("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
                `6_ 6  )   `-.  (     ).`-.__.`)
                (_Y_.)'  ._   )  `._ `. ``-..-'
               _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,'
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            K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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Folie a Deux: Episode 1
by Senor Smut (senorsmut@gmail.com)

***

A mother and son on a cross-country drive suffer an 
accident, and then suffer more when discovered by a 
perverse biker gang. (MF, nc, inc, voy)

***

Author's Notes: 
1. All characters appearing in sexual situations in this 
   story were over the age of 18 when I imagined them. 
2. I do not endorse kidnapping, extortion, or forcing 
   family members to commit sexual acts with each other 
   under duress (I am required to say this under the terms 
   of my probation). 
3. I'm sure western Wyoming is a lovely place and not at 
   all infested with sociopathic biker gangs, although I 
   DID once see a value-pack of "incest letter" magazines 
   on a shelf at eye height for a 12-year old inside a 
   Kum & Go in northern Colorado. 
4. In my stories I'm mostly concerned with psychology 
   and character development, especially how people react 
   to the violation of taboos and societal norms. That 
   means that, at times, my stories can emphasize talk and 
   internal monologue, and even scene-setting, over the 
   nuts-and-bolts descriptions of sex. If the latter is 
   what you're after, then these stories aren't for you. 
   Luckily, there is a dazzling array of really superb 
   nuts-and-bolts stories on Literotica.com and asstr.org, 
   to mention only two sites. In addition, you are welcome 
   to peruse my vast collection of pornography, which I 
   keep scattered over many thousands of sites across the 
   internet. Perhaps you've seen it. 
5. Several thousand animals were harmed every second I 
   was writing this story, because nature is an awful, 
   awful thing. 
6. I hereby give permission for this story to be 
   duplicated and distributed under the following 
   conditions: a) that at no time shall a fee be charged 
   for access to it; b) that it be reproduced in full and 
   unedited, including this disclaimer, with credit 
   properly given; in addition, using an excerpt is fine 
   as long as it contains a link to the full story. I'd 
   like to be notified, but that's a courtesy. 
7. This story uses a format I've never tried before, and 
   indeed never seen attempted in an erotic story. It was
   a fun challenge and I think it turned out well, but I'm 
   fascinated to hear from readers as to whether or not I 
   was successful. 

***

Folie à Deux
Episode 1: The Breakdown
By Senor Smut

The screen is black as we hear a woman speak. Her voice 
is strong, certain, and decisive, her accent that of the 
Upper Midwest, her diction precise and educated. "Of 
course I remember every detail. I'll remember them until 
the day I die. June 18th began very happily. It didn't 
end that way."

The screen is taken up with a close-up of a woman 
against a black background. She is white, in her early 
40s, and strikingly beautiful in a manner almost 
Classical. Her jawline is powerful and bold, tapering 
down sharply to a pointed and very slightly cleft chin. 
Her cheekbones are almost theatrically high, while her 
nose, though well-formed, is perhaps a touch too 
prominent. Her mouth is generously wide and her lips are 
full. Her eyes are large, dark brown, and intelligent, 
and her eyebrows arch imperiously. 

Her hair is shorter than shoulder-length and dark 
blonde, and hangs in unruly locks that show extreme 
natural waviness; it's clear that she would need to take 
extreme measures to make her hair obey even the 
slightest command. Her makeup is understated and 
dignified for the most part, though her lip liner is a 
shade darker than her lipstick and deliberately 
accentuates the striking arcs of her mouth. She looks 
her age, though she also looks well preserved. A long, 
graceful neck disappears into a wide-collared dark green 
blouse.

A subtitle appears: Emily Larsen.

"It was...the culmination of a series of mistakes," she 
says judiciously, her lips in a tight line and her eyes 
revealing a series of conflicting emotions that flash 
past too quickly to recognize them. "Some of them were 
made that day, some were made earlier. Some we made 
before the trip. Most of them we didn't think anything 
of when they happened. Obviously we never could have 
anticipated what would occur, or...the consequences. But 
that's always the way. One little mistake leads to 
another and another and then before you know what's 
happening you're in so deep you can't back out."

The screen goes black and the title card appears:

Folie à Deux
Episode 1: The Breakdown

The title card is replaced by a closeup on the face of a 
handsome young man in his early 20s. The familial 
resemblance to Emily is clear. The overall shape of the 
face is the same, with the same high cheekbones, bold 
jawline, and pointed and cleft chin. His mouth is 
narrower and his lips are thinner, however, and his eyes 
are a striking, almost shocking pale blue. The biggest 
difference, however, is his hair, which is dark brown, 
straight, and short. Unlike the woman, his ears are 
visible, and he sports a small, tasteful silver hoop in 
his left earlobe. 

The subtitle reads Mike Larsen.

"We were driving from Minneapolis to San Francisco for 
my cousin Jackie's wedding," Mike says. His voice is 
deep, strong, and has the ring of youthful certainty and 
determination. "It was a big deal. She was marrying the 
son of one of the guys who runs one of the major movie 
studios, and there were going to be movie stars there 
and everything, so like third cousins were coming in 
from all over the country. My dad and my sister had gone 
out there two days before to help set things up, and 
because my sister had always been tight with the West 
Coast branch of the family."

As he speaks, Mike's face is replaced on the screen by a 
pair of photographs. One is of a handsome, 40ish man 
with dark hair and blue eyes wearing a long-sleeved blue 
shirt and a red tie, smiling as he stands in a group of 
people in a slightly shabby office ; the photograph is 
labeled Bob Larsen. The second photograph is of a 
lovely, slim young lady with unruly blonde hair and a 
huge smile, and she wears a high school cheerleader's 
outfit; the photo is labeled Olivia Larsen.

 "We'd have flown out with them, but there was this 
party I wanted to go to -- my best friend Nick's brother 
Jay was going off to join the Marines, and he's a good 
guy so I wanted to say goodbye to him."

The photographs are replaced by a film of Emily dancing 
on a stage. She is tall, lithe, and trim, and her legs 
are long and powerful. She is wearing a dancer's leotard 
beneath a fringed dress, the fringes whirling along with 
her hair as she twists and leaps with superb grace and 
skill. Her voice is heard saying, "I needed to go out 
later so that I could be at the final performance of a 
show I was in. I was an assistant professor of dance at 
the University of Minnesota, but that doesn't pay a lot. 
Bob made a steady salary as a social worker for Hennepin 
County, but the pay there was even worse. With Mike 
heading off to college and Olivia still in high school, 
we needed every penny we could get. So I did shows with 
a local company, gave private dance lessons, whatever I 
could do to pay the bills."

 Mike's smiles at the camera. "It wasn't like I was 
looking forward to spending three days in a car with my 
mom. I mean, we got along OK and everything, but not a 
lot of 18-year-old guys want to be stuck in a minivan 
with their moms visiting her friends and aunts you never 
heard of before. But that was what worked out for the 
schedule."

Mike's face is replaced by a photograph of a white 1999 
Chevrolet minivan sitting in a driveway in front of an 
open garage on a sunny summer day. Emily stands next to 
the vehicle wearing shorts that show off her legs and a 
baggy old Minnesota Twins tee shirt; she is laughing as 
she runs a soapy sponge along the hood. 

"Mom drove this old Chevy Lumina," Mike says in an 
amused-sounding voice-over. "And she loved that thing. 
Olivia and I used to joke she loved it more than she 
loved her kids. She never let anybody else drive it, not 
even dad. She babied it, she even named it -- 'Lou,' 
short for Lumina, right? She'd have actual conversations 
with it and everything. We used to tease her about it 
all the time, but it was her thing."

"I did love Lou," Emily admits with a smile as her face 
returns to the screen. "He was a faithful old guy. He 
was the first new vehicle I ever had and I treated him 
right. He was reliable and I loved driving him." Her 
smile falters as she adds, "But the GPS didn't work."

"Olivia broke the GPS," Mike explains as we see him 
again. "She was in the passenger seat, on the phone with 
her boyfriend, waving her arms around, and she hit it. 
Knocked it off the dashboard, busted it. Dad said we 
didn't have money to get it replaced then."

"I didn't think we'd need it," Emily explains seriously. 
"Most of our trip was going to be on freeways. It didn't 
seem like a big issue at the time."

Emily's face is replaced by a map of the northern Plains 
states as a red line begins to trace from Minneapolis, 
first south along I-35 and then west along I-90. "We 
left early on the morning of the 16th," her voice 
continues. The line terminates in Rapid City, South 
Dakota, at the edge of the Black Hills National Forest, 
and then the map disappears and is replaced by a picture 
of Emily sitting at a kitchen table with an elderly 
woman, both smiling brightly. "The first thing I wanted 
to do was visit my Aunt Penny. She's a wonderful person 
and Mike had never met her, so I thought this would be a 
perfect opportunity. She was...I think 82 then, but she 
made a lavish dinner for us and we spent the night 
there. She didn't want to let us leave the next day, she 
just wanted us to stay and keep visiting."

"We left early again on the 17th," Mike picks up as the 
screen shows a succession of photographs: the Black 
Hills, dark and brooding; Mike and Emily standing 
shoulder to shoulder in front of Mt. Rushmore, smiling 
at the camera; a scattering of tombstones on a barren 
hillside. "We saw Mt. Rushmore, which was okay, but I 
loved the Custer Battlefield. It was a really hot day 
and there wasn't a breath of wind. The air was just 
hanging there heavy, like a blanket. I remember standing 
on the top of that hill and looking down into the 
valley, past the tombstones to where the Sioux had their 
camp back then. The heat was making everything shimmer. 
It felt like I could almost hear the screams and the 
shots, like the place was haunted."

The map resumes as the red line picks up again, 
traveling south and then west from the Black Hills on 
State 18, then west on State 20 until it hits I-25, 
which it follows to Casper, Wyoming. At Casper it 
strikes out on a series of state and county highways at 
it heads south and west: 220, 287, 28, and then finally 
northwest on 191 toward Pinedale before finally turning 
off into ranchland. "Our next stop was my friend 
Corinne's house," Emily says, "and we got completely 
lost. That should have been a warning, but we finally 
found her place. I assumed we could retrace our steps."

Now there appears a photo of a large ranch house with 
impressive mountains in the background, and then another 
of Emily smiling as she stands next to a shorter, 
slightly plump woman about her age. "I went to college 
with Corinne," Emily explains. "We were both going to be 
dancers, and then we both got pregnant. I went back to 
school after the babies, but she married a rancher in 
Wyoming. They have a huge spread and I don't even know 
how many cattle. I hadn't seen her face-to-face since 
her wedding, so of course I enjoyed sitting down with 
her again, meeting her kids, having her meet Mike. It 
was good."

Against a black screen, we see another title card:

June 18th

Emily reappears. Looking pensive, she opens her mouth to 
speak, closes it again, takes a deep breath, starts and 
stops again, and says, "It was my fault. I'd gotten lost 
on the way to Corinne's house so I'd had her write out 
very explicit directions back to the highway. It was 
almost a page long, handwritten, extremely 
detailed...and then I forgot it and left it sitting on 
the kitchen table. It was my fault."

Mike's face replaces his mother's. He is looking off to 
the side, his expression a mixture of emotions in which 
regret and irritation feature prominently. He doesn't 
look at the camera as he speaks. "It's my fault. I saw 
the instructions on the table when we were leaving. I 
thought mom was just being nervous when she asked for 
it. I thought we could find our way back to the road 
with no problem."

The screen is taken up by a montage of rolling Wyoming 
scrubland, hill after nearly-identical hill of low brush 
interspersed with stunted trees. The footage is slightly 
grainy and much of it is taken from a vehicle, with the 
overall impact being that the land in the area is 
dreary, intimidating, and very confusing in its 
relentless sameness. 

"I got lost," Emily says in voiceover. "And it wasn't 
just that I couldn't find the road. When I realized I 
couldn't find the road, I looked for the directions and 
realized I'd left them at Corinne's." Her face appears 
again with a rueful expression. "So we tried our phones. 
And, of course, there was no signal. We were miles away 
from anywhere, so there were no wireless towers. And, as 
I mentioned, the GPS was out, which would have saved us 
has it been working. I was irritated, but I didn't think 
we were in trouble."

Cut to Mike, who explains, "And, like, three hours 
later, we're still driving. Like, in circles. It was 
weird, because we kept seeing the same damned rock 
fence" -- and here we see a grainy film of a crow 
sitting upon a dry-stone wall along the side of a dusty 
dirt road, surrounded by scrubby hills, with the Rockies 
looming ultramarine in the distance -- "and we kept 
saying, 'OK, now we've seen this before," and then half 
an hour later we've somehow looped around and we were 
seeing it again. It was kind of funny. I mean, you can't 
get mad about that kind of stuff, can you?"

"When the accident happened," Emily says, "we were 
driving along side of a little stream, just a trickle of 
water coming down from the hills. There were thick trees 
and undergrowth between the stream and the road. I 
didn't even know the deer was there until it was jumping 
right into the front of my minivan."

We see a slideshow of the Larsen minivan after the 
accident. The front passenger side is dented, the 
windshield is a spiderwebbed mess of broken, bloody 
glass, and the front axle has been ripped off as the van 
rolled over a rock.

"It committed suicide," Emily explains calmly in 
voiceover. "It purposefully threw itself into a moving 
vehicle. It was a stupid, stupid animal."

Pictures of the wreck are replaced by a brief clip of a 
pronghorn antelope looking stupid.

"We didn't even have time to realize what it was," Mike 
explains. "There was a tenth of a second of movement 
flashing in and then there was this crunching thud as we 
hit the thing. It flipped up off the front end -- I 
remember seeing it almost upside down with those spindly 
legs up in the air -- and then we hit it again with the 
windshield, and the whole thing just shattered."

"I lost control of the vehicle," Emily says in voiceover 
as we again see a closeup of the wrecked front axle, 
"and lurched off the road. I think I was going about 30. 
I couldn't have been going faster on that road."

Mike is looking amused. "We felt the axle rip off, 
right? And we came to this sudden stop, and the airbags 
didn't even go off. And then mom starts swearing. I 
mean, she never swears, but all of a sudden she's saying 
words I didn't even know she knew, this string of 
absolute filth just gushing out of her mouth for like 
three straight minutes."

Cut to Emily, looking as innocent as a lamb, saying, 
simply, "I didn't swear. I don't swear in normal 
conversation."

Back to Mike, "So she's just ripping it. 'Motherfucking 
deer cocksucker piece of fucking idiot shit deer!' and 
on and on until it became just a string of swear words 
that didn't even make any sense. And I start laughing, 
because I'd never, ever heard her swear. Once I saw her 
hit her thumb with a hammer so hard she split the nail, 
and she was all, 'Oh gosh darn it.' But wreck her 
favorite minivan and she'll swear like a sailor."

Cut briefly to a silent Emily, so prim that butter 
wouldn't melt in her mouth.

"So," Mike continues, "we started walking."

"We had to walk," Emily says. "We had no idea where we 
were or how to get to the road, and we hadn't seen 
another soul since we left Corinne's. For all we knew we 
could sit there a week and nobody would come by, and we 
weren't getting any cell signal. We had no choice."

There is a grainy clip of a long, lonely road leading 
into the rolling, scrubby hills.

"It was hot," Mike says in voiceover. "It was like 90 by 
that point and getting hotter, not even a breeze. There 
were no clouds. We had a little water but no food 
because we'd expected to be eating our lunch in some 
roadside diner, not trudging through the middle of 
nowhere. So it was pretty wack."

Cut to Emily, looking troubled. "I think we'd been 
walking for about 30 minutes when I looked over my 
shoulder and saw the dust cloud rising from the hill 
we'd just come over. I pointed it out to Mike, and I 
think we both had a surge of excitement and hope. It 
didn't last."

"It was way too big a cloud to be raised by one vehicle, 
like a pickup," Mike says. "And it didn't take 30 
seconds before we were hearing the motorcycle sounds."

"Corinne had told us there were outlaw biker gangs in 
the hills," says Emily. "We...didn't think we'd meet one 
of them."

"My first reaction was to, like, hide or something," 
Mike says, looking pensive. "But there was literally no 
place we could hide. There's nothing on those hills but 
foot-high scrub. We were going to stand out no matter 
what we did."

"I thought hiding might make it worse," says Emily. Her 
face is a carefully-composed mask that shows no emotion 
whatsoever. "I've always heard that if one meets a bear 
in the woods, one isn't to turn and run. Running 
triggers the bear's predator instinct and it begins the 
chase. Instead, the way to escape a bear is to show no 
fear and to slowly back away. I thought that was the 
best policy."

"And that," Mike says matter-of-factly, "is how we met 
the Visigoths."

Cut to a middle-aged man with an olive complexion, 
strong features, receding dark hair, and a mustache. He 
is neither handsome nor ugly, but rather has the sort of 
face that one might reasonably expect to forget almost 
immediately. He is wearing a medium-gray suit over a 
light blue shirt and a dark tie. His subtitle reads Milo 
Hernandez, Senior Special Agent, FBI Field Office -- 
Denver. 

"The Visigoths Motorcycle Club is a one-percenter biker 
gang operating in the central mountain region of the 
western United States," he says in a clipped, 
professional tone. "They focus on meth production and 
distribution and prostitution, for the most part. 
They're one of the smaller outfits out there, but 
they're very aggressive in defending their territory." 
As he's speaking, the screen shows a shot of the 
Visigoth logo -- a menacing human skull with red eyes, 
wearing a steel helmet with a nasal piece above the 
words "Visigoths MC" written in Gothic lettering. 
"They're smarter than a lot of their peers because they 
don't make trouble where they're based. In fact, they 
often have arrangements with city and county law 
enforcement that involve the law enforcement laying off 
of them in return for the Visigoths not committing 
crimes against citizens of that jurisdiction. Local 
sheriffs find it easier to ignore them, take a bribe, 
and let someone else deal with the problems they cause."

The image is replaced onscreen by shaky phone-cam video 
of a brutal brawl between what appears to be rival 
motorcycle gangs; the footage gets granier as it zooms 
in on the Visigoths threads of some of the fighters as 
they wield baseball bats with tremendous effectiveness, 
and as two hold a rival biker while a third beats him 
remorselessly with a length of chain. Hernandez says, 
"Two years before the Larsens' encounter with them, this 
chapter of the Visigoths was involved in an attack on a 
bar in Cheyenne, Wyoming run by another gang that was 
trying to edge in on their meth distribution racket. 
This attack led to over a dozen hospitalizations, 
including one where the victim was in a coma for over 
three months, and the burning of the bar."

Next we see home-movie footage of an American Indian man 
playing tag football in a backyard, and then a still 
photograph of that man smiling as he's surrounded by 
friends. Hernandez continues, "Six months after that 
event, they were implicated in the disappearance of 
Andrew White Feather, a businessman from Colorado 
Springs who apparently was planning to go to the police 
with information about the club. No body was ever found 
and no charges were ever brought because evidence was 
lacking, but police never had any other suspects."

We were alarmed," Emily says as we see her again. "They 
were dressed...well, like outlaw bikers, obviously. 
Those sorts of people dress to frighten people like us, 
and they succeeded."

"We stepped off the road as they came up," says Mike, 
"like maybe they could pass us by if they wanted to. But 
they didn't. Of course. The came up us and sort of 
circled around us, close in but staying on their bikes. 
Mom was squeezing my hand so hard it hurt."

"I was terrified," Emily says simply. "We both were. I'm 
not ashamed of it. Anyone sensible would be frightened 
in that situation."

We see the mugshot of a white man who could have been an 
extremely weathered 35 or a rather-weathered 50. He 
sports a full beard and a long mane of light-brown hair; 
tattoos are visible on both sides of his neck. He stares 
at the booking camera with insolent contempt, and the 
look in his eyes is unsettlingly predatory. "The leader 
of this chapter at the time was Douglas Hounslow," Agent 
Hernandez says in voice-over, "better known as Petey to 
his friends. He'd spent time in prison in four different 
states as well as the Federal Penitentiary system for 
crimes ranging from solicitation and drug offenses all 
the way up to assault with a deadly weapon. He was 
implicated and held in two murders, but never charged," 
and here the screen shows two side-by-side photographs, 
one of a lovely young woman with the subtitle Victoria 
Reese and the other of a man in biker leathers with the 
label Edwin Fewkes. We see Hernandez again as he says, 
"Witnesses disappeared or changed their stories, 
evidence came up missing, that sort of thing. He was a 
very resourceful and violent man."

"The leader said his name was Petey," Emily says as she 
reappears, "and at first he actually seemed nice. 
Frightening still, of course, because of his appearance, 
but he spoke politely and calmly. He asked us if the 
wrecked minivan was ours, and of course we had to admit 
it was. He asked us what we were doing out there."

"I told them that we were visiting someone there and got 
lost on the way back to their house," Mike says. "I 
wanted them to think there was someone waiting for us 
who'd call the cops if we didn't show up. I'm pretty 
sure they didn't buy it."

"I don't think they believed Mike's story," Emily 
confirms. "But aside from looking like they looked and 
being a little too close to us, they weren't 
threatening. If anything, at that point they seemed to 
be going out of their way to disprove stereotypes about 
bikers by being pleasant and polite. We talked a bit and 
it ended with Petey offering to take us to the nearest 
service station. We accepted the offer."

"I think mom believed him," Mike says with a sour 
expression. "I didn't, not from the start, but we were 
stuck. I didn't think we were being offered a choice 
though, no matter how polite they phrased it, so I got 
on the bike too."

"I don't know if I believed them or not," Emily muses. 
"I wanted to. It's very...seductive, when you're 
frightened, to be offered an explanation of the 
situation that makes you less scared. I took that 
explanation at face value because the alternative was 
more frightening. And besides, when the media depicts 
socially-marginalized groups, the coverage tends to be 
sensational and inaccurate, so I thought that perhaps 
bikers had simply gotten a bad reputation they didn't 
deserve. So we got on and we went for a ride. It was a 
short ride, I think less than 15 minutes, and we were 
there."

Her face is replaced by shaky, hand-held camera footage 
of a large three-story building with peeling white paint 
and a sagging roof. In the background mountains loom in 
the distance, while in the foreground is an assemblage 
of vehicles of various sorts, from motorcycles to cars 
to vans, some in partial disrepair. Then there is a shot 
of a large firepit with a motorized spit capable of 
taking an entire cow, surrounded by benches and picnic 
tables. Another shot shows a long shed that perhaps had 
once been a stable but now contains two rows of close-
parked motorcycles, a workbench, and tools on the walls. 

At this point the screen is taken up by what looks like 
cell-phone footage of a drunken nighttime revel, lit 
mainly by a blaze in the firepit: bikers in their 
jackets stand and sit with beer, liquor, and marijuana, 
while several tattooed, scantily-clad women sit in their 
laps or dance in a manner suggesting that they're 
strippers, and one is even off to the side performing 
fellatio on a heavily-muscled and tattooed biker in a 
wifebeater. We hear Agent Hernandez again, saying, "The 
local chapter was headquartered out of a complex that 
had been built as a hunting lodge back around the turn 
of the 20th century. During Prohibition it had been 
turned into an illegal resort casino, and since that 
time it has served variously as a brothel, a drug 
treatment center, and a commune. The Visigoths had been 
there about seven years by that point and were using the 
complex as a combination clubhouse, dormitory, garage, 
warehouse for contraband, and meth lab."
  
Emily again, saying, "It looked run-down. It looked 
unpleasant. Frankly the whole place smelled bad, and 
even the whole pig they had roasting on the spit didn't 
disguise the stench. There were women there whom I 
didn't want my son to see, and they were dressed 
very...well, one of them was topless. It was a place I 
wanted us to be away from as soon as we could be."

Mike is shown again, looking thoughtful. "You want to 
know what I thought when I saw the place? It looked like 
the kind of place you see in movies where innocent 
people get chopped to bits and fed to pigs. It was 
really bad. There was this really strong smell of cat 
piss in the air. This place was obviously a meth lab, 
among other things. And everybody -- everybody -- was 
looking at us like we were meat. Most of them were sort 
of grinning at us, like there was a big joke that we 
weren't in on. Because we were the joke."

Cut to Emily. "Now that we had arrived at their hideout, 
it did feel as though a mask was dropped and we were 
being allowed to see the true face of things. It's 
difficult to explain, because we weren't being 
threatened or even spoken to directly, but time and 
again we saw bikers or their women whispering in little 
knots, looking at us, and then giving us unpleasant 
smiles."   

"It was pretty obvious after a couple minutes that they 
had something cooked up for us," Mike confirms. "It was 
like we were flies who came pounding on a spider's door 
demanding to be let in, like they couldn't quite believe 
we'd come with them and they were trying to decide how 
bad they were going to fuck us up. Like I said, it 
wasn't what anybody said or was even doing, it was just 
this vibe, this really nasty vibe in the air. It's like 
when you're a little kid and bigger kids are around you, 
mean kids -- you don't need them to make threats to feel 
threatened. You know they're going to do something to 
you and they're just enjoying letting you twist in the 
wind before they do it. There was no doubt."

"We...were aware of our situation," Emily says. "Acutely 
so. I liken the feeling to being cornered by a vicious 
dog, where the dog isn't necessarily actively 
threatening you at the moment, but you know you're only 
a twitch away from being mauled. The danger is something 
you sense on an instinctual level. Mike and I were 
standing together, trying to avoid eye contact with 
absolutely everyone else, when a...woman approached us." 

The screen now shows a stage at a strip club where a 
bottle-blonde struts. She is impressively leggy and not 
unskilled as she swings up on the pole, but the 
comparison between her relatively crude moves and the 
almost preternatural grace Emily showed in her clip is 
unavoidable. She wears a cropped white tank-top over 
rock-hard fake breasts, a dark blue G-string, and spiked 
heels, and her ensemble reveals an extensive collection 
of tattoos, mostly stars but mingled with paw prints, 
kanji characters, and several unreadable words in frilly 
script. The subtitle reads Janna "Swan" Dundee. 

"She was obviously a stripper," Emily continues in 
voiceover, the distaste evident in her voice. "She was 
wearing a tee shirt with no bra, and her nipples were 
plainly visible through the fabric. She pressed herself 
up against my son like he wasn't standing right next to 
his mother."

Mike looks amused. "This chick comes rubbing up on me. 
Not even remotely my type, even if I wasn't terrified at 
that moment. But she actually makes eye contact with mom 
as she starts whispering this absolute filth in my ear, 
which really pissed mom off."

"I shoved her," Emily says proudly. "I'm not a violent 
woman, but I was already frightened and when I saw 
that...tart rubbing herself against my son like a cat in 
heat, I snapped. It was the maternal protective instinct 
taking over."

"The chick stumbled back maybe three steps and then came 
right back at mom, like BAM, total catfight mode, 
screaming how she was going to fuck mom up," Mike says. 
"So I put my arm out and this chick hits it like almost 
neck level, right? Almost like I clotheslined her, which 
I didn't mean to do. All I wanted to do was stop her, 
but then she's pissed at me and coming at me with 
fingernails out, like she's gonna take out my eye or 
something. And that's when I noticed things had gotten 
really, really quiet."

"Everyone was looking at us," says Emily. "Everyone. 
There was no conversation, no movement except for the 
tart who was unleashing profanities at us and trying to 
attack my son. She scratched him on the arm before Petey 
stepped in."

"The leader grabbed the chick by the arm and yanked her 
back and just stared into her eyes," Mike relates. "He 
didn't have to say a thing, he just stared and she got 
as meek as a mouse. After maybe ten seconds of her (and 
me) being really uncomfortable, he lets her go and she 
wanders off rubbing the place on her arm where he'd 
grabbed her. Then he looked at mom the same way."

"I knew...I knew I'd done something foolish," Emily 
says, actually looking shaken at the recollection, "and 
I admit my blood ran cold. I could see in his eyes that 
he was a man who'd stop at nothing. Mike put his arm 
around my shoulders and puffed out his chest, but...no. 
I knew I couldn't have Mike making a show of defiance 
then. My son was a strong young man and someone he cared 
for was in danger, and strong young men do stupid things 
in times like that; they can't help it, it's in their 
natures. It was my...impetuosity that brought it to a 
head, and I couldn't have my son being hurt because of 
me."

"Mom blames herself for how it went down," Mike says, 
shaking his head. "But if she hadn't pushed that chick, 
it would have been something else. The chick would have 
kept on doing more and more and then some biker would 
have come over and gotten pissed I was messing with his 
woman, or else I'd have given somebody a funny 
expression that made them come after us. What happened 
with her pushing the girl wasn't a cause, it was a 
pretext. Something was going to go down from the moment 
the Visigoths topped that hill and saw us by the side of 
the road."

"Petey just stared at me," Emily says. "It seemed like 
hours, but I'm sure it was no more than a few seconds. 
Then turned to Mike and asked --"

"'Champ, think you can hold your shit together for ten 
minutes while your mom and I have a talk?'" Mike says, 
affecting a growly voice. "What could I say? Like I 
could tell him no?"

"He took me by the arm and led me away from my son," 
Emily says levelly. "Walking away from my son at that 
time, being taken by that terrible man into that 
building, was the most difficult thing I've ever had to 
do." 

From offscreen we hear a female voice asking, "Even 
harder than what came after?" 

Emily nods decisively. "Yes, harder than anything that 
came after. A part of me wondered if I would come back 
out of that building alive, but that wasn't what worried 
me most. A much bigger part of me wondered whether, if I 
did come back, I would find my son alive and unharmed. 
There was a feeling in the air as though...a trap had 
been triggered, perhaps? Or rather, that a horn had been 
blown and now the hounds were going to tear the fox to 
bits. That was what was terrifying, knowing that I was 
abandoning him to those bandits and that I could do 
nothing to protect him."

"Rape?" Mike says. "A beating? Murder? All of the above? 
I watched her go and I thought all those things were 
possible. And I couldn't do a goddamned thing about it. 
Not a fucking thing."

"He took me into the foyer," Emily says. "Rather, what 
had been the foyer at some time. Now it was a living 
room of sorts, with a large television and some 
dreadfully tatty furniture. He had me sit on the sofa 
and sat next to me but not uncomfortably close. He 
offered me a drink, which I declined, but he insisted. I 
think it was Jack Daniels, and he made me drink a fairly 
large tot of it. And then he started telling me a 
story." Her voice quavers just a bit as she says this, 
but she quickly recovers. "He told me about a Native 
American man from Colorado Springs -- he called him a 
'redskin' -- who had been in business with them." 

Again we see a picture of Andrew White Feather. 

"Apparently this man had gotten into trouble with the 
police and decided to give evidence against the 
Visigoths. In retaliation, the Visigoths kidnapped him 
and brought him here. They tortured him for two days -- 
Petey said that they flayed him alive at the end, and 
when he died they cut his body into small pieces a few 
inches on a side and scattered the pieces in the 
mountains so that animals could eat them." Emily is 
shown, looking unsettled. "His objective was to terrify 
me. He succeeded. And then he told me that my son and I 
had abused the hospitality of the club by attacking one 
of their, and I use his word, 'bitches,' when said bitch 
was just trying to be welcoming." 

We then see a different picture of "Petey" Hounslow, and 
as Emily continues to speak we slowly zoom in on his 
eyes to find an absolute lack of empathy, kindness, or 
any human virtue; his is the gaze of a predatory beast. 
We hear Emily in voiceover saying, "He drew a knife from 
his boot. It was the biggest knife I've ever see. The 
blade was at least 15 inches long and serrated along 
part of its back -- I think it's what's called a Bowie 
knife. The tip was as sharp as a needle, which I know 
because he suddenly put a hand around my throat and held 
the tip up to my eye. He told me that he'd be justified 
in taking my eye then and there as 'retribution.' He 
used that word several times, 'retribution,' as though 
trying to keep some disease-ridden prostitute off my 
underage son was some sort of crime. But I couldn't 
argue."

Emily looks agitated and distressed as we see her again. 
"He went on to explain that he didn't want to kill me or 
Mike, but he needed to make a show of punishing me. 
Honestly, I was too terrified to understand very much of 
what he was saying, even when he began talking about 
alternatives, such as letting his men have their way 
with me -- all forty-something of them -- or having Mike 
'catch a beating.' I was...frantic, panicking, babbling, 
pleading. I realize now that this reaction was exactly 
what he wanted. He wanted my fear, my desperation, and I 
gave it to him. I couldn't hold it back." She sighs 
deeply, and adds, "And then he told me what Mike and I 
had to do in order to get out of there alive."

"I was still outside," Mike says. "I was just waiting 
there for...something. I didn't know what was happening 
to my mom. I didn't know what would happen to me either, 
but I didn't care about that, not then. And no, it's not 
like I was brave or heroic or any of that shit. My mom 
was in trouble, and that's all that mattered. I wasn't 
even thinking about myself. 

"Anyway," he continues, "my arm was starting to sting. 
That stripper chick had clawed me like six times up and 
down my arms and now that I didn't have anything to do 
except sit and worry, I was feeling it. And I was 
surrounded by a bunch of a-holes who were just looking 
for an excuse to fuck me up. And maybe two minutes after 
my mom goes in, all of a sudden there was a guy right 
next to me. He was a huge dude, like six-six, two-fifty, 
the kind of guy whose muscles have muscles. 

He was carrying a bottle of Jack and he told me to take 
a drink, said it would settle me down. I'm not a 
drinker, and especially not then -- I just never liked 
it much. But I wasn't going to tell this guy to go take 
a leap, you know? So I took a drink -- a few drinks, 
until he told me to stop. I don't know, maybe as much as 
you'd get in three or four shots. Then he claps me on 
the shoulder like we're best buddies and walks off.

"I don't know how long I was waiting. How long she was 
in there, I mean. It was a while, maybe ten minutes? 
Then she came out, and I was like, 'Great, she's not 
hurt!' And then I saw the look on her face, and…" Mike 
pauses, obviously searching for a word. "Shattered. Like 
when you throw a glass against a wall. That's how her 
face looked. Not physically, she wasn't even touched. 
But emotionally...yeah, shattered. That's when I knew it 
was bad."

"I honestly don't know how I walked out of there," Emily 
says. "My head was swimming. I felt like my stomach was 
actually trying to get out of my mouth. It wasn't nerves 
of 'butterflies,' it actually felt like my stomach was 
physically trying to remove itself from my body. I was 
sick. I was so sick at the thought. But it needed to be 
me to tell him, not that vicious thug. I did win 
that...concession...from Petey. Mike met me halfway and 
hugged me. Just that...hug, that huge hug." Her voice 
catches in her throat and she wipes a tear from her 
cheek. "Sorry. I just remember that hug, the purity of 
it, the absolute and unconditional love I felt, and I 
remember the ache, the sorrow inside me at knowing it 
would never happen again between us. Not that kind of 
hug."

Mike licks his lips nervously. "I asked her what was 
wrong, and she said, 'Mikey, we need to talk.' Now, she 
only ever calls me 'Mikey' when something is fucking 
awful, so I knew we were in for it. My stomach 
just...bam, right through the ground. But I held her as 
close as I could, you know? That was all I could do."

Emily looks distraught, though she's struggling to keep 
a strong front. "I told him that Petey had given us a 
choice of four ways we could leave there. The first was 
that I could...as Petey described it, 'pull a train' of 
every man there, two or three times, however many times 
they wanted me and in whatever way. I couldn't even get 
that out of my mouth before Mike said no."

"I didn't say no," Mike corrects. "I shouted it. The 
leader had come out of the building by then and I almost 
went after him then and there for even suggesting that -
- it was only the fact that mom was holding me back that 
kept me from it. The leader just smirked, the fucker."

"I tried to convince him," Emily says, "but of course he 
wouldn't hear of it. He pointed out that there were 
perhaps 40 men there, all of them rough and vicious, and 
even if only half of them wanted to go a second time, 
there was physically no way I could survive 60 rapes, 
one after another. And he was right, of course, but that 
was the solution I wanted to take. I tried to convince 
him."

"She was seriously set on it," Mike sighs. "But there 
was no way. No way I was going to let that happen if I 
had to die to try and stop it. Mom wanted to pick that 
one so that they'd leave me alone, but they'd have had 
to kill me. No way. No way."

"I told him the second option was for him to, as Petey 
said, 'catch a beating.'" Emily's voice hardens. "He 
asked what that meant, and I told him that the bikers 
would all take it in turn to beat him, kick him, punch 
him. Perhaps to death. He didn't hesitate in telling me 
he would."

"If it meant they'd let her go unharmed?" Mike asks. 
"Yeah, of course I would. I'd have done it in a 
heartbeat then. I'd do it in a heartbeat now. She told 
me no."

"I couldn't stand by and watch my son be beaten to 
death," Emily says plaintively. "It would kill me. I'd 
die. I genuinely don't know how I could possibly survive 
that. I wouldn't let him. I told him the third option."

Mike is looking off to the side for a moment. "The third 
choice. Yeah. She told me that what the leader wanted 
was a show. A sex show. Between me and her, right there, 
right then." He looks back at the camera. "He wanted us 
to fuck. He wanted me and my mother to fuck, for her to 
be vocal in her pleasure, for us to convince them that 
we really did love it. If we did that, he said they'd 
let us go."

"There was one more thing," Emily says, looking rather 
forlornly into the camera. "He had to ejaculate inside 
me. More than that, I had to beg him to ejaculate inside 
me. My own son."

"I asked what the fourth way out was," Mike says, "and 
she said that was if they just killed us both, cut us 
up, and scattered us in the mountains. So it wasn't much 
of a choice. One way I wouldn't let her take, one way 
she wouldn't let me take, and one way we couldn't take. 
That only left one thing."

Emily again, her head cocked at a thoughtful angle, eyes 
on the floor. "It didn't seem real, and at the same time 
it was the most completely immediate moment of my entire 
life." She looks up at the camera and there is something 
strange in her eyes, the look of someone who has seen 
and done things that are incomprehensible to the 
audience. "Of course it was unreal, because I was about 
to have sex with my teenage son in front of an audience 
of savages. How could that possibly be real? At the same 
time, though, the presence of danger -- extreme danger, 
of the worst sort -- heightened everything." 

From offscreen, a female voice asks, "What sort of 
things?"

"My senses," Emily says. "Everything seemed 
astonishingly vivid. The colors were sharper than I'd 
ever noticed them before or since. The smells, the cat 
urine and the roasting pork, the gasoline and the wood 
smoke from the fire, engine grease, unwashed bikers -- 
all of that burned itself into my memory. I can smell it 
all still in my mind, as though I was still there. My 
hearing, though...I suppose that's the exception. I know 
there was talking around us, an excited buzz from our 
intended audience, laughing, swearing, but I don't think 
any of it registered. I could only really hear my son's 
voice and my own."

"I can't tell you how I felt," Mike says with a shrug. 
"It's too complicated, too mixed up. I was angry a lot 
more than I was scared, and I wasn't scared of the 
bikers anymore. I was scared of actually doing it. The 
actual sex. Not being watched, not even being forced to 
do it. I was scared of doing it with my mom. I didn't 
want to hurt her. I didn't want to...mess her up. I 
mean, I knew it was going to mess both of us up, but I 
wanted to protect her. And... I... didn't want to 
disappoint her. 

"It's stupid to think about it at a time like that, but 
it was going to be traumatic enough her that I didn't 
want bad sex to be piled on top of it. But then that's 
fucked up because it's like, I want to be a good fuck 
FOR MY MOM. And so I immediately started thinking I was 
a pervert for even thinking that, like, putting a 
qualitative thing on what we had to do. Like, shouldn't 
it have been something I just put my head down and got 
through? Was it fucked up that I wanted to make it good 
for her? Should she know her son is a good fuck? Should 
I know what it takes to be a good fuck for her? So 
there's all these crazy questions just crashing through 
my mind. I told you it was complicated."

"Were you a virgin?" the offscreen female voice asks.

Mike laughs. "No. I wasn't, like, a playa or anything, 
but I'd been with three girls before then." We now see a 
succession of photographs as Mike continues to talk. The 
first is a selfie of a pretty blonde girl of about 14 
making duck face in a bathroom mirror; she wears a tight 
red tee shirt with a prominent white Hello Kitty on it. 
The label Irina Molson appears as Mike says, "Irina was 
my first. We were 15 years old and we did it in a closet 
at a party because we were both sick of being virgins. 
We didn't even really like each other that much, we just 
wanted to do it and get it over with. So it was just 
once with her."

Next is a lovely black girl in a high school track 
uniform. She is long and lean with endless legs and 
small breasts, very much like Emily. A subtitle Alexia 
Turner appears as Mike tells us, "I dated Alexia for 
almost two years. Most of my experience was with her, 
because we were...active." He laughs. "We really liked 
each other at first, but it sort of wore off as we 
really got to know each other. After maybe six months, 
we barely even talked. We just didn't have anything in 
common except that we both loved having sex with each 
other. She finally dumped me for a guy from another 
school, which was fine. I mean it sucked. I thought I 
had a broken heart!" More laughter, and then he adds, 
"Turns out I just didn't like not having somebody to 
fuck."

The next picture is a little surprising: a woman in her 
early thirties, pretty, confident. She sits behind an 
oak desk and holds up a set of papers as though reading 
from them, which reveals a large, expensive-looking 
wedding ring. The picture is clearly posed and looks to 
be something from a corporate prospectus. What is 
striking, though, is that her face is rather reminiscent 
of Emily's, with classical features and a generous 
mouth. The name appears at the bottom: Cassandra Shay. 

"Cassie Shay was the other, and that was...crazy. She 
was crazy, I mean. She was the mom of my friend Karl, 
recently divorced and sowing every wild oat she could 
get ahold of. I went over to her place one day to drop 
off something for Karl and she just flat-out asked me if 
I wanted to fuck. She was a hot older woman, so I was 
like...yeah, of course I want to fuck!" he laughs. "We 
met once or twice a week for a while, usually at her 
place, a couple times at a motel, and we'd just fuck. 
She didn't want to talk to me at all except dirty talk 
during sex. When it was over she'd be like, 'Thanks. See 
ya.' That was still going on when all this went down 
with mom."

Another picture appears: a petite redhead with freckles, 
sparkling green eyes, and an enormous smile. Her name is 
given as Hannah Williamson. Mike relates, "There was one 
more girl that's important: Hannah. We'd never really 
done anything, but we were really attracted to each 
other. She was this awesome, amazing girl, super smart, 
funny, sweet, hot. Everything, the whole deal. We'd been 
kinda dancing with each other for a long time, like this 
mutual attraction that never worked out. She was free 
when I was going out with Alexia, but by the time I'd 
broken up with her, Hannah was going out with this 
absolute douchefuck. They broke up at the end of senior 
year and she and I had talked a few times since then. I 
was planning to ask her out as soon as I got back from 
the wedding."

"I knew Mike wasn't a virgin," Emily says with a shrug. 
"I didn't know about Ms. Shay -- and that tramp is very, 
very lucky I didn't -- and I'd never even heard of 
Irina, but there was no doubt what he and Alexia had 
been up to. You could smell the hormones when those two 
were together, and there was no hiding the very 
satisfied air that Alexia had after they'd spent some 
time together. I suppose I was proud that he was good, 
but mostly I tried not to think too much about it."

The offscreen woman asks, "When you realized that there 
was no choice, that you two would have to have sex, did 
you want it to be good for him? Right in the first 
moment you realized, I mean."

Emily considers this for a few seconds, then says, "No. 
Honestly it wasn't a thought that I was capable of 
formulating in that moment. I didn't want to hurt him. I 
didn't want to scar him emotionally any more than was 
absolutely necessary. But right then, right when we 
decided that we had to do it, no, it didn't occur to me 
to want to be good for him."

The offscreen interviewer again: "What was that moment 
like for you?"

"Horrific," Emily says without hesitation. "Mike is my 
son, and I was about to have sex with him. I was about 
to share something with him that parents are never 
supposed to share with their children. Society and 
nature have always said that. It sickened me that we 
were being forced to transgress perhaps the single most 
fundamental law in human relations."

"Everybody started forming this big circle around us," 
Mike says. "It was like it was a clown show or something 
for them. They were laughing and smiling and shouting 
stuff. Like, 'Show your mamma how much you love her' and 
'Make a man outta that boy,' stuff like that. Like it 
was a game. And there we were, we had to fuck right 
there in the dirt, me and my mom. I didn't even know how 
to start, so I told her I loved her."

"Mike put his lips against my ear and whispered," Emily 
says, her voice tightening with emotion. "I'll always 
remember his exact words. He said, 'Mom, I love you. 
I'll always love you. Nothing that happens here today 
will change that. Nothing these people could do can 
touch that. Just hold onto that and we'll be fine."

"How did that make you feel?" the interviewer asks.

"Proud!" Emily says emphatically. "It was so mature, so 
strong. I think he was stronger in that moment than I 
was, and I felt like I was going to explode with pride 
that he had become such a...a powerful young man. He 
wasn't a boy anymore, he was a man, and I just felt 
myself swell with love for him. It's strange, certainly, 
but those words, and the complete confidence with which 
he said them, actually made me feel safe."

"I made the first move," says Mike. "There was no way I 
was going for boobs or between her legs right off, that 
would have been way too much for me, and for her too. I 
had my lips right there, so I nibbled her ear. I took 
her earlobe between my lip sand just suckled on it, sort 
of teased it with my tongue. And instantly I felt her 
pull in this deep breath, this sort of gasp."

"My ears are my most sensitive spot," Emily says, 
pulling back her hair to reveal her left ear, decorated 
by a tasteful silver stud. "At least, my most sensitive 
spot not usually covered by clothing. He didn't know 
that about me, of course. How could he? But he went 
right there and...and his lips were so clever, so 
certain, so direct. I was shocked by it, shocked by the 
act, shocked by how right the move was on his 
part...shocked at how good he was at it. Right from the 
very first, he was...exquisite."

"Where were your hands?" the interviewer asks. 

"One was on his shoulder, just resting there, and the 
other was on his hip, just above his waistline. I was 
very stiff. If he hadn't made the first move, I don't 
know if I could have. But he took the 
initiative...the...command. I needed that."

"I was surprised by her reaction," Mike says with a 
trace of a cocky smile. "It was the first time I'd 
touched her sexually, and it wasn't even really that 
sexual, but she loved it."

"How did that make you feel?" the offscreen interviewer 
asks.

His smile gets a little bigger as he said, "Good. I 
wanted it to be good for her. I wanted her to be able 
to...lose herself in it. It was like, if she could shut 
out all these other people, if we could do that, I mean 
-- if it was just us, just her and me doing this, then 
it would be as bad for either of us."

"The way his arms were around me, I could really feel 
his strength," Emily says. Something in her voice 
suggests that this is not an unpleasant memory. "He was 
an athlete and very, very fitness-conscious. Bob was 
too, of course, but there's a difference between the 
body of a high-school athlete and a 38-year-old man with 
a desk job who runs and goes to the gym. I couldn't deny 
it was a pleasant difference. Mike's arms were strong 
and absolutely certain. He had one hand on my lower 
back, above my waist, and it was very chaste and proper 
but I could feel it there, so big, so steady. I think I 
felt his hand even more than I did the lips on my ear 
because it made me feel so supported. His other arm was 
around my upper back, holding me up, hold me to him. And 
his lips on me…" She finishes with a small, slightly 
awkward and ashamed smile. 

"She tilted her head," Mike says. "Just a little, but it 
made her hair drop out of the way so I could kiss her 
ear better. It was obvious she liked it, so I kept doing 
it to relax her...maybe start her thinking that it 
wouldn't be the worst thing in the world."

"I don't think I was getting turned on yet," Emily 
muses, "but it did feel very good. It wasn't erotic (at 
least not yet) but it was very sensual and soft and 
intimate. The intimacy was the thing I needed most in 
that situation. I just closed my eyes and let it 
happen."

"I worked her earlobe for a little while, then I took my 
mouth off it," Mike says. "She tensed a little at first, 
but when she realized that I was just moving to the 
other ear she tilted her head and brushed her hair back 
to make it easier for me to get it. When I got my lips 
on it she made a kind of a happy sound, almost like a 
little purr, and then a gasp. And then she told me I was 
really good at that."

"I told him that to encourage him," Emily says, "and 
because it was the truth. At that point I'd been married 
to his father for almost 15 years, and with him for over 
19, and he still wasn't as good at that as Mike was from 
the first moment he put his lips on me. I wanted him to 
know he was doing it right."

"I wasn't in a hurry," Mike tells us. "The assholes 
wanted a show, but I didn't give a fuck about them. This 
was about me and my mom, and she was liking this. So I 
went from left to right and back again. She sort of 
cuddled up against me, just pressed herself against me 
real close, and I tightened my arms around her. She 
liked that too, and by the time I was back on her left 
ear she'd taken her hand from my shoulder and was 
running her fingers through my hair."

"It was strange, certainly, to be doing that with my 
son," Emily says. "Don't misunderstand that. It was 
painful and awkward and so incredibly sad that I can't 
put it into words. But that doesn't mean that my nerves 
stopped functioning. It doesn't mean that things that 
normally felt good somehow didn't feel good. And it 
doesn't matter how strong your soul is -- your body can 
still betray you."

"When I first kissed her on the lips was probably the 
most awkward part of the whole thing, start to finish," 
says Mike. "It was sexual in a way the ear thing wasn't. 
It was my lips on hers, my tongue on hers. That was when 
we had to pull each other across the line."

"To this day I'm grateful he kissed me," Emily says. 
"It's not just that he took the initiative, though I 
needed him to do that. But the kiss was so very 
intimate. When I felt his lips on mine and felt his 
tongue move across my lips, I found I could shut out all 
the awful things that were being said around me, the 
puerile lewdness those barbarians were shouting at us, 
and focus completely on him, and on me, and on that 
kiss. It was the perfect thing to do."

"It was just lips at first," Mike tells us. "I pressed 
my lips against her lips and just held them there for a 
few seconds, before I began to move them, and in a 
moment she responded. She started kissing me back. I 
think she needed the reassurance that a kiss gave her, 
the reassurance that I loved her and always would. And 
then, after about a minute of kissing with closed 
mouths, I ran my tongue across the crease where her lips 
met. She made a little sound when she felt it, just this 
little gasp that I could barely hear. It was almost more 
of an exhalation. She stiffened a bit and let my tongue 
move...and then she parted her lips and let our tongues 
meet."

"It was just the tips of our tongues at first," Emily 
recalls. "Just the very most nimble part of the end, 
touching tentatively and hesitantly. I recall my mind 
screaming at me that I was French kissing my son and it 
was wrong, but there was another part of me that 
realized it was still a kiss."

"What do you mean?" asks the interviewer.

"I mean that even though it was with my son, and I 
shouldn't have been doing it, it felt good to have my 
tongue against his, just as it would have with anyone 
else. Except...no, better than anyone else. Better than 
anyone else in the world. I was kissing Mike and it was 
all right because I loved him. I loved him more than any 
other man in the world."

"More than your husband?"

Emily shrugs and smiles, a simple and eloquent answer on 
its own. "My relationship with Bob was...interesting. 
Complex, certainly. We'll talk more about that later, 
but for now I will simply say that I never loved Bob 
nearly as much as I loved Mike. And when our tongues met 
and began to dance together, I realized that the love I 
felt for him was what was going to get me -- us -- 
through the ordeal."

"But it wasn't that kind of love, was it?" the 
interviewer asks.

"No," Emily admits, "but I discovered something then: 
that love, real love, is a very flexible thing. It 
becomes what it needs to be to survive, and to help you 
survive. We loved each other like mother and son, but in 
that moment we needed our love to carry us through, and 
it changed to be able to do that. When our tongues began 
to move together, I felt his love for me, and I knew he 
could feel my love as well."

"There was this weird phase right at first," Mike says 
with a slightly shy grin. "This awkward part, where we 
were both super-aware of who we were tongue-kissing. It 
was uncomfortable for...less than a minute, I suppose, 
and then I just got into it."

"I discovered that my son is an excellent kisser," Emily 
says, and the obvious embarrassment she feels is colored 
by pride and even excitement. "The oddness of it passed 
almost immediately, and once it was gone all I could 
feel was that it was a wonderful kiss that was getting 
better by the moment as we learned each other's motions. 
When he caressed my teeth with his tongue, I put the tip 
of my tongue against him and just felt him explore me. 
It was wrong, but it was also thrilling."

"In what way?" the interviewer asks. 

"Because it had been almost 20 years since I'd kissed 
anyone but my husband," Emily replies. "And to be 
brutally honest, Bob was never a very good kisser. I'd 
forgotten how wonderful, how dizzying and breathtaking a 
simple kiss could be. And now, here I was with someone I 
loved as much as I could love, who was becoming a lover 
(although temporarily), and he was kissing me like I 
hadn't been kissed since before I'd met his father. No, 
I take that back -- I'd never felt that way while 
kissing, ever. My stomach was all in butterflies and I 
could feel myself relaxing all over and melting into 
him. It was the sort of kiss that could have seduced a 
stone, and I'm not made of stone. I had no chance before 
that kiss."

"My mom was hungry," Mike says. "That's the word I'd 
use. Once the awkwardness wore off she had her mouth so 
tight to mine that my lips got bruised. Seriously. She 
kissed me back, absolutely, and she did more, like when 
she sucked my tongue. She put her lips around it and 
suckled it deep into her mouth and then moved her tongue 
and her lips up and down it like she was giving it a 
blowjob. It felt amazing."

"Did that make you think of other things?" the 
interviewer inquires.

"Of course it did!" Mike nodded vigorously, a 
mischievous smile on his handsome face. "It made me 
think what that tongue and those lips could do on my 
cock. I couldn't help it, any guy would have thought the 
same thing in my place. From the way she was working my 
tongue, I knew she could give a blowjob that would make 
steam shoot out of my ears."

"That moment when I started to suck his tongue was the 
first time I felt his body...respond in an aroused 
fashion," Emily says delicately.

"What do you mean?" the interviewer asks.

"I felt his...penis...begin to harden against my 
stomach. Before then all I had felt was his muscles, and 
they were certainly hard, but now there was something 
else as well."

"How did that make you feel?"

Emily thinks seriously for a moment, then says, "It made 
me feel a very complex set of emotions, and I'm not 
positive that I can explain them. There was awkwardness 
first, because of the knowledge that I was arousing my 
own son and his erection was pressed between us. There 
was relief that I felt it begin to happen just from a 
kiss, because I had feared he might not be able to get 
aroused at all because of the fear and the unnaturalness 
of the situation, and that would undoubtedly have had 
very unpleasant consequences. Immediately after that 
reaction there came shame, for being glad I was giving 
my own son an erection, and indeed for giving him the 
erection in the first place. And then there was 
curiosity: I hadn't seen his penis since he was a little 
boy and I hadn't paid attention to it as he grew, and it 
was only natural that I wonder about it. How long it 
was, how thick, what it looked like, all of that was 
going through my head."

"Were you getting wet?" the interviewer asks.

Emily blushes, and it is apparent that she is genuinely 
uncomfortable with such frank and open discussions of 
sexuality. "Not yet, but I could feel myself relaxing to 
the point where I could become aroused. Again, I was 
surprised at that and relieved, because I hadn't thought 
I could with Mike -- which, of course, brought on the 
inevitable guilt that my son could arouse me in that 
way."

"The kiss was just getting hotter and hotter," Mike 
says. "We weren't just 'kissing' anymore, we were making 
out. Like, the kiss was something we were both getting 
into, something we were both enjoying and wanting more 
of. I was getting a hard-on, and I was like, do I pull 
back? Getting a hard-on from your mom is fucked up, 
right? But then I was like, no, why would I pull back 
from it? I had to get hard, and I had to put it into her 
when I was hard. I was going to be fucking her in a few 
minutes, so why be coy about having an erection?"

"Did she seem to enjoy it?" asks the interviewer.

"No, not at first," he says. "She didn't respond to it 
at all. And once I knew I wanted her to feel it, I was 
like, I want you to respond! I didn't want to be the 
only one out there on the limb of being turned on in 
this situation. So I let my hand drift down and I 
squeezed her ass. And my mom's a dancer -- she has an 
awesome ass, just as hard as a rock, muscular, full. Her 
cheek filled my hand perfectly and I squeezed it, then 
moved my hand down a little more so my fingers were 
underneath the cheek toward her crotch, and I pulled her 
into me."

Emily sighs in pleasant recollection. "When Mike touched 
my...bottom, and drew me in closer, I finally felt the 
first twinges of excitement. He's very strong, and he 
was very confident and certain in a way I hadn't 
expected him to be. It was a very possessive thing for 
him to do, and I enjoy being possessed during sex. In 
fact, I need to be possessed to enjoy it. I need to be 
dominated and controlled. I need to feel like the man is 
stronger and can overpower me, can make me do what he 
wants me to do, so that I'm free to be soft and feminine 
and yielding. I hadn't felt that with Bob in a very, 
very long time, so when Mike touched me in exactly that 
way and I could feel his strength and his assuredness 
and his command, my body simply reacted."

"Her nipples got hard," Mike says with a grin. "I felt 
them just pop right up where she was pressed against me, 
and she moaned a little into my mouth. I think it was 
then that I realized she was gonna be vocal during sex, 
but I had no idea how vocal! But she sort of wiggled 
against me and I got harder immediately, and she kind of 
whimpered. It was this sound of...it wasn't like she was 
begging me to fuck her yet or anything, but it was such 
a sexy goddamned sound, like this amazed little sound. 
And I felt like she was getting more turned on than she 
expected to."

"How did that make you feel?"

Mike opens his mouth to speak, reconsiders, and finally 
says, "Strong. Powerful. Good. Proud, I guess, most of 
all. I knew how painful and weird and traumatic this was 
going to be for us, and I knew she knew it too, so that 
when she made that turned-on little sound into my mouth 
and wiggled in closer, I knew I could make this good for 
her. I knew that it could be good sex."

"Mike has told me that I made a particular sound that 
excited him," Emily says, a twinkle in her eyes, "but of 
course I don't remember it. What I do remember instead 
is his...penis -- I have to get used to saying that. 
Penis. His penis. I felt his penis get bigger and harder 
and jump against me, against my stomach. I remember 
exactly how it felt against me in that moment, and the 
thrill I felt run through me when I realized that it was 
bigger than his father's."

"Are you a size queen?" the interviewer asks with a 
chuckle.

"A little," Emily admits with a conspiratorial grin. 
"When I'm filled, I like to be full. I like to be 
touched all the way along. I like all the nerves to be 
stroked, and Bob could never do that. It was hardly his 
fault, of course, but I'd missed it. In fact, I had 
forgotten it, since it had been more than 20 years since 
I'd been filled in that way, but when Mike's penis 
jumped against me and grew, I knew he could fill me the 
way I wanted. My heart just leaped -- and then I 
immediately felt ashamed again, of course."

"One of her hands went down my back and into my shorts," 
Mike says. "She had to push them down a little bit in 
back to get her hand on my ass, but she did. That was 
the first hint of undressing either of us showed. And 
when I felt her hand on my bare ass cheek, I got 
absolutely rock hard, full mast against her, and she 
wiggled in more so she could feel it. And I could tell 
from her kiss that she was liking how it felt because 
she kissed me even harder and hungrier, which I didn't 
even think was possible. I'd always heard the term 'soul 
kiss' and I'd had some pretty good kisses with girls 
before, but man...nothing like that. At all. That was 
the first time I actually felt like our souls were 
kissing, not just our bodies. And god damn but it felt 
amazing."

"I did take things to the next level," Emily nods. "It 
wasn't my first instinct, but he'd begun the kiss and it 
wasn't fair to him to expect him to take every step, so 
I touched skin. And I must admit, as a dancer I'm a 
tremendous fan of very firm buttocks, and Mike's 
were...strong and firm. Definitely strong and firm, and 
it did feel very nice in my hand. I could feel how 
athletic he was, and how...powerful."

"She did it first," says Mike, "and after all, we were 
both going to end up naked anyway, so I slid my hands 
between us and unbuttoned her shorts. Mom doesn't dress 
sexy usually, but she does like to wear shorts that show 
off her legs, so she was wearing tight, short shorts. I 
undid the button, and after a moment she shifted her 
hips back to let me get them off. I unzipped them, put a 
hand on each hip, and pushed them down over her ass and 
let them drop."

"I was wearing a pair of high-cut panties that were 
quite modest," Emily says. "I do enjoy sexier 
underthings when the occasion is right, but I certainly 
hadn't anticipated being in this situation. They were 
simple things, gray with white trim, not the sort of 
underwear that could get anyone excited. They were 
practical, I suppose."

"When I felt mom's ass in my hand, just covered in the 
panties, the whole thing got a lot more real," Mike 
says. "I mean it had always been real, but...I had just 
taken off her shorts and now I had her ass in my hands. 
There's a difference between knowing you have to do 
something and understanding you have to do it, and when 
I got her shorts off, that was when I really understood 
that I was going to have to have sex, with my mother, 
right here, in front of people who'd kill us if we 
didn't do what they wanted. And, um, it kind of made me 
dizzy."

"I felt him wobble against me," says Emily. "His knees 
got weak, his grasp loosened, his tongue faltered 
against mine. For a moment I thought he was actually 
going to fall. I very, very much didn't want that. I 
knew he would have recovered and gone on with what we 
needed to do, but he'd have embarrassed himself in front 
of the barbarians who were forcing us to do this. I 
didn't want my boy to embarrass himself. If we had to do 
this, I wanted us to do it with heads held high. I 
wanted him to be proud of himself regardless of what we 
had to do, because none of this was our fault. And so I 
held him closer with the hand that was on his bottom and 
the hand on his back, pulled my head away from his, 
looked in his eyes, and said --"

Cut to Mike, who says, "'I love you and I am so proud of 
you. I couldn't ask for a finer man to be with today. 
Don't falter now. Let's show them how much we love each 
other.'"

"How did that make you feel?" asks the interviewer.

"Strong," Mike says. "And like I needed to be strong, 
because she was going to be strong and I didn't want to 
let her down. I didn't want to embarrass myself, yeah, 
but I didn't want to disappoint her even more."

"So what did you do?" the interviewer asks.

Mike grins a bit sheepishly and shrugs. "I took off her 
shirt."

"I was wearing a rather baggy, comfortable tee shirt," 
Emily says, "and I didn't even realize he was taking it 
off of me until I had to lift my arms to let him, and at 
that point it was simply an automatic reaction. He had 
it over my head in an instant and tossed it to the side 
quite casually, as though he was telling the assembled 
beasts that we weren't going to be defeated by them. 
That gesture was...oh, it was thrilling! I was so proud 
of him in that moment!"

"The way she smiled at me," Mike recalls fondly. "She 
just beamed, her eyes were sparkling, and she just 
looked up at me and said, 'Kiss me.' So I did."

"I was standing in my underwear and a pair of flats, and 
yet somehow I didn't feel exposed," Emily muses. "With 
Mike there, with his arms around me and his lips on 
mine, it didn't matter that we had a hostile audience. 
We may as well have been on a deserted island by 
ourselves for all I noticed anyone else once his arms 
went around me and his lips met mine. And oh, that 
kiss!"

"The kiss was getting better," Mike says. "I didn't 
think it could get better from where it was before, but 
we just attacked each other. It was like our tongues 
were fighting each other, but damn it was the best kiss 
I've ever had, to this day. I don't know why it was so 
good, or how, but I still think about that kiss these 
years later, even after everything that's happened."

Emily is seen again, looking thoughtful. "I think it was 
because we both needed it to be perfect. It was a haven 
we were creating, a place we could find shelter in each 
other and in the love we shared. We needed to have a way 
to avoid the hostility around us, because when we 
actually listened to what was being said around us, it 
was quite appalling."

"There was a lot of shouting," Mike confirms with a 
shrug. "The kind of thing you'd expect from a bunch of 
worthless lowlife assholes who were forcing a son to 
fuck his mother for their amusement to avoid being 
murdered. The women were especially nasty."

"What were they saying?" the interviewer asks.

In a tone of disbelief, Mike says, "They were really 
critical of mom's body, which was weird to me. Mom's 
body was perfect -- is perfect. She's a goddamned 
professional dancer, you know? And not a tit-shaking 
stripper bimbo, but an actual dancer on an actual stage. 
All these bitches were calling my mom a slut, a skank, a 
whore. They were really mean about her boobs. All those 
nasty bitches had these big, ridiculous-looking fake 
tits, these things that didn't even jiggle when they 
moved, or else they were really plain, but mom's boobs 
are gorgeous, just gorgeous. They're small but they 
weren't sagging at all then, they were these pert, sweet 
little points that would make any man want to suck them 
right into his mouth."

"Did you want to suck them into your mouth?"

Mike shrugs again. "I was starting to think about it, 
yeah."

"I didn't really register what they were saying," Emily 
says. "It was pointless, hostile vulgarity. It wasn't 
worth listening to. I was aware that most of it was 
being directed toward me, but there was no reason to pay 
attention to it. Well...there was one woman, an older 
woman by the sound of her voice, who kept shouting for 
me to fellate my son 'like a good mother,' which stands 
out in my memory for some reason. And no, the language 
she used was hardly so delicate."

"The voice I remember most was a guy who kept shouting 
how much I was going to like it," Mike recalls. "He kept 
saying over and over, 'You're gonna love your momma's 
tight little pussy, boy, you're gonna love that tight 
little pussy.' How he knew she had a tight little one, I 
have no idea, but he seemed pretty sure of it."

"I was mostly naked by that point, just wearing 
underwear and shoes, and Mike was still fully clothed," 
Emily says. "We both needed to be naked by the end, so I 
took off his shirt. I remember some in the crowd were 
rather upset that I didn't try to make it erotic. It was 
very much a 'mom' sort of action, simply taking his 
shirt by the shoulders and tugging it up over his head 
as though he were still five years old. It was 
positively matronly!"

"When she got my shirt off, she sort of stepped back and 
looked at me," Mike says. "Belly button to chest, up and 
down and up again. She'd seen me shirtless tons of 
times, I mean like all the time. I walk around the house 
without a shirt all the time in the summer. But this was 
the first time she'd ever looked at me like that."

"Like what?" the interviewer asks.

"Sexually," is his simply answer.

"I'd been with Mike very nearly every day of his life, 
from the moment he was born," Emily says. "I watched him 
grow from squalling little thing to a fine young man, 
but a mother doesn't really see the kind of young man 
her son is becoming. Not...sexually. But now it was 
sexual, and so I stepped back and looked at him in that 
new way."

"Did you like what you saw?" the interviewer asks.

Emily smiles hugely and dazzlingly. "Oh my yes. He was 
still young, of course, and he would fill out, 
but...good heavens, yes, I liked what I saw. Somehow, 
without my really being aware of it, that squalling 
little baby had become a strong, fit, and very handsome 
man. I couldn't have been prouder of the man he was 
becoming, and...and I realized that, if I were being 
forced to do this with my son, I could have had much 
worse luck as to how that son was turning out."

"It was just pride that you felt?"

"Nnnnooooo," Emily admits with some reluctance. "Not 
just pride. Before the kissing and the touching, it 
would only have been pride, but with that, and with what 
we had to do...no, not just pride."

"I could see it then, in her eyes," Mike says softly. 
"She wasn't seeing me as a son anymore, or at least not 
only as a son. She was seeing me as a sexual partner. It 
was...very strange to see that look in my mom's eyes. 
Let's just say it wasn't something I thought I'd see 
when I got up that morning."

"How were you looking at her?" the interviewer asks.

"I don't know. I know I was seeing her in a new way. I 
don't know how much of that came through. We started 
kissing again, and she put her hands on my stomach, 
right above my jeans. Just rested them there. If she'd 
have seen my eyes then, she'd definitely have seen some 
desire."

"We stepped together again and his mouth went right to 
my earlobe and neck," says Emily. "This time he was 
more...well, I don't want to say confident because he'd 
been quite confident before, but this time he was 
more...certain of himself. There was no hesitancy in the 
way he kissed me, and there was no hesitancy in the way 
I responded."

"Which was…?" the interviewer asks.

"I moaned. I think my exact words were…" she trails off 
in embarrassment.

"What?" probes the interviewer. "What did you say?"

Emily is blushing crimson now. "I mentioned before that 
I don't curse in normal conversation. However, during 
sex, I do...talk dirty. Very dirty. At least, I do when 
I'm enjoying myself."

"So you were enjoying what you were doing?"

"Mike is incredibly skilled with his mouth," Emily says, 
her face now edging into maroon. "Even if I had tried 
not to enjoy myself, his kisses and his touches would 
have made me excited, and I wasn't trying not to enjoy 
myself."

"So what did you say?" the interviewer repeats.

"I said...ahem. I said, 'Fuck, baby, that feels so 
good.'" The words sound awkward and stiff coming out of 
her mouth, and she is plainly extremely uncomfortable 
saying them.

Cut to Mike, who is looking flabbergasted. "'Fuck, 
baby.' She said, 'Fuck, baby.' I never dreamed my mom 
talked dirty, but Jesus, get her wound up and 
she's...inventive. And filthy."

"Did you like it?"

Mike's wolfish smile is all the answer needed.

"His shorts and my bra came off at the same time," Emily 
says. "With what he was doing to me with his mouth, I 
don't think I even noticed him undoing my bra. It 
seemed...well, I hesitate to say this, given that he's 
my son, but it felt perfectly natural then that he take 
my bra off, and I immediately pressed myself into him. 
The...the sensation of skin on skin is one of the 
greatest pleasures in life, and I wanted to feel my 
breasts against his chest. I wanted to feel my nipples 
hard against his skin. I wanted to feel his heat. I 
wanted to feel his heart beating against mine. 

"I didn't care then that he was my son. This had gone 
too far to stop. Even had the bikers told us we didn't 
have to continue, we would have gone on. I know we would 
have. I was...wildly excited. I could smell myself, my 
own arousal." It's apparent from the flare of her 
nostrils and the sparkle in her eyes that recollection 
of this event is making excitement overcome 
embarrassment, and her voice has lost all hesitation. "I 
hadn't been this aroused since before I was with his 
father. I know how awful that sounds, but it's the plain 
truth. My whole body was singing. I wanted my son."

"My mom has some amazing fingers," Mike says earnestly. 
"Once she decided to get rid of my shorts, man, they 
were gone before I knew it, down around my ankles. I was 
wearing a pair of boxer-briefs, and they were...tented 
out in the front. When she ran her fingertips over my 
bulge, when I felt them through the fabric tracing my 
length from the crown to the root, my cock just jumped 
against her, just leaped. For a second I thought I was 
gonna come right there."

Emily is looking quite intense. "I ran my fingers over 
him and I felt his penis jump against my fingers. Even 
through the fabric I could feel that he was absolutely 
steel-hard, so much that it must have been uncomfortable 
in his underwear. It was so...powerful! I know I keep 
using that word to describe him, but that was really the 
most amazing thing to me, how powerful he had become. 
There was so much strength about him, so much poise, so 
much desire, and it was all being unleashed onto me. It 
was irresistible, and by then I wasn't thinking of 
resisting anyway. I could feel the head of his co-- his 
penis through the fabric, so big and flaring, the length 
and girth of the shaft, even the vein down the 
underside, and his testicles so big and full. At first I 
only felt it with my fingertips, but it made me 
so...hot, all over. It was absolutely delightful."

"I wanted to touch her boobs," Mike says, then chuckles. 
"I mean...I'm a guy, I wanted to touch her boobs! I 
could feel her nipples digging into my chest, and that's 
so sexy, but she was glued to me so I couldn't touch her 
tits. So I did the next best thing, and slipped my hands 
inside her panties from behind. Her ass filled my hands, 
her skin was soft but her ass was so firm and taut and 
hot. She was just radiating heat all over, and, like, 
all I could do was think...um…" He trails off into an 
uncomfortable laugh.

"What did you think?" asks the interviewer.

"About how good it would feel inside that heat. To be 
inside her, the sensations of...being inside her." He 
laughs again rather awkwardly and spreads his hands.

"Did you feel any guilt for having those sorts of 
thoughts?"

He shakes his head. "No. I mean, not then. Part of me 
was just trying to hold my shit together and act with 
some dignity, because that seemed important at the time. 
But she was doing her best to turn me on and I was doing 
my best to turn her on and we were both succeeding, so 
most of my thoughts were about how good things were 
feeling and how much better they were going to feel."

"So it was all very natural?"

"Well…" he muses, "as natural as it could be. I'm not 
saying there weren't weird, awkward moments where one or 
both of us was like, 'Damn, I can't believe this shit is 
actually happening,' because I know there were those 
moments for me. But natural in the sense of a guy and a 
girl trying to get each other horny and succeeding and 
then acting on that horniness -- yeah, what could be 
more natural than that? That's what keeps people around 
generation after generation, getting each other horny 
and fucking. And once that's going on and both people 
are really into it, you don't think too much."

"His hands on my bare skin felt amazing," says Emily in 
tight closeup, where here arousal is becoming more 
obvious. "His skin on mine everywhere we were touching 
just felt electric, as though there were a current 
passing between us, as though there were sparks leaping 
off of us. He just kept pushing my panties down and 
suddenly I just wanted to be free of them, to be naked 
for him. Wanting him to be naked for me. Wanting to feel 
his hand go between my legs and touch me, finger me, 
slide fingers in deep so he could feel how wet I was, 
how ready I was for his cock." In her growing 
excitement, the vulgarity suddenly comes naturally off 
her tongue and she seems not to notice she's no longer 
using clinical terms. "He took one side of the waistband 
and I took the other and we pushed them down to the 
ground. I was naked...and I heard a lot of noise from 
the crowd, but I did everything I could to block it out 
and make Mike my whole world."

"I wanted to see her, to take a good look, but she was 
kissing me hard and running her hands all over me," Mike 
says. "There were four hands trying to get my underwear 
off so it took a bit, but when they went down over my 
hips and my cock sort of leaped free, it leaped right 
into her hand. That was one of those awkward moments I 
mentioned, realizing that my mom was stroking my hardon 
in front of like fifty psycho assholes, but...look, a 
gorgeous, horny woman was stroking my hardon. I didn't 
concentrate long on anything but that."

"I loved how he felt in my hand," Emily says. "Right 
from the instant he filled my palm, I loved his cock. It 
was thick, hot, velvety soft over steel hard, the 
perfect length, a magnificent mushroom head…" She licks 
her lips with ill-disguised hunger. "Feeling that cock 
in my hand was absolute bliss. I knew instantly that it 
would feel magnificent in my mouth and in my pussy. I 
knew."

"The crowd was really getting into it now that we were 
naked," Mike says. "Nothing they said is worth 
repeating, but they were...cheering us on, shall we say? 
But I didn't want to hear that, I didn't want to see it. 
I didn't want to know they were there. I just wanted her 
and me. I wanted her to touch me, I wanted to touch her, 
I wanted to do everything. I really, really didn't want 
it to stop. And I wanted to touch her like she was 
touching me. So I did."

"Mmmm," Emily sighs happily. "Mike has very good hands. 
Big, strong, dexterous, very clever, very certain of 
what they're doing. He put his hand over me at first and 
just cupped me. I remember feeling so glad that finally 
he could feel how hot he'd made me, how wet he'd made me 
-- how much he'd made me want him. I wanted him to know 
that it was all right for us to keep going. He didn't 
need to worry about hurting me or doing anything I 
didn't want, because I wanted him inside me. I wanted 
him."

"Mom was dripping," Mike says, sounding slightly in awe 
of the fact, or perhaps that he had been the cause. "I 
don't think I'd ever felt anybody get that wet, that 
turned on, and all I could think was that it was going 
to be sweet and slick inside of her. And Jesus, I wanted 
to be there. I ran my fingers up and down her slit and 
her lips just parted like she was hungry for contact. I 
slipped my middle finger up inside of her, pushed it in, 
and it was so smooth, like silk inside. I know I 
groaned. And then she clamped down on my finger."

"I'm a dancer," Emily laughs. "I need to be in great 
shape all over. I'd been doing my Kegels."

"She'd been doing her Kegels," Mike confirms with a 
grin. "She grabbed my finger like she'd caught it 
stealing and all I could do was think...'Damn, I hit the 
jackpot.' I started rocking my finger in and out, 
slowly, and she just lit up. Her whole body tensed at 
once, she went up on her toes, she started sucking on my 
tongue like it was a pacifier...it was amazing. God, I 
wanted her so much then!"

"From the moment he started using his fingers on me, I 
was at the edge of orgasm," Emily explains. "Right at 
the edge, which amazed me because I usually had a hard 
time coming -- a lot of times I never even came at all 
with Bob. I'd gotten used to not having a climax. But 
when Mike began fuck -- fingering me, it put me right to 
the edge, and the sensation was so thrilling! I'd just 
been entered and I was already about to come!"

"I knew she was loving it," says Mike. "Her insides were 
going nuts on my fingers and she was holding my arms so 
tight it actually hurt. Her whole body was telling me 
she was getting off on it, but I didn't know she was 
actually going to get off until she did." He grins and 
adds, "And that was pretty unmistakable."

"When the palm of his hand pressed against my clitoris, 
I came," Emily reports. "I went right up and over. It 
wasn't the biggest or best orgasm I'd ever had, or even 
the best I had that day, but it was so very fulfilling! 
I never expected it and yet it was there, rising up, 
spiraling out from the center of myself and just flowing 
out. God!"

"She screamed into my mouth, and her pussy slammed down 
on my finger like a vise," Mike recalls with a grin. 
"She wetted my hand to the wrist. I was like...'God 
damn, I just made my mom come!'"

"It wasn't the longest orgasm," Emily says. "It was 
short but very sweet, and it left me knowing I could 
have another one, a much bigger one, with very little 
prompting. 

"It also left me rather wobbly," she adds with a 
chuckle, "which is why I sank to my knees."

Mike looks amazed. "Right to her knees. Right in front 
of me. She looked so beautiful that way!"

"I got a good look at his cock," Emily says, not even 
noticing the vulgarity. "It was perfect. I don't mean to 
suggest it was objectively perfect or the best one in 
the world, but it was perfect for me. Everything about 
it was just the way I'd always imagined the perfect cock 
to be. It was straight. It was thick. It was about nine 
inches long, which is ideal for me. The veins looked 
like they were chiseled from granite. The head was like 
a plum. His balls were heavy with cum. It was everything 
I'd ever wanted in a cock. 

"I did the only thing that made sense in that moment: I 
looked up at him, I stuck out my tongue, and I licked up 
the bottom from root to head."

Mike still looks amazed. "Wow. I watched the pink tip of 
her tongue come out and I thought, "Nah, she's not 
gonna...' And then she made a cradle of her tongue and 
caressed the underside of my cock with it, all the way 
up, slow, just staring into my eyes the whole 
time...I...I can't even tell you how hot that was. I can 
still see it like it's happening right this moment."

"I like oral," Emily says, eyes sparkling. "Giving and 
receiving. It had been a long time -- years -- since I'd 
done it, so I was enjoying every second of feeling him 
on my tongue. I wanted him to enjoy it too."

"She went up and down, slow, three or four times, like 
my cock was so delicious she just wanted to savor every 
bit of it." Mike smiles at the memory. "In my 
experience, most girls don't like giving head. I mean, 
most don't mind it that much and they do it to make you 
feel good, but most girls don't like to do it. But mom's 
eyes were blazing and she was...worshipping my cock. She 
was loving it, loving doing it, loving how it felt and 
just the act of it. And I love oral too, getting and 
giving, so to be with someone who loved it as much as me 
was...wow."

Emily licks her lips with glee. "I loved how he looked. 
He was wholly into the sensations I was giving him, and 
because I wasn't receiving anything in return I could 
completely and utterly focus on what I was doing. I 
could do something with my mouth and immediately see the 
effects on his face and feel them through his cock, and 
that sort of instant feedback and...control, I suppose, 
is a very powerful thing. But at the same time, the 
power that I had was because I was submitting to Mike's 
desires and taking nothing for myself. In that moment I 
was giving myself to my son completely and yet that gave 
me power in the relationship -- the power to give him 
what he needed in that moment. And that's an incredibly 
seductive prospect."

"Did you continue with the oral sex?" the interviewer 
asks.

"Oh yes! Oh my, yes!" Angela laughs. "There was no way I 
was letting that perfect cock get away without feeling 
it in my throat! I opened my mouth and just looked up at 
him for a long moment with my mouth an inch away from 
the head, so that he could feel my breath on it. The 
look of longing on his face was...thrilling. And then I 
put my mouth around the head and slowly took him, inch 
after inch, all the way down until my nose was in his 
pubic hair and I had my lips pressed against his body. I 
looked up at him and I saw a magnificent vista of hard 
angles and planes across his abdomen and his chest, 
every muscle standing out perfectly with just a bit of 
shadow in the sunlight. He was so strong! And his face 
was so very...loving. So kind. So appreciative and 
hungry and sweet. We locked eyes, and...and I hadn't 
felt that loved, that adored, in a long time."

"When was the last time?" asks the interviewer.

Emily thinks for a moment, begins to speak, and then 
simply shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe never. Maybe I'd 
never seen any love so complete as I saw on my son's 
face in that moment. He loved me with everything he had 
and I gave it back to him with everything I had."

Mike reappears onscreen as the interviewer asks, "What 
was it like to have your mom on her knees performing 
oral sex on you?"

He shakes his head. "I wasn't thinking about her as my 
mom then. I mean I was, but I wasn't. Neither of us 
could think that way, it would have been too much. So I 
saw her as the gorgeous, naked woman sucking my cock so 
I could fuck her brains out. I mean, that was what I was 
trying to think. Like once or twice a minute I'd realize 
she was my mom, but I had to push that aside."

"Was that hard to do?"

He shrugs and grins. "Not as hard as it would have been 
if she wasn't sucking my cock better than I'd ever had 
it sucked before, or if I didn't know she was so wet for 
me she was dripping. I wanted to fuck her. Hell, at that 
point I don't think I was willing to be told no."

"And she's good at oral?"

"Ha! When she took me down her throat all the way and 
just parked her mouth there as she worked me over with 
her tongue and cheeks, just caressed every square inch 
of my cock at once, worked it, just adored it -- when 
she did that and she looked up at me with her amazing 
eyes...well, I'd never felt anything that good before."

"I could have sucked him all day and been happy," Emily 
purrs, "but I started feeling very, very...empty. I 
needed to be filled, and I needed to be filled by the 
most perfect cock I'd ever seen. It was in my mouth, I 
needed it in my pussy."

"After like five minutes, she took her mouth off me," 
Mike says. "She was still looking up at me, her hand 
around the base of my cock, and have one last slow lick 
all the way up, just teased the head with her tongue, 
and in the sweetest, sexiest voice I've ever heard, she 
asked --"

"'Will you fuck me, baby?'" Emily asks, her voice 
pitched husky and needful. "'Will you fuck me hard and 
deep and not stop until you make me scream for your 
cum?'"

"You asked that?" the interviewer asks, amused disbelief 
in her voice.

"Those were the words I used, as best as I can recall," 
Emily laughs merrily. "I told you I talk dirty during 
sex, and I was just getting started."

"It wasn't just you being vocal in your pleasure like 
they'd told you to?" the interviewer asks.

"I had that in mind," Emily acknowledges. "I needed to 
be loud for the amusement of the savages. But when I'm 
enjoying sex, I am loud and I do talk dirty. It wasn't a 
stretch for me to say those things – they just came 
naturally out of my mouth."

"So," the interviewer asks, "what did Mike do?"

Mike again. "I didn't say anything. I just kicked 
together our clothes to make someplace to lie down, and 
she did. Flat on her back. And then she stuck her legs 
out straight and then spread them wide...wider…"

We see a film clip of Emily dancing onstage, finishing a 
whirling leap with a splits that drops her crotch to the 
floor. She can certainly spread her legs when she has a 
mind to.

"Lying there in the sun, naked, sweat glistening on her 
body, her pussy just shining with wetness, her hair like 
gold," Mike sighs. "It was so beautiful. She was so 
beautiful. So amazingly...inviting."

"And then?" the interviewer asks.

"And then I got down on my knees between her legs and 
lowered myself onto her."

"He didn't go inside me," Emily says. "Not yet. He just 
covered me with himself and put his skin on mine. It 
felt...divine. I love having a man on top of me, the 
sensation, the weight, knowing that he and I were going 
to be joined in the most perfect way possible...and then 
he kissed me. It was the most possessive kiss I've ever 
had, before or since. At that moment I belonged to him, 
body and soul, all of me, and he belonged to me."

"She wrapped her arms around me and held me close, like 
a second skin," Mike says. "I could feel her hands on my 
back, her fingernails -- she doesn't keep her 
fingernails long but I could feel them digging into my 
skin like she was urging me on. My cock was against her 
thigh, her upper thigh a couple inches from her pussy, 
and even there she was so wet! I shifted my hips a bit 
and brought the head up to her lips."

Emily gasps, a sharp intake of breath as she recalls the 
scene. "Ohhhhh. Oh. The first time I felt his cock 
against my cunt." It's impossible to imagine that she 
would use that word when she wasn't excited, but it's 
somehow impossible to imagine her using any other word 
now. "That big, hungry head right against my lips. I 
knew my juices were getting onto his cock and I could 
just hold the image in my mind of him moving against me 
and the head of that magnificent cock coming away 
glistening in the sunlight, glistening with something 
I'd put there, something that could have come only from 
me." She closes her eyes and almost purrs.

"I normally tease a little bit," Mike says. "You know, 
rub a girl's pussy with my cock, get the tip wet and 
then rub her clit. It makes both of us want it more. But 
I couldn't have wanted it any more than I already did, 
and neither could she. Her hips were already moving, 
grinding, trying to get me inside. She was whimpering 
into my mouth. All I had to do was shift a little more 
and I slipped right in."

Emily gasps and her eyes fly open; she is incredibly 
aroused. "Oh God! That first second when he pushed 
inside me! The way the head opened me and then suddenly 
I swallowed him up and he was giving it to me, inch 
after inch! It felt like it took an eternity. It really 
did. It felt like he'd never finish giving me his cock, 
and I wanted it all. I wanted every millimeter. I didn't 
want anything left outside, I wanted it all in me, 
inside me where I needed it, where he needed it. And 
every little bit that he gave me felt better and better 
and better, sliding in so deep and still giving me 
more." 

She's actually breathing heavily now. "And then I felt 
him bump up against my cervix and I knew that when he 
came, he'd be coming right into my womb. Right into my 
womb. And then I felt his balls against me and I knew 
I'd taken him all, and I knew we fit. We fit perfectly, 
absolutely perfectly. I couldn't take anymore at exactly 
the instant he had no more to give. It was like we'd 
been made for each other."

Mike is flushed but smiling, with only a trace of 
awkwardness. "When I got inside of her, all the way 
inside, it felt incredible, better than any pussy I'd 
had, but...it was one of those moments when I realized 
what I was doing. It was like, 'Dude, you're seriously 
fucking your own mom right now.' I got so dizzy, just 
for a second! I think if I'd have been standing up I'd 
have fallen over."

"What did you do then?" the interviewer asks, and a 
little eagerness is audible in her voice.

He laughs. "Well then she squeezed me with her pelvic 
muscles and she wasn't my mom anymore! So I started 
fucking her."

Emily is painfully aroused by now. "In and out...it's 
such a simple thing, just in and out. But it was so 
exquisite! He was moving inside me and he was touching 
every nerve I had, stroking them in perfect rhythm, over 
and over, driving into me, pushing me back against the 
ground. I was already screaming into his mouth. I'm also 
a screamer." She doesn't seem bothered by the admission. 
"And when he took his mouth off mine, I started to talk 
dirty."

"No, it wasn't dirty talk," Mike corrects. "It was 
filth. Magnificent filth."

"What was she saying?" the interviewer asks.

"What wasn't she? 'Fuck me hard, pound my cunt!'"

"'Hammer me you fucker!'" Emily adds. "'Slam that cock 
up into me!'"

"'Harder, fuck me harder!'" Mike continues. "'Fuck me 
like I'm your slut!'"

"'I'm your whore, your cocksucking slut bitch, use me! 
Use my cunt!'"

"'Fuck me you motherfucker, fuck your mother!'" Mike 
says, nostrils flaring. "Hammer me like the horny cunt I 
am! Fill me!'"

"'Come in me!'" Emily nearly shouts. "'I want your cum 
so fucking bad, pour it into me! Give it to me, every 
drop! Empty your balls in me!'"

"And how much of this was because the gang had told you 
to be vocal?"

Emily smirks and says, "Not a single bit. By that point 
it was all me."

"Every word made me hotter," Mike says. "I'd never 
fucked anyone so hard before, and she just kept begging 
for it harder and harder."

"He was hammering me so hard that I felt my bones 
shaking inside my skin, and it still wasn't enough," 
Emily says. "I had never in my life been that aroused. 
Everything felt good, even what hurt. Perhaps especially 
what hurt. And all I could think was 'more," more cock, 
more fucking, harder, deeper, faster. In fact, I wasn't 
thinking at all then. My body was in complete control 
and my mind had gone somewhere else."

"When she crossed her ankles behind my back and locked 
me in, just squeezing my cock with her muscles as I 
ground against her, I knew I wasn't going to last long. 
I couldn't. I couldn't even understand how I'd lasted as 
long as I did."

"I was just babbling for his cum, yelling myself 
hoarse," Emily says. "I don't think I was making a bit 
of sense, just saying dirty words. I could've come the 
moment he entered me or at any moment after that, but I 
needed to wait for him. I needed to wait for his seed 
inside me before I came."

"I tried to say I was going to come," Mike says. "I 
think I got out, 'I guhhhkuuu' or something, like I was 
just trying to figure out words. When I came I gave a 
groan that came from the soles of my feet and all the 
way up, and I just exploded. I just exploded into her."

"His cum," Emily marvels, breathless. "Oh God. I could 
feel his whole body just coil like a spring. I grabbed 
his cock with my cunt muscles and squeezed as hard as I 
could, and that was what did it. If I'd have heard that 
sound come out of him at any other time, I'd have sworn 
he was injured. But his cock was jumping inside of me 
like a thing alive and I knew he was giving me what I 
needed. I knew he was pouring his seed straight into my 
cervix, as deep inside me as he could go. After the 
first time his cock jumped, I came."

"She bit me," Mike laughs, pointing to a spot on his 
shoulder just to the side of his neck. "She had her 
mouth pressed to me and she actually bit me when she 
came. It didn't hurt. I knew she was just spasming. Her 
body was as rigid and stiff as a mannequin, but her 
insides were dancing. I'd never known she could dance 
inside too, but...damn. She does. She really does."

"I didn't even know where I was," Emily laughs. "I 
didn't even know who I was! There was just this gut-
wrenching climax that was so strong it almost hurt. It 
was right at the farthest edge of pleasure, right where 
my body was telling me it couldn't take anything 
stronger, and it just held there, and held there, and 
held there. I think I thought I was dying and I didn't 
care."

"It was the best sex I'd ever had," Mike says simply.

"I didn't know I could feel those sensations," Emily 
says, shrugging helplessly. "I didn't know that the 
human body was capable of producing them. I'd never been 
one for romance novels that talk about that kind of 
thing, and I'd certainly never experienced anything like 
it myself. It was...revelatory. It was the sort of thing 
that one can never forget about once one experiences 
it."

"So then what?" the interviewer asks.

"For a long time I lay there, eyes closed, completely 
limp. He was still inside me. I could feel the froth 
we'd made leaking from me. I felt the sun. I heard 
voices but nothing was really making sense. I couldn't 
piece together where I was or even who I was with -- my 
mind kept telling me it was my son and then rejecting 
the possibility, over and over again." 

Emily sighs deeply. "And then I opened my eyes and saw 
him, my baby boy. He was on top of me. He was inside me. 
He'd put his sperm inside me. We'd had sex. And that was 
when the guilt fell from the sky in waves and began 
crashing over me."

"Once the...what the urgency of it was over, I started 
to think," Mike says. "And that wasn't a good thing. I 
mean, it was a good thing because we needed to think and 
deal with what we'd done, but...man. It was not good."

"What do you mean?" the interviewer asks.

"All right, it wasn't our fault that we'd had sex, 
right?" Mike asks. "We did what we had to do, and we had 
to do it because psychopaths made us do it. If we'd 
gotten right back to the road that morning and gone on 
our way to the wedding, we weren't going to decide to 
fuck just because. I'd never, ever thought about her 
like that and I'm pretty sure she'd never thought about 
me like that. It's not like we were going to suddenly 
start ripping each other's clothes off. 

"But once we'd been forced into it, we'd gotten into it. 
We clicked. You can make out with someone without 
getting as caught up in it as we did. You can even have 
sex with someone without really liking it -- I did when 
I lost my cherry. But that wasn't how it was with us. 
From the time we started touching each other, it was 
awesome. I mean, I didn't just like it, I loved it. I 
loved it. And there was no doubt she did too. So yeah, 
they made us do it, but us getting off so hard on it? 
That was all on us."

Emily looks very somber and thoughtful, and is not 
looking directly at the camera. "I had begged my son to 
ejaculate inside me, and it was the most blissful and 
transcendent experience of my life when he did. I had no 
idea that level of sexual compatibility was even 
possible, but everything either of us did felt perfect, 
almost...well, I hesitate to use the word because I 
don't believe in it, but it almost felt foreordained. 
Inevitable. How could that much of a potential 
connection exist between two people who were so close to 
each other and not eventually demand exploration?"

"Do you think you'd have eventually gotten together if 
this hadn't happened?" the interviewer asks.

"No," Emily says with a decisive shake of her head. "I 
know that sounds self-contradictory, but under what 
circumstances would Mike and I ever have come to know 
that that compatibility existed? Logically, of course, I 
knew that. But knowing that and believing it were two 
very different things when I was forced to confront the 
actuality of the attraction and the concrete reality of 
what we'd done with each other...to each other. And, 
more importantly, confronting the fact that my own son 
was the best lover I'd ever had by a considerable 
margin, and I was the best he'd had."

"But if it wasn't your fault --"

Emily cuts the interviewer off with a violent shake of 
her head, making her unruly hair jump. "No. I had begged 
my son to do things to me. Do you understand that? I had 
begged him to do unspeakable things to me because, in 
that moment, I needed him more than I ever knew I could 
need anyone. I had begged him to ejaculate inside me 
because the idea of not receiving his seed was, in that 
instant, both physically agonizing and heartbreaking. I 
had never shared anything even remotely approaching that 
with any lover I'd ever had -- and certainly not with my 
husband, the father of my children."

"And now that thing was between us," Mike says. "I mean, 
if we'd have struggled with it, like if I'd had a hard 
time getting it up and she couldn't get went and it had 
been awful and painful and awkward...that would have 
been normal. That's how it should have been between a 
mom and a son. But it was so good that we both knew it 
would always be there, always right there, and even if 
we never talked about it again, and right then I was 
hoping we wouldn't, we'd both have to go through life 
knowing that the greatest sexual experience either of us 
had ever had came at the hands of other. And how were we 
supposed to go on like that?"

"Did you think you might be pregnant?" the interviewer 
asks Emily.

Emily shakes her head. "That didn't occur to me for some 
time. I was rather overwhelmed by what we'd done, so I 
wasn't able to think very much about possible 
consequences. I don't think it even crossed my mind for 
an hour or two, and when it did I dismissed it 
immediately. I thought I'd ovulated several days before, 
so even if I was wrong by a day or two I was still 
safe."

"Were you on birth control?"

"No. I have side effects of birth control medications -- 
nausea, dizziness, weight gain, that sort of thing. If I 
had a desk job, I suppose I would have simply done my 
best to ignore those symptoms, but they were of course 
impossible for a dancer." She pauses, then adds, "And 
besides, I really didn't need it. For the past several 
years, there had been essentially no danger."

"What did you do then?" the interviewer asks Mike.

"It was a weird situation," he says. "Not only had I 
just fucked my mom and come inside her, but I was still 
in her when we both sort of realized what we'd done. 
Pulling out of your mom isn't something you can just do, 
you gotta put some thought into it. I think we 
apologized to each other about fifty times in the next 
minute, and then I finally pulled out of her and got 
up."

"Oh dear," Emily sighs resignedly. "There was a flood 
when he pulled away, and the smell of sex 
was...overpowering. He was very polite and he helped me 
up and offered me my clothes before he began dressing, 
but there was so much...of him, running down my legs, 
all the way to the ankles. I'd never had so much inside 
me before. I was a disgusting mess."

"Did you clean up?" the interviewer asks.

"I asked to," Emily replies. "I asked one of the women; 
I supposed that feminine compassion would be more likely 
to be productive than asking a man. Unfortunately, she 
was...stunningly vulgar and cruel."

"This tattooed bitch with bolt-ons looks my mom up and 
down and just smirks," Mike says, "and then says, 'You 
were just begging your son to come up inside that mommy-
cunt you got, so enjoy it.' Everyone around us laughed. 
So I handed her my underwear and let her use that."

"After that response, I was hardly about to ask to use 
the bathroom," Emily sniffs. "No one seemed to be paying 
us much attention at the moment, so I walked behind a 
parked car and cleaned myself up as best I could and 
then put clothes on. I knew there was going to be a 
great deal of...seepage, and my shorts were light-
colored and it would certainly show, but I wasn't about 
to go without them."

"I got dressed," Mike says. "I guess I expected the shit 
to continue. I figured they just weren't done with us, 
you know? I thought they'd...I don't know, kick the shit 
out of us, rape, threaten at least. Maybe make me and 
mom go again. But it was weird, because they were just 
sort of...ignoring us."

"Ignoring you?" the interviewer asks. "Really?"

"Yeah. I mean the bitch said that to mom, but only after 
mom said something to her," Mike says. "A couple of guys 
came up to me and slapped me on the shoulder and told me 
I'd done a good job fucking my mom, but...it sounds 
weird, but I didn't think they were fucking with me. I 
thought they were actually congratulating me. I mean, 
how fucked up is that? And after that they just sort of 
left us alone and started fussing over the pig they had 
roasting."

"I did not anticipate the indifference," Emily says. 
"After forcing us to copulate and make a spectacle with 
each other, I assumed they'd continue to torment Mike 
and me. I thought they'd harass us at the very least, 
but they simply ignored us for a time, with the 
exception of offering us each a beer."

"You let your 18-year-old son drink a beer?" the 
interviewer asks.

Emily snorts. "Given the circumstances, it seemed 
trivial."

"There was a log thing, a split log they used as a 
bench," Mike says. "Mom and I sat on one end of it and 
drank beer and tried to figure out what to say to each 
other. I asked her if she was OK and she said yes. She 
told me that nothing we'd done was our fault, which was 
technically true, and that I shouldn't feel bad about 
it, which was complete bullshit. And then we just kind 
of stopped talking."

"Why?" the interviewer asks.

"It was hard to find a topic," Mike says dryly. "We 
couldn't discuss even the near future because we had no 
idea what was going to happen to us, and I couldn't 
really say, 'Wow mom, you're an awesome lay.'"

"I was focusing on what a terrible human being I was," 
Emily says simply. "Mike was still a child, so nothing 
that went on between us could be blamed on him. I was 
the adult and the parent. It had been up to me to 
maintain proper boundaries even in this situation, and I 
had failed utterly. I didn't believe we could ever 
recover. I thought he would never want to speak to me 
again."

"We sat there for...half an hour, maybe," Mike says. 
"Then the bikers started laying out a feast, a real 
picnic feast. It was the damnedest thing. They kept 
bringing food out of the house, all kinds of salads and 
side dishes and stuff, and they started carving that 
pig. When they started cutting the meat, that was when 
the smell hit me. I was so hungry my stomach roared."

"Surprisingly, they offered us food," Emily says. "We 
were told to serve ourselves. By that point it was about 
3:30 in the afternoon and we were both quite hungry, so 
we ate. The pork was delicious, and I thought the baked 
beans were particularly good."

"You had an appetite after everything?" the interviewer 
asks.

"I was ravenous," Emily replies. "I felt as though I 
hadn't eaten for two days. I'm afraid I made quite a pig 
of myself, but no one objected. They were worse."

"I had two more beers, and I know mom had at least one," 
Mike tells us. "We didn't really talk to anybody because 
we didn't want to stir anything up, but the whole vibe 
had gotten...well, not friendlier, but less hostile. It 
felt like we were crashing their barbecue, not like they 
were getting ready to mess us up. I was starting to 
think we might actually make it out of there."

"When we were done eating, I asked to use a bathroom 
again," Emily says, "and I was told to, and I quote, 
'Piss in the bushes if I was so damned prissy.' So 
that's exactly what I did."

"I just came back from taking a leak, and mom was back," 
Mike says, "when their leader, that Petey guy, comes 
over and sits next to us, asking us how we liked the 
meal and joking like we were best buddies or something. 
And then he started telling us about the law enforcement 
around there."

"He informed us that the Sheriff of the county was 'in 
his pocket,' as it were, there would be no investigation 
if we reported this incident to the police," says Emily. 
"He was also of the opinion that, since we were 
physically unharmed and had...'had a good time,' we 
should be grateful, chalk it up to a learning 
experience, and be on our way. Since several gang 
members would be traveling into Pinedale after dinner, 
he told us they would be so kind as to drive us to a 
service station, and he gave us directions to tell the 
tow truck driver for how to get back to Lou." She 
pauses, then adds, "He also demanded that we thank him. 
We didn't think it wise to refuse."

"Fifteen minutes later we were in the back of an SUV 
heading for town," Mike tells us, still sounding 
surprised by the turn of events. "They stopped off at 
the minivan and we got our luggage, anything we wanted 
to take, and they drove us on in."

"They played the worst music I have ever heard," Emily 
says indignantly. "It was nothing but screeching guitars 
and bass and screaming. And they played it so loudly!"

"It was, ah, it was all right," Mike says. "It meant we 
didn't have to talk."

"They were going to drop us at the service station," 
Emily tells us, "but there was a motel down the street, 
and I asked them to drop us there because I absolutely 
required a shower at the earliest possible moment. The 
clerk only charged us half price when we told him we 
were only going to use the bathroom. The place was dingy 
and a little grimy, and I certainly didn't trust the 
linens, but as I said, I needed a shower."

"I didn't want to stay in the room when mom was using 
the shower," Mike shrugs. "I couldn't. I needed to put 
some distance between us, if only because I didn't want 
to think about her naked with water running over her. I 
just took a walk down to the station and arranged for 
the tow truck driver to run out and pick up the minivan, 
and then I walked around for a few minutes. It 
was...hard to go back to the room where mom was. I just 
didn't know what the hell to say."

"I took a very long shower," Emily says. "The water 
didn't get nearly as hot as I wanted for my...my mental 
health, I suppose. I wanted to scald my skin off. I 
wanted to come out new."

"Did you?" the interviewer asked.

"No," Emily says, shaking her head with a rather sad 
smile. 

"I got some food from a grocery store," Mike says. "Some 
kaiser rolls, cheese, cold cuts. Some mini carrots -- 
mom loves carrots -- and some pears. When I came back 
mom was sitting on the bed, already dressed, brushing 
her wet hair. She didn't even look up at me when she 
told me she wanted to sell Lou to the tow truck driver."

Emily reappears as the interviewer says, "You loved your 
minivan." 

Emily nods.

"Why did you sell it?"

"I couldn't get back inside it ever again," Emily says. 
"When I thought of it, all I could think of was the 
accident and what it led to. What we'd been forced to 
do. How could I drive that? How could I carry my husband 
and my daughter in that vehicle? How could I ever ride 
there again with Mike?"

"So what did you do?" the interviewer asks. 

"I walked to the service station and arranged to sell 
Lou in return for it being towed. I didn't even want any 
money for it. I just needed to be done with it forever."

"We still needed to get to the wedding," Mike says. "We 
ended up paying a 16-year-old kid $200 to drive us to 
the airport in Salt Lake City. He was a nice kid and he 
kept trying to talk to us, but we weren't really in the 
mood. I don't think we said ten words."

"There was a 7:25 from Salt Lake City to San Francisco 
the next morning," Emily tells us. "We bought tickets 
and got two cheap motel rooms so we wouldn't have to 
sleep together. Then I took a taxi to an all-night 
pharmacy and bought a douche. Then later, sitting alone 
in my bed, I called my husband."

"Did you tell him about what had happened?" the 
interviewer asks.

"I told him we'd had an accident," Emily explains. "I 
told him the van was totaled and Mike and I were shaken 
up but all right. I told him we'd walked to a road, 
flagged down a passing police officer, and then arranged 
to finish our trip by air."

"You didn't tell him about the Visigoths, or what you 
and –"

"No!" Emily says emphatically. "How could I tell him 
that I had been forced to fornicate with our son, that I 
had taken his sperm inside me? What words could I 
possibly have used for that? And how on Earth could I 
possibly have told him that, knowing that his son had 
given me more pleasure in a single sexual encounter than 
he had given me in at least the last ten years combined? 
What was I supposed to say to him? And…my God, what was 
I supposed to say to Mike?"

Mike comes onscreen again as the interviewer asks, "What 
did you and your mom talk about on the flight?"

"We didn't talk."

"Not at all?"

"No," Mike says with a shake of his head. "Neither of us 
said a single word."

The screen goes black for a moment, and then a picture 
of the gang hideout appears with the legend, "In 
December of that year, the Visigoths' methamphetamine 
lab exploded and burned the building to the ground. Five 
gang members and two associates were killed in the 
fire."

The picture is replaced by the mugshot of Petey, along 
with the legend, "The following July, almost exactly a 
year to the day after the events described in this 
documentary, Douglas 'Petey' Hounslow lost control of 
his motorcycle while driving on a mountain road during a 
rainstorm. He skidded over a cliff into the Green River 
and was killed."

The credits roll.

--------------------------------------------------------
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in 
any way, shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any of 
the scenarios in this story should seriously consider 
seeking professional help.
--------------------------------------------------------
Kristen's collection - Directory 83