Mom’s sanity depends on son’s potency * Incest * par.1

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“I’m glad we had this talk,” she said. I was so confused and angry and scared. All at the same time. This really cleared my head and made it easier for me to say this to you Mikey: it’s up to you.”

“So, you’re okay with it?”

“I wasn’t until our walk,” she said. “Now, I’m completely comfortable with whatever you say.”

We walked into the house. Uncle Zack was in the kitchen. “Sorry about before,” he said. “Mikey …”

“I’ll do it, Uncle. I’ll do it.” I didn’t know I was going to say that until I said it.

My uncle looked shocked. Auntie Lee had a look of surprise on her face that turned real happy and she ran over and hugged Uncle Zack. He picked her up and whirled her around.

They were happy. I was happy for them, but nervous and kind of scared too.

He put her down and said, “Okay, Mikey. Three things: tomorrow’s the day, the day your aunt is most likely to get pregnant. Two—no spillin’ the seed! I don’t have to tell you what that means, do I? Actually, how long has it been, because you want as much in the reservoir as possible?”

I was embarrassed now, especially in front of my aunt. “No problem. Days,” I said. “That’s two. And number three?”

“I want to be there holding my wife’s hand when she conceives our baby.”

****************************

The whole walk and everything took about an hour.

That gave me plenty of time, in fact too much time for Lori. I got there at about eleven.

We had been going out for about a year, and I think now that we graduated and were getting ready to go to separate schools, we both felt things were winding down for us. Her mother’s constant bitching and nagging didn’t help either. The ugly, old bat.

“You treated me like shit last night, yanno,” she said. And, that was when she opened the door.

“Lori, I told you I was going to be busy. Why didn’t you just help me out and learn how to be a good hostess. My mom says—”

“My MOM! My MOM!” she said in that voice (you know the one).

“Why are you being like this?”

“YOU’RE the one being like … something! Not me. Don’t blame me. You started this whole thing by not paying attention to me. I’m supposed to be the most important person in the whole world to you, like you told me a million times.”

Maybe I did say something like that. At the time, it probably seemed true to me. Maybe I really felt it, or maybe I was trying to pry a rare handjob out of her. I only asked for a blowjob once, and got nowhere.

“And you are!” I said. But it sounded a lot like a lie wrapped up in a whine. A lie even I could recognize.

Now the pout. This was the pout with the arms folded, doubly hard to negotiate her out of. This is where she usually made me beg or crawl or confess or plead.

This was the wrong day for that. I had actually been involved in more important things that morning. And I had actually been talking to a SANE woman about making joint decisions, a woman who actually valued my thoughts and opinions.

This was the wrong morning to be testing me.

“Maybe we should just break up,” I said, surprising myself.

“What? No! Mike!” she said in a bewildered, ambushed voice. She started crying and ran up to her room. The door slam cracked through the house.

Mrs. Branch came rushing out of the bathroom. She had on her dance leotard, skin tight blue with white stocking. If not for her face (which showed its age, and did I say she was ugly?) she looked like a female athlete who just graduated college. Especially her legs. And her tits, which were just-right big.

“What did you do to Lori. Are you being cruel again, young man.”

She used “young man” to intimidate. It worked in the past, but not today. And, in my estimation, I had never been cruel to Lori.

“Lori’s too sensitive, if you ask me.”

“Who are you to judge my daughter? Do you know what you need, young man?”

I didn’t wait for her to lecture me. All the tension of the morning caught up with me and I let go:

“I don’t care what you think I need. You know what you need? You need a guy to let some of that mean out of you. You waltz around in that outfit and you are so proud of that dancer’s body you have. What you need is some guy to have the courage to want to see you without that body stocking. See you naked. You need some guy to appreciate what you have and then let some of that energy you have stored up out by letting you feel like a woman again and not just a widow and mother and dance dictator.”

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