week, leaving only her husband to entertain you and your mom.
He never informed your mom that he owned a pool, and when she asked if there were any beaches nearby, he said no. So she never ended up bringing a bathing suit. Instead he offered her his wife’s one and only bathing suit.
You knew that he was lying when you were searching through his bedroom for the panties and maybe some nice pictures of your dad’s cousin. All you found was a drawer hastily stuffed full of women’s bathing suits on top of batteries and watch parts.
Those bathing suits were so modest and conservative compared to the bathing suit he handed your mom, which he had to hastily rip the tag subtly before handing it to her.
This all happened just in time for the pool party, in which members of your dad’s near and distant family were to show up. Family members he spent his life avoiding and only occasionally came into contact with through his cousin, whom he trusted and loved very much.
Your dad trusted her so much that his trust even extended to her husband, who he used to go hunting with every second year when you visited. This trust was apparently misplaced, as you learned when you searched through his laptop for compromising images of your dad’s cousin and found them in the form of hidden camera footage of her changing in their room attached to e-mails that were sent to members of a local motorcycle gang and real estate developers.
You were unsure of whether he was sharing his wife’s naked body because he was being blackmailed, to gain favors from powerful people, or because he enjoyed it. Eventually, though scouring through his e-mails, you realized that it was all three. Maybe he had more than three reasons.
You downloaded all the footage of your mom’s cousin onto your flashdrive and you were eager to post them to pornhub when you got home
As for your mom, you knew something was planned for her.
He had hidden camera footage of every female on your dad’s side of the family, from ages 20 to 80. Your dad’s mother was even caught naked in their bathroom. There wasn’t one square inch of female flesh in your dad’s family that hadn’t been exposed. And there wasn’t one real estate mogul or gang member on that mailing list who hadn’t been sent all of those videos.
But there wasn’t one reference of your mom anywhere to be found. You found that hard to believe. Because in terms of getting favors, getting pleasure, or getting out of trouble, your mom was the best bargaining chip there conceivably could be. You searched his e-mails while he was out and you found one of his them, a very recent one, sent to a local real estate developer, about a person they referred to as The Human Ass.
He said he bought a special uniform for her ass to munch on and he gloated in the fact that this mystery woman was known for being dry when it came to alcohol. But he had a fridge full of “non-alcoholic beer” that had its contents replaced. And that was all he’d have to drink for his guests who weren’t used to imbibing, or well adapted to the effects of imbibing, liquor.
He said that there’d only be one obstacle in the way. And if that obstacle wasn’t also drunk by the time zero hour came, then at least they’d have a pool area full of motorcycle enthusiasts with criminal records to iron out the loose edges.
These were an exciting turn of events, and the nagging thought that The Human Ass and The Obstacle weren’t who you thought they were was a dark and upsetting thought to entertain. But you’d find out when the guests got there the next day. And when your mom asked for a drink.
When the guests starting showing up, they were already very impressed with your mom fully clothed. They became even more impressed when she ridded herself of her oppressive jeans. She grimaced with each sip from the bottle labeled “zero alcohol content.” It soon became clear to you, and maybe even to her, that she was the only female body there. A sausage party but for one bun.
But what a bun.
Many people, including the host, did their best to keep you distracted and drinking. The stupid stories, and unfunny jokes from the clean shaven men, and the slaps on your back and slightly physical attempts and quartering you off from even seeing your mom, were starting to become a little much. You headed back inside and went to the washroom. From there you could see all the action in the backyard from a near bird’s-eye-view.
It didn’t take long for the professional men to start getting close to her and talking to her with a sly look on their faces with their hands on the small of her back. But in an even shorter time after that the rougher looking men elbowed their way in to the swarm and began pawing at your mom’s skin. Picking up her legs by the thigh and caressing them, pinching at her ass, and fingering at the thin strap of her bathing suit as she put up a a fair deal of resistance.
A few times the strap was pulled completely off her butt crack and to the side. She had been lifted completely off her feet and was in the middle of a miniature sized crowd surf. The motorcycle gang on the inside had her ass, thighs stomach, and lower back to play with. The Real Estate tycoons had her calves, and feet and chest, neck, face and hair. Your dad’s cousin’s husband was off a few feet to the side openly playing with his hard dick.
You were doing the same, wondering if your MMORPG friends have ever seen anything like this. Only one of them, the alpha male of your clan, could lay claim to seeing a real naked woman when he spied on his auntie through a hole between his room and hers and watched her boyfriend have sex with her. You tried to contain your excitement at how much envy they’d have for you now. You’ve just become the new alpha wolf of your crew. The old alpha would be so angry. There was no way he could top this.
Your thoughts were broken by a satisfying snap sound. Your mom’s bikini was broken and on the ground. It was shocking how little space it took up. The Human Ass was going to be munching on something a little bit thicker than string now.
The host sat on his lawn chair naked, stroking his hard cock, and he had a look of relief, ambition and arousal all at once. His wife’s cousin’s wife’s body was now surrounded by cocks that were jostling with each other like piranhas to get inside it through its mouth or its pussy or its asshole. If they couldn’t get inside, then they’d hump around the holes.
It was clear looking at the host that all his debts were now paid, he’d be a huge mover and shaker in the world of real estate, and he had finally reached that sexual itch he wanted scratched for years.
When the mob of professionals and criminals finished their goal of extracting all pleasure and fantasy they could from your mom’s body, they all left, leaving you, your uncle, and your mom as the only ones there. You forgot how silent things could be. Your dad’s cousin’s husband grabbed his hose and sprayed your mom’s body up and down, flipped her over, and sprayed her off on the other side. Her ass jiggled as the stream of water pushed at it.
He opened up her ass cheeks and sprayed them out too and then he inserted the hose in her pussy and mouth as well. He took your naked, clean mom with him into the house and you listened as he dragged her past the bathroom door into his room with him and you listened to him moan as his flesh slapped wonderfully with your mom’s. You went back to your room and listened from there. When he was done with her, he opened up your room door and placed your mom’s naked body in bed with you as you pretended to be sleeping.
You spent the rest of the night using your mom’s body to masturbate in interesting ways. Her ass cheeks were especially effective for this. You came between her two cheeks and you left her like that. So that she would know that at least one person at that party had fun with her and she’d be too embarrassed to ask who it was. It could’ve been anyone. Or everyone. But why would she have any reason to guess that?
You heard him in his office, click-clacking away. And then in a few hours, at around sunrise, he had left the house. You left your mom in your bed and went over to his computer, to see what he was doing and you were surprised to see a folder up with one file in the very middle of it titled “To The Obstacle.”
You clicked on it and your face turned a deep red as you as you saw yourself, sitting in the very spot you were sitting now, only a few days ago, looking through e-mail after e-mail. Then it cut to footage of your mom removing her pants by the pool yesterday afternoon. Then it cut to her being lifted in the air, then her being fucked by a forest of cocks. Then to you in the bathroom watching through the window and jerking off.
Then to you in your room pressing your mom’s ass cheeks around your cock and humping away. Then to your dad’s mom, naked in the washroom changing. Then to her being ravaged by a line of men on the living room couch. Then her in his bed being fucked by him. Then your dad’s niece changing in her room, then her being spit roasted in the basement over the pool table, and finally her in his room being fucked in her face. The same with your dad’s cousin and his sister. Same pattern: changing, being gang banged, and being fucked personally by him in his bed. Every woman in your family, every woman your dad loved, had been passed around and then fucked by this man. All of them except one. At least until yesterday.
Your mom changed into what she thought was your dad’s cousin’s bathing suit behind the bar. There were cameras everywhere in this house. You couldn’t escape them. Then your mom being ravaged by the pool. Then your mom with her ass up on his bed. Her wedding ring in his hand, then up her asshole, then removed, and then he pulled out a ring that looked exactly the same, placing it on her finger, and placing the ring your father first slid onto her extended hand in front of the smiling women of his family and hers, inside a box on his counter.
Then an e-mail screen came up. And you watched as the cursor attached a file called “Complete Cuck Target Beta Tango Foxtrot: All bogies down.” And in his address field was the head of the Federal Reserve, the secretary of state, and the president of the United States. And in the e-mail he wrote “Footage of target being neutralized by “accident” and all female friendlies being violated.” Then he deleted all of it and wrote “That’s civilian speak for you, Obstacle,” deleted that and retyped instead “Code Blue: Extreme Prejudice: 98% A1776F9.” He circled the cursor multiple times around the send button, mocking you. Finally, he clicked it.
The screen went black, then white text appeared on the screen. “Sorry about papa. But somebody has to take care of this nation’s enemies. But I guess I don’t have to apologize for what we did to your mom yesterday. You seemed to enjoy it.” Footage of you jerking off in the washroom replayed for a second. Then back to black. “Just be happy that your family will be the best example to deter more do-gooders from trying to blow the whistle on those who keep this world safe. You’ll be the last person I talk to in this life. There’s a young woman a thousand miles from here whose daddy stumbled onto the wrong military testing site. I need to get a head start on being that shoulder she can cry on before she loses her dad to a freak accident nobody saw coming. We call her The Human Tits.
“Play it cool, and you’ll never have to see me again. And don’t get any ambitious ideas. There’s plenty of ways to cuck yourself that don’t involve you going missing. All the camera footage is in a single file with the name of the first girl you had a crush on on it. Don’t ask how we know that. Do what you’d like with that footage. This video will self-destruct in 3. 2.”
You braced yourself against the office chair.
“1″ And the video closed and the file disappeared. A whimper, not a bang.
You stood in your doorway, and stared at your mom’s naked ass. You were even more enamored with it knowing that its fate was being decided as high up as the white house itself. And your dad’s gift for trying to be the hero was that the fate of his wife’s ass was no longer his to decide. It was nice and fitting as far aw you were concerned. You were already looking forward to life after your dad’s death and what that meant for your mom’s ass. But things had already escalated so quickly into something heavenly and gorgeous, like your mom’s ass.
You had no idea about what it was your dad risked his life and the safety of his family to blow the whistle about, but whatever it was, there was no way it was better than this. You were glad that bogie had been neutralized and there was nobody there to watch your mom’s 6.
The only one left was you, and you’d rather watch your mom’s 6 get pounded.
Epilogue
The little box sitting on the counter glowed with a subtle red ambience. Inside, the wedding ring sitting alone buzzed slightly and it flashed every half-second with that infrared light.
In an abandoned district in Siberia, underneath a dilapidated building, a team of 14 KGB personnel stand in the glow of 12 computer screens, each one with its own distinct bars and graphs representing things only they’re trained to understand.
“Agents Svetlanza’s vital signs are zero” says a female voice in Russian.
“Do you think she has been neutralized?”
An older gentlemen steps out from his shadow holding a lit cigar. “No,” he says confidently.
“Then why can we not pick her up?”
“Her ring is off.”
“But she gave no signal for its removal, Vokolov.”
“She didn’t expect to remove it,” he said before inhaling from his cigar.
“You mean…”
He exhaled and watched the smoke as he finished his new guy’s thought. “Somebody else removed it.”
“So they’re on to her?”
The wise old owl of the relatively young team shook his head. “No. If they were onto her they’d have put the ring on another’s finger to keep us in the dark.“ All but 6 of the personnel looked at him, eager for an explanation. He continued, “I told them when I first saw her 22 years ago that this would happen.”
One of the young men asked him, though still not understanding what happened, “and they didn’t listen?”
“No, they listened. They sent her, just as I suggested. We were all excited for it to happen. I didn’t think it would take 22 years. Dmitri would have been proud. We told her that mastering an American accent wasn’t enough, that she’d have to go clubbing for a few years to really understand American culture and fit in, but she was clearly uninterested and she found somebody to settle down and had children almost immediately.
“That’s why it took 22 years instead of months like we all thought it would. With her ‘assets’, she would have been the perfect mark in those clubs. American men strike quickly and we trained her specifically to be naive. She doesn’t even understand her own son and he’s dripping with the need to see exactly what we wanted to see. Now the day has arrived.”
The older men in the room nodded knowingly, each one bursting with a weird energy. A younger woman piped in “should we arrange for another ring?”
The man exhaled a cloud of smoke. “No. Our work here is done, comrades. We’ll wait for her next broadcast and tell her her mission was successful. It may have taken 22 years but it was worth every second, especially with this team. Agent Svetlana was the best our country had to offer. And America got her when she was at her prime. The ripe age of 40. Her ‘asset’ has only improved in these two decades. Let her live a normal life now. Ill miss her. She was like a daughter to me.”
He sighed deeply.
“We’ll be monitoring a new Svetlana tomorrow or the day after. Another young lady with big ‘assets’. Two of them actually. I’ve examined them myself and I’m eager to put them in the American field of action. We’ve trained her to accept drinks from strangers and to always leave her’s unguarded when she’s on the dance floor. And in case she fails in her mission, like Svetlana, she’s been modified on a genetic level to produce only male children with low testosterone who’ll crave for her to complete her mission without even knowing she’s on a mission. Just like Svetlana’s son. Lucky boy.”
The uninitiated sat there and stared at their Vokolov with his cigar blazing. This was the most naked glimpse into what their mission really was and still they didn’t understand. All the male personnel knew was that they would miss Agent Svetlana’s pretty face and the rare moments when they’d see her full profile in her video transmissions.
And most of all, the one time Volokov made her write a message in between her butt cheeks and had her silently stand naked in her video call and open her butt cheeks to show the message. The men were happy that protocol in that instance worked out so strongly in their favor. The fact that this mode of communication was dictated by Volokov for Christmas Day went right over the heads of the male personnel who were the receivers of this stocking stuffer.
Little did they understand that that measure, like everything having to do with Agent Svetlana, was a joke on her. All of this was. There was a reason every active KGB was a beautiful woman. All 332 of them. And there was a reason why they never knew what their mission was exactly or how to accomplish it, or any martial arts or espionage or basic common sense.
Only the higher ups knew what was going on. And they were currently enjoying the good news about their favorite field operative and the fate of her ‘assets’ right now. All of their best assets were in the West, the Middle East, or Africa. The entire country had its top tier females sent abroad for active duty. It was the largest and most sophisticated cucking operation in all the world. Russian tits and ass were being fondled, groped, and Russian pussies and mouths were being fucked, consciously or unconsciously in over 56 countries. It was as if Mother Russia herself was being groped, fondled, and ravaged.
And all across the intelligence agencies, those in the know could celebrate that the best representative that Russia had to offer had been pounded by American cock.
But you were oblivious to all of this, on the other side of the world, and you shot your second load between your mom’s ass cheeks. “I love you mom,” you said, as you lay down next to her under the covers and cuddled with her naked body up against yours.
You were at a house party. It was being held by a family friend who was your age. You didn’t like him very much. You never have. But your mom convinced you that the both of you should go. She said that it wasn’t right to not show up to his big special day, but you could tell her real concern was for you to get out of the house and meet people for once in your life.
Who knows, you could maybe find a girlfriend there or something. She also said she wanted to see the birthday boy now that he was all grown up. She‘s known him since he was little, and it’s been a few years since the last time she saw him.
As you sat in the car, watching the street lights pass in the night, you couldn’t believe you let her convince you to go to this stupid party. You were sure that nothing good, exciting, sexual, or romantic would happen to you that night. Your life sucked up to this point. Why would tonight be any different? But regardless, you went to make your mom happy. You could never say no to her. The look on your face when you finally caved into her requests was always so heavenly it warmed you from your toes to your tummy.
When you finally got to the loud, crowded party, you sat in the corner and watched people be normal in a way that you just couldn’t muster. You especially watched your old “friend”, the birthday boy, hit on girls and brag about his accomplishments in life to them. It seemed so cocky, arrogant, and even fake. But nobody seemed to notice. Not even your mom. The girls listening to his tall tales watched with wide-eyes as his stories neared their tired punchlines, which somehow always seemed both predictable and unlikely.
But what could you do? What could you do other than watch as everyone there got drunker and drunker as the night went on, Including your mom, who was really tipping them back.
And then something funny happened. Something unexpected. Girls were approaching you, with smiles on their dimpled faces, and they were trying to get you to dance with them, much to your terror and joy. You kept replying to the negative whenever they did, almost reflexively, as if your fight or flight instinct was trying to save you from being mauled by tigers. But as the night wore on, the horrifying and uncertain novelty of finally being brought into the fold was starting to wear off, and you eventually gave in.
And then you approached the dance floor with something approaching confidence, and when you got there, and you began shaking to the music while holding them close, they repaid your new act of courage by laughing at your dance moves. Some of them even pointed. You sulked back to your little corner shamefully where you swore to yourself that you would never dance again. This night really was going to be just like every other night in your boring, dull life. Why would you expect it to be any different? Fun, excitement, and erotic experiences and conquests were for other people. Not you.
You looked back up at the party around you, hoping nobody was looking back at you, then you drew your eyesight back to the floor, shook your head, and then-
Wait a second!
You looked back up.
You mom was talking to the birthday boy.
Well, there was nothing wrong with that of course. It would all be so perfectly innocent.
Except….
She was sitting on his lap.
She was leaned back with her head on his chest and his chin on the top of her skull. His big strong arms were wrapped around her waist. He was holding a plastic cup with beer in it out in front of the two of them, and every once in a while he would lift it to her face and she’d take a sip. Well… it was more than just a sip.
You’d pay close attention to the way her bubble but was mushed up against the welcoming groove in his pelvis. You could tell he had an erection by the miracle of your mom’s ass rippling subtly every few seconds while his cock was satisfied face every time this happened. Your mom’s face showed no sign of knowledge regarding what was happening beneath her. At least not at first. Not until she cracked a smile and looked back at him with a peculiar naughtiness in her eyes. You’ve never seen that look on her gorgeous face before. It was like seeing a completely new woman.
You could tell that the cock he was packing impressed her. How big that thing must have grown since she knew him as a kid. And imagine how he must have felt with that legendary ass (one that probably shaped his sexual discovery in his formative years) with it’s fleshiness swallowing his hard cock and all its active nerve-endings.
Your mom wasn’t the only person impressed. You couldn’t believe how much it aroused you to see someone you hated since childhood now taking your mom in this fashion. You knew you should step up to the plate to stop this, it was the manly thing to do, but the strong cocktail of fear and arousal kept you glued to your seat, wherever this ride was headed.
The birthday boy and your mom continued like this while chatting with each other, and to nearby house guests. After about an hour, your mom was completely plastered. She was a hot, affectionate, giggly mess. A sweet, condensation drenched, low-hanging fruit, that smelled like cherry and vodka, ripe for the picking.
And your “friend” was eager to capitalize. And capitalize he did. While your mom was sitting on your lap looking like she was in love, he grabbed her top, with his index finger in between her cleavage. Your mouth hung open as you wondered if he was going to do it.
He did.
He pulled her top down, exposing her tits to his crowded basement.
She tried to pull her shirt and bra back up, but he put his arms in the way as an obstacle and kept forcing her shirt down every time she made progress, while moving his head from side to side as if to say no, until she finally gave up. Then he grabbed her right breast, squeezed it and leaned over her shoulder and began kissing it.
Everyone was cheering and laughing at this wild spectacle and taking pictures. He was groping both tits hard and passionately, and she was in too much drunken bliss and excitement to realize it was a bad idea to let him continue. You’ve never seen tits before, so even though they were attached to you mom you couldn’t help but get a little bit turned on seeing them. You saw what all the fuss was about.
Those two round glorious things lived underneath the very roof you did since the day you were born, and it was only now that you were seeing just how glorious they were. And to make it more surreal, you were one of dozens of guys to see them for the first time, all at once, all in this loud, crowded, smokey, liquor stained basement.
But the night was young, and the strangeness contained within it had just gotten started. Things started to escalate quickly. So quickly, you couldn’t believe you were there to witness it. You watched, totally riveted, as he removed her pants and panties, with only token objecting from her, and after removing his own pants, he began pumping away at your mom from behind. Everyone was cheering and you could feel the energy of the crowd, and the warmth of being in a room with people who all felt that same ethereal wave. Guys were getting jerked off by their girlfriends as they watched this. You realized how much you wished you had a girlfriend in that moment, just so she could sit beside you and play with your cock, which was now harder than it had ever been in your life.
You could feel the sense of community in the room and suddenly you understood why people held parties. You continued watching in glee, and then suddenly you felt something on your prick. It was something warm. Warm and soft. It was a hand. A woman’s hand.
“i’ve been watching you all night, and now you’re mine.” you looked over and it was a girl. A cute one too. You were shocked as she pulled the cock out of your pants and began playing with it. You had never even kissed a girl before, other than your mom on her cheek. You had never even hugged a girl other than your mom, when you could feel her big tits hidden in her shirt pressed against your skinny chest, the same tits that were across from you in that basement bouncing around liberally as she was being fucked.
And now here you were, getting a hand job form a girl you haven’t even met before. You had felt what her hand felt like on your crotch before even seeing her face. It felt amazing. She told you to keep your eyes ahead and watch “the show,” as she called it.
She was asking you questions the whole time, eager to get to know the guy she was giving a free handy to. Some questions were personal, some informal. She seemed really into you. Shockingly into you. She wanted to know your name, your age, how you knew the host, you favorite song, when the last time you cried was. She was so cool. You couldn’t believe anybody, never the less a woman, would ever feel these things toward you. You and your mom were having the time of your lives, as was everyone else. Especially your family friend, who was being cheered on, as he grunted and grinned, fucking your mom’s ass while groping her big, naked, brown, breasts and kissing her passionately.
He had waited years to fuck her. It had only been a fantasy until tonight. Just jerkoff fodder that had now become a hard as concrete reality with all his friends to witness it on the anniversary of the day he was brought into this world 19 years ago.
It was glorious. It was oh-so-perfect. Suddenly, the beautiful mysterious girl jerking you off asked “who is that woman? She’s beautiful.“
You replied with "she’s my mom.” You couldn’t get it out fast enough.
Suddenly the jerking stopped. A few guys and girls near you were looking at you. The only girl in your life stood motionless for a few seconds, your cock still in her petrified hand, then she got up and walked away in disgust. She went from being enamored with you to stonewalling you out of existence within only 10 minutes of you knowing her, leaving your hard cock out to dry. The 3 guys and 4 women who heard you say that that was your mom being fucked by the birthday boy up there looked down at your hard, twitching cock. One of them just shook his head and snorted.
But their attention was snatched away when your mom yelled out “i love you!!! Fuck me harder, baby!!!” Everyone started laughing. Your “friend” just looked at his audience, took his right hand off your mom’s hip, and, without her seeing, began twirling his index finger around his blushing ear, as if to say “this bitch is crazy,” much to the delight of all his friends.
Your mom wasn’t just jerk off material to everyone, but she was apparently also comic relief. “You’ve grown so big” she continued, “i feel like i raised you.”
That did it. You gear shifted to an even higher level of joy. A joy higher than what you felt with that pretty girl’s soft palm on your balls. You had nothing to be ashamed of. Who needs her hand anyway? Especially since you have your own. The people who heard you say that it was your mom being fucked began laughing when they turned over to see you jerking off your cock in complete ecstasy. There laughs had no effect on you. At least not a negative one.
The girl you were just with a few minutes ago was off in another corner, jerking off a new guy and kissing his neck passionately. He looked like he was in pure ecstasy. Pure ecstasy one level below yours.
“She doesn’t look so good!” broke your focus on your “ex’s” hand on that strange hard dick.
You looked over at your mom.
She looked sick. Oh no! She wasn’t going to, was she? She did. She started to throw up. Much to everyone’s delight. Luckily she was standing over the garbage. You didn’t realize she was this drunk. but it was obvious in hindsight. Why else would she be getting fucked in a room full of strange young people? She was probably out of her mind right now. How could you let that happen? It didn’t really matter. You weren’t going to stop it now. It was just getting good.
Your “friend” didn’t stop or slow down his pace as she was threw up. In between smirking, he made sudden euphoric facial expressions, likely because your mom’s pussy was tightening over his dick as she vomited into the empty black abyss just below her. You liked the sound your mom made when she puked. You found it strangely intimate the way a room full of men could hear a sound from your mom’s throat that would usually only be made in the privacy of her washroom. It was almost as if they were watching her take a crap. It was nice.
When she was finally done puking, your “friend” lowered her on all fours. The garbage can slid down to a horizontal position with her. He was on his knees now, fucking her like the animal he turned her into. The top half of her body was swallowed up by the garbage can, leaving only her waist, ass, thighs, calves, ankles, feet and toes exposed to her audience.
With each pump he pushed her deeper into that garbage can, until the can totally hid her golden, brown body from view. She must of had her hand and knees in her own vomit at this point. Everyone was laughing for the unrestrained insanity of this moment. So were you. Your cock was in heaven. And the people who knew it was your mom being fucked got double the joke, including your “friend” who was just smiling as he did this.
Eventually you could hear your mom puking from inside the garbage can. You could see the silhouette of her hand when she pressed it against the side, almost as if she couldn’t tell where she was and she was trying to escape her new prison. The whole thing must have reaked of her vomit. It was almost like she was trapped inside her own stomach. This made it even funnier and more arousing. Although, you did feel sorry for her. Not enough to come to her rescue though.
Your “friend” then pulled out of your mom’s pussy. Then he grabbed your mom by her calves and pulled her out of the garbage can in a motion that mirrored the visual of his cock coming out of her pussy. She came out with her face scraping on the bottom of the can. She had her own vomit all over her face and chest. A lot of it had soaked up into her shirt. Everyone laughed and took pictures. She was unbelievably confused.
The night continued on like this for so long that people no longer saw your mom getting fucked as novel or interesting. It was a like a regular party again, except it was one that had your mommy being fucked as background noise. You were the only one that didn’t have the magic wear out on. You could never tired of this. You watched intently as people passed through your line of sight, temporarily blocking you from seeing your mom get plowed. You were still beating off. especially not that other guys at the party were having their crack at her and her golden goodness. She was barely awake at that point, just a mumbling, sticky mess with her ass up in the air comically. They preferred her that way though. And so did you.
When your mom woke up the next morning, with her pants off and covered in puke and with cum on her face and ass, she didn’t remember the events of the night before. You told her that you didn’t either. Everyone else said the same thing. That might have been true in a few of their cases. It was a wild party after all. But half of them had photographic evidence on their phones to remind them. They didn’t show her of course. they’d rather play stupid and not implicate themselves in her violation.
Those pictures got around quickly. One of the pictures captured both your mom and “friend” fucking in the foreground with you in the background beating off in your pure bliss. It reminded you of a picture your mom had from years ago. It was stuck to your fridge with a magnet that looked like a school bus. The picture was of her, much younger - as old as you and your “friend” are today - playing with you and your “friend” in a sandbox. Your “friend” had her attention. She was smiling while leaning over, examining the toy he had in his hands, smiling as her big tits almost cascaded out of her top and her big, round butt, firmer than it is now, stood up in the air. You were standing in the background, with your toy in your right hand, looking at them with a smile.
Your mom wanted you and her to go to that party to rekindle that past. The one you almost forgot about. In a weird way, she did rekindle it.
You were standing at the back of the line and you couldn’t contain your smile. Of all the places in the world, this was the place where you finally get to see him again. In the most humiliating place possible. For him that is.
The shoe was on the other foot. It was a jack boot, and you were about to shove it so far up his proverbial ass you’d be able to control his facial expressions by wiggling your toes.
Another customer served, another link in the chain busted free, another step closer. You couldn’t wait. Those long gone days. You remember them like they were yesterday. One memory in particular, likely because of how similar it was to where you were now. In line in your old elementary school cafeteria. Standing just behind the blonde girl you had a crush on. The edges of existence itself felt blurred whenever you were around her. Everything looked like a dream sequence in the cartoons you got up early to watch ever Saturday morning. Except things felt more real, not less, whenever she was standing near you.
You couldn’t feel your legs, as if you were floating. She was inches in front of you. You wanted that moment to last forever.
Then suddenly: “Hey, Dirty Sanchez. Mind if I cut in line?”
You turned around suddenly to see him standing there, a full 2 and a half feet taller than you. Unluckily, everybody else in line turned to look as well. They started laughing at his pet name for you. He just looked down at you with that smug grin.
“I hope you don’t mind me cutting in front,” he said as he did, “think of it kind of like jumping the border. I’m sure you know what that’s like.”
Your classmates didn’t get the reference. But you did, and you were trying real hard to fight back the tears. You knew that once you let just one loose, the rest would follow in force.
“I saw that.” You turned around to see your teacher, Mrs. Botaccelli, approaching. “Cutting kids in line? Really?” Her look of disgust was palpable.
“What?”
“Get out of line before I go to the superintendent.”
“The superintendent? Why not go to the principal?” he suggested, smug grin and all.
“Well, maybe it’s because a little bird told me that the principal is actually your uncle. And I was wondering who would hire you for this job. I knew it had to either be stupidity or nepotism. Turns out it was both.”
“Looks like you won this time. Now turn around and leave.” He stepped out of the line, smug grin still affixed to his helmet.
Mrs. Botaccelli just smiled as she walked off. He stared at her as she did.
“I like her even more when she’s walking away,” he said. He looked over at you. “You ever seen a butt that nice?”
You just stared up at him. You have. You saw it everyday at home. Little did he know, in the next few weeks, he was going to see it too.
Another customer was served, and you were another step closer to his dead-eyed gaze as a he piled food onto the tray of another satisfied customer. Service without a smile. His hairnet was the cherry on top of this fulfilling sundae.
You were lost in thought yet again. To the first day he saw her. She had come in to help with student reading week. I’m talking about your mom of course. She was bent over the desk, having a conversation with Mrs. Boteccelli. He looked over at their slightly bent over butts as they leaned over the desk. It was bittersweet. He loved seeing those two gorgeous asses lined up so perfectly next to each other, contrasting each other beautifully, but he didn’t want Mrs. Boteccelli to tell your mom about what a real piece of work he was.
“Hey, Dirty Sanchez, how do you like the look of that? If you look at the line in between her forearm and her bicep, you can tell what her butt looks like. Man, that’s a nice tan shade. Is she your mom?” He clearly asked that as a joke, because when your mom turned around, and catching your eye, waved to you, smiled, and said “hi” silently, his face turned white. Whiter than usual that is.
Mrs. Boteccelli gave him her patented disgusted look as she ushered your mom off to where the books were kept.
You could feel him next to you. You could always sense him when he was near. But now he was different. Like something inside him was missing. The same thing that made him so imposing to you.
And when he finally got a chance to start talking to your mom, it was clear what that something was. His confidence. He had no way of knowing what your mom knew. Has she heard the stories about the way he talks to you? Does she know about the time he tripped you when you were playing soccer with your classmates just to see you fall? Does she know about the way he openly brings up Mrs. Botaccelli’s butt to the students?
He had no way of knowing, and this uncertainty was what robbed him of his swagger. It showed in the way he talked to your mom. For the first time ever, you had lost all fear of him. He was like an injured bird or a chastised dog. You almost felt sorry for him. Not for too long though.
Eventually, reading week ended, just like any other week, and your mom was gone. This was enough to restore his mojo, robbing you of the satisfaction of knowing your mom, and her “gorgeous butt”, would be away from him, because, when it came to how he treated you, he just picked up where he left off.
He went right back to calling you Dirty Sanchez. He went right back to treating you like his favorite pinata, beating you with words whenever he got his chance. Except now, he had a new stick to beat you with. Once while doing finger painting, he came up close beside you and asked if you ever saw your mom’s butt naked before. You didn’t know how to answer that. He said that you should draw what it looks like for him.
You were so afraid, as he stood there, kneeling right next to you, that you instead painted out an image of your mom’s friend’s butt, which you had accidentally seen once.
“That’s your mom’s?” He asked. You nodded your head, sheepishly. “Cool. Can I keep it?” You nodded again.
Another time, he saw you picking pedals off a flower, playing She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not with your blonde classmate in mind. He came up to you and asked you what you were doing. You stood there quietly, afraid to move, never mind speak. He asked you if you were playing “My Mom’s Butt, Mrs. Boteccelli’s Butt.” You didn’t answer. You just pulled off another pedal. He said “Mrs. Boteccelli’s butt.” You looked at him. He stared down at you intently. “Pick another pedal.” You did. He responded with “Your mom’s butt. Okay, another one. Mrs. Boteccelli’s butt. Your mom’s butt. Mrs. Boteccelli’s butt. Your mom’s butt. Boteccelli’s butt.”
When you got near the end, the flower looking dismal and dead in your hand, you knew your mom’s butt would be the “winner” (lucky her…) so you ripped off two pedals at once. “Your dirty spick,” is what he responded with. “Your mom’s it is. The gods have spoken. That’s what happens when you cheat.”
Luckily for you, reading week was reading week and not reading year. If it wasn’t for that one field trip at the zoo, he never would have seen your mom again at all. The best part of all was that even on that field trip, her shirt hung down over her ass, obscuring it from his greedy eyes. He didn’t even get one farewell look at it.
He was trying to make up for his lack of confidence the last time he saw your mom by being as loud and obnoxious as possible. He kept trying to make small talk with her, but she seemed to be responding to him mostly out of a feminine urge to be nice, rather than actual interest in the conversation. Mrs. Boteccelli rolled her eyes at him.
To top it all off, that would be his last day at work. While you and your classmates sat in the dark enclosure, watching the owls sit in the artificial moonlight, something happened in the parking lot involving him that was so beyond the pale that, later that day, his uncle had to find the stomach to fire his own nephew from the gig he initially provided him. Principal giveth, principal taketh away.
Your field trip was over.
On your way back to your classroom, walking past the office, you saw Mrs. Boteccelli describing the mystery event through the glass. You couldn’t hear her, but you saw her rocking her fist back and forth in front of her face and pressing her cheek outward with her tongue. It wasn’t until years later that you knew what that meant. He must have made that gesture at her after they argued in the parking lot over the usual. He might have even groped her. That’s what you gathered from the slapping motion she made with her hand just as you and your classmates were herded around the corner and she was out of view.
It was finally over. He was gone.
For years you wondered where he went. He was the little voice in the back of your head telling you you weren’t good enough. Making you feel like an outsider. You always wondered if seeing him would send you into shock or whether it would de-fang his legend in your overactive imagination. Well, you now how your answer.
You smiled as you took another step closer. The woman before you ordered a crescent and a smoothie. His eyes were dead. He had none of the usual joy he exuded when working as your recess monitor. Life had beat him down. He bitterly, but non-defiantly, handed the woman her tray and she walked off.
You took your step up to his counter. Your palms were sweating. You would have found it impossible to conceal your joy even if your life depended on it. “Hi,” you said.
“Hi,” he said, looking down at the register.
“Can I get a ham and Swiss with a water.”
<tap> <tap> <tap> “Yeah. That’ll be $5.28.”
You pulled the ten dollar bill out of your pocket and before handing it to his outstretched palm, you pulled it back, lifted it to your face, and scratched your cheek. He followed the bill as it moved, across the table, up your stomach and chest, right up to your face, and then he made eye contact.
He froze.
You stood there smiling, from ear to ear, all your pride seeing him in this low state. It had all built up to this moment.
He looked at you for a second, in your eyes which must have shone cruelly as black suns.
Would he say anything?
Suddenly, the corners of his mouth bent slightly upwards. And they kept going. And the lines on his eyes creased, and his lips kept on, until it hit you. He was smiling.
Confidently. Smugly. Wide. Enthusiastically. Genuinely. He was smiling.
He was smiling right at you.
What was going on?
He was happy to see you. Unashamed. Almost as if you were the one who should be embarrassed.
But…
A terror took hold of you like you couldn’t describe. So much so that you knew you were telegraphing it with your face, no matter how hard you tried to hide it.
His smile wouldn’t break. He was a foot away from your face, grinning confidently, as if he wanted to laugh at some cruel joke, or some sad figure. Like he was watching a clown locked in its most ridiculous bit. He was beaming like you’ve never seen him. So familiar, yet so new and sick.
What was happening?
Suddenly, the image of Mrs. Boteccelli standing in that office flashed in your mind. She lifted her fist to her face, rocked it back and forth, and pressed her inner cheek with her tongue. With her right hand, she made a slapping motion, as if smacking a fat bottom, until she disappeared as you rounded the corner.
It kept replaying in your head, as if you were scanning each pixel of your memory for clues.
You were being walked into class by the bus driver because your teacher, wide-eyed in the principal’s office, was passionately describing what she saw in that parking lot. He cheek bulged in and out.
Her typical look of disgust at all things him, which had been burnt into your memory, wasn’t really there now that you think of it. She had more humor in her face. Like she enjoyed what she had seen. At least the messed up spectacle of it. Like she had just came out of a circus tent, excited to relay the contents of the freak to those still waiting in line. She seen something in that parking lot, she wasn’t the victim of it. She was the witness.
The bus driver, when looking back to make sure all the students were following him through the hallway, kept locking eyes with you. One of the teachers was leaning over the librarian’s desk speaking to her in hushed tones, as if sharing news she shouldn’t be. When your class passed by they looked over. They watched with concern in their faces as the cloudy mass of students passed, waiting for them to disappear so they could continue talking. No, they weren’t looking at the class with concern. They were looking right at you.
The bus driver brought you all into class and got you to sit down. He had you play classroom games to pass the time until your teacher was back. Usually the recess monitor would do that, but he was in trouble for whatever he did in that zoo parking lot so he wasn’t there. But if the recess monitor wasn’t there, then the parent volunteer should have….
….where was your mom during all this?
The beads of sweat fell thick along your face as he stared into your eyes, grinning at the gift God set before him.
Mrs. Botecculli, trying not to laugh, excited to share what she saw with the principal, jerked her fist in front of her face, and poked into her cheek comically. Then she lifted her hand up and made a smacking motion in the air, and she said something. You couldn’t hear it, but you could see her mouthing the syllables out in a way that was familiar to you. You could see it now, as clear as day and in slow motion. Each syllable isolated, but said in quick succession. It was a name.
Oh god!
No!
She disappeared as you rounded the corner.
He stared into your eyes. Your face was red hot with shame and submission. The bulge in his beige khakis twitched. His smile wide and unceasing like the sky. His back straight and his chin up, his eyes twisted at you, maniacal in their ecstasy. But he didn’t laugh. That would have been a release. He held on to the moment and savored it.
Not knowing what to do, you handed him your ten, wet with your sweat, and you walked off, forgetting to wait for change. You went to go sit down, and you tilted your tray, spilling your water all along the table and floor, causing everybody else sitting there to look over at you.
You went over and grabbed a napkin with your stiff limb. You wiped up the mess you made, not very well, and then you sat down, hearing and feeling a moistness on your ass as you did. You lifted your sandwich to your face, taking a bite, as if nothing was the matter. You chewed but you didn’t taste.
He was behind you, and without looking, you could feel him looking down at you, at the back of your head, the smile still there. It was as if he was a giant looking in at you through the window that stretched from one corner to the other. You ate on as if he wasn’t there. The back of your neck and ears were as red as hot coals. When you finished, you got up and walked away without looking back, with a dry throat and nothing to drink to make it wet again.
Your dad died in the coldest and most remote part of planet earth. He had been there for the past 6 months, doing what he loved, but doing it away from the people he loved. He was researching penguins, the famously monogamous species of bird. They can’t fly, but they can love. Your dad died in his room in the facility put together by the mostly Icelandic research team. He died next to pictures of you and your mom taped all up and down his wall.
He had only one framed photo. It was of him and your mom kissing on their wedding day. You can still hear the silverware clanging against 350 glasses and soup bowls now.
When your neighbor heard the news, from who-knows-who, he leaned in to hug your mom beside your driveway, his arms tight around the small of her back. She hugged him limply with her arms lightly touching his upper back, as little contact as she could get away with giving, and then she pushed him off, hard enough to break his tight grip. As she walked off, he watched her intently, and then told her that if there was anything she needed, he’d be there. His gaze lifted to meet hers when she turned around to give a brisk “thanks,” and when she turned back around to get into the car and leave, his gaze dropped back downward until the goods disappeared behind her car door.
That day, like so many other days, she went to her sister’s to cry with her on her living room couch.
It had been almost a month now since you and your mom heard the news. And it was only now that you had gotten the letter. It appears it was caught in between the wall and the bed of his room in the facility, and it was only found, by luck, when your dad’s replacement got there and began moving the bed to make the room feel more like his own room back home.
You stared down at the letter, taking a moment to open it. When you did, there was a note inside, scribbled on a single piece of line paper in black pen. It didn’t have his name, but you knew it was him. You knew it was him because the writing looked exactly like yours. People used to point that out to you all the time. They’d bring it up whenever they had a nature vs. nurture argument to settle. Nobody ever won the argument with certainty. But when people outside of your family had the same verbal skirmish and they used your mom and your auntie’s bodies as a point of comparison, and a specific part of their bodies in particular, nature took the match. Nurture threw in the towel.
This was your dad’s writing all right, but you had never seen his writing in black before. Your mom only kept purple pens around the house and he wrote with whatever she bought. It was also written on an individual piece of line paper. At your house, all you ever had were notebooks. Everything that needed writing - from messages from phone calls, down to notes left on the fridge, write-ups by your dad, or poetry written by your mom - had those torn rings on the left side, right where it had been ripped out of its notebook and made useful the way paper is destined by its very structure to be.
The world had stopped around you, and you wanted to hold off indefinitely from probing the contents of your dad’s final message to you, but you gritted your teeth and read on.
The message read:
“Hello my darling wife and my precious boy. Maybe if I come off too cheerful in this letter, it’ll be insulting. After all, if you’re getting this, it’s because I’m gone. If I’m not gone, then you probably will never see this. It’ll be burned up in our firepit out back. You’ll ask me what it was and I’ll tell you it’s nothing and I’ll look on at you in the orange glow of the fire and be happy. I miss you guys so much. I shouldn’t be here.
“The reason why I’m taking my time to write this note to you is because I’ve come down with a fever. I’ve never felt this way before and though everyone tells me I’ll be okay, I don’t believe them. You can feel dishonesty in the air sometimes. Especially if you know somebody well enough. And forgive me honey, but your people aren’t good liars. There’s something about that Scandinavian flat-affect. You never lied to me so I couldn’t have picked up on it from you, but your countrymen, being scientists, have had plenty to lie about in the past few months.
“The pictures of their wives back home remind me of you but less pretty. There’s so much about you that’s distinct, like a body out of time and place. Your smile and and your hands and other parts of you that you know I love so much. I know our son is probably reading this and rolling his eyes. You know what was there between me and you was everything. We’ve been through it a million times. To bring it up again in print might cheapen it. Our memories will live on forever. They’ll be the last thing I see before I go. I hope I gave you enough to daydream about when you’re bored. I’m asking that rhetorically. I know that just one memory with you is enough to relive a thousand times over, and I know that for you, you feel the same. I love you, rabbit.
“And now that we can’t form any new memories, you’re going to have to find somebody else to form them with. You’ll shake your head as you read this, but in time you’ll agree with me that you deserve it. Just make sure he’s kind, and smart, and understanding, and - like me - oh-so handsome and irresistible, and that he loves you like I did and still do. I’d press this issue, but I know that in time, you’ll see it my way.
“And to my son, my pride and joy. It’s your job to make sure your mom picks good. We both know she has good taste, after all, you’re the combination of our genetics, but just in case, keep your eyes peeled as much as they were when we’d bird-watch by the lake. You’ll always be my little scout and I know your instincts are good. If you can spot a Spotted Sandpiper from as far as you used to, you can spot a dud when he knocks on the front door with flowers. But like I said, your mom is too smart for you to have to worry about that. She’ll pick somebody like me, except he won’t be stupid enough to leave her for months for his work.
“I’m so proud of you, I can’t even put it into words. I hope in some way, I’ll get to see your future, or some day you can tell me about it. I know you’re a little shy and you sometimes beat yourself up about it. But don’t. Confidence comes from practice and making mistakes. You have your whole life ahead of you and there’s nobody who can stop you. The cards are in your hand, it’s just a matter of playing them.
“I could go on and on forever, but then I would only bore the two of you. It was through you guys that I lived and I loved and through you that I’ll live forever. My rabbit, I love you and, like your beauty and character, that love we shared lives in a place where time and distance have no meaning. My son, I can’t wait til you have kids so you can know what I feel every time I think of you.
“It’s been a beautiful life. Thanks for making it that way. Goodbye.”
You sat on the armchair of your couch in the silence of your living room. It had gotten dark outside and you were now sitting in the twilight. Small parts of the note had been washed away with tears. You got up and wiped your face with a tissue, then you grabbed a pen from the computer desk next to the 3 notebooks sitting one on top of each other. You filled in the smudged words and sentences from memory. Little islands of purple surrounded by black ink. It looked almost as if your dad had written over his own tears marks before sending the letter.
Suddenly, your silent moment was cut short by a banging on the front door. The note and your pen fell to the ground.
You wiped your face once more with your sleeve and you opened the door. It was your neighbor. He had a half-grin on his face, wholly inappropriate for the context of his visit. He asked “Is your mom home?”
“No.”
“Oh. Okay. I thought she’d be home because her car was still here,” he said skeptically, as if you were lying to him.
“That’s what I thought when I came home to. But she texted me and said she was with my aunt, so she probably picked her up.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, when she comes back can you tell her that I’m going to take her to a movie? I just want to cheer her up. A good movie and she’ll be good as new. Tell her ‘no’ is not an option unless the question is ‘do you want butter on your pop corn?’ Tell her we’ll go in her car and remind her to bring money for her ticket. Tell her not to get too fancy. She looks good in everything. Even those comfortable sweatpants she wears on weekend. You know what? Never mind. I’ll come back when she’s home and tell her. I wouldn’t want you screwing it up or anything. Thanks, pal. See ya.”
He turned around and walked off.
You closed the door, and it was as if he was never there. The note, along with its envelope, were on the ground. You knelt down to pick it up, placed it on the computer desk on top of the stack of notebooks, and then you got down on the floor to grab the pen from under the couch.
The forgotten space under the couch looked like a model junk yard. It was your dad who always remembered to move the couch when cleaning. He would never move the couch again. There were plenty of things he’d never do again.
You got back up with the pen in your hand and you picked up the note and envelope, ready to put it all back in place and leave it on the kitchen table for your mom to see. You looked down at the notebooks sitting there. You tapped your foot on the ground as you bit the end of the envelope lightly in your teeth.
A smile formed across your cheeks.
———————————————————
Your mom shut the door behind her. She sighed deeply as she kicked off her shoes, her face puffy from crying. Her sister had held her against her chest as they both cried for hours.
She put her keys into the glass bowl, looked at herself in the mirror, placed her purse on the computer desk, almost tipping over the cup full of pens and she walked into the kitchen.
Suddenly, her eyes were drawn to the foreign element on the table. A white envelope. She saw that it had been opened, and she knew that you had read it and placed it right there where she’d see it, for when it was her turn to see what it was.
It took opening it up to make her start crying again.
When she finally composed herself, she pulled a piece of paper, both sides covered in black ink with interludes in purple, from the envelope.
She read it, and as she did, her crying became more strong, deeper, profound with each sentence read. It was a sweet sound, even with all the sadness. It was the sound of someone receiving closure they never thought they’d see. She shook her head at a few things said in the letter, like he predicted she would, and when it was done, she put it back down and held her hands to her forehead.
She looked over at the envelope and saw another piece of paper sticking out. She pulled it out and looked at it. Written in purple pen it said “this one is just for mom, scout. No peeking.”
Wide-eyed, she opened it up, bright and purple, and she began reading.
It said:
“Hello, rabbit. I was only being facetious in the last note when I talked about being insulting. But with this one, I’m actually worried a little bit. Not too much, because I know you well enough to know that you won’t take it too hard. But I still worry because I fear you won’t be able to do for me what I so desperately want from you. I’m afraid that I won’t even know whether you did it or not where I’m going. Maybe one day, if you don’t live forever, you’ll be able to tell me if you did.
“I kept the last note light on more intimate things for obvious reasons. I didn’t talk about your kiss or your legs or your eyes or that face you make when we’re making love. I didn’t even mention your skin or your toes. I couldn’t even mention your lovely, lovely ass. Oh god how I love your butt, rabbit. We don’t have locks on our doors here, in case of emergencies, so it’s been more than a few times when one of my colleagues burst into my room as I was “having fun” thinking about doing all the things that I’ve done to it, you know what they are. The thing is, every time they caught me, they didn’t have to wonder or take wild swings at what I was so “excited” about.
“I’m not sure how to say this. This isn’t the hardest thing I’ve written on these two pages, that would be telling you to move on (Hard but still necessary if you’re trying to look for excuses not too. Nice try, little lady) but it’s the hardest to know how to express properly. In fact, this isn’t hard at all from my end, it’s knowing how you’re going to take it, or if you’re going to do what I so desperately need you to do, that’s hard on me. I’m sweating as a write this. I’m trembling with anxiety. Please, just listen with an open mind. You always were so open to my ways. This is the deepest part of me I’ve always been too afraid to show you.
“The reason why my colleagues know what it is that got me so hot and bothered those days they caught me, was because they themselves had seen it with their own eyes. Plastered all over my walls. It was your ass. Not just over my walls, but in their personal collections as well, I had given them photos of you to look at it, first under the pretext that I was trying to show off how good I have it, but then just because I wanted them to see you.
“Before you get too mad at me, just know that I haven’t given them any of your naked pictures. I wanted to so bad. Show them their countrywoman’s ass. But I couldn’t do it without you knowing. Oh, my rabbit, I know you can’t be mad at me, but I need you to listen. This is as important as what I said about you moving on and finding a new man to make you happy. Before you do that, I want need you to do this.
“I wanted to share you for as long as we’d been together. I wanted it more than anything, rabbit, but I’ve always been too afraid to ask. I’m such a coward. The strange thing is, that I feel like you would have done it. I know you love me that much. I missed so many chances though, all because I couldn’t bring myself to bring it up even once. And the feelings built and built, as I met your former family friends and men that faded in and out of your life, some you liked well enough as people, others you didn’t. And then something happened that brought it all to the edge of a cliff. An exhilarating but frightening view.
“I know you love me enough to bare with me. Our neighbor moved in, we had him over for dinner, and he leaned in close for a hug from you. And ever since then, I could never see your face explode with pleasure inches from mine without wanting so badly for him to see that face inches from his. More importantly, I wanted him to feel what it was like having your big, fat, white ass in his lap as his cock is engulfed by your pussy. I’m so sorry rabbit for being so vulgar, but I have to say it. It’s eating me up inside.
“He’s never even got to see the tattoo your sister gave you. The guys back ther here have all seen it because of the bikini pics. But he’s never even seen you in jean shorts since you stopped wearing them. God, I miss being with you in jean shorts. All the turned heads. That’s my third request, wear those more often. But I haven’t even gotten to make second request. Oh, please, rabbit, just read this with an open mind and understand.
“Our neighbor is going to get your ass, no strings attached. I’m only being this firm as an emergency measure. I know, deep down as well as I know every inch of your body and mind, that it’s unnecessary. He would have had your ass already if I was brave enough to say something earlier. I’m brave enough now in writing. I’m begging you to let him fuck you, but I’m only begging as a formality. I know you’re always eager to follow me down my rabbit holes. This will be my last one, I promise.
“I know you’ll do this for me, do this for him, because you love me so. It’s only a matter of when. Your love for me kept me strong out here. Your love warmed me through the harsh weather. And though i couldn’t feel the warmth of your body, he will. No strings attach. No work or investment or anything. Just give it to him. And give it to him whenever he asks. Even after you find the lucky man who is going to marry you and whisk you away to a new string of memories and moments like the ones we were so lucky to share with each other, still give your ass to our neighbor when he asks for it. Do it even when he doesn’t. Don’t tell him that I told you to. Find out what he likes and do it for him or get better at it. Let him take pictures and videos if he wants so he can show you off to those guys he has for his poker night every weekend.
“I hope there is a heaven, and if there is, I hope it has windows so I can watch you down there. And if not, I hope I can watch you as a spirit just like your sister always talks about.
“Also, a third fourth request. I know I’ve asked for so much already, but you’re a champ and I know you can do all of it. Record some nice videos and maybe some photos and send them to your Icelandic countrymen out at here at the base. I promised that I’d give that to them as soon as I got the guts to ask you. Better late than never. For patriotism. Let them see their Icelandic sister’s ass. I want them to see all types of pictures of it.
“So, to end the saucy half of my farewell to you off I just want to say that every night with you was heaven. I shouldn’t have been so lucky. Just one night with you should have been a reward after death for living a good life, but I got to have that every night for my most of my adult life. Thanks for everything, beautiful. Now it’s somebody else’s turn.
“And if you can’t bring yourself to move on and marry another man, I think you’re making a mistake, but I guess it’s possible to live a happy and full life without it so I can let it slide. But my life will never be full if I don’t get to share your ass with him. So that’s non-negotiable. Like I said, my firmness is a last resort. I know it probably isn’t necessary because you’re amazing. I love you, babe and that’ll never not be true even after I’m gone.
“But maybe your countrymen are right. Maybe I’m not that sick and this whole message was just the panic of a feverish mind. Maybe I’ll be back there to ask you this in person and watch your ass bounce as he fucks you. I probably will. I can’t wait. I’ve never been more excited to feel stupid. But if I’m as smart, and as good a judge of character, as you say I am, goodbye. It’s been better than it had any right to be. Maybe I’ll see you again some day, rabbit.”
————————————————————
You heard your mom when she came in the house. She sighed heavily as she kicked off her shoes. You heard her keys jingle as she placed them in the bowl. You lay on your bed silently.
You heard her muffled footsteps into the kitchen and suddenly a pause. Sobbing followed for a while. And then you heard the paper ruffling. More sobbing is what came next. And then suddenly, there was a silence. And some more paper ruffled, but the crying wasn’t there to keep it company. And you sat in the silence, listening, waiting for a sign, looking down at your nervous hands shuffling, covered in purple ink from the pen that broke as you pressed it too hard to the paper. One of the two failed drafts sitting next to you bore the result of that purple burst, making it look like a inkblot test. No need to say what you saw in that vague purple image.
You listened for a sign. A sign of anything. A sound of biting or accepting. Even disgust if necessary to end the unbearable silence. And that sound came. It came with a bang. You jumped. It was the front door.
You heard your mom’s chair scrape and her muffled footsteps and then a considerable pause, and then the door opened.
Your mom said “yes?”
It was your neighbor: “Did your son tell you?’
“About the letter?”
“No, I didn’t leave a letter. I just wanted him to tell you that I was taking you to the movies tonight.”
A long pause followed.
He continued “You can’t say no. That’s the rule. I hope you have money for your ticket. Popcorn is cheaper though. I have a coupon from the mail. We have to hurry though, otherwise we won’t have seats and you’ll have to sit on my lap.” He laughed really hard at his joke. Then his laughter died down and there was silence. “What’s the matter? You can’t come? Do you have a boyfriend who won’t let you? Your husbands out of the way but you have a boyfriend already?” he laughed again. Tone-deaf, in both senses of the word.
You could hear your mom shuffling in place. She didn’t say a word.
“You know, I only wanted to invite you because I felt bad for you. I was sad when I heard about your husband dying. I didn’t know him well, but I had a great time when we had dinner that first night. I think he got the wrong idea though, like I was trying to steal you away from him. And since then he’s kept you guys away from me. I’m just a friend. And as a friend I want to take your mind of your husband with a movie. It’s not sexual or anything. I already have a girlfriend. I just don’t bring her around when you’re home.” He paused for a second, then bursted in again with “W-we have an open relationship. So if I ever did bring another girl home, it would be cool. I’m not sure why I’m telling you that though. I guess so you won’t be concerned about seeing her out and about. If she saw us, she probably would think it was sexual but it would be cool.”
The silence was deafening.
“So what do you say? Do you want to go to the movies with me? If you don’t go, I won’t make it for this showing because I’ll have to take the bus.”
“No.”
He was silent for once.
You lay in the darkness of your room, holding onto your sheets, pulling at them, making them tight along your bed.
Your mom continued: “Let’s just go to your place.” You could tell that it took her a lot to force that sentence out by the tone of her voice. He couldn’t pick up on that though. Either that, or he didn’t care. This would be the least hard thing she’d force herself to do today.
"O-okay.”
The door closed behind them.
Your dad’s pet-name for you was Scout. He came up with it when the two of you went bird-watching together. He said it was because you were good at seeing things most people couldn’t, not just birds, but trails through the thick vague treeline.
It was funny, because you didn’t seem to inherent that from either of your parents. Or you did, but not to that degree.
Your dad was analytical and scientific. Your mom was creative and intuitive. You somehow had both these traits, but you had it even more than they did. And deep down you knew that’s why they both ended up where they currently were right this second.
And that’s why you were here to enjoy it.
You remember once, standing out in the woods near a waterfall. Your dad had taken another way around and had yet to make it there. Over the thick sound of the falls you could hear a tiny chirping noise. It didn’t take you long to see that bluebird, brighter than any blue you had ever seen, sitting on a branch on the other side of the river.
Just as your dad came up behind you, the bird disappeared into the wild woods that birthed it. You thought about telling him about what you saw. But you silently decided you wouldn’t. That moment would be all yours.
Hand hoch! Wieviele verzweifelte Männer gibt es da draußen, die sich selbst als nett, verständnisvoll und zärtlich einstufen und trotzdem Sonntagabend alleine vor dem Fernseher sitzen und ihrem Vorbild Kai Pflaume (ein augenscheinlich netter, verständnisvoller aber auch ein Frauentyp) die Frage ihres Lebens stellen: “Warum will mich keine Frau?” Bevor ich das beantworte, definieren wir mal die typische Merkmale eines Mr. Nice Guy. Nur damit sich auch die Männer wiedererkennen, die sich morgens in grenzenloser Selbstleugnung mit einem Poster von Sylvester Stallone vor dem Badezimmerspiegel rasieren. Du hast in Deinem Freundeskreis Unmengen von hübschen, intelligenten Frauen, von denen Du jede einzelne irgendwann einmal begehrt hast. Jede dieser Frauen hat Dein Geständnis - vorgetragen in einem edlen italienischen Restaurant , in der Hand ein Strauß mit 1.000 roten Rosen (mindestens!) - folgendermaßen quittiert: “Du bist echt ein netter Kerl und ich habe Dich wahnsinnig gern, aber nur als Freund”. Und weil Du so ein echt netter Kerl bist… hast Du Dich der Bitte “Lass´ uns doch weiterhin Freunde bleiben, ja?” gebeugt, statt der Schlampe Dir gegenüber zu sagen, daß sie für das teure Essen wenigstens einmal die Beine breit machen könnte. Zum Beispiel so, wie sie es für ihren monatlich wechselnden Idioten von Freund tut, der sie mindestens zweimal die Woche verprügelt und außerdem mit ihrer besten Freundin fremdgeht. Woher Du das weißt? Du bist schließlich ihre Telefonseelsorge. Deine Nummer ist bei Deiner Freundin ganz oben auf den Schnellwahltasten ihres Telefons gespeichert. Natürlich unter “Oma” oder “Tanja”, denn die südländischen Macker, mit denen sie derzeit herumhängt, sind rasend eifersüchtig. Meistens ruft sie nachts um 3 an, wenn das “Veilchen” gerade frisch blüht und sie ungeachtet dessen noch vor 5 Minuten Versöhnungs-Sex mit ihm hatte. In schöner Regelmäßigkeit stößt sie Dir mit “Wenn er doch nur ein bißchen so wäre wie Du !” die verrostete Nagelfeile tiefer ins Herz, während sie Dir Dein C&A-Hemd mit wasser- und waschmittelfester Wimperntusche verschmiert. Ein bißchen so wie Du? Mädel, hier sitzen 100%, warum bekommst Du das nicht in Deinen dummen blonden Schädel? Trotzdem wartest Du, denn Du bist Dir ganz sicher, daß sie irgendwann dieses muskelbepackte Wanzenhirn abschießen und merken wird, daß DU der Richtige bist. Ja, und die Zeit gibt Dir in einem Punkt recht: eines Tages steht sie vor Deiner Tür und heult, bis sich Dein Laminatboden wellt. Er ist weg, durchgebrannt, ein Arsch der nur mit seinem Schwanz denken kann und Du hättest ja so recht gehabt und überhaupt. Du bist sozusagen seit Jahren bereit zur Übernahme und krempelst schon die Ärmel hoch, da sagt sie plötzlich “Du, Dein Freund, der Sebastian.. ist der eigentlich noch solo?”. Und in genau dem Moment wünscht Du dir die Hexenverbrennung zurück. Aber weil Du ein echt netter Kerl bist…. …bist Du ihr Trauzeuge, wenn sie nächste Woche Sebastian heiratet. Deine Exfreundinnen, die sich für kurze Zeit in einem Anfall von Mitleid (und weil barmherzige Hilfsorganisationen gerade “in” waren) in Dein Leben verirrt haben, reden ausnahmslos nur Gutes über Dich. Und zwar, daß Du zärtlich, verständnisvoll und ein guter Zuhörer bist und immer für sie da warst, wenn sie Dich brauchten. Und daß Du natürlich der beste Partner bist, den eine Frau sich wünschen kann. Doch den Satz “Du bist mein bester Kumpel und der einzige, der mich wirklich versteht!” hast Du so oft gehört, daß Du inzwischen das Copyright darauf haben müßtest. Auf die Frage, warum sie Dich dann verlassen haben, sagen sie, daß sie es selbst nicht wissen und es wahrscheinlich irgendwann bereuen werden… Alle Welt denkt jetzt, daß Du eine riesengroße Niete im Bett bist. Du bereust, daß Du in eurer Beziehung deine Sado-Maso-Fesselphantasien aus Rücksichtsnahme nicht ausgelebt hast. Aber weil Du ein echt netter Kerl bist… bist Du auch nach der Trennung noch zärtlich, verständnisvoll, ein guter Zuhörer und immer für sie da (auch wenn Dir im Unterbewusstsein irgendwie klar ist, daß sie so nicht wirklich etwas verloren haben und Du einfach nur blöd bist). In der Disco führst Du oft lange und ernste Gespräche mit Frauen. Du hast Ihnen nach einer hitzigen Tanzphase ein Glas Wasser gereicht und Ihnen Komplimente über ihre Ausstrahlung und ihre Ohrringe gemacht. Jede ist beeindruckt von Deiner Intelligenz, Deinem Wissen, Deinem Humor und Deiner zurückhaltenden Art. Sie freut sich über Dein Interesse an dem was sie tut und was sie bewegt. Alle anderen Männer, die sie sonst ansprechen würden, seien nämlich nur auf das Eine aus. Wenige Minuten später verläßt sie mit dem dubios aussehenden Typen, der eure Unterhaltung mit den Worten “Du hast einen geilen Arsch! Kommst Du noch mit zu mir?” unterbrochen hat, die Disco. Aber weil Du ein echt netter Kerl bist… fährst Du ihr hinterher und wartest vor dem baufälligen Plattenbau in einer Gegend, in der Du nicht einmal einer 80jährigen Nonne über den Weg trauen würdest, daß sie wieder heraus kommt. Im Morgengrauen verläßt sie mit verheultem Gesicht und zerrissenen Klamotten panikartig das Gebäude. Du fährst das zitternde Häufchen Elend nachhause und sie verspricht dankbar, sich bei Dir zu melden. Ca. 10 km Rückweg vergehen, bis Dir klar wird, daß ihr eure Telefonnummern gar nicht ausgetauscht habt. Du hast Dich wiedererkannt? Du sitzt vor dem Bildschirm und rufst seit 10 Minuten “Ja, genau! Aber WARUM ist das so?” Grund 1: Jemand, der einer Frau zu jeder Tages- und Nachtzeit so gut zuhören kann wie Du, ist selten. Und das ist Dein Todesurteil, denn um es mal mit den Worten einer Bulemikerin auszudrücken: “Ich esse nie dort wo ich kotze”. Das heißt für Dich, daß sie zwar gerne ihre Sorgen bei Dir ablädt, sich ihren Spaß aber woanders und nicht bei Dir - ihrer seelischen Müllhalde - holen wird. Grund 2: Nette Männer sind langweilig. Sie verbreiten nicht dieses prickelnde Versprechen eines aufregenden Marlboro-Man-mit-Drei-Tage-Bart- Abenteuers. Frauen sind Pferdeflüsterinnen; sie wollen wilde Hengste zähmen und nicht auf dem Pony-Karussel reiten. Grund 3: Frauen wissen nicht, was sie wollen und sind dankbar, wenn ihnen jemand die Entscheidung abnimmt. Männer wie Du, die Ihnen alle Wege offen lassen und ihnen signalisieren “Es wird so ausgehen, wie Du es magst, ich werde all das tun was Du sagst, ich werde da sein, wenn Du nach mir fragst” werden leider auch irgendwann fragen müssen “Äh…Wo willst Du hin?” wenn ihre Angebetete mit dem Kerl abzieht, der ihr sagt “Du willst mit mir ins Bett, gib es zu!”. Grund 4: Wohl der entscheidende Faktor ist die Tatsache, daß irgendwo in dem großen Buch der menschlichen Geschichte verankert ist, daß nette Männer nicht mit netten Frauen zusammen kommen dürfen. Anscheinend ist das ein physikalisches und psychisches Polaritätsproblem, vergleichbar wie bei einem Magneten. (+) und (+) stoßen sich nun mal ab. Was bedeutet das also für Dich? Werde ein rücksichtsloses Arschloch, dem die Gefühle einer Frau völlig an den Sackhaaren vorbeigehen. Aber weil Du ja ein echt netter Kerl bist… wirst Du weiterhin Deiner Linie treu bleiben und darauf hoffen, daß sich irgendwann die physikalischen Gesetze ändern nett is’ nix für’s Bett …oder warum nette Jungs bei Frauen nicht landen können Ein Freund erzählte mir kürzlich, daß er sich mit einer wundervollen Frau verabredet hatte. Und Max, so ist sein Name, erwartete einen ebenso wundervollen Abend. Mit einer Frau, hinter der er schon eine halbe Ewigkeit her war. Deren Wagen er regelmäßig in die Waschstraße fuhr und für die er im letzten Frühjahr sogar die Wohnung gestrichen hatte. Eine Frau, die noch nie mehr zugelassen hatte als eine flüchtige Umarmung zur Begrüßung und zu der mein freundschaftlicher Rat “Lass´ die Finger von der, die macht dich nur unglücklich” paßte wie die Faust aufs Auge. Am Tag nach dem Date erzählte mir Max Einzelheiten: Schickes Restaurant Kino und Discobesuch, danach fuhr er sie nach Hause, sie lud ihn noch zu einem Schlummertrunk ein. Und wie’s halt immer so ist: Sie erzählten die ganze Nacht hindurch, und schließlich hatte er soviel getrunken, daß es unverantwortlich gewesen wäre, sich noch ans Steuer zu setzen. So kam es, daß er bei ihr übernachtete. “Es war fast perfekt”, schwärmte er mir vor. Nur eine Kleinigkeit fehlte zu seinem Glück: Sie hatten keinen Sex. Er schlief nicht einmal im gleichen Bett mit ihr. Was war passiert ? Die Antwort habe ich schon gegeben: Nichts ! Statt einer von Max langersehnten Liebesnacht erfuhr der arme Kerl die schlimmste Kränkung, die aus dem Munde einer Frau nur kommen kann. Sie besteht aus vier kleinen Worten: “Du - bist - echt - nett”. Den folgenden Satz beginnt Frau dann immer mit “Aber”. Daran schließt sich ein Lobgesang auf den gerade abservierten Mann an. Hört Mann den Nett-Satz, kann er sich sämtliche sexuellen Phantasien mit ihr für immer abschminken, gar nicht zu sprechen von der Aussicht auf eine längere Beziehung. Schlimmer aber noch: Er wurde degradiert zu einem Mann zweiten Ranges, zu einem sogenannten “guten Freund”. Das gleicht einer Verbannung, weil jeder Mann nach diesem Satz genau weiß, daß er den ersehnten Status des Sexual- und Lebenspartners nie mehr erreichen wird. Aber wie fängt das ganze Elend überhaupt an ? Im Vorfeld des “Du-bist-nett”-Satzes lernen Frau und Mann sich kennen. Er ist gerne mit ihr zusammen, und ihr geht’s genauso. Mann denkt: “Wow, was für eine tolle Frau.” Frau denkt: Man, der ist echt nett. Aufgepaßt ! Bis zu diesem Zeitpunkt ist das Attribut “nett” noch positiv zu werten. Ein gedachtes “nett” im Kopf einer Frau hat noch lange nicht den Stellenwert, den es bekommt, wenn das verdammte Wörtchen in der Gegenwart des betroffenen Mannes ausgesprochen wird. Noch gibt es also die Möglichkeit, daß ihre Meinung sich ändert und an die Stelle des “nett” starkes Herzklopfen tritt. Wenn das besagte Wörtchen aber seine Halbwertzeit verliert, hat der Mann verloren. Wie man daran sieht, ist es also wichtig, mehr als nur die letzten 24 Stunden einer Nicht-Beziehung zu betrachten, um das männliche Scheitern nachvollziehen zu können. Noch wichtiger ist aber die Charakteristik des verschmähten Mannes. Und dabei wird sich schnell herausstellen, daß es oft der gleiche Typ Mann ist, dem die “Nettigkeit” immer wieder an den Kopf geknallt wird. Was sind diese armen Würstchen nun für Männer ? Max z.B. ist dunkelhaarig, über 1,85 Meter groß und wiegt mindestens 80 Kilo. Ergo: Am äußeren Erscheinungsbild kann’s nicht liegen. Es müssen also andere Eigenschaften sein, die einen netten Mann für immer verdammen. Eine kleine Umfrage in meinem weiblichen Freundeskreis gibt Aufschluß: Das Weichei (so nennen Frauen ihn gerne) gehört in das Leben einer jeden Frau. Und keine möchte auf ihr Weichei verzichten, denn Frau kann nie wissen, wann wieder eine Selterskiste geschleppt oder die Wohnung renoviert werden muß. Ja, das sind die Weicheier: Hilfsbereit ! Natürlich ist jeder von uns mehr oder weniger hilfsbereit und höflich dem zarten Geschlecht gegenüber, aber man sollte es nicht übertreiben. Es ist eben schon ein kleiner Unterschied, ob man einer Frau in den Mantel hilft oder ihr drei Selterskisten in den vierten Stock rauf schleppt. Und der Unterschied besteht nicht nur aus 54 Treppenstufen und einem Gewicht von 27 Kilo Flüssigkeit. Diese bedingungslose Hilfsbereitschaft ist wohl in der Kindheit verwurzelt.Ich kann mir gut vorstellen, wie Maxens Mutter ihrem Sohn immer wieder einbläute, im Bus älteren Damen seinen Sitzplatz anzubieten. Seitdem überkommt den armen Max beim Anblick einer Frau scheinbar sofort die Assoziation des hilflosen Wesens. Nur hat er dabei vergessen, daß er mit der alten Frau aus dem Bus wahrscheinlich nie ins Bett gehen würde. Jedenfalls hat der arme Max weder mit der alten Frau aus dem Bus noch mit seiner Angebeteten Sex. Statt dessen spielt er ihr das Hündchen. Und seine Flamme genießt das. Schließlich ist so ein zweibeiniges Hündchen sehr wohltuend. Zum Beispiel, wenn das weibliche Ego mal etwas angekratzt ist: Wer wird nicht gerne angebetet ? Eine Gegenleistung ist allerdings nicht zu erwarten. Und Sex mit Max kommt schon gar nicht in Frage. Schließlich ist Sex mit Tieren in Deutschland verboten. Dabei ist das Weichei grundsätzlich keine Vogelscheuche. Also durchaus einer, mit dem sich Frau sehen lassen kann. Seine Geschlechtsgenossen mögen ihn, weil er für sie keine Konkurrenz ist. Die Frauen mögen ihn, weil er so verständnisvoll ist und sie stundenlang mit ihm quatschen könne. Über ihre Beziehungen zu anderen Männern. Oder weil er so witzig ist. Oder im schlimmsten Fall beides ! Vielleicht sehen sie ihn aus diesem Grund auch als asexuell an. Wer möchte schon mit seinem Psychotherapeuten schlafen ? Oder mit Typen wie Didi Hallervorden ins Bett gehen ? Der wichtigste Weichei-Charakterzug ist aber, daß er aus weiblicher Sicht nicht eigentlich männlich ist, und das macht ihn langweilig. Und langweilig ist in der Frauensprache das Synonym für nett. Ein anderer Bekannter von mir, Kai, ist übrigens genau das Gegenteil von Max. Mit ihm wollen die Frauen immer ihre Matratze teilen. Eigentlich kann ich mich an keine Zeit erinnern, in der Kai mal alleine geschlafen hat. Mir völlig unverständlich, denn ich kann nicht sagen, daß er einen besonders netten Eindruck macht. Klar kann er charmant und witzig sein, aber nur, wenn’s dem Aufriss dient. Und faul ist er obendrein ! Alle seine ehemaligen Freundinnen haben Oberarme wie Arnold Schwarzenegger, weil sie nicht nur ihre eigenen Selterskisten in den vierten Stock schleppen mußten, sondern auch noch seine Bierpacks. Tja, und der gute Max ? Im Grunde bleibt dem Mann nichts anderes übrig, als selbst Hand an sich zu legen. Sprich: Weg mit dem Weichei-Image. Nun ist es nicht leicht, sich zu ändern. Wenn man aber nur die Wahl zwischen einer Metamorphose und Askese hat, sollte einem die Entscheidung nicht schwer fallen. Da die Frauenwelt offenbar “unausstehlich” mit “männlich” gleichsetzt und auf die harten Kerle abfährt - sollen sie haben ! Zwei Punkte sind dabei ganz wichtig. Erstens: Man darf die Angebetete nie merken lassen, daß sie die einzige wirklich wichtige Frau ist. Deshalb umgibt sich der kluge Mann immer mit anderen, natürlich möglichst gutaussehenden Frauen. Nicht zuletzt um den Anschein zu erwecken auf dem Beziehungsmarkt heißbegehrt zu sein. Und zweitens muß unbedingt der Leitspruch verinnerlicht werden: “Willst du was gelten, mach dich selten.” Sehr eindrucksvoll kann dieses Motto umgesetzt werden, wenn man sich verabredet und dann das Date kurzfristig unter einem fadenscheinigen Grund wieder absagt. Fatal wäre es, wenn die Frau den Termin cancelt, bevor es der Mann tun konnte. Auch wenn man anschließend den ganzen Abend vor dem Fernseher sitzt, sich die tausendste Wiederholung von “Enterprise” anschaut und immer an sie denken muß: Hart bleiben! Klingelt das Telefon und die Frau der Träume ist am anderen Ende, weiß man genau: Gewonnen ! Also, immer dran denken: Nie wieder verständnisvolle Gespräche, die sich über Stunden ziehen. Nie wieder Angebote, beim Umzug zu helfen oder die komplette Wohnung zu renovieren. Und speziell ein Ratschlag für “Max”: Fahr sie nach dem nächsten Date nicht mehr bis an die Haustür, sondern setzte sie an der nächsten Bushaltestelle ab. Und vor allem: Ruf sie nie wieder an ! ——-[geschrieben von Elvira J.]——– wer mehr wissen will googelt
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