This was her first time meeting him. This was to his benefit. It was to your benefit. But not to hers. That was an understatement. Your mom was a delicious lamb walking towards a democracy of wolves as they discussed what would be for dinner.
Her ass was her main selling point. Something you adored and your brother dreaded. You loved her ass the way it was.Your brother only wished he could pull it off of her, or at least flatten it down with a dough roller. Your mom would whistle in the kitchen, making dinner or organizing freshly clean laundry on the kitchen table, as you and your brother sat in your rooms. Your brother, almost literally curled up into a ball, thinking about what he only should have said that day when his classmate talked about wanting to eat his lunch meal off of your mom’s ass. What he should have done. What he could do, if only he had the strength. The strength to not only beat up someone bigger than him, but to beat up all who would step in to defend that someone. No such strength existed. In movies alone, not in life.
At the same time, your mom’s whistling as background music, you lay on your back in your room, pants completely gone, jerking off, jealous of brother for still being in high school, imagining what it was all his classmates said that had him falling to pieces in the next room. Your mom’s ass, which existed out there just below the source of all that beautiful whistling, was the cause of all of it. You almost felt like you could see it when you at your wall, as if it was talking to you through it, taunting you. Playfully to you, and with a wicked mean-spiritedness to your brother.
There was a selfishness in your brother to want to destroy it, and a selflessness in you for wanting to give it away. You were like two fingers in the same Chinese finger trap, both pulling away from one another faster and faster, and only catching yourselves deeper within its mesh for doing so. It was as if you sat on different butt cheeks, separated by the chasm of your mom’s butt crack between you, none knowing what life was like on the other side.
And as his fantasies of revenge and defending his mother’s honor became more and more fantastical, your fantasies about just how you were going to give it up became more soft and fleshy, just like your mom’s butt itself. This all kind of made sense. After all, beating up someone twice the size of you wasn’t possible, no matter how satisfying you think it would be. But your mom being fucked by a douchebag? That could actually happen.
It could happen, as long as your brother didn’t let her know that said man was a douchebag.
Lucky for you, your brother was filled with pride. Lovely, misguided pride. And the dumb belief that he would make it all right one day. Your mom’s ass wouldn’t crush him under its massive weight. The good guy would win. They always win. They have to. So he didn’t worry your mom about such stupid things as hallway trashtalk, and he didn’t feel it was right to make her trudge through the sludgy indecency of the young male’s mind. This nobility in your brother’s spirit robbed him of the benefits of telling her. She would have no red flags when it came to these kids. Whenever your brother would even vocally consider telling her, you were always there to talk him out of it. You were playing the long game, even back then.
Your brother did finally escape the pressure of your mom’s butt cheeks on top of him. He escaped it by running. He became an exchange student, planning to study for a full year in South Korea, where the women, though beautiful, had no ass, and though many charms of their own, had none of that Southern European fire that characterized your mom. Your brother abhorred a fat, tan ass. It made him sick. He wanted those porcelain white toes, which, unfortunately for him, the girls in Korea had no interest in giving to him.
And while he sat in his room, night after night, literally curled into a ball, falling to pieces over his inceldom, a new problem on his list of things to worry about, you sat at home, without any pants, hard and ready to crack at the shell of his first problem.
And that’s when you saw it. His bully, the worst of them, had opened up a yoga class. You had seen it in the ad section of the paper. He did it for ass, the only thing he cared about. But so far, no ass came. He sat in his empty venue, in front of the big glass windows on his section of the strip mall, watching all the would-be customers walking past, their shadows eclipsing his disappointment in second long bursts. Their bare skin and big asses torturing him. Torturing him, like you mom did all those years ago. She was the beginning of his torture. The one who forced it on him, the way her ass always forces itself into the hollow crevices of those who never even asked for it. She made many an assman out of the rich soil of youth.
She needed to be punished.
You are the one who put the idea in her head. Your mom had never been into yoga before. And when she got the first few newsletters, shoddy and hastily put together, as if the one who sent them to her couldn’t really care less about yoga, the interest in it started in her right butt cheek. Which meant it was below her conscious awareness. But slowly, it pulsated its way up her lower back and into her shoulder and neck, before reaching the emotional centers of her brain, which were almost as enlarged and soft as her ass was, being both Italian and a woman after all.
Within a week of constant and desperate bombardment, the empty shell-casings that were her read e-mails had finally made a dent in her soft bunker. She wanted to learn yoga. And just as you saw her come home with a mat and yoga pants, she got another e-mail for a very specific yoga class downtown. The cost per session was alarmingly cheap. Though she really didn’t know. You knew though. And you lowered it by 70% with photoshop before sending her the ad. When he finally saw her there, her ass visible from the front, his dream girl, and his only customer clamoring to get aboard his sinking ship, he would have taken her payment in grass and sea shells.
And that’s what must have happened. Because every Tuesday and Thursday, she would come home two hours later than usual and would take a shower. She would knock on your door after getting home and throwing her gym bag to the side.
“You in there, sweety?”
“Yeah, mom,” you’d say, lying down without pants, massaging the tender balls which somehow you just knew that you inherited from her side of the family.
“Very good. I brought home pizza. I’ll be in the shower.”
And after the door would close and the water would turn on, you’d leave your room without pants, erection standing proud and defiant. You would grab a slice of pizza and take it to your brother’s room and eat it there while also reading his diary. Then you would lick your fingers and jerk off while going over the familiar passages about wishing he could beat up those jerks at school and never wanting to see a fat ass ever again. All of this while your mom whistled on in the echoey cave of your bathroom.
Those were the best days. Your brother would text you every once in a while, and you’d assure him that everything was alright. You savored every second with him, you’re glee at his undoing like the sunshine that caressed your hard cock and balls each morning in those days.
You had no idea if your plan was working or not. You knew she was taking his yoga classes, that much was clear. And even more clearly, you knew he was enjoying her gorgeous ass in her sweatpants. Was that the full extent of what you wanted accomplished though? No, you dreamed of more.You dreamed of bigger, just like God did when he made your mom.
And so, you subscribed to the weekly online newsletter of a famous and successful pick-up artist. But you didn’t subscribe for yourself. You subscribed for him. You sent your cousin by there one Monday to check up on the guy. Your cousin had no idea what it was you had up your sleeve or why, but he agreed to do it. Your cousin reported back to you, unable to contain his laughter, about how your brother’s old enemy was just sitting in an empty yoga studio, alone, with his feet up on the desk, reading a pamphlet that read “Milf Ass: How to Score Some.”
You laughed too, but out of mad joy. Your cousin left your house that day, happy, thinking he was helping to best an old enemy of the family. You made sure he left early. Your mom would be home soon and you didn’t want her to know that her family had an enemy, or that that enemy was watching her from behind intently as she did her downward dogs in front of his grinning face twice a week.
And then one day you heard a deep voice from your room. It intermingled with your mom’s familiar tone and wrapped its way around the living room couch and coffee table. When you came outside, expecting to see a traveling salesmen hawking his wears in between taking looks at your mom’s backside, you weren’t ready for what you actually saw sitting there.
It was him, sitting there on the couch with your mom. The real deal. On a Wednesday. Your mom’s smooth calves and thick thighs on a couch, your couch, next to him. Nobody had sat where he was sitting since your brother left. He didn’t notice you there. Neither of them did. He just listened to her as if what she was saying was the most interesting thing in the world. But deep down, because you knew him well enough, you knew he was bored with her. Bored with her and by her. Bored about every piece of her. Every piece of her except for 2: Left butt cheek and Right butt cheek.
He had studied Milf Game, and it was clearly no laughing matter. Because it was working. Working faster than even you expected or could reasonably ask for. And that’s when you got it, the text from your brother. You disappeared back into your room as quietly as possible and you tried not to shake as you gave him a very incomplete 411 as to the making of your modern household.
He was telling you about how he just got ghosted by a girl over there after two recent dates with her he had been on. He needed support. But you weren’t in the state of mind to give it to him, all your attention being drawn to the sound of your mom’s barriers being effortlessly knocked down outside.
And when you heard your mom walking down the hallway towards your room, you got on the floor and hid under the bed.
“Sweety, are you in there?”
You lie quiet. You placed your phone on a discarded sock so its vibrations every few seconds wouldn’t make noise.
“Honey?”
The door opened. You saw your mom’s delicate feet. And then you saw his dirty sneakers come up from behind.
*smack*
She turned around and there was silence for a few moments. Her bare toes facing his sneakers.
And then….
…the sound of kissing.
You could hear the smacks over the sound of their 4 feet moving down the hall like horseshoes. The cavalry was riding off.
And just then, another text from your brother.
“And that’s why I’m going to end it all today.”
It caught your eye. Just in time too. You had ignored his every text until just then. The sound of whispering and jangling and smacking went on outside, threatening to distract you. But you had to pull yourself together for your brother’s sake.
You needed him to at least know one thing before he left this mortal coil. One thing you realized just now that you needed to tell him. As his brother. As the only one he had. As the one who taught him to tie his shoes and how to ride a bike. As the only one, other than your mom, who loved him. You needed to let him know just this one last thing.
So, you texted him back. “Dude, Steve is in the living room making out with mom. She’s in her daisy dukes. Those really short ones. I can hear them on the couch.”
There was a silence in your room as you waited, eager for him to hurry up with his reply so you could sneak outside and watch.
“What?” is all he replied with at first, and then “really?” and “well stop it.”
“I’m not going to stop it,” you said. “I”m the one who set it up.”
There was another great silence before the phone shook in your hand again.
“Steve?”
“Yeah, Steve. I”m going to go out there and watch it. They don’t know I’m home.”
“Have they been fucking?” And then to clarify, “Like in general. Not now I mean.”
Excited to tell him, you replied: “I don’t think they have yet. I think this is the first time he made a move. They’ll probably start doing it soon. Do you want to watch before you end it?”
More silence, trying your patience with its agonizing length. But you were desperate to see his reply. Not only was it the last time you might ever talk to him, but, more importantly, you wanted to see what he’d say. “Let’s get these things off you,” is what you heard whispered outside.
And then your phone buzzed.
“A little bit, yeah.Lol I guess I have nothing to lose. It’s going to tear me apart but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to see it.”
“Yeah?” you replied, “Mom’s ass is going to look great.”
“I think so too. I’ve always loved it. I’ve been in denial about it my whole life. But being out here, I’m starting to realize how much I miss it. And it’s a lot to miss. I want to see it one last time. Hey! Do you mind if I post it on the internet before I go? If i’m going out, might as well go out with a bang.”
“Okay,” you said, “that’s a good idea, actually.”
“Just don’t tell mom. It’s between me and you.”
“Yeah,” you said.
“Okay, are they doing it already? Can you go out now. Hurry up. I wanna see what steve can do to that thing.”
“Okay, going out now.”
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The chat is now live. Please feel free to discuss anything with our hotline representative (Gerald). All our representatives have been through circumstances similar to yours and are here to help.
You: Hello
Gerald: Hi.
You: Is this the suicide prevention chat?
Gerald: It is, and I’m here to help.
You: I’m thinking of taking my life today.
Gerald: I know you’ve probably heard this before, but suicide isn’t the answer.
You: I have heard it before.
Gerald: I know. I can’t guarantee anything to you. I know that tomorrow won’t be great
either. But I will tell you something. Tomorrow will be better than today. And the day after will be better than that.
You: I don’t want to live longer if it ever means coming back to a moment like how I feel now.
Gerald: I know. I’ve been there. But can you please just hang on for 12 hours?
You: I don’t know.
Gerald: You’ve hung on for 12 hours up til now, if not much more. All I’m asking is for another 12 from you. Deal?
You: I can’t.
Gerald: You can. Do you have a family?
You: Yes, of course. I’ve heard all this before. Bringing them up won’t help.
Gerald: Can I see a picture?
You: ?
Gerald: Just let me see them.
You: …….
Gerald: Okay, let me be more specific.
Gerald: Let me see your mom.
You: What?
Gerald: Just let me see her.
You: Why?
Gerald: And make it a full body shot if possible.
You: Okay, just wait.
Gerald: You seem a little bit more chipper now.
You:
You: I’m just doing what you asked.
Gerald: She’s got quite the ass on her.
You: Thank you. I got more. Do you want to see more?
Gerald: I want to see her riding a cock. Preferably the cock of your worst enemy.
You: lol I don’t have that.
Gerald: Do you want to have that?
You: I mean…
You: yeah, kind of.
You: More than anything.
Gerald: That’ll take about a month.
Gerald: Can you hang on until then?
You: Yes, of course.
Gerald: And if you don’t have a month in you, if you drug her, you can have it done in the next 2 or 3 days.
You: drug her?
Gerald: Yup
You: Is that okay?
Gerald: Would she rather have her dignity or her son?
You: Good point. Good trade too. I like it.
Gerald: We’ll have you living life again in no time.
You: Can I ask you a question?
Gerald: Shoot.
You: How do you know so much?
Gerald: Can I ask a counter question first?
You: Sure.
Gerald: Do you have a brother?
You: No.
Gerald: Well, I do. And he’s the one who saved my life.
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