Your mom sat beside you in the driver’s seat, her delicate hands crawling up her steering wheel as she turned into the Future Shop parking lot. As she waited for a car to pull out of a stall, she tilted her body forward to get a better look to see if any vehicles would blindside her suddenly from around the corner, and in doing so you could see the size of the impression her giant butt had left in the seat, much of it permanent, in part from her always you driving you around whenever you needed her to.
When she pulled into the stall, she did so in a way that gave you more room on your side to get out, fearing that you’d let the door fly open and ding the car next to you. When she got out, she had much less room, so much so that she had to squeeze through her slightly ajar door, the hardest part in the process being getting her lower half through the gap, and when out, her cheeks had bumped and rubbed into the passenger side doors, both front and back, of the car to the left of her.
By the time she had gotten out and stood behind her car, sliding her palms up and down her work skirt to reshevel herself, you had dinged the door of the car to your right anyway. It was a miracle she hadn’t heard it. You shut your door nonchalantly as if nothing had ever happened, even though evidence of what you had done could be seen on both cars.
You couldn’t breathe a sigh of relief until she walked past it, and when she did and walked past you, you felt a pleasurable current run through your belly and arms. In the threat passing, you had remembered why you had come here. Why it was you had convinced your mom to drive you to the electronics store. What it was you came to buy.
Your mom walked before you and you straggled behind on purpose, eager to see who would shoot her a double-take, or shamelessly give her one long extended gaze. The eyes of men would sometimes focus on her face, only if her bottom half was obscured, but if her bottom-half could be seen, their eyes were always focused there, especially when it was in a state of movement.
There were three reasons you loved convincing her to take you somewhere. The first was her left butt-cheek. The second was her wallet and cheque-book, the third was her right butt-cheek. You would come from from these expeditions into the wild with goodies in your hands, and, just as often, goodies, in the form of recollections of vulgar looks from various men and boys towards your mom, in your mind. In both cases, your mom provided for you bountifully. She was like a tap that never stopped giving. One which you could keep running without any expectation that you’d have to make good on the bill. The tap paid for itself. And it gushed without limit.
The vulgar look came not long after, and when it did, it came in uniform. The employee, middle-aged and bald, looked from the end of the laptop aisle and kept his gaze fixed on her as your mom looked down at the incomprehensible matrix of terms and numbers beneath each gaming laptop. The number she seemed to notice most of all though was the number which signified price. She furrowed her brows. The employee noticed you looking at him. Just as he did, another customer came up to him, a young and pretty woman, though significantly less shapely than the one he currently had his eyes on.
“Excuse me, can I get some help-“
He lifted up his index finger at her without even turning to catch her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just with another customer right now.” And he walked eagerly forward toward you and your mom.
There were just no shortage of perks when you were out and about with your mom. She was the golden goose.
“You two need any help?” he asked. Then he said “ma'am?” when he noticed your mom not turning her head.
She did need help, her face permeated with a strange worry, but you ended up answering. “I’m looking for a gaming laptop.”
“Oh,” he said, taking a short second to glance down at your mom’s ass when she turned back to look at the prices. “I guess you’ve come to the right place then.”
As your mom stood there, listening to the man’s sales pitch, a pitch you seemed only all too eager to hear, she wondered about the desktop computer she had bought for you last Christmas. Didn’t it play games? She knew it did? She could hear you playing them from the moment she got out of the shower and changed for work, and during the moments when she’d come home from work after a full 8-12 hours. She would hear you playing well into the night. The only time you didn’t seem to be playing was when you’d convince her (which never took much) into driving you somewhere and paying for whatever new gadget or toy you claimed you needed.
“Okay then,” you said to the man. “I guess I’ll take that one.”
“Good, good,” he said. He looked up at your mom. “Looks like you two made the right choice.”
While the two of you waited in line, your mom caught the girl at the till stealing glances over at you. Your mom smiled in the corner of her mouth, though she tried to put a clamp on it. She knew how much the habits and intricacies of youth involved older people not getting involved and ruining its delicate interplay.
“Find everything you need,” the pretty blonde girl asked as you approached the counter.
“Yup,” you said, not looking her in the eyes, lifting up the box with an oblivious smile. “Just this.”
She scanned the bar-code. “That’ll be fifteen seventy-three and eight cents.”
“Okay,” you said. “Sounds good.” You backed away from the counter and you looked at your mom with an expectant smile.
She looked back at you, bewildered. She turned to look at the girl, who stood there looking back at her with a look of confusion on her face.
Your mom took a deep breath, and then she approached the counter. The pretty smile on the girl’s face evaporating as she did. By the time your mom got to the counter and pulled her wallet out of her purse, the girl’s face was completely devoid of any emotion whatsoever, and she nudged the card machine toward your mom the way she would with any other run-of-the-mill customer.
“Would you like the receipt in the bag?” she asked, her voice monotone now.
“Sure,” your said with a grin before your mom could decide.
When you walked out of the store, you tried to walk slow enough to give your mom time to advance. But no matter how slow you walked, you still managed to somehow stay ahead of her.
She trailed behind you, looking at the back of your head with concern on her face.
When the two of you got to the car, she saw you obliviously open the door, get in and shut it, exposing to her the mark you had forgot you had made on its otherwise pristine surface. She had just gotten a new paint-job to cover over one of your previous dings but three weeks ago. She took another deep breath, before continuing and manoeuvring herself back into the driver’s seat of the car. You watched her stressleslly from the passenger seat, seeing her shapely lower half trying to work itself back inside, and part of you wished there was somebody else within the car to see it happening with you. By the time the thought of pulling your phone out and filming it had occurred, she had already opened up the driver’s seat of the car and was now working herself in as carefully as she could. You watched with a devilish smile as she came in, butt first, and you watched it as she slowly lowered that butt onto the deep groove in the seat. She then swung her legs in, took a deep breath and shut the door. She looked up into the rear-view and fixed her hair before starting the car.
As the two of you were propelled through the city by her foot on the gas and brake, you looked down at your new toy with sweaty hands and a big smile on your face.
She didn’t want to say anything to you, not enjoying conflict. So when she finally did speak, she surprised even herself. “Are you at least going to say thank you?”
You looked up, confused. “Thank you for what?” you said. It was a genuine question.
She sat there astonished.
“For the computer,” she said firmly.
“Oh,” you said. “Yeah, yeah. Of course. Thank you, mom,” you said. “Now I can play in the basement too.”
She was silent for a minute, gazing out expressionlessly at the red stoplight. Then it turned green again. “Your welcome,” she said, mechanically. She stepped on the accelerator.
After a few more minutes of silence, the moment only containing the sounds of traffic, she spoke up again: “the girl at the counter there was cute, hey?”
You looked up slowly from the pristine box, looking ahead at first. Then you looked over at her. “What girl?”
“The one at the counter there,” she said. “At the store.”
You blushed a little, but not much. “I didn’t notice,” you said.
“I think she was giving you the look.”
“What look?” you said, innocently.
“You don’t know the look?” your mom asked.
“No. What look?”
“I think she thought you were cute,” your mom said in an almost sing-song. She looked over at you, smiling.
Your face went red. You looked back down at the box.
“Is she your type? What kind of girl are you into?”
You didn’t say anything. You could see your bronze forearms starting to glow a radiator red.
“You know,” she said. “If you had a car, you could take her out and…”
“I don’t want a car,” you said.
“But if you had one, you could…”
“I don’t want one though.”
She looked over at you. You sat there, looking down at the box. A car behind yours honked and she looked up ahead and saw the light was green. She took her foot off the break and depressed the accelerator with it. She had to step hard, not just because of a building of tension in her mind and body, but because the engine didn’t work as well as it used to. She had burned an excessive number of miles into it just driving you around, almost twice as much as would have been the case if you never needed a ride from her at all.
“Why don’t you want a car?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” you said. “I don’t really need one.”
She felt a tugging at the sinewy abstraction behind her nose and eyes. She tried to not let it show on her face.
“Besides,” you said. “Isn’t it kind of a waste of money?”
“A waste of money!?” she asked, her voice raised now.
“Yeah,” you said, not sensing her emotional state. “Not just with the car. But with gas. Why would I want to waste my money on all of that when I already have a ri-“
“What money!?” she said. “You have no money!?”
It was only then that you started to notice something strange in her tone of voice, and you looked into her eyes now with your own wide.
“Sweety,” she said, her voice calming down now. “Don’t you think you should maybe go out looking for a…”
“For a what?” you said, fearing she’d say ‘for a girl.’
“…for a job,” she said.
“A job?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Don’t you think it’s time you get one?”
“Why would I need a job?”
“Sweety…”
“Yeah,” you said, your mouth hanging open.
“You’re twenty-three years old.”
You looked at her, confused as to why that was relevant.
She continued: “You’re not in school. You’re not doing anything… anything productive, I mean. You’re having fun playing your games. And that’s fine. That’s a fine pastime. But don’t you think you should be… you know… living life?”
“I am living life,” you said.
“Yeah,” she said. “Well, that’s not what I mean. I mean, don’t you think you should be bringing in your own money. Paying your own bills. Maybe finding a girlfriend or saving up to buy a house or to go to school for something?”
You didn’t understand. Suddenly a look of realization crossed your face. Your mom could pick it up in her peripheral and she looked over, awaiting you to vocalize what you had only now just discovered. You spoke: “Did you lose your job?”
Her brows furrowed. “No!” she exclaimed suddenly, causing you to sink back toward the passenger-side door. “This is my point,” she said. She continued, speaking rapidly rather than loudly, as if speaking in the former was the only way to avoid the latter. “It shouldn’t matter what my job is or whether I have it or I don’t. You should be making your own money. You’re an adult now. You should be buying your own things and driving yourself to go and buy them. I shouldn’t be holding your hand for the rest of your life.”
You looked at her for a moment. Then you looked down at the box. Not looking at it, but looking through it. You sat there as the car moved. You pouted to yourself, feeling betrayed by her sudden outburst. Not only did you not understand why it was she was so upset, but you didn’t understand why she had sprung it on you all at once. You knew that she had more than enough money. You knew that she had more than enough free time to drive you. You knew that she had a car, and that she made more than enough money to pay for the bills. Why was she getting so upset?
After a dozen or so minutes of silence, she spoke to you softly: “look,” she said. “I’m not mad or anything. I’m just suggesting…. Maybe it’s about time for you to get a job. Do you agree?”
That word, horrible and jagged, stuck to your throat like an urchin. You looked up and out of the window at the passing buildings. “But where?” you asked, near-silently, your lips pouting outward like that of a young child’s.
“Anywhere you want, sweety,” she said. “This city is full of places that are hiring. We’re in the middle of a labour-shortage.”
As she said it, your line of sight was filled with a building which had a logo which looked like the eye of a camera on it. Bernstein’s Security Emporium is what the sign read. Your mom turned down the street, which ran down the building’s side. As your car neared closer to the window, you saw a big pink sign on the glass of the front door which read “Now Hiring.”
The sign and building passed out of sight.
After some silence: “Will you think about what I’m saying sweety?” she said, in a voice soft enough that she almost seemed to be apologizing for her uncharacteristic firmness only moments earlier. “Maybe when you’re setting up your computer, you can just spend some time thinking… and hopefully-“
“Will you help me fill out the application?” you asked without looking at her.
She looked at you, surprised. Then she looked back at the road. Then she looked back at you. “Applications,” she said, trying to clarify emphasizing on the plural. “You’ll probably have to send to a few places before you find one. That’s usually how it works.”
You didn’t say anything. You just looked out the window.
Your mom spent her Saturday and Sunday driving you around to various places, sitting outside in the car as you went to their customer service desks to ask for applications. You’d then come back to the car where she’d help you fill out the applications and send you back in to drop them off.
The Sunday wore on with the two of you doing this, taking a break twice to get food at a fast-food place and talk. Your mom grimaced as she took bites of her burger and spoke. “The more we send out, the better chance you have of getting a job. It’s a numbers game like everything else.” Her lips curled. “The mayonnaise on this burger is too salty.”
“How many places did you have to apply to to get your job, mom?”
You knew the answer was one, that her current boss had gotten one good look at her and he had decided in the privacy of his mind to hire her on the spot.
She chewed on her burger and swallowed. “Quite a few times,” she lied. And then she put what was left of her food into her mouth. “Is yours salty too?”
“Yes,” you said. You were lying too.
The day was coming to a close, and you were both getting to the point where most businesses were closing for the day. You both drove on, this time in the direction going home, where your mom would shower, brush her teeth, and then go to sleep so that she’d be ready for work in the morning, and you’d also go to sleep, knowing that the rest of the week, barring any phone calls, would be no different than a weekend for you.
As her delicate hands crawled up and down the steering wheel, her foot alternating between the accelerator and brake, and the groove worked into her car seat continuing to get a little bit bigger, you saw it again, that pink sign.
“Stop here,” you said.
“Huh?”
“Stop here. I want to try this place.”
She stopped on the edge of the street. “A Security Emporium? What do they do here?”
“They sell things,” you said.
“What things?”
You didn’t respond, you only sat there, looking up at the sign. It was going to close soon.
“Mom,” you said, still looking at the building.
“Yes?”
“I’m going to go inside and ask for an application. Do you want to come in with me?”
Your mom was shocked to come home from work to see you in her room, standing in front of the full-body mirror with one of your late father’s suits on. You saw her exaggerated lower-half in the reflection and you turned to look at her. Your dad’s suits were way too broad in the chest and shoulders for you. Plus they were about a decade out of fashion. You looked ridiculous.
“I got an interview,” you said as you failed to tighten your tie.
You convinced her to come with you on the interview, though she seemed less than thrilled with the idea. She thought that it was certain you’d be shooting yourself in the foot by bringing your mom with you. But you knew better. You knew you needed the full weight of her body in the chair next to you if you wanted to make this job a sure thing. You had seen the way the assistant manager had looked at her the previous day when you both had come in to ask for that application, and you kept catching him looking at her from the opposite side of the store, through the corner of his eyes, as you and her filled out the application at the customer service desk. Your mom had to scratch out and correct your various mistakes on the page due to how distracted his wandering gaze had you. He stood at a vacant shelf, wiping it clean with a rag, as he looked at your side profile, seeing your mom’s butt protruding past it by a significant margin, even when the rest of her body was blocked completely by yours.
She conceded to coming along with you only after a little push-back, and, what’s more, she offered to buy you a suit.
At the tailor’s, the man measuring you kept looking over at her waist with his measuring ribbon in hand, you could tell he was eager and hopeful to get her measurements as well.
“And you ma'am?” he asked, as he wrote your final numbers down.
“Me?” she said.
“Are you looking for a dress or suit yourself? This was for… a wedding, you said?”
“An interview,” she replied. “For him. And no, I’m fine.”
The man squeezed his ribbon tightly in his thumb and forefinger. “Suit yourself,” and he headed with a grimace to the back of the store.
After your job interview, you and your mom stood up, and as the man who would hopefully be your new boss took a subtle look at your mom’s lower body before reaching out to shake her hand, you looked down at your mom’s seat to see the red fabric of it had been filled with her imprint, and you smiled.
“Um, sweety,” your mom said.
You looked up at her to see her eyebrows raised at you. She motioned with her head and an awkward smile toward your new boss.
You turned your head to look at him, standing there with a big smile and a big extended hand.
“Welcome aboard, son,” he said. “I know you’re going to fit in well here.”
As you and your mom left the building, she followed behind you, trying to fight back a smile. You weren’t even paying attention to her, nor were you as surprised that you landed the job as she was. After all, you had seen the imprint she had left in that chair and you knew that it was exactly as big as the one she had left in your new boss’s heart and mind. You were set.
Your mom saw very little of you for the next two weeks. You tended to work in the evenings, and also on both days of the weekends, with two random days of your week off. She would often come out of the shower in the morning before work, surprised to not hear your computer games being played, no matter how many times she reminded herself that you would still be sleeping then after a long night of work. Then she would go to work, forget about it all for 8-12 hours and come home, again surprised to be coming into an empty and quiet house. The emptiness of it almost disturbed her, but she cooked dinner all the same, got in the car after she was finished, drove to your new job, picked you up, and took you home to eat together everyday before she went to sleep, and you spent only an hour or two playing video games each night. As you sat at the dining room table, eating, she’d ask you questions about your job. And you, without any excitement or worry, answered them flatly. “Good,” you’d say. Or “fine.” Any logistical question came out just as flatly. She was hoping for more from you, maybe some excitement or some stories to tell, or maybe even some accumulating wisdom or knowledge. Instead you seemed to have just acclimated yourself to the job the same way one would any other banal fact of life. That was more than satisfactory for her, and she’d go to sleep these nights with a big smile.
One night, the last one before your first paycheck, she had asked if there were any girls working there, preferably pretty ones. You didn’t say anything, you only picked at your spaghetti with your fork. She smiled, seeing through some subtlety in your face that there was a girl you were thinking about. She didn’t say anything after that, not wanting to cheese you out of action through the embarrassment of pointing a spotlight at it, but she had trouble hiding her smile. And more than that, the wiggling of her butt against her kitchen chair.
The following night, she had picked you up, and you sat as silently in the passenger seat as you usually would. She smiled sitting next to you, her hands crawling up and down the steering wheel as she weaved through the city. After a while, she noticed something in her peripheral.
Sitting on your lap was a black box. She looked down at it through the corner of her eye, making out little of it in the darkness, then back up at the road.
“What’s that?’ she asked after a few moments.
“What’s what?” you said.
“That. That in your lap.”
“It’s nothing,” you said.
“Oh.”
“It’s just something for my computer.”
After some silence, a smile started to form on her face. It was the first thing she had seen you purchase with your own money. And the privacy with which you seemed to be eager to keep caused pleasurable thoughts to bloom in her mind. She could imagine you, leaving the building during your break, and going over to a store nearby, perhaps a jewellery store or a place that sold little trinkets which may or may not have the potential to hold sentimental value. Whatever it was you had bought, she was sure it was for that special lady that she had deduced was somewhere in your life, or who was at least on the path toward being brought there. The only thing you needed next, she thought, was your very own car to drive this special lady around in.
When you got home, you rushed past the kitchen, even as fried chicken, your favorite, sat there waiting for you. You instead headed for the bathroom, and your mom waited at the table for you to come back so you could both eat together. But when she started to worry about the chicken getting cold, she looked down at her watch to realize that you had been in there for more than ten minutes. She approached the bathroom door and knocked.
“Yes,” you answered, sounding startled.
“You alright in there?”
“I’m fine,” you said.
“Okay,” she said. “When you get out, let’s have dinner together.”
“I already ate,” you said.
“You ate?”
“Yeah.” Your answers were abrupt.
“Oh,” she said, and backed up onto her right heel. “Good.” She was quiet for a second, looking at the inanimate door. “Would you like for me to pack up some for work tomorrow.”
“No,” you said. “That’s okay.”
She stood there, staring at the door, feeling a strangeness in her. That strangeness was uneasiness, though she didn’t want to vocalize to herself that that was what she felt. Visions of this mystery girl flashed in her mind. And instead of some figure of her own creation, she imagined the girl as if she were the one at the electronics shop, the pretty blonde, and she imagined her face as it went from grinning and bright to dull and flat. Your mom’s heart sunk. She wanted to knock on the door again, to push, to prod, and getting it out of you, to console whatever anxiety or heartbreak ate at you. Instead, knowing better that you needed your privacy, she backed away and went to the kitchen, where she sat there over her plate of chicken, trying to muster up the appetite and failing.
That night, when she lay in bed, she lay there without a smile, looking at the wall as she heard the sounds of ogres and violence coming from the computer in your room.
When your mom got into the shower the next morning, it was with an uncharacteristic lethargy. She removed her clothes with exhaustion, her mind and body wiry from lack of sleep and excessive thinking. The cool air in the bathroom felt uncomfortable against her skin, and she had forgotten to turn on the shower while she undressed in order to let the water heat up. When she removed all her clothes and stepped into the shower, stepping toward the stream of water, she sucked back air on contact with it and jumped backward.
“Ah,” she said. She slowly got closer to it, dipping her fingers inside, and waiting for it to get warmer. Feeling that it was taking a while, she bent down to grab the soap and began lathering the parts of her body that she had already gotten wet. She then put the soap down, and feeling that the water on the shower’s floor was running lukewarm against her feet, she stepped forward and allowed herself to be engulfed in the warm stream.
The shower was her favorite part of the day. It was the part where she could let her hair down and find some escape against the stresses of work and of being a mother, in a world that seemed so separate from the world of the ticking clock. She was a driven woman, and never complained about her load in life, but she still appreciated the stress that she did have to suffer through for the sake of her goals could at least be forgotten entirely for just this one little ten-minute moment each day. It was the only thing that was entirely hers. And even now, with her worry regarding you and your private troubles, she had managed to forget and enjoy the solitude under the warming flow. Even just her nudity, which she soaped with thorough palms, was only ever complete in this one room in her entire life. She would go to her bedroom after, wrapped in a towel, putting on her underwear with the towel still wrapped around her shoulders, only letting it fall after her bra and panties had been put on. And even then, the rest of her wardrobe, which was waiting there studiously on her bed, would follow quickly.
Your mom then grabbed the soap again, ready to perform the most absurd action of her day, the one that made her feel the most ridiculous, the only thing that did. She grabbed the soap and she pushed it into the space between her two butt cheeks. It would always go in so deep, even as a new and full bar, that she half-imagined it getting lost up there. After she was done, her shower, she would go and wrap it up in an open bit of wax paper that was sitting on the sink, and she’d put it at the back of one of the drawers where she was sure you’d never find it and use it yourself. The thought of it making her feel bad. Like she would be infecting your body with the essence of that space that remained so well hidden on hers. She even kept the other bars of soap excessively stocked so that you would never have to become creative and ambitious enough in your necessity to find that one.
She put the soap back down and began to wash herself, spreading out her butt-cheeks as she aimed them at the stream, feeling the space between them tickle unbearably. It was amazing that no matter how professionally one wanted to present themselves, they always had moments like these where they’d have to be their own private clown. There was no way around it. She was just glad that nobody had to see.
When she was finished, she shut off the shower-head, pulled her towel down from the rack, and dried herself while still in the shower. Everywhere from her feet to the top of her head, and, yes, even the space between her butt cheeks, she dried there so that she could change quickly into her clothes when she got back in her room.
When she grabbed the bathroom door, her towel wrapped tightly to her curves, she had a smile on her face. But as soon as she opened the door, and she heard the sounds of grunting and unrealistic violence from the computer in your room, her smile disappeared and was replaced by furrowed brows.
She looked at your door. After a moment, the worst thought she could conjure had past. “It’s his day off today,” she told herself. Obviously it was. You had worked for six days straight. You were just letting off steam. Just like she did by unwinding in the shower. Everybody had their own ways to release the stress of their busy lives. Why should you be any different? She smiled to herself and headed to her bedroom. Within minutes, she emerged from it fully-clothed and ready, and she grabbed her things, including a thermos of coffee waiting for her under the dispenser of the kuerig machine and dry toast waiting for her in the toaster. She then got into her car and left for the day, eating and caffeinating herself on the car ride there.
After she had left, the sounds of your computer had stopped all at once.
There was silence all through the house.
And then your bedroom door creaked open slowly.
Your face appeared in the gap, and it peered out into the hallway, toward the open door of the bathroom.
The bathroom door back at home hung open as you stood miles away in the electronics store that you had gotten your laptop from.
“I don’t understand,” the middle-aged, bald employee asked. “What are you selling?”
You stood there in the suit your mom had bought you for your interview, your hands in the jacket pockets. The pretty blonde at the till had seen you as she came back from break, and in between and during taking customers, she looked over at you periodically with subtle intrigue in her eyes.
You stood there, looking at the salesman, somewhat of a salesman yourself, you figured, with your face looking confident and determined. “Did you like her?” you asked.
“Like who?”
“You know who I’m talking about,” you said. “Let’s not keep doing this.”
“I thought she was your mom,” the man said, blushing. “Or that she was related to you somehow.”
“I’m asking you a simple yes or no question,” you said, annoyed at the indecisive direction the conversation was going in.
The salesman looked around, catching his young blonde coworker at the till looking at the back of your head with real curiosity. He looked down at the ground. “I suppose I found her attractive. Yeah.”
“I know you did,” you said. “Now…. Like I asked before, do you have one hundred to spend?”
“I… uhh,” he said, confused on just how to answer.
You looked at him with your chin tilted upward. The edges of your suit jacket flared as your hands pressed deeply into their pockets.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do.”
“On you?” you asked.
“No,” he said, his face red and uncertain, still not looking you in the eye.
“Do you live alone?”
“No, with my wife.”
“Will she be home when you are?”
“She works late tonight,” he said. “Til eight I think.”
“Okay,” you said, and you looked around. “Mind if I tag along with you when your shift ends?”
When he opened the door to his house and you both stepped in, the first thing you noticed was the picture of him and his wife above the fireplace. She was fat and misshapen, with the face of a pig. The thought had occurred to you how he had worked so hard trying to sell people electronics they didn’t need, often making a fool of himself doing so, just for the sake of pleasing that thing he held tightly to himself in the photo.
“What does your wife do?” you asked.
“She’s a corrections officer,” he said, stepping on his heels to remove his shoes. “At the women's prison.”
“I see,” you said. “My mom makes over a hundred-thousand dollars a year,” you said, correctly.
The man skimmed over the awkwardness of the statement, its weak segue, and instead just trembled subtly, as he removed his other shoe, at the mention of your mom. You had shown him the flash drive. You had assured him multiple times, both in the store, out back during break, and in the car ride over here, that it contained exactly what he wanted to see, though you seemed to refuse to tell him exactly what that meant. You guaranteed him his satisfaction or his money back. And he was scared now, as much as he was excited, that he’d have cause for that refund.
You stood in the living room, looking at the blue-ray player with the space for a flash-drive sitting under the 60 inch television. He came back from his bedroom with a clean one hundred dollar bill in his hand.
“One hundred?” he said.
“One hundred,” you responded.
“Okay.”
He handed it to you folded. You could feel his hand trembling as you took it from him.
He sat on the couch trying not to shake visibly as you knelt down and plugged in your flash-drive.
“I edited it down,” you said. “I only had enough to buy a cheap one and it seemed to be activated by any noise. But I kept myself coming in to pick it up, in case that’s your thing.”
“So it is footage that you’re talking about here?”
You didn’t answer. You just grabbed his remote control off the arm of the opposite couch and clicked on the tv.
“Footage that you took yourself?”
The screen turned on, you pointed with the remote and clicked on the usb drive icon.
Not long afterwards, there was the image of nothing but blackness. Suddenly the video exploded into a bright yellow light, which then adjusted to a warm orange.
It was a bathroom.
The bathroom door opened. Your mom came in holding a towel, wearing pink pajamas.
You could hear him stop breathing behind you.
Your mom threw her towel over the towel rack. It hung down equally on either side. “Do you want me to fast forward it. Remember, I can edit this for you the way you want it for an extra thirty dollars.”
She lifted up her pajama shirt, and her brown tits jiggled in her black bra.
“And if you want that bra,” you said. “Or anything else she’s wearing here, I’ll need to find out what it costs. It will be double that, as I need to replace anything I give away.”
The man didn’t say anything. He just sat there silently.
She grabbed the waist of her pajamas and pulled. The man’s silence was interrupted by a choking noise when he saw her butt cheeks fall free. Her underwear was pulled down slightly, exposing only the top-most nub of her butt-crack to the man’s hungry eyes.
Your mom studiously placed her clothes on the sink. She took a look at herself in the mirror, seeming to see a blemish on her face of some sort. Then she backed away. She grabbed the waist of her underwear. You heard the couch behind you squeak.
And with just one sudden motion, she pulled down.
The man sucked in air.
Suddenly, as if there was no such thing as miracles, a blur appeared over the entirety of your mom’s lower-half.
“What?” he said. His face white.
Your mom removed her bra, and set it down on the sink counter. Her elegant back unbroken to the camera. She then turned around, only for her top half to be consumed by an indecipherable blur. Brown flesh meshed with the colors of the bathroom, all of them together as an indistinguishable oneness.
“But!?” he said. “I….”
“One hundred dollars to see her in her underwear,” you said. “Seems fair, don’t you think?”
“But…” He was speechless.
You looked at him with a smile.
“No more?” he asked, his eyes doe-like in their fragility.
You pulled your hand back out of your jacket pocket. “I didn’t say that,” you said. And in front of you, you held another flash drive. “This one is the same as what’s up there,” you said, pointing at the blurry and vague femininity below your mom’s head stepping into the shower. “But without the blurs.”
The man stared at you pleadingly. You stared back, the power in your hands. “Is it worth…. Let’s say… and extra 35$ dollars to you?”
The look of relief from desperation took hold in the man’s eyes.
You smiled.
He went to go get up. “I’ll go get it.”
You leaned down and placed your hand on his shoulder firmly, keeping him in place. “I’ll take your word for it,” you said. “Just sit back and enjoy what you’re paying for.”
You went over to the player, removing the usb stick and putting in the new one.
After playing with the remote for an unbearably long time by his estimation, you were both greeted once again to blackness. Followed swiftly by a blinding white-yellow light, and then by that warm orange. Your mom stepped into the the bathroom.
“Remember what I said,” you said as she removed her pajama shirt. “Anything she wore is up for sale if you’re willing to pay for it.”
He responded with what was likely “sure,” but it came out in an impotent whimper.
She removed her pajama bottoms, and the same giant brown ass, its cheeks mostly free, and the top most nub of their butt-crack visible.
She had removed all of it. He knew she had. He had seen the other video. And he knew that it had taken more work for you to add the blurs. That this time around, for this drive, all you had to do was nothing. There was nothing going to stop him from seeing what he wanted to see. Nothing short of a sudden power outage or a rift being opened up in space/time, sucking everything in at once.
Your mom looked closely at herself in the mirror, seeming to be bothered by a minor blemish which meant nothing compared to the overwhelming remainder of her.
“And if you want to visit the bathroom while she’s at work,” you offered with your hands in your suit pockets. “That’ll be…” you seemed to stop to think about it, though with an intention to answer quickly enough to seem as if you had it all figured out. “Fifty dollars. You can shower there or anything. Even look at whatever you want.” You looked out the corner of your eye as if in thought. “But you have to pay for any souvenir you find there and want to take home.”
He seemed to want to respond, judging by his quivering exhalation, but no words came out.
Your mom backed up from the mirror.
She put her thumbs into the wait of her panties.
“The money maker,” you murmured to yourself with a unstoppable smile.
She pulled down her panties in one swift motion.
You heard him suck in air behind you. Then you heard him exhale slowly.
“Oh god,” he said.
Your mom stood there in the bathroom, her butt-crack large and unbroken. Her body brown and nude all over, but for the bra which she began to unstrap. She placed it nicely on the sink counter, her bronze back and shoulders unbroken to the camera, accentuated beautifully by the perfect and exposed curve of her ass, and the jet black butt-crack which ran between her cheeks.
She turned around, and her breasts swung into view. Her nipples completely bare and dark.
Cash cow, you thought to yourself as you stared at them.
She stepped delicately into the shower. She turned on the water. Suddenly, she jumped back from it, her butt jiggling for the camera.
The whimper you heard behind you trembled as if it had its own physical body.
Your mom placed her delicate hand into the stream. She then knelt down, exposing the barest glimpse of what lay in the abyss between her cheeks, and she grabbed a bar of soap. A strange looking one that you had never seen before editing this video in the morning.
It was amazing that this video was not only the first time the two of you had seen her naked body, but it would also be the first time you had both seen her naked body lathered up with soap. It was only now, in this stranger’s living room with him, that you thought about how good the cocoa brown of her Hispanic flesh looked contrasted with the pure white of the soap. It was a very striking and pleasing visual, one you had introduced to the outside world almost out of nothing. You had never realized that such control over your own environment like this could ever be possible.
You had spent the last two weeks at your job, stuttering and fumbling through helping customers and completing basic tasks. You had held your tongue when around your mom, not wanting to let her know how hard of a going you were having with it. It made you feel useless, and the only thing that kept you showing up for work each day (because you’d never have the strength to openly quit), was the thought of that camera you’d be able to buy at the end of the week. The one your mom would never have to know about, not through driving you towards it, or through her purchasing it for you with her credit card.
The manager had smiled at you, and you only looked down and blushed, as you rang it through for you, only guessing at what your intentions were. He was no longer your employer, as of last night, but you’d take great pride coming into work tomorrow anyway, in the suit you were wearing now, as a freelancer, ready to sell him something he’d absolutely love to consume. He’d be your second customer.
As your mom felt the warm water against her feet, she did something you’ve never seen her do before. Something you never knew she could do. She did a little jump for joy.
When she placed the entirety of her body under that warm stream (you knew exactly how it felt, placing yourself under that stream countless times while she was away at work), you would think her audible sense of satisfaction was shared with the man on the couch behind you. Both him and your mom moaned pleasurably in unison.
You knew it was now that you had to drive it home.
“By the way, if you want me to leave the drive with you, it’ll cost you.”
He seemed to be murmuring something, and though it was incomprehensible, its tone implied it was in the affirmative, but also as if he was brushing aside a distraction.
You pulled out a third drive from your jacket pocket. “This one is the same, but with her face blurred. That’s one hundred to keep. Or you can keep the body blur one for twenty. This one though,” you pointed at the screen. “This one will be two-hundred if you want to keep it. Just make sure your wife doesn’t find it. And don’t let anyone else see it but you.” Your concern for the last point had more to do with protecting your intellectual property from piracy, and the blow to profitability that it would lead to, than it did for any moral concern.
The whole while you were explaining the price plans, you could hear him during almost all of it murmuring: “Yuhhmmmyhhmmm.”
You turned around, expecting him to be impatiently nodding as he looked past you at the screen, and it turned out to be exactly what he was doing. But what you weren’t expecting was for his trousers to be pulled down at his thighs with his left hand as he used his right to play with throbbing penis.
You looked at it with your eyes wide, then you turned around and looked back at the screen.
It’s good to see people enjoying the product, you thought.
As the video progressed, your body began to tense up with an entrepreneurial pride. You pointed at the screen. “Now watch this. It’s not just a peep show. It’s a magic trick. Have you ever seen a bar of soap disappear right before your eyes? How about a whole human hand?”
“Oh god!” he said, and you turned around.
Your eyes went wide.
Thick ropes of jism shot out of the tip of his white dick and landed in giant warm pools all over his hips and thighs. “Fucckkk yesss,” he moaned in an intense whisper. “Your mommy’s assssssssss.”
You watched apprehensively as the ejecting ropes began to slow down. Your eyes wide as the last of it gushed out slowly and coated the tip of his penis.
“Jesus Christ,” he said, his voice now calm, without trembling or pressure. He looked down at the mess, then he looked over at his tissue box on the stand and he grabbed a tissue. All the while, the video still played, though he didn’t seem to be paying nearly as much attention to it.
You turned around, watching your mom rinsing herself off, and then bending down, showcasing her giant ass to the camera, as she placed the bar of soap down. She then reach out beyond the curtain, grabbed her towel, brought it back in, and began drying herself. All the while, you heard your customer behind you cleaning himself with the tissue.
You stood there, your fingernails in your mouth, realizing you had made a mistake. Worrying that you wouldn’t be getting your extra few hundred now that you had let him expel the will to pay for it from his balls. If he even had some foresight, and would decide to pay for the one with your mom’s face blurred, you’d still be going home with significantly less than what the total potential of the product was worth.
This was a learning experience, you told yourself sombrely.
The video ended with your mom leaving in her towel. She stood in the doorway for a moment, looking down the hall in the direction of your bedroom. Her eyebrows furrowed. Then a smile overtook her, as if she had just realized that her son was the last person she would have to worry about. You had finally began figuring it out. Then she continued forward, shutting off the bathroom light.
You stood there, knowing you should fast-forward a few minutes until when you’d come in as a co-star, picking up your hidden-camera, camouflaged in plain sight, with your eyes full of intent. But you knew that the longer it all took, the longer he would have to get horny again, and the more he would buy under the spell of that arousal.
You stood there sweating, unsure of what to do. Unsure if you could justify such shamelessness.
Then you heard the sound of tissues against flesh and fabric stop behind you.
“Okay,” he said. “How much do I owe you? One-hundred and….”
You held your breath.
“No,” he said suddenly. “Three hundred and thirty… five if I remember correctly.”
He looked up at the back of your head, not realizing just how big the smile on the other side of it was. You bit the side of your cheeks to calm yourself. Suddenly, you turned around, a look of stark professionalism on your face. “Will that be cash or cheque?”
As you looked at the drive sitting on his kitchen table, you fished through your pockets, counting what you had. It was all there, both the money and the remaining flash drives. You’d have to buy more on the way home today. How many, you weren’t sure, but you were prepared to spend everything you had made today. You knew more was coming, as long as you put that money where it guaranteed a return.
He stood by his kitchen table, looking down at the little drive fondly.
You stood at the front door with your shoes on.
You felt strange, but you knew you had to.
“Uh…. so” you said. He looked over at you. “So if… like I said… If you’re at all interested in… you know… visiting my house when she’s gone…. Or… buying anything she wore there… just shoot me a text and I’ll… I’ll get back to you with prices. But just know I charge extra if what you’re taking isn’t washed.”
“No,” he said. “I’m okay.”
You looked at him for a moment. Then you nodded your head. “Okay. Well… it was a pleasure doing business with you.”
You turned around and twisted the knob of the door.
“Actually,” he said.
You stopped twisting.
“How much for the bar of soap?”
A smile rose over your face. You let the doorknob twist slowly back into a closed position.
You thought about the look on their faces and your cock throbbed as it was worked below you. Not since Barnum and Bailey had a full room of onlookers been so entertained.
“Oh, you’re excited today,” Kayleen said, grabbing the base of your cock and slapping it against your stomach. “Want me to put it in my mouth?”
You pressed your foot against the accelerator, speeding up, switching lanes, speeding up more, pulling back into your previous lane, in front of the van which seconds ago drove on in front of you. You then taking your foot off the accelerator and applying it to the brake. The man in the van behind you watched as your brake lights went red, looking intense against the red paint of your corvette. “What was that?” you said.
“A blowjob?” she said, the wind running through her blonde hair. “You seem tense.”
“No,” you said. “That’s okay. Just keep playing with it.”
“I don’t know what it is you do for a living, but whatever it is, it sure has you distracted.”
Your cock pulsed in her hands. “Just let me lick the tip,” she said.
“Okay,” you said. “But not too aggressive. I want you to sit on it later.”
“Ooh,” she said with a grin, and leaned her head down. You felt your cock swallowed whole by the humid warmth of her mouth.
An old man drove up beside you, looking over, seeming to admire your car.
“Hey,” you said to the mop of blonde hair engulfing your entire lap. “Get up on your knees. Give this guy next to us a show.”
She didn’t even stop sucking, she got up on her knees, and the man looked on astonished as he watched as a young naked ass peaked up from the passengers seat of the convertible.
You slammed on the accelerator, making the car purr, so that she couldn’t hear you as you said “it’s nice having something you can afford to give away for free.”
Even over the sound, she heard you speaking to yourself.
Your cock flooded with cool air as she lifted her face off of it. “What did you say?” she asked innocently.
“Nothing,” you said. “Just keep sucking it.”
As you felt your cock being fully consumed by her mouth again, you let your head fall back against the leather headrest. You then slapped her ass for the pleasure of the old man. He smiled, watching her ass flesh ripple.
Then you looked ahead. Your eyes went wide. You slammed on the horn with the heel of your hand. The man’s eyes went wide, he looked ahead to see a car, with a bumper sticker saying baby on board, which sat at a dead stop at the lights. He slammed on his brakes, disappearing from your sight.
As you slowed to a stop at the light, her head came up off your lap. “What the fuck was that?” she said, alarmed by the horn.
“You know,” you said. “I should be paying you?”
“For what?” she said.
“For not biting off my dick back there.”
She smiled up at you devilishly. “I can come by tonight and bite it off then.”
You looked up at the road with a smile. “I wish I could,” you said. “But I got business to attend to.”
“Aww,” she said. “Come on! If you want, we can head to the club, maybe bring a girl home with us for some fun.”
“No,” you said. “This is important.
“Or…” she said, her smile growing wider. “We could bring home a guy, a big football quarterback type, and you can watch me put his cock on in my mouth and sit on it for you.”
She knew exactly what to say to get to you. You could imagine her giant white ass pressing softly into the cradle of his lap as he rolled his head back in pleasure. “Heh,” you said. The light went green. “I wish I could.” You stepped on the accelerator. “But the bills have to paid for somehow.”
The front door of your mom’s house opened up. You stepped inside, one hand in the pocket of your suit jacket. Behind you was a skinny young man.
As you slowly kicked off your shoes, you felt him trembling behind you as he did the same.
“Mom!” you called through the house. “Another customer is here!”
He looked over at you, terrified.
“It was just a joke,” you said. “Come on. Come in.”
“So,” you said, as you guided him through your mom’s house. “How old did you say you were?”
“Seventeen,” he said. “I’ll be eighteen in two months though.”
“Wow,” you said. “Seventeen. I remember that age like it was yesterday.”
“That’s what people always tell me,” he said with a tremble, eager to ground himself with small-talk. “You were probably my age a long time ago.”
“Not too long,” you said, stopping in the living room, your elbows pointed away from yourself. “I’m only twenty-four now.”
The young man looked at you astonished.
“You’re only twenty-four?”
“Yeah,” you said. “Come on, let me show you the room where the magic happens.”
As he followed behind you, passing by your mom’s darkened bedroom, he asked “do you think I could own a corvette and a house at twenty-four?”
“Sure,” you said plainly. “If you work for it.”
You clicked on the bathroom light.
“Look familiar?”
He laughed. “She was in there,” he said, pointing at the shower.
“Yup,” you said. “She sure was.”
“Soaping up that big ass.”
“Yup.”
He looked around, wide-eyed. Then he suddenly gained focus. “Where’s her toothbrush?” he asked.
“She lives alone,” you said, pointing at the only toothbrush on the stand. “So that one must be hers.”
He reached over and grabbed it impulsively, undoing his belt-buckle with his other hand. Suddenly he stopped. He looked up at you. “Can I?” he said.
“I don’t see why not,” you replied. “You paid for it.”
You stood there, watching as he rubbed the brush against his balls. “Get the tip of your dick,” you said. “Might as well make it like she’s sucking your whole cock when she uses it.”
“Heh… yeah,” he said with a geekish grin, his body flushed red with arousal.
You realized he was getting too into it. You had let him. Rookie mistake.
“Whoah,” you said. “Slow down there. You don’t want to blow your load just yet.”
“Can I cum on her toothbrush?”
“No,” you said. “I mean… you can if you want to, but let me show you something else first.”
You grabbed the brush from him with one hand, as the other pushed away his dick. “Fuck, you said. I wish I still got that hard.”
“That was the first time somebody touched my dick,” he said. “And it was a dude.”
“I guess you have a story to tell. But here, come with me.”
He went to pull up his pants.
“No, leave it. Just… come on.”
You guided him out into the hallway and pushed him by his shoulders a room over into the blackened bedroom.
“What is it?” he said. “You better not be trying to rape me or any-“
You switched on the light.
His sentence stopped cold.
Waiting for him on the bed, as naked as she was in the video he had seen, was your mom lying chest-down, the side of her face against her pillow, fast asleep.
The young man swallowed a trembling knot down in his throat.
“It’s a pleasure to introduce the two of you,” you said. “Mom, meet Gary. Gary, meet mom.”
“Is she… asleep?” he whispered.
“Yes,” you said. “Fast asleep.”
“What if she wakes up?” he said in a tone hushed multiple times beyond your own.
“She’s not going to,” you said. “I drugged her.”
He turned around and looked at you, astonished.
“Why are you showing me this?” he asked. He searched in his own mind for an answer. “Does this cost me anything?”
“Not for looking,” you said. “That’s free.”
His eyebrows raised. “Can I cum on her? Is that what you want me to pay for? I mean, I don’t have a lot of money, but I can make some. What’s the cheapest part of her I can cum on? How much is the face or ass?”
“You can cum on her,” you said. “If you want. But… I was kind of hoping you’d be interested in sticking it in?”
He looked at you, his jaw hanging open. “Sticking it in?”
“Yeah,” you said. “You know… fucking her?”
You felt the head of his cock throb upward into the heel of your hand.
“Jesus,” you said. “That thing’s hard.”
“You want me to fuck her?” he said.
“Well, yeah,” you said. “For a price.”
“I don’t have much… but I can pay you later. You can even charge me what’s it called… uhh… uhh… what the banks charge.”
“Interest. And yes, I plan to charge you.”
“Okay then. How much, I’ll pay anything….”
You stood there, grinning. Your mom lay in the background, oblivious to the business deal taking place. “How much do you have in your pockets now?”
He looked at you, befuddled, then he leaned down swiftly and pulled his pants up his thighs, just enough to get his hands into his pockets. From the depth of both pockets combined, he pulled out three dollars and eighty seven cents. His pants fell back down to his kneecaps.
He had a look of terrified desperation on his face, a look of severe disappointment at himself.
“Three dollars and some change. Almost four,” you said, looking down into his palm as if you were looking down into a pit of lions at the zoo.
He stood there, silently, his cock still throbbing, but even it seeming to do so with disappointment.
“I’m not good with breaking down fractions of dollars into fractions of time, so why don’t we just pretend that’s four hours.”
His lower lip hung open. “What?”
“It’s a dollar an hour. At least for virgins it is.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be,” you said. “Business isn’t fun and games. It’s serious stuff.”
“Holy shit, this is ama… I can’t believe it.”
“And you can cum wherever you want. If you wipe her off when you’re done, I won’t charge you for clean-up.”
The tip of his cock poked you again in your hand. “Jesus,” you said. “She isn’t even going to know what hit her, I guess.”
“Thank you so much,” he said, shaking his head. “Thank you so much. I can pay you anything you want later. Really. This means the world to me. I wanted to fuck her since I first saw her. And then you let us look.” He was talking about her without looking in her direction with such intensity it was almost as if he had forgot she was even there.
“For a price,” you said. “It wasn’t out of the kindness of my heart that I showed you that video. I’m trying to make money.”
“Oh, but it means so much to me. Whatever the reason.”
“It’s fine. It’s a transaction between equals.”
“Okay, but just let me pay you back when I have the money. Really.”
“How about this,” you said, extending your palm in the air, making sure to avoid his dick as you did. “It’s four dollars for the four hours, but if you want to buy the video I’m going to film of the two of you going at it, I’ll keep that one on hand for when you have enough money to buy it. Whether it’s in a few weeks or a few years.”
“Oh great,” he said. “But how much?”
“It’ll be a few hundred. Maybe more in a few years depending on how inflation is going.”
He looked down. “My mom isn’t going to give me a few hundred, no matter how many chores I do.”
You smiled at him, admiring the disappointment in his face. “That’s what jobs are for,” you said, and you gave him a playful smile.
He looked up at you, a smile formed on his face. “Oh yeah,” he said. “You just gave me a good reason to go and get one, I guess.”
You grabbed him by his shoulder and you turned him around until he faced your mom’s unbroken butt crack lying in wait for him there on the bed. “Okay then,” you said. “Enough talk. Go get ‘er tiger,” and you slapped him on his ass and pushed him and his raging erection in the direction of your mom.
As you watched your mom’s brown ass squish and give way to the thrust of his pale white pelvis, you smiled to yourself at the small fortune those butt-cheeks and crack made you. Some businesses had infinite shelf-life. Because what they were selling would never go out of style. You stood there, grinning with pride and self-respect, in your thousand dollar suit, in a life that was paid for in its entirety by that ass. And as you watched him pull out after not long, and begin nutting on those giant cheeks, the first nut of money for the night, you smiled to yourself, knowing that your mom’s ass was like a tap that would never stop giving. One which you could keep running without any expectation that you'd have to make good on the bill. The tap that paid for itself. And it gushed without limit.
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