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Folie a Deux: Episode 2
by Senor Smut (senorsmut@gmail.com)

***

Mother and son have survived their ordeal, but that 
doesn't mean they've put it behind them... or that the 
lust it engendered can be contained. (MF, reluc, inc)

***

Author's Notes: Disclaimer and Boilerplate:
1. The sexual situation depicted in this story is pretty 
messed up.
2. I left my heart in San Francisco. If you happen to 
find it, let me know at the email address below.
3. 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 asstr.org, to mention only one 
site. 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.
4. About a year ago (as of this writing) I was driving 
past a park on my way to work and I saw a squirrel 
gamboling across an open stretch of grass, and then a 
freakin' bald eagle swooped in, snatched it up, and flew 
about 10' over my car. Cool, huh?
5. I'm interested in any and all feedback, and now that 
I'm writing again I will monitor my feedback address at 
senorsmut@gmail.com. I'll do my best to respond to each 
and every message, and I sincerely apologize to those 
people who may have tried to contact me there during the 
past couple of years when I wasn't paying attention to 
that address.
6. I hereby give permission for this story to be 
duplicated and distributed under the following 
conditions: 1) that at no time shall a fee be charged 
for access to it; 2) that it be reproduced in full and 
unedited, including this disclaimer, with credit 
properly given. I'd like to be notified, but that's a 
courtesy. In addition, using an excerpt is fine as long 
as it contains a link to the full story.

***

Folie à Deux
Episode 2: Homecoming
By Senor Smut


The screen is black as we hear a man speak. The voice is 
young, strong, vibrant, and deep, with a solid 
Midwestern accent. "I've never been as uncomfortable as 
I was with mom over the next few days. How could we 
discuss what we did? How could we not discuss what we 
did?"

We now see a closeup of a young man against a black 
background. He is white, in his early 20s at the most, 
and very handsome. His face is composed all of bold 
lines, from his high cheekbones to his striking jawline 
and his cleft, pointed chin. His mouth is a thin line 
that shows a certain determination and strength of 
character, while his icy blue eyes hint at depth and 
reserves of intelligence and thoughtfulness. His hair is 
short, straight, and dark.

Below, we see the legend Mike Larsen.

"There was a massive thing between us now, and neither 
of us could figure out a way to get our arms around it," 
he continues. "I knew that if we didn't figure it out, I 
mean just how to live with it, it was going to tear our 
family apart. And I didn't have the first idea how to 
begin."

Mike disappears, replaced by a black screen with the 
words:

Folie à Deux
Episode 2: Homecoming

The title is replaced by another familiar face: a woman 
in her early 40s who bears a striking family resemblance 
to Mike, but for her generous lips, her dark eyes, and 
especially her wild mane of untameable blonde locks. 
She's wearing a red shirt with a narrow collar, hinting 
that this is a different day from the first interview.

Her name is given as Emily Larsen.

"The next several days were more awkward for me than 
actually doing what the Visigoths had forced us to do," 
she relates. "When we were there and being forced to 
have sex in front of the gang, we didn't focus on 
anything but the moment. We simply couldn't afford to. 
We had to do what we were told under threat of death, 
and when one is in that sort of a situation one doesn't 
have the luxury of looking ahead. We were forced to 
focus on the moment."

Mike reappears, looking pensive. "In the moment, there 
was nothing but the moment. I mean, the furthest ahead I 
could think was to the period immediately after we got 
done having sex, where I didn't want my mom to be 
thinking 'Damn, that was bad sex in addition to being 
sex with my son.' That was, like, as far ahead as my 
mind could even conceive of. And once we got done, it 
was like... my mind still couldn't conceive of anything 
after that sex. It was like we were both stuck there."

"Looking back on it, it was very clearly a mistake not 
to address it right away," Emily says. "I think, had we 
talked during that short period after we'd finished 
having sex but before the bikers drove us into town, 
we'd have been able to find words much more easily. We 
were both traumatized, however, and rather... lost in 
our own thoughts. It was difficult to find words that 
didn't feel trite or tremendously inappropriate. And of 
course, the longer we let the silence go, the more 
difficult it was to breach it."

Mike is rubbing his chin and looking to the side. "I 
remember... uh... I remember sitting on the airplane, 
sitting right next to mom, and absolutely not knowing 
the first word to say. Like not even how to start the 
first sentence. I kept opening my mouth and -- well, no, 
I kept thinking about opening my mouth and then not 
doing it because whenever I thought about talking to 
her, I could feel my throat squeeze closed. Seriously."

"Whenever I thought I knew how to start a conversation," 
Emily says, "I would remember what we did. It wasn't 
simply that we'd done it. We'd loved it. I'd begged him 
in the most obscene terms possible. It seemed 
humiliating simply to start a conversation."

"So yeah, whole flight, not a word," Mike sighs. "We 
land, I called dad to tell him we'd arrived safe and 
everything. Said we'd meet him at the hotel. Then mom 
and I waited for our bags. Just... stood there. Not 
talking. Not even looking at each other, because every 
time I looked at her all I could see was her down on her 
knees, naked with my cock in her mouth. So we just... 
stared."

"The taxi ride to the hotel was silent," Emily says. 
"For a time I was lost in a sort of... a fugue, I 
suppose, reliving the event to the extent that I was 
even smelling what I'd smelled the day before, the urine 
smell of the drug lab and the roasting pork."

"How were those recollections making you feel?" asks an 
offscreen voice. This interviewer is male with a slight 
English accent and he sounds older than the woman who 
interviewed the pair in the first episode.

"That was a very interesting thing, because they were 
making me feel very nearly the opposite of what I felt 
at the time," Emily says. "As it was going on, I was 
caught up in a spiral of lust that quickly got out of 
control. My son is an exceptional lover and we both 
managed to lose ourselves in the moment. However, as I 
relived it, all I could feel was shame and self-
loathing."

"Did you feel loathing toward Mike?" the interviewer 
asks.

"No, of course not," she says, though a quaver in her 
voice indicates that the answer may be more complex than 
that.

"How did I feel toward mom then," Mike muses, then 
exhales heavily. "I felt... I felt like she was... I 
don't know. I did feel bad for her, because in the house 
I grew up in there's no hiding loud noises and I'd 
never, ever heard her make sounds like I made her make. 
So, like, she wasn't getting that from dad at all. But 
then I started wondering if that made me a better lover 
than my dad, and when you start wondering whether your 
mom thinks you're a better lay than your dad is, you've 
gone down a real weird fucking road. So basically 
whenever I started to think about her, I'd force myself 
to think of something else, but I couldn't think of 
anything else for more than about thirty seconds before 
I'd start thinking about her again."

"Did you want to have sex with her again?" the 
interviewer asks.

"Not then!" Mike laughs. "I wasn't even sure I could 
ever look at her again. Fucking her was the last thing I 
had on my mind."

"I didn't want to have sex with Mike again," Emily says, 
"but I couldn't stop thinking about it. It had been 
extraordinary -- revelatory, as I said last time. I 
found I was relieving specific moments over and over 
again. They were just instants, really, sensations or 
impressions."

"Such as?" the interviewer asks.

"Well... just little things," Emily says uncomfortably, 
her awkwardness when discussing sex in full play. 
"Things he did or things I felt. Things that were 
different from what I was used to. Certain comparisons 
were inevitable, and I felt incredibly guilty making 
them but I couldn't help myself."

"Why not?"

Emily looks truly uncomfortable, and she shrugs.

"When we got to the hotel," Mike says, "I think it was 
the first time either of us realized that we were about 
five minutes from seeing dad and Olivia. I... I freaked, 
I'll be honest. I had a straight-up panic attack."

Emily still looks shaken. "When we pulled to a stop and 
I looked up and saw the rather severe white facade of 
the Hotel Whitcomb and realized that my husband and 
daughter were waiting for us inside, I felt as though 
someone had punched me in the stomach. And then I…"

"And then you what?" the interviewer asks.

"Mom opened the cab door and puked on the sidewalk," 
Mike chuckles, "so at least I handled it better than she 
did! Not like I handled it well or anything. I sort of 
hyperventilated."

"In the time since we'd... in the time since it had 
happened, I had thought almost continuously about how I 
would ever face Mike again," Emily says. "I had thought 
very little about how I would face Bob or Olivia. 
Somehow, seeing them again always felt distant, even 
when we were on the way to the hotel. And now I was 
faced with seeing them in moments and I didn't have any 
idea what to say or do."

"I didn't even really know what mom had told dad," Mike 
says. "I knew she'd told him we had an accident but I 
didn't know if she'd told him anything else, or what. I 
mean, we hadn't discussed it, right? But it was going to 
be obvious that something had happened between us, 
something really big and really traumatic, and I didn't 
know what the hell to tell dad or Olivia."

"The doorman helped me out of the taxi," Emily says. 
"I'm afraid I didn't stop to say anything to Mike. I 
know I should have, but suddenly all I could think about 
was the foul taste in my mouth. I went inside and 
immediately went to the restroom to try to clean up."

"I paid the taxi and made sure the porters got 
everything inside," Mike says. "But I was still, like, 
panicking. My heart was just hammering and my mind was 
racing. I couldn't think of anything to say or do. I 
knew mom went to the bathroom and I absolutely no way 
wanted to be the first one up to the rooms. But then it 
was weird to wait for her because I didn't even want to 
look at her, much less talk to her. So I paid the porter 
a twenty to take the bags up to the rooms and I went for 
a walk."

"You sent the bags up but you didn't go up yourself?" 
the interviewer clarifies, sounding incredulous.

"Yeah, I went out," Mike nods. "Walking. Walking around. 
Just... walking."

"For how long?"

Mike shifts a bit and looks embarrassed as he says, 
"Um... four hours. Closer to five."

"When I got out of the restroom about... half an hour 
later, I didn't see Mike or the bags," Emily says. "I 
naturally assumed he'd gone up first with the luggage 
and had already seen his father and sister. That was 
when my telephone rang. Bob was wondering where we were 
-- he said the bags had been brought up twenty minutes 
before but neither of us were there, and he was 
worried."

"What did you say?"

"I didn't know what to say," Emily shrugs. "I didn't 
know where Mike had gone. I thought he might have run 
off -- run away, I mean -- so as not to face me. To face 
the family. I'm afraid I got rid of Bob very brusquely 
and called Mike."

"I actually had my phone turned off," Mike said. "On the 
way in the taxi the buzzing from texts and Facebook and 
shit was driving me nuts, so I turned it off. I didn't 
even think about how it would all play, with the luggage 
showing up and then mom showing up sometime after and me 
not showing up at all. I really wasn't thinking at all."

"When he didn't answer his phone, I…" Emily paused, 
thinks for a moment, and then laughs. "I lost my mind. I 
began... making a fuss."

We now see a closeup of a man who appears to be in his 
early-to-mid 40s. He is handsome with icy blue eyes that 
resemble Mike's. His hair is dark brown except for 
several strands of gray at the temples; this, coupled 
with the care lines around his eyes, give him an air of 
weary wisdom. He looks familiar to those who saw Episode 
1, and his identity is confirmed when he is given the 
name Bob Larsen in a subtitle below his face.

"I'd been worried the night before, when I heard about 
the accident," Bob says in a deep, steady voice. "Emily 
called me and she sounded very shaken up, very upset. At 
the time I thought it was due to the wreck of the 
minivan she loved so much -- she really did have a love 
affair with that vehicle. She told me the accident 
wasn't bad, but I assumed she was minimizing it to keep 
me from worrying, which is a habit she's always had. 
Anyway, I was looking forward to seeing her in the 
morning.

"I knew something really odd was going on when the 
suitcases showed up without either her or Mike," Bob 
continues. "It was Emily and me in one room and Mike and 
Olivia in another, and Olivia thought it was pretty odd 
too, so after we waited a few more minutes I called 
Emily. When she freaked out and basically hung up on me, 
I knew something more had happened than just a car 
accident -- of course, I had no idea what. Then about 
five minutes later, hotel staff called and told me my 
wife was making a scene in the lobby."

"I recall... talking loudly," Emily says judiciously. "I 
demanded that the staff notify the police that my son 
was missing, and when they explained that he had 
apparently left of his own volition, I demanded that 
they send someone to look for him. I freely admit that I 
may not have been entirely rational at that moment."

"When the elevator doors opened in the lobby," Bob says, 
"the first thing I heard was Emily screaming. Now, Emily 
isn't a screamer, so hearing that, I knew that there was 
something going on that I didn't know about. I tried to 
get her calmed down, but she was... irrational."

"It was all coming out," Emily says. "The emotion, I 
mean, not the facts. I had been keeping all of the 
anxiety and fear and pain and confusion bottled up very 
tightly inside. I hadn't even allowed myself to speak to 
the only person who understood the situation -- Mike -- 
and now I was confronted by hotel staff who had 
absolutely no idea what I was going through and all of 
those emotions... exploded out of me."

"What were you thinking?" the interviewer asks.

"I don't believe I was thinking," she shrugs.

"Not at all?"

"I wanted my son there," she replies. "I wanted to know 
where he was at the very least. I imagine it was the 
motherly instinct of protection acting in a... 
maladaptive manner."

"Explain?" the interviewer probes.

"I had failed to protect my son the day before. We'd 
both been put into the worst sort of danger and then he 
had been forced to... fornicate with me. I blamed myself 
for those failings and for putting him into that 
situation. I hadn't permitted myself to approach those 
feelings, really, and now my son had wandered off into a 
strange city to do who knew what."

"He was 18 years old," the interviewer says, "not a 
child."

Emily frowns, just a bit, and says, "He's my child. No 
matter what else happens, to a mother part of her child 
is always the infant that she bore, always needing 
protection. I had failed to protect him and now I 
couldn't protect him because he wasn't there. I 
panicked."

"And what did you do when you saw your husband?" the 
interviewer asks.

Distress washes across Emily's features. "It... wasn't 
good."

"I heard Emily screaming before the elevator doors 
opened," Bob recalls with a frown. "I'd never heard her 
like that. When I got there she was surrounded by five 
or six staff -- the concierge, a desk clerk, bellboys, a 
janitor even -- and she looked like she'd lost her 
mind."

"What was she doing?" the interviewer asks.

"Yelling very loudly and rather incoherently that 
someone needed to find Mike immediately," Bob says, 
"while crying and waving her arms around wildly. With 
her hair the way it is -- very uncontrollable -- she can 
sometimes look a little unhinged even when she's 
absolutely calm, but with her so frantic and her hair 
just flying off in all directions, she looked like a 
complete maniac."

"What did you do?"

"I went up and tried to get her to settle down," Bob 
said. "I mean, she was almost raving. I put my hands on 
her shoulders and I was as surprised as anyone when she 
stopped yelling, sort of collapsed against me, and 
started crying and apologizing."

"I didn't notice Bob was there until he put his hands on 
my shoulders," Emily says, "and instantly the panic and 
fear all left me, simply because the guilt it made me 
feel left no room for anything else."

"Why did you feel so much guilt when your husband did 
that?" asks the interviewer.

"Because I'd failed Mike so badly. Because I'd wrecked 
the minivan that we really couldn't afford to replace. 
Because of the things Mike and I had been forced to do. 
Because the Visigoths had forced me to strip naked in 
front of them." Emily sighs heavily. "The main reason, 
though, was because I had loved the sex with my son so 
very much more than I ever had with my husband. When Bob 
put his hands on my shoulders, I had a moment of 
perfect, crystalline clarity in which I knew that every 
sexual encounter I ever had with him from then on would 
be bitterly disappointing. There was simply no doubt of 
it in my mind. My sex life with my husband, such as it 
was, had been completely destroyed by our own son."

"What do you mean, 'such as it was?'" the interviewer 
asks.

Emily opens her mouth to speak and then closes it again, 
and the camera slowly zooms in on her face during the 
long, and then painfully long moment she takes to 
compose herself and her answer. She shows a range of 
emotions -- regret, sadness, contemplativeness, and 
finally severe curtain of wariness and caution, and when 
she speaks her tone is measured, careful, and composed. 
"After the first several months together, Bob and I 
hadn't ever been particularly sexually active. We seldom 
made love anymore."

"Why not? Is he a bad lover?" the interviewer asks.

"No, of course not," Emily says instantly and with what 
comes off as well-prepared certainty. "I should rather 
say that, as the demands of our careers and child-
raising and simply living life took their tolls, sex was 
one of the things that got sacrificed."

Back to Bob. "I knew of Emily by sight and reputation 
before I met her. We were sophomores at the University 
of Minnesota and we had some overlapping friends so we'd 
see each other at parties. I thought she was gorgeous, 
to the point where I was intimidated about talking to 
her."

"What was her reputation?" the interviewer asks.

"Word was she was a... a wild girl," Bob laughs. "She 
liked to do crazy things, like she was an adrenaline 
junkie. There was one time people told me about where 
she got up on the roof of this eight- or ten-story 
building at night that had this steel girder sticking 
out of the side. She went out and danced on it." 

"I... did that, yes," Emily admits with what her smile 
makes clear is feigned reluctance. "Several friends of 
mine from dance and I had gotten up onto the roof of a 
building with a beautiful view of the Mississippi River 
and downtown Minneapolis. There may have been a small 
amount of marijuana involved."

"It must have been quite the adrenaline rush," the 
interviewer says. "Is that something you like?"

"I certainly did," she says. "I did any number of things 
that I'd be mortified and furious to discover my 
children doing now. But age and responsibility has a way 
of calming one down."

"Your reputation for wildness," the interviewer says. 
"Was it only for daredevil stunts, or did you have a 
sexual reputation as well?"

Emily seems a bit discomfitted by the question. "I... 
enjoyed my first two years at college and did a great 
many things that college students typically do. Sexual 
activity was a part of that."

"Emily had the reputation of being a hellcat in bed," 
Bob says with a smile. "Of course I found that 
intriguing!"

"What did you think of Bob before you met him?" the 
interviewer asks Emily as she reappears onscreen.

"I thought he was gorgeous. He seemed a little shy and 
very sweet. I had heard he was majoring in sociology, 
which I've always found interesting," she replies. "I 
was hoping I'd get a chance to talk to him."

Bob again. "I finally got up the nerve to talk to her 
and we ended up spending four hours talking, followed by 
about six hours in bed. It was a whirlwind sort of 
thing. We spent every free moment together for about a 
month, and then we sort of cooled off. I don't think we 
had as much in common as we thought at first. In fact, I 
hadn't seen her for a few days when she called and told 
me she was pregnant."

Emily reappears as the interviewer asks, "You weren't on 
birth control?"

"I can't use birth control, I have side effects that 
hinder my dancing," she replies. "We used condoms every 
time. Condoms are not 100% effective."

"And what did you think when you found out?"

"I was stunned, obviously."

"And was it a foregone conclusion that you'd carry it?"

"Not at all," Emily replied with a decisive shake of her 
head, "and even less of a conclusion that I would keep 
the baby. It entailed a major disruption of my life and 
my plans, after all, including scholarships and other 
funding. I was in a very great deal of turmoil, and to 
his everlasting credit Bob was there for me every step 
of the way. We spent a tremendous amount of time 
together over the next nine months, and by the time 
Michael was born, we had decided to try staying 
together."

"Were you happy?"

"In almost every way, Bob is a remarkable man," Emily 
says after only a moment's hesitation. "He never 
wavered, and he gave me every confidence that we could 
live a life together and raise our child -- or rather, 
children, since Olivia came along less than a year 
later." Careful observers will note that she didn't 
answer the question.

Bob reappears as the interviewer inquires, "How was your 
sex life?"

"After Olivia came, it fell away to almost nothing," Bob 
replies. "We had two babies to care for, I found a full-
time job with the County, and Emily went back to school 
for her dance degree as well as holding down part-time 
jobs to help us make ends meet. At the end of the day 
we'd be so exhausted that it was all we could do to make 
it to bed instead of falling asleep on the sofa."

"Sex became a luxury," Emily says, "to be indulged in 
when the rare opportunity presented itself. Even then it 
was more companionable than lusty and transcendent. 
Neither of us had the time or energy for a robust sex 
life when the children were young, and by the time they 
reached their teens, we found it easier to simply stay 
in our rut."

"Did you ever go outside your marriage for sex?" the 
interviewer asks.

"Not until Mike," she replies simply.

Bob tells us, "I had one... well, I won't even call it 
an affair. It was a fling, a woman I was with twice when 
I was... 31 or so. She was a friend of a friend and we 
met for sex. I broke it off because I felt guilty, and 
then I simply buried it. I never told Emily."

Emily again as the interviewer asks, "Did you love your 
husband?"

Emily considers for a moment before answering, "Yes, 
absolutely. I still love him. There's so much to admire 
about him -- his kindness, his compassion, his strength 
of character, his insight, I could go on. But by the 
time this was all going on, there was no passion in the 
marriage. None whatsoever."

"So I'd been gone for a few hours, I don't even know how 
long," Mike says. "I'd walked over half the damned city 
and wound up down by the water. I mean, you pretty much 
can't go anywhere in San Francisco and not end up down 
by the water. I actually ended up all the way on the 
other side of the city, by the Pacific, like right down 
by the zoo? Just walking on the beach."

"What had you been doing the whole time?" the 
interviewer asks.

"Just walking, man, just trying to sort shit out in my 
head. I wasn't panicking anymore, I just was so... 
ashamed. So guilty. I didn't want to face mom again with 
what I'd done to her. I couldn't even imagine facing 
dad! I just wanted to run away."

"Why didn't you?" the interviewer asks.

Mike smirks and says, "All my shit was back at the 
hotel. Anyway, I finally turned my phone on and there 
were like forty messages from mom and dad and Olivia. 
And I'd only had it on for like three minutes when 
Olivia called again and was all like, 'Where the fuck 
are you? Mom is freaking out! What did you do? Did you 
have a fight?' And then I realized that Mom hadn't told 
them anything that happened."

"Was that important?" the interviewer asks. 

"Yeah, I mean I didn't want anybody to know what 
happened, obviously," Mike replies. "So I just asked 
Olivia to put mom on. I hadn't even gotten the words out 
when mom was on the line."

"Bob had taken me up to our room," Emily says, "and he 
and Olivia were trying to calm me down, but I was doing 
little more than crying at that point. When I heard 
Olivia talking to Mike, I asked her for the phone so I 
could speak to her."

"Emily was lying on the bed," says Bob. "When Olivia 
finally got through to Mike, Emily vaulted up off the 
bed, leaped across the room -- seriously, leaped -- and 
ripped the phone out of her hand."

"Mom was just bombarding me, like, 'Where are you? What 
are you doing? Are you safe?' All that stuff. It took a 
couple of minutes to get her settled down a little bit."

"Hearing his voice was very... calming," Emily says. 
"When he told me he was safe and was coming back to the 
hotel, I felt much more rational and in control of 
myself."

"When I could get a word in, I asked mom to go someplace 
private so we could talk without being overheard," Mike 
says. "I think she went out on the balcony because I was 
suddenly hearing wind. I asked her what she'd told them, 
and she couldn't really remember. She was pretty 
rattled. I told her just to tell them we'd had a huge 
fight and things had gotten personal and mean, and we'd 
talk when I got back to get the details of our story 
straight. She seemed OK with that."

"It was good to have something to hold onto," Emily 
says. "Part of my panic was not knowing what to tell my 
husband and daughter. Having something to focus on, even 
if it was a lie, gave me a point around which to order 
my thoughts."

"Emily came back in from the balcony," Bob says, "and 
said that Mike was fine and coming back. She seemed much 
more composed, but in a very... well, brittle way, as 
though she could snap again at any moment. Then she 
said, without any kind of preamble, that she and Mike 
had had a terrible fight that had left her very upset. 
Then she announced she was going to take a shower and 
locked herself in the bathroom for forty minutes."

"Did you believe her?" the interviewer asks.

"Of course not," Bob replied with a shrug. "She's the 
worst liar I've ever known."

"What did you think was bothering her?" 

"I didn't know. I assumed that, between her and Mike, 
I'd get the truth out of them soon enough," Bob says.

"I walked back into the city and called a cab," Mike 
says. "I got back to the hotel about an hour after the 
call. Olivia was waiting for me in the lobby, and she 
was pissed."

"That you'd argued with your mom and upset her?" asks 
the interviewer.

"Ha! No," Mike says. "Well, a little about that, but 
mostly it was because all this 'drama' was ruining her 
time with her cousins. She was 17 years old, everything 
was about her. Normally I sort of blew her off, but I 
wasn't really in the mood this time so we ended up 
screaming at each other in the lobby. And then in the 
elevator. And then for like 15 minutes in the room we 
shared. And then we hugged and I told her to have a good 
time."

"Olivia later told me that she left the room after 
telling Mike to go fuck himself," Bob says.

"I took a shower," Mike says, "then called mom to tell 
her I was coming. Five minutes later I was at her door."

"I answered the door, let him inside, and then left them 
alone while I went down to the Market Street Grill for 
lunch," Bob says. "I figured they needed some time to 
work out whatever was really happening between them."

"So there we were finally, face to face," Emily says. 
Exhaling heavily, she adds, "And now we had to talk."

"Was it still awkward?" asks the interviewer.

"Surprisingly, no," Emily replies. "Of course, we didn't 
discuss what had happened at all."

"You... didn't?" asks the plainly surprised interviewer.

"No," she says. "There was no need to at that point. 
Well, of course there was a need to, a desperate need 
to, but there was something else to discuss. Namely, the 
details of the story we'd use."

"Why didn't you talk about what had happened?" the 
interviewer asks Mike.

"Because we had something else we could talk about 
instead," he replies. "And I think we'd both pretty much 
decided to avoid that topic as long as humanly possible. 
We'd have both been delighted if we could go the rest of 
our lives and never discuss what had happened. And yeah, 
of course we needed to talk about it, but we didn't."

"The cover story we devised was, I thought, quite good," 
Emily says, seeming proud of herself. "We decided that 
Mike had convinced me that he be allowed to drive Lou, 
and he was behind the wheel when we struck the deer. I 
was angry that he had destroyed my minivan and we 
argued, which spiraled into a series of wholly unfair 
accusations on each side. However, we had now said our 
profoundest apologies and forgiven each other, so there 
was no need for Bob or Olivia to bring it up ever 
again."

"And as soon as we'd figured that out," adds Mike, "I 
immediately got the hell away from her."

"I was very glad when he left," Emily nods.

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

Emily blushes demurely. "I called Bob and asked him to 
come back to the room for... marital relations."

"Were you excited?" the interviewer asks.

"I... was and I wasn't," she says. "Or rather, I was and 
didn't want to be. And even that's not it. I was and 
needed it to be something that it wasn't."

"Can you explain that?"

"While I was sitting in the room with my son, we were 
talking about a lie we were creating together, but... 
I... found myself thinking about certain things that had 
happened the day before. About how good it felt, and 
about how much I used to love sex. I used to look 
forward to it all the time, and feeling what I had felt 
made me…"

"Made you what?"

"Made me want to want it that much again," she says, her 
blush deepening. "That's why I called Bob."

"Did you want it with Bob?" the interviewer asks.

Emily's blush goes maroon. "No. But I had to want him. 
Then, at that moment, it needed to be him that I 
wanted."

"I was surprised," Bob says, "but pleased. I went back 
and she attacked me the moment I got in the room. It 
hadn't been like that for us since... well, since before 
Mike was born. It was great."

"Was it good?" the interviewer asks Emily.

She shifts uncomfortably and shakes her head. "No. It 
was the same as it always was with Bob. He wasn't the 
one who reminded me how much I used to love sex before I 
was with him. How could he be?"

"Honestly, the next couple days were pretty fun," says 
Mike in voiceover as we see a series of photographs of 
various members of the family engaging in activities 
with unidentified people: Bob, Emily, and a dozen other 
adults at Fisherman's Wharf; Mike with several males 
around his age at AT&T Park for a Giants game; Olivia 
with a large group of teenage girls all crowding into a 
selfie with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background. 
"There were all kinds of cousins there, some I never 
even met before, and it was fun just hanging out and 
doing whatever. And I only saw mom in the mornings and 
evenings, like good morning-good night stuff."

"Did you think about what had happened between you and 
her?" the interviewer asks as Mike's face reappears.

"Yeah. I mean, of course I did," Mike says. "Even when I 
was doing something else, every couple of minutes I'd 
start thinking about it."

"What, specifically?"

Mike shrugs. "How good it all had been. It was the best 
sex I'd even had, but there was more than that. It just 
felt so right when it was happening. I think that was 
what was fucking me up. I mean, yeah, good sex is great, 
but when we were actually doing it? We didn't even 
hesitate because it all felt so... right. We just 
clicked so damned hard, like nobody else I'd ever been 
with. That's really what I couldn't stop thinking of."

"It was constantly in my mind," Emily tells us. 
"Constantly. Even when I was with Bob... with him 
sexually, I mean. Especially then."

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

Emily shrugs, then offers a wan smile and says, 
"Hollow."

"Did you think about Mike in a concrete way," the 
interviewer asks, "or in a more abstract…"

"I don't understand what you're asking," Emily says.

"I mean when you were with Bob, did you visualize Mike? 
Did you imagine yourself with Mike again? Or was it more 
the sensations you'd gotten with him?"

Emily nods. "Oh. It was a combination of both of those 
things. After having felt those sensations at Mike's 
hand, I couldn't pretend that I hadn't felt them, or 
that Mike hadn't been responsible. In the same way, I 
couldn't pretend that Bob could give me the same thing. 
I hated that knowledge, but I couldn't avoid it."

"I kept thinking about the way I'd felt when mom was 
down on her knees," Mike says. "I kept thinking about 
how it felt when I went inside her. I kept thinking 
about how strong and how complete it made me feel. I 
mean, I kept coming back to that no matter how hard I 
tried. And it made me feel so. Goddamned. Guilty."

The screen goes black and we see one line of text in 
white lettering:
June 22

"Bob was certain something else had happened that we 
weren't telling him," Emily says. "That morning, he 
asked me about what had happened. Mike and I had been 
avoiding each other very deliberately, and in retrospect 
it was probably obvious to Bob that there was a reason 
beyond an automobile accident. I told him again the lie 
that Mike and I had agreed upon. I... am not sure I'm a 
very good liar."

"The day of the wedding was foggy and rainy," Mike 
recalls. "And cold. When San Francisco gets chilly, it's 
chilly. I hadn't seen mom for more than an hour total 
over the past couple days combined, and always when dad 
was there too. Like, for breakfasts and then a little 
bit after we all got back to the hotel. But this was 
going to be a whole different thing. We were going to be 
spending the whole day together -- well, afternoon and 
evening, between the ceremony and the reception and the 
dance and everything. And we were gonna be busy, yeah, 
but we were going to have deal with each other. And with 
dad. I was nervous."

"How was your father treating you?"the interviewer asks.

"He knew something was up," Mike says. "I know he didn't 
suspect what it was, but he knew it was big and that mom 
and I were avoiding it. That morning after breakfast, he 
pulled me aside and asked me about it again. I told him 
the same thing, and it was like, yeah, he wasn't buying 
it. It wasn't like he called me a liar or anything. He 
just asked me to talk to mom privately before the 
wedding."

"And did you?"

"No. I wanted to. I knew I should have. I knew we needed 
to just open up with each other and be honest, but I 
just didn't know how to start. It was... too big for 
me."

"It was a summer wedding, even though it was cold and 
miserable, so I had to dress like it," Emily tells in 
voiceover as we see a picture of her from that day. Her 
dress is a pleasant, unobtrusive yellow frock with lace 
trim, suitable for a woman in her late 30s, except 
perhaps that it's a touch shorter than one might expect. 
The relative brevity and her heels show off her 
perfectly-toned legs to great advantage. "In retrospect 
it might have been wiser to wear something longer."

"The wedding was this huge event," Mike says, "so they'd 
gotten Grace Cathedral." We now see a series of stunning 
shots of the cavernous interior of the cathedral, with 
its gorgeous stained glass and murals.. In voiceover, 
Mike continues, "We were all pretty excited because the 
groom was the son of a Hollywood bigwig and there were 
going to be all sorts of stars there. Olivia had stayed 
with some of the cousins the night before and was 
getting dressed and stuff over there, so it was just me, 
mom, and dad. And I thought it was going to be OK until 
I met up with them in the hallway and saw mom's dress."

"What was wrong with your mother's dress?" the 
interviewer asks. "It seems quite normal."

"It showed lots of leg," Mike explains with a grin. "She 
has amazing legs, and... well, when I saw them I just 
kept thinking about what was between them, about being 
between them. About having them wrapped around me. When 
I saw her wearing that dress for the first time I had 
this crystal-clear vision in my mind of pushing her up 
on the table, flipping the dress up, and... well, you 
know. Sex. And she was standing right next to dad when I 
had that picture in my mind, which like tripled the 
guilt I was already feeling."

"I saw where his eyes went," Emily says, a faint blush 
beginning to color her cheeks, "and I knew what he was 
thinking. And because I knew he was thinking that, I 
began to think it too. It was... remarkably awkward, 
given that Bob was standing less than a foot away from 
me."

"Of course I didn't notice anything then," Bob says. "I 
was probably looking at my phone or something. There 
were dozens and dozens of text messages flying back and 
forth and I was trying to keep up with what was going 
on." 

"I knew then that it was gonna be a tough night," Mike 
says. "And no matter how hard I tried, I just kept 
looking at her legs."

"It made me profoundly uncomfortable," Emily admits. 
"Not, of course, just because he was looking or even 
because Bob was there, but because there was a small 
part of me that didn't find it unpleasurable. It was the 
same part of me that had so much loved what had happened 
between us. And when I say the part was small, I was 
acutely aware that it might become larger if I 
encouraged it, and that terrified me, but at the same 
time I... well, I didn't crush that part. I don't even 
know if I could have. I think that part of me had been 
awakened from a long sleep and couldn't be put down 
again so easily. That part of me felt proud that Mike 
was looking at my legs and thinking... carnally about 
me, and was enjoying thinking the same about him."

"What did you do with that part of yourself?" the 
interviewer asks.

Emily licks her lips delicately. "I tried to isolate it. 
The shame was acute, and I know I leaned in and grabbed 
Bob's arm reflexively, as though he were a shield of 
some sort. And I…" Here she pauses and her flush deepens 
into an actual blush before she continues, "I looked at 
Mike to see what effect I was having on him."

"Looked at him?" the interviewer asks.

Emily's blush gets redder. "In the front. His front. Of 
his pants."

"I saw mom's eyes go right to my crotch, like it was a 
magnet," Mike says, "and if I wasn't hard before, that 
made me so hard it hurt. And she just stared, her eyes 
kinda wide and her mouth open just a little bit, and 
God, all I could do was imagine the things she'd done 
with her mouth and her hands and her pussy, how insanely 
good that all felt and how completely fucking wrong it 
was that all of a sudden I wanted it again, and I knew 
she wanted it again too. And that was deeply, deeply 
fucked up."

"I don't imagine most people can understand what a 
horrific moment it was," Emily says intensely. "To be 
coerced into sex with my son in the first place, and 
then to be standing in a hotel hallway with him aroused 
by me and I aroused by him, and my arm around my 
husband. It was a very quiet elevator ride to the 
lobby."

"It got worse," Mike says. "We had to take a taxi to the 
church, and dad had me get in first and mom next, so she 
was sandwiched between us after he got in. She was 
pressed right up against me, shoulder against shoulder, 
thigh against thigh. I could feel her warmth. I kept 
trying to think of something else, but... yeah, get 
real. Not gonna happen."

Emily will only say, "I wished it had been pleasant so 
we could have walked."

We see a series of photographs of Grace Cathedral 
exterior and interior, from posed shots of the entire 
wedding party on the steps (the bride is lovely, the 
groom and groomsmen are handsome, and the bridesmaids 
are attired in a shade of peach that makes them look 
plump and sickly so as not to upstage the bride) to 
celebrities arriving (Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner 
walk in arm in arm, Johnny Depp climbs out of a limo in 
bizarre ensemble, Emma Stone smiles hugely as she bends 
to accept a flower from a little girl, Julianne Moore 
stands laughing with George Clooney). In voiceover, 
Emily says, "To say we were dazzled would be an 
understatement. We were simple provincials from the 
Midwest, and suddenly it seemed we recognized someone 
famous everywhere we looked. And everything was so 
lovely! it all seemed like quite a fairy tale."

"Grace Cathedral is pretty big, so it's not like mom was 
sitting on my lap or anything," Mike says. "But we were 
close, and she was still wearing that dress, and I kept 
looking."

"Mike was still... aroused," Emily says. "It was quite 
obvious, and I found it difficult to keep my eyes away 
from it."

"Every few minutes," Mike says, "one of us would catch 
the other one looking, and it was the most embarrassing 
thing! I mean, my cousin was getting married in a 
cathedral surrounded by celebrities and rich people, and 
I can't stop perving on her and she can't stop perving 
on me. It was getting out of control, and I hurt. I mean 
I hurt."

"His erection looked rather painful," Emily says 
demurely and with a blush that the little smile at the 
corner of her mouth belies. 

"So the ceremony is going on and there's singing and 
scripture readings and shit," Mike says, "and all I can 
think is how good it felt to sink my cock into my mom 
and how good it would feel to do it again and how much I 
know she's love it too and my dad was right there and we 
were in a fucking church and I had to do something about 
it because it was driving me nuts and my mom wouldn't 
stop looking at my crotch like she was a starving woman 
looking at a steak -- so I... excused myself and went to 
the bathroom."

"When Mike slipped out, I knew that he was going to... 
to masturbate," Emily says, and it's clear she's working 
hard to keep a smile off her face. "And as guilty as it 
made me feel -- and it made me feel terribly guilty -- I 
felt this horrible, thrilling element of pride. My son 
had to go masturbate himself because I was wearing a 
short dress and he could see my legs, and because of the 
sex we'd had. I'd lived without sex for so long that I'd 
forgotten it, forgotten the power that arousing someone 
else can fill you with. It's despicable, I know, but at 
that moment I was so... wet."

"What did you do?" the interviewer asks.

She blushes deeper, but the smile breaks out a bit more. 
"I sat and looked smug, I think. And... I imagined what 
Mike was doing and what it looked like. I tried not to, 
but I didn't seem to be able to control my thoughts. 
Images kept creeping in no matter what I did."

"I got into the bathroom," Mike says. "Nobody else was 
around, thank God. I went into a stall, pulled it out, 
stroked it maybe twice, and then came so hard my knees 
almost buckled."

"What were you thinking about when you came?" the 
interviewer asks.

Mike laughs. "I didn't have time to think. It went too 
fast. After that I felt a lot better. I cleaned up and 
headed back to the service."

"When Mike came back, I couldn't help but look at his 
face," Emily says. "He wouldn't meet my eyes, but now I 
learned what he looked like after he orgasmed, and it 
was obvious that he had just done so."

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

"Shameful," she replies, "and triumphant. Mostly 
shameful, especially because seeing that expression on 
his face made me even more aroused. Mike came back and 
sat next to me and I think we kept our eyes to ourselves 
for the rest of the service, but as soon as the service 
was done, I went to the restroom and…"

"And?" the interviewer asks.

Emily goes red. "And I relieved tension."

"So. I'd jerked off to my mom in the middle of a church 
wedding," Mike says sheepishly. "That's one thing off 
the bucket list."

"The reception was at the Ritz-Carlton, just a couple of 
blocks away," Bob tells us. "The sun had come out during 
the receiving line after the ceremony, so we walked with 
a group of relatives. I had noticed some tension between 
Emily and Mike during the service, and once it was over 
they wouldn't even look at each other."

"And you still had no clue it was sexual tension?" the 
interviewer asks.

"No. It's not like you logically leap to the conclusion 
that your wife and your son are having problems in their 
sexual relationship," Bob says a bit harshly. "I thought 
that it was more of their argument leaking through, and 
I was getting tired of it. Emily walked at the very 
front of the family group heading to the reception and 
Mike walked at the back. We were all heading home the 
next day and I made up my mind that I was going to lock 
those two together until they sorted out whatever was 
bothering them once we got back to Minneapolis."

"There was some time before the reception started," Mike 
says, "but I didn't have to hang with mom so it was all 
right. And with the edge taken off I could actually 
think of other things. It was kind of like a vacation."

"The dinner was lovely," Emily recalls. "The Ritz-
Carlton is gorgeous, of course, and the food was 
wonderful. None of the celebrities had stayed for the 
reception -- no one I recognized, at least -- and so it 
felt like more of a family affair. Although... well, 
Mike, Bob, Olivia and I were all seated at the same 
table and there were a few moments of... tension."

"I was to mom's right," Mike says, "and our feet kept 
meeting under the table. I mean it probably happens all 
the time to everyone when you have four people eating at 
a small table, but we were both really noticing it this 
time. And every time they touched we'd pull back fast 
and look at each other with the guiltiest expressions. 
It would have been funny if I had been watching two 
other people go through it because it was just awkward 
and stupid and it kept happening over and over again. 
But it sucked to be the one dealing with it."

"After dinner came the dance," Bob says, "so of course 
Emily had me out on the floor as soon as she could. I 
suggested she dance with Mike, and she turned white and 
said no. So she and I danced almost continuously."

"I watched mom dance with dad," Mike tells us, "and she 
was hanging all over him, just draped on him in a way 
she didn't usually do when they danced. And she never 
even looked at me once, which was as good as staring at 
me the whole time. Of course I was watching her."

"I knew Mike was watching me," Emily says. "Of course I 
did. He was making no secret of it. After a little while 
I realized that I was dancing especially close to my 
husband. It hadn't been deliberate before then, but it 
certainly became so once I had realized."

"Why is that?" the interviewer asks.

"Not to make Mike jealous," she answers quickly.

"I don't think she was consciously doing it to piss me 
off," Mike tells us, "but I think it was definitely a 
'This is my man, not you,' kind of thing, and it did 
make me jealous. I mean, I'd have died of shame and 
embarrassment if she were hanging off me like that, 
don't get me wrong, but a part of me was pretty envious, 
which is why I ended up with Brianna."

We now see a series of pictures of a young woman of 
about 18, a brunette with a dazzling smile and an 
hourglass figure. In the first she is on a beach in a 
bikini that shows off her figure to advantage; the 
second is a duckfaced selfie with the Golden Gate Bridge 
in the background; the last is her at the reception in a 
slinky blue dress with one arm around the bride and 
another around a bridesmaid who strongly resembles a 
slightly-older version of Brianna.

The subtitle reads Brianna Salazar.

"Brianna was the little sister of one of the 
bridesmaids," Mike tells us on voiceover. "She was my 
age and when I asked her to dance, she said yes. Girls 
who aren't married tend to get pretty horny at weddings, 
and she had sneaked some alcohol anyway and was pretty 
loose. By like the second dance we did, she had her 
tongue down my throat."

We see a disapproving Emily, who shakes her head and 
says, "Mike was making a display on the dance floor with 
that girl. They were kissing and pawing each other and 
making quite a scene. Bob seemed amused by it, but I 
certainly wasn't! I was about to send him over to break 
the pair of them up when suddenly the girl led him off 
the dance floor and right out the door! Of course I knew 
what they were going to do."

"Were you jealous?" the interviewer asks.

"No!" Emily snaps entirely too quickly. "I was not. I 
was ashamed that my son would be so accepting of the 
advances of a drunken... floozy and make a spectacle of 
himself that way in public. I wanted Bob to go stop them 
as they left, but he refused."

"Go get 'em, champ!" Bob says cheerfully.

"She pulled me right upstairs and into bed," Mike 
remembers. "We went at it like three times."

"Was it good?" the interviewer asks.

"Well, yeah," Mike replied, sounding less than 
convincing. "I mean, yeah, it was good. It was just that 
a few days before I'd had the best sex ever and I hadn't 
stopped thinking about it since, so it sort of paled 
next to that. But hell, it was fun."

"Did you think about your mother during it?"

"Of course I did," Mike says with a shrug. "I mean, I 
didn't wish it was her in bed with me or anything. 
Nothing that... well, that concrete. She was just always 
there in my mind. Mom was so good, and being with her 
felt so perfect. Brianna was nice and enthusiastic and 
good and everything, but... well, whatever comes after 
'perfect' is going to be a letdown, right?"

"Mike's behavior left me quite upset," Emily sniffs. "I 
didn't enjoy the night very much after that, and Bob and 
I left early."

"I made it back to our hotel about 3:30 in the morning," 
Mike says. "Olivia wasn't there yet. She got back after 
I was already in bed. We had a 2:00 PM flight back to 
Minneapolis that day."

"We went through a pocket of turbulence as we passed 
over the Rockies," Emily recalls. "Mike got a little 
airsick. All I could do was think that there had been 
some turbulence at about that spot on the way out as 
well. I'd always liked the mountains before, but they'd 
lost their luster for me, I think it's fair to say."

"The next couple days after we got back were no better 
between Emily and Mike," Bob tells us. "I'd had a 
fleeting hope that they'd leave their troubles on the 
coast, but if anything it had gotten worse. They 
couldn't even be in the same room with each other."

"The tension was palpable," Emily admits. "Furthermore, 
I could tell when Mike entered a room I was in even when 
I had my back turned. I could feel when he put his eyes 
on me. I would tense and…" she trails off.

"And?" the interviewer asks.

She blushes again and shrugs. "And it would become 
uncomfortable."

"I was sick to my stomach for the first couple of days," 
Mike says. "I couldn't stop thinking about her, about 
it, and there was this mass of guilt and lust and self-
loathing, so much self-loathing. I took three cold 
showers a day and nothing helped. Every time I saw her, 
every time I even heard her voice, I'd get this massive 
erection and there'd be this spike of... of longing and 
disgust and need and almost nausea. I wasn't sleeping. I 
could barely eat. No way I could look her in the eye."

"It was very difficult," Emily confirms. "I recall once 
when I went to take a shower and discovered that Mike 
was already in there. The door was locked. I didn't see 
him in the shower. But I knew he was there with the 
water splashing over his nude body and the air would be 
hot and steamy and I had the most perfectly vivid image 
of slipping into the bathroom silently, disrobing, 
opening the shower door and stepping inside, seeing the 
look of shock on his face and silencing him with a kiss, 
and then him putting me against the wall and... taking 
me. I could picture how my legs would wrap around him. I 
could imagine how the water would feel running between 
us as we... mated. The image lasted only a moment, but 
it left me incredibly aroused! 

"And then I turned around and saw Bob," she continues, 
her face darkening. "He wasn't looking at me. He was 
doing something else, not paying me any mind whatsoever, 
but the sight of him made me feel... unclean. Deceitful. 
As though I'd deliberately betrayed him." She shakes her 
head fiercely and wipes a tear from the corner of her 
eye. "I wanted the thoughts of Mike to go away. I wanted 
things to be the way they'd been before the accident. I 
wanted my son back. But I wasn't in control of my 
thoughts."

"After a couple of days, I was completely fed up," Bob 
says. "By the third day Emily and Mike couldn't even be 
in the same room together. I was eating breakfast with 
Emily and we were talking about some work we needed to 
do in the back yard. Olivia came in, we talked with her 
a bit and then went on talking about the yard. A few 
minutes later Mike walked in, and Emily jumped up in the 
middle of a sentence and said she had to go. She 
actually left for work 20 minutes early because Mike 
walked into the room. I'd had enough."

Against a black background, we see:
June 27

"The day after that was Saturday," Mike says. "I'd 
planned to go to a backyard party with some friends of 
mine. Hannah was supposed to be there and I was going to 
ask her out." 

We now see a photograph of a girl of about 18 years, a 
pretty, freckled redhead with a happy smile; the 
subtitle is Hannah Williamson. In voiceover, Mike says, 
"I was looking forward to it because I figured if I 
could get involved with another girl, I could stop 
obsessing about mom. I thought I could move past it.

"But then dad walked into the room," Mike continues as 
we see his face again. "He told me to follow him. He 
took me into the living room, where mom was... dusting 
or cleaning or something. I remember the look of panic 
in her eyes very clearly."

"I had known Bob was getting tired of the strain between 
Mike and me," Emily recalls uneasily. "I didn't know he 
was about to do something so precipitous."

"I told them that I didn't know what had happened on the 
trip," Bob tells us, "but I was tired of it and it had 
to stop. Olivia was going to be gone for the day and I 
told them I was leaving too, and they had to address it. 
I told them they could yell or scream or throw 
accusations or whatever, but when I got back, I wanted 
their problems sorted out and whatever was bothering 
them to be resolved. And then I left."

"Mom and I just stood there staring at each other for 
the longest time," Mike says. "We knew dad was right, we 
needed to talk, but neither of us knew how to start."

"After several seconds I sat down on the sofa and had 
him sit next to me," Emily says. "Neither of us was 
comfortable. We were both quite stiff and awkward."

"I didn't want to sit next to her," Mike agrees. "Across 
the room would have been more comfortable. But I sat 
down and looked at the floor and tried not to smell 
her."

"Smell her?" the interviewer asks.

"Yeah. It was a warm day and she'd been working. She had 
a little sweat going, just enough to make her glisten. I 
could smell it very faintly and it reminded me of when 
we were together, her scent -- all her scents. It was 
making me hard."

"After some time I said something inane," Emily tells 
us. "Something along the lines of 'You mustn't blame 
yourself' or 'Nothing that happened was your fault.' I 
felt stupid even as I said it."

"Wasn't it true?" the interviewer asks.

"It didn't matter that it was true," Emily says 
impatiently. "It was irrelevant. The tension between us 
at that point was much less about what had happened and 
much more about our reactions to it. We'd both loved it 
and neither of us could stop thinking about the other in 
that way. It wasn't about what we'd done, it was about 
what we wanted."

"Which was?" the interviewer probes.

"Each other," Emily says with an eloquent shrug.

"So we were just sitting there spouting bullshit at each 
other," Mike recalls with a disgusted shake of his head. 
"Just this meaningless crap. It was all, 'I was just 
glad you weren't hurt, oh it could have been much worse, 
we got away lucky if you think about it," and none of it 
was even touching on what we both needed to talk about. 
After like three minutes I wanted to scream but we just 
kept jabbering like idiots at each other."

"One thing working at a university has taught me is that 
if you ladle enough inanity on any problem, it goes 
away," Emily says. "I was beginning to think we were 
doing just that when I said, quite casually, that I was 
disappointed in how he behaved at the wedding reception 
when he went off with a girl."

"When she said that, it was like this weird shadow play 
we were doing just dropped, just fell apart," Mike says, 
"and I got pissed. I was like, 'What the fuck? I'm an 
adult, you got no claim on me!'"

"Mike told me that my reproach of him was about 
jealousy," Emily says, "which was ridiculous. As his 
mother, I would have chided him about promiscuous sex 
regardless of what had happened between us. This didn't 
mean I hadn't been jealous, because I'd been incredibly 
jealous, but at that moment I wasn't about to be scolded 
by my son for trying to be a mother to him, so I replied 
that his attitude was inappropriate."

"So she yells at me that I'd better remember who I'm 
talking to, and I yell that she'd been trying to make me 
jealous by hanging off dad during the dance, and then 
she yells that I had a lot of nerve going after her for 
being affectionate with my father," Mike says. "We were 
both yelling and pointing our fingers in each other's 
faces and then she told me that I'd been a pig for 
jerking off to her during the wedding. And that's when 
we both got mad."

"Mike informed me that he knew that I had... pleasured 
myself after the wedding," Emily says. "Furthermore, he 
said that I had been... looking at him lustfully when I 
thought he wasn't looking."

"Had you?" the interviewer asks.

Emily blushes. "I may have been. Occasionally."

"She didn't like having that thrown in her face," Mike 
says with a frown. "She told me that I'd been acting 
like an asshole since our time together. Well, she 
didn't use that word. I think she said 'uncouth' or 
something like that. She said that I hadn't made an 
effort to talk about what had happened, which was like, 
yeah no shit, neither did you, you know?"

"There were other words exchanged, each of us accusing 
the other of things we were equally guilty of doing," 
Emily says as a blush begins to color her cheeks. "After 
some period of time, I told him that I thought he had 
actually enjoyed what we had done."

"And that completely pissed me off," Mike says, "because 
I absolutely had enjoyed it and I felt like shit about 
it, and furthermore, she'd enjoyed it just as much as I 
had. I told her... well, I told her that when she was 
begging me to fuck her, I knew it wasn't just for show. 
I told her that she'd loved sucking my cock and she'd 
loved getting fucked by it and if she denied it she was 
a liar."

"What did she say to that?" the interviewer asks.

Mike grins. "She hit me. Smacked me right across the 
face, this big, loud slap. Mom's a strong gal. I saw 
stars."

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

Mike's grin widens. "I grabbed her by the shoulders, 
yanked her to me, and kissed her so hard my lips hurt."

Emily's flush has deepened. "I instantly felt dreadful 
about that slap, but a moment later I had completely 
forgotten about it. Mike simply crushed me to him and 
put his lips on mine and... oh, my. That kiss. He kissed 
me like he owned me, and suddenly all the anger went out 
of me. Every bit of it simply fled. I got lightheaded. 
To be perfectly honest, I felt for a moment as though I 
were flying."

"She just stiffened in my arms," Mike tells us. "Her 
whole body went rigid and she just held herself there 
while I kissed her. She didn't kiss me back. She didn't 
try to get away. I don't even think she breathed. She 
just took it. I held that kiss for a minute, maybe, and 
then I pulled back enough that I could see her face. I 
wanted to know if I had an asskicking coming."

Emily has a dreamy look on her face. "I stared at him. I 
don't know for how long. I don't even remember moving, 
but suddenly I was kissing him back quite fiercely and 
pulling at his shirt."

"When she kissed me, it was on," Mike recalls. "That was 
a crazy kiss. Her mouth was so hungry! Her tongue was on 
mine and she was pulling at my shirt like she was pissed 
off that I was wearing it, so pretty soon I wasn't 
wearing it. Then I ripped her shirt open."

"I was wearing an old, baggy tee shirt," Emily says, her 
eyes gleaming, "and Mike tried to pull if off of me but 
I was busy getting his shirt off so he couldn't get it 
over my arms. So he simply grabbed it in both fists and 
ripped it open, right down the middle! The tearing sound 
was so loud, so shocking, but so erotic!"

"What was erotic about it?" the interviewer asks.

Emily laughs merrily. "He wanted me naked so badly that 
he couldn't wait to pull my shirt off, he simply 
destroyed it. What could be more erotic than inspiring 
that sort of ardor in a lover?" She doesn't seem to 
notice that she's used that particular word to describe 
her son.

"When I tore her shirt, she made this kind of purr," 
Mike says, rolling the word in his mouth and plainly 
enjoying its feel. "She trilled her tongue in my mouth 
and she grabbed my back, just sank her fingers in and 
yanked me to her. She's a strong girl and she pulled me 
to her so our bellies were touching. Her skin was so hot 
it felt like it was glowing. I could feel her heart just 
hammering against me."

"Did you think of stopping?" the interviewer asks.

"Hell no!" Mike says emphatically. "There was so much 
tension between us, once we found a release, it was 
gonna get released."

"I didn't think of stopping it," Emily admits. "The only 
thoughts I had were about how good it felt and about how 
much I needed it."

"No guilt?" the interviewer asks.

Emily shakes her head. "Not then. Only lust. The feel of 
his skin on mine was bliss. His hands and arms were so 
strong! And his kiss…" she sighs happily, a dreamy 
expression on her face. "Guilt wouldn't have stood a 
chance."

"I tore off her bra the same way I'd done her shirt," 
Mike says. "It was one of those front-fasten things, 
which I didn't know, so I was fumbling in back for the 
clasp and just getting pissed. Her nipples were so hard 
they felt like they were poking through the cups and I 
wanted them in my hands, I wanted them in my mouth. I 
moved my hands back in front and found the clasp, but by 
then I was like 'Fuck that!' and just ripped it open and 
tore it off."

Emily looks so aroused that she's about to swoon. "I'd 
thought I'd been aroused when he'd torn off my shirt, 
but when he did it to the bra as well! I don't think I'd 
ever been that excited. He was so strong, so forceful, 
and his arousal was so overwhelming! I had an image of 
him shredding everything I was wearing and simply taking 
me... oh my!"

"I'm not sure how we ended up on the couch," Mike says. 
"I think we tripped over it and she went over backwards 
and took me with her, I don't know. All I know is all of 
a sudden we were like half-on, half-off the couch and I 
had her left nipple in my mouth. It was so hard it felt 
like a pebble against my tongue, and her fist was 
wrapped up in my hair so she was holding my head in 
place and arching her back up into me, like she was 
fucking my mouth with her nipple. She had her other hand 
down my shorts in back, pulling my ass toward her. And 
she was talking dirty again."

"Oh yes, I was absolutely using filthy language," Emily 
nods, a bright blush on her cheeks. "I always do when I 
have thrilling sex."

"And this was thrilling?" the interviewer asks.

Emily nods again, fiercely, as her nostrils flare. "I 
felt drunk. The way he was treating me, manhandling me, 
roughly tossing me about and simply taking what he 
wanted had me beside myself. This was different from the 
first time, because now I knew how good it would be. I 
knew what an amazing lover my son was and I knew how 
perfectly we meshed together. I knew that this would be 
a transcendent encounter, and that this time we could do 
it however we wanted to, without prying eyes. This was 
just us, and I wanted him so badly it was all I could do 
to hold him and beg him like a cheap slut."

"I went back and forth between her nipples, just 
devouring her," Mike says, "and before long she's 
reaching down and messing with my shorts, trying to get 
them open, but the angle was weird and she was pressed 
against me so hard that she was having a hell of a 
time." He laughs and adds, "She tried to just tear them 
open like I did with her clothes but they had a big 
rivet for a fastener instead of a button so she just got 
pissed off. It was cute."

"I wanted him naked," Emily says emphatically. "I wanted 
every stitch off him and me, I wanted skin on skin -- I 
wanted the sweat that two bodies make when fucking on a 
hot summer day, that natural lubricant that makes bodies 
slide against each other. The feel, the smell, the taste 
of a lover's sweat when I lick it off his skin, it's all 
like a symphony to me. It makes me feel so connected."

"Yeah, it was pretty clear what she wanted," Mike tells 
us, "and I knew she'd be wet enough to fuck already. She 
was so worked up I could smell her through her shorts. 
But I wasn't going to give her my cock yet. I had 
something else in mind."

"I was so frustrated when he moved down and took his 
shorts out of my reach!" Emily says, flushed and excited 
at the memory. "I wanted him inside me so bad! But then 
he began to kiss and lick his way down and I realized 
what he had planned!"

"Mom has the most amazing stomach," Mike tells us in an 
appreciative tone. "Every muscle is absolutely perfectly 
defined, there's not an ounce of flab or sag -- she 
works out like a maniac to be the best dancer she can 
be, and dancing is insanely hard work. So I was nuzzling 
my way down over one muscle after another and her 
stomach was just heaving -- she was sucking in breaths, 
holding them while I licked or sucked or nibbled and 
then letting them go with a massive whoosh and sucking 
in another. I got to her belly button --"

"My navel is very sensitive," Emily giggles, despite the 
fact that it's impossible to imagine her giggling when 
she's not aroused. "It's an incredibly erogenous zone 
for me and one that Bob had always ignored, and now I 
had my magnificent son's lips massaging it, his tongue 
flicking it. I was a whimpering, gasping mess."

"Her whole belly vibrated against me," Mike recalls. "It 
was like I'd struck a chime and she was just resonating 
to a chord only she could hear. She was huffing little 
gasps, like pushing air out and sucking it in all at 
once, and god her skin was hot! It was crazy, she was 
ready to go off like a rocket, and all I could think was 
how much I wanted to watch her come when I put my mouth 
on her pussy."

"I was wearing a tight pair of shorts," Emily says. "He 
tugged them and my panties down over my hips and then 
grabbed my legs and put them straight up in the air. I 
began to push my shorts and panties up my legs so I 
could kick them off, but when I got them to mid-thigh 
Mike said, 'No. Leave them there' in a voice that was so 
amazingly commanding that I instantly froze and let my 
hands fall."

"Why did you tell her to leave her clothes on?" the 
interviewer asks Mike.

Mike smiles and says, "Because I could. She wanted to 
take them off and I wanted her to know I was in charge. 
I wanted her to understand that I was in charge. So I 
told her to leave them on."

"Did you consider disobeying your son?" the interviewer 
asks Emily.

She grins salaciously. "Not for a second. Not when he 
instructed me in that voice. I felt chills up and down 
my spine and my pussy spasmed -- I couldn't refuse even 
if I'd wanted to!"

"I pushed her legs back a little so her pussy was 
displayed to me perfectly," Mike relates, his eyes 
glittering. "It was this perfect, vertical slit, the 
inner lips peeking out, her clit hard on the top. She 
shaves on the sides so it was framed just perfectly. I 
just took a moment to admire it, absorb how beautiful it 
was, how perfect. I put my nose right next to her and 
took a long, deep breath so I could savor that smell... 
and then she whimpered."

"I was so crazy to have his mouth on me," Emily laughs, 
"or his fingers in me, or anything, and he was down 
there just looking and smelling for the longest time! It 
was infuriating! I didn't even know I'd whimpered, but 
suddenly he laughed and said, 'Oh is that so?' in this 
deep, sexy voice." She closes her eyes, a sensual smile 
spreading itself across her face. "And then he put his 
lips on me."

"I leaned in a fraction more and pressed my lips right 
onto her pussy, right over her opening," Mike tells us, 
obviously delighting in the memory. "I pushed against 
her with my lips, moving my head in little circles, nice 
and slow, and she opened for me like a flower. The smell 
was amazing, the sensation of her against my mouth, the 
way she was breathing, the way she trembled... God 
damn." He shakes his head and chuckles, obviously 
aroused by the memory. "And then I tasted her for the 
first time."

"What was that like?" the interviewer asks.

Mike's expression goes a little wistful, as though he 
were imagining tasting her again right now. "Perfect. I 
don't know how to explain it any better than that. It 
was just... perfect. It was how a woman ought to taste, 
how she ought to smell and sound and feel. It was every 
wet dream I'd ever had all in one, even wet dreams I 
didn't know I had."

"That sounds very... dramatic," the interviewer points 
out, sounding just a touch dubious.

Mike shrugs and smiles. "Maybe it does. I can't help it. 
I don't care. It was just... when you find something 
you've always been looking for even when you didn't know 
you were looking for it, it just clicks. It all snaps 
into place and you know it. You know it by how right it 
feels. How natural it feels, even when you know it 
shouldn't feel natural and it shouldn't feel right."

"And did you know that?" the interviewer asks.

"Oh yeah," Mike smiles ruefully. "Even then, right in 
the moment, there was that little voice in my head 
calling me a sick bastard for doing this, for doing it 
voluntarily and loving it. But fuck it, I could ignore 
that voice, so I did."

Emily reappears as the interviewer asks, "How did it 
feel when he began to lick you?"

Emily rumbles something that sounds like a delighted 
purr. "Heaven. It had been so long!"

"Bob seldom did that to you?" asks the interviewer.

She laughs. "Bob never did it to me. Well, maybe a few 
times in the beginning, before I got pregnant, but he 
was never enthusiastic about it and he was never good at 
it. He never wanted to do it, and when one doesn't enjoy 
or want to do something, one isn't likely to be good at 
it. I think I'd forgotten how wonderful it felt to be 
licked by a man who loves doing it, but one swipe of the 
tongue from Mike and I remembered!"

"She was so wet she was streaming," Mike recalls with 
considerable joy. "It was like a flood gate had been 
opened and she was pouring out against my tongue, on my 
cheeks, my chin, into my mouth, and that was right from 
the first lick. She gave this strangled little cry that 
was so fucking sexy, like she was feeling more pleasure 
than she even had a sound for, and that just made me 
dive in and go for it even harder. I didn't just want to 
make her come, I wanted to make her forget the world. I 
wanted to make her forget there was a time before or 
after I was going down on her. I wanted to rattle her 
teeth loose."

"Oh my God," Emily says in a half-moan, eyes nearly 
lidded as she rocks on her seat. "I'd never been licked 
like that before! He was devouring me, his tongue was 
everywhere inside and outside all at once, up and down, 
in and out, fucking me with it, licking my clit, sucking 
my lips -- it felt like a hundred tongues on me! My son 
is a miracle worker with his mouth, and I was on the 
edge of coming almost instantly."

"I could feel the tension in mom's body, the way she 
quivered, the way she was holding her breath, and I knew 
I could send her over," Mike says. "But I didn't want 
to. I didn't want to give her the easy orgasm. I wanted 
to put it off and put it off until she was ready to 
explode and then shove her over the edge and make her 
come apart and then hold her there for as long as I 
could. So I backed off a little!"

"Aaahhh!" Emily cries theatrically. "I was so close! 
Just one more lick of my clit would have given it to me, 
but pulled back and started teasing!"

"I licked her lips," Mike tells us with a grin. "I 
suckled them -- she loved that, but I could tell she 
wouldn't come just from that so I did it a lot. I licked 
her thighs, I nuzzled her mons, I sucked her perineum -- 
hell, I even gave her ass a couple licks."

"No one had ever done that to me!" Emily says, her face 
flushed bright and her eyes wide, "And I liked it!"

"And did you like everything he was doing?" the 
interviewer asks.

"Yes!" Emily laughs. "And noooooo! I wanted to come so 
badly I hurt! I know I was begging him to let me come."

"Oh yeah, she was begging," Mike laughs. "'Let me come, 
let me fucking come, fuck me suck me JUST LET ME COME 
PLEEEAAAASE!'"

"And did you?" asks the interviewer.

Mike's grin goes wicked. "No. I like hearing her beg."

"It wasn't long before I was a wreck," Emily admits 
happily, obviously grinding her bottom enthusiastically 
into her chair. "A writhing, squirming, whimpering, 
vulgar, begging, pleading mess. And Mike was so... 
wonderfully unmoved by it! He was in command, in 
complete command of me and what was happening, and all I 
could do is lie there and take whatever he decided to 
give me. I was utterly in his hands."

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

"Hot. Safe. Frustrated. Adored. Worshipped. Desperate. 
Nearly mad. More aroused than I can describe. I wanted 
it to end instantly and I wanted it to keep going 
forever. I hated and loved every single second of it."

"I don't know how long I kept her on the edge," Mike 
says. "Long enough that she ran out of dirty talk and 
was just moaning and saying 'please' over and over. So 
that's when I decided she'd earned an orgasm. I put my 
lips around her clit and she... levitated."

"What do you mean?" the interviewer asks, sounding 
amused.

"She came so hard her whole body lifted up off the couch 
and slammed into my mouth and she just hung in midair!" 
Mike is laughing. "Yeah I know she didn't really, but I 
swear that's what it felt like, like I'd made her come 
so hard she was floating!"

"I... sort of remember that orgasm," Emily says 
dreamily, her face flushed and shining with 
perspiration, her eyes a little unfocused; she is 
apparently no longer grinding on the chair. "I felt like 
my whole body was coming apart into little pieces and 
flying off in every direction. It all becomes rather 
blurry after that."

"Mom screamed," Mike says. "Nothing she said made sense 
and it was all filth, but she screamed. It was just a 
bunch of swearing, mostly variations on 'Fuck,' but with 
stuff like 'Suck my cunt' thrown in. And she said 'Shit' 
a lot. A LOT."

"Your mum doesn't normally swear, does she?" asks the 
interviewer.

"Fuck no!" Mike grins. "You gotta get her revved up 
before she cuts loose, but when she does... well, it's 
all filth, all the time. It's hot!"

"What was her orgasm like?" 

"Long!" Mike laughs. "Or 'multiple,' more accurately. 
She just kept coming in waves, over and over and over. 
She was spasming at first, like bucking against me, but 
she couldn't keep that up. By the end she was just 
twitching and whimpering. And the sexiest thing -- her 
eyes rolled back in her head. I'd never seen a woman do 
that before, where she comes so hard she's just out. 
Damn!"

"I don't know if I lost consciousness," muses Emily. "I 
don't think it was that simple. I think I was just in a 
place where consciousness didn't matter. It was pure 
bliss, and I was lost in it. There wasn't anything 
else."

"Eventually I stopped," Mike laughs, shrugging. "I could 
have kept going but my mouth was getting numb. And 
besides, I was so hard it was really, really painful. I 
wanted some relief too! So, down went the pants. I sort 
of tugged her to the edge of the couch, lined up, and in 
I went."

"You weren't concerned about getting her consent first?"

Mike looks at the interviewer like he's just said the 
stupidest thing imaginable. "While I was eating her out 
she begged me I don't know how many times to fuck her. I 
think I had consent."

"I was out of it enough that I don't remember him 
entering me," Emily chuckles. "I was in a complete haze, 
and I gradually became aware that I was being 
wonderfully, magnificently fucked. What a perfect thing 
to wake up to!"

"Did you realize it was Mike?" the interviewer asks.

"That was much too complex a thought for me to be able 
to have in my head at that moment!" she laughs. "I just 
knew I was being fucked like I love to be fucked! I 
remember when I opened my eyes and looked up at Mike, 
that moment of recognition. 'Oh, it's my son. Of course 
it is. Only he fucks me like this.'"

"How did you feel at that moment?"

"Ohhhh... perfect," Emily purrs. 

"Even though it was your own son?" 

"He wasn't my son then. He was my lover, and he was 
giving me exactly what I needed." Her eyes are 
glittering, her cheeks flushed with arousal. "All I 
could do was to tell him to fuck my tight pussy like he 
owned it!"

"God, when she said that..." Mike grins and whistles. "At 
that moment, the idea of owning that tight little pussy 
sounded really, really good! So I fucked it like I owned 
it."

"My whole body was so sensitive after Mike licked me. I 
came again," Emily nods, excitement in her eyes. "Almost 
immediately. Mike's cock fits me so perfectly, and he 
uses it so fucking well! He wasn't trying to hold me 
back, and I just..." and her she claps her hands sharply,
orgasmed. I think I'd have come no matter what he 
did to me!"

"She still had her panties around her knees so I wrapped 
my arm around her leg and held them to my chest and 
hammered her silly, right through her orgasm and into 
the next one and the one after that," Mike tells us 
excitedly. "She just came and came and came, and when 
she comes, God damn what her pussy does to my cock! I 
could have fucked her forever!"

"Were you worried that your father and sister might come 
home?" the interviewer asks.

Mike laughs. "No! I didn't even remember they existed! 
They could have walked in and stood next to me for a 
good look and I wouldn't have stopped!"

"The way I felt with him inside me, coming around his 
cock as he fucked me," Emily says, her voice thick with 
excitement. "That. That was more important, in that 
moment, than my marriage or motherhood or anything else 
in my life. The purity of what we were doing burned 
everything else away. It was the two of us making 
something perfect together and I couldn't worry about 
anything but getting his cum."

"I told her I was going to come inside her," Mike says, 
the pleasant tension obvious in how he holds his head. 
"She begged me to. I told her I owned her pussy, she 
said it was mine. I told her she was a dirty little slut 
for me she she howled her agreement. And then I came."

"When I realized he was coming inside me, when I knew 
that he was giving me what I wanted more than anything 
else in the world at that moment," Emily tells us, her 
eyes intense and her face glowing, "I screamed so loud 
that I know the neighbors heard it. I know they did. 
They probably heard it four houses down. And I knew I 
was screaming that loud, begging him to fill me with 
cum, and didn't care. God, in that moment I wanted 
people to hear me!"

"She started her last orgasm right when I started 
coming," Mike says. "She was just... wailing, screaming, 
moaning. Her pussy was squeezing me like a vise. I was 
groaning like I was dying. It was... astonishing. 
Seriously."

"My orgasm was different than the one he'd given me with 
his mouth," Emily tells us. "It was less... 
transcendent, I suppose, but more visceral, more 
immediate. With his mouth he took me out of my body and 
sent me spinning somewhere... else. His cock brought me 
into myself completely. I could feel every nerve in my 
body, every square inch of skin, every hair on my head 
as it stood on end. The other one had left me hungry for 
more. This one left me utterly spent. Everything I had 
was used up in that climax. When he collapsed on top of 
me, all I could do was breathe. I wasn't capable of 
anything else."

"Sooo... yeah," Mike says, licking his lips nervously. 
"I was laying there, kind of half on top of her, still 
holding her legs, still mostly hard inside her, having 
just filled my mom's pussy with my cum. There was the 
typical afterglow and sort of sleepiness -- more than 
normal this time, because there had been so much tension 
before and it had all been released, or worked out I 
guess is more accurate, and I was just panting and 
grinning and feeling great from head to foot, all warm 
and tingly. And then…"

"And then?" asks the interviewer.

"And then it all came down on me. I'd just fucked my 
mom. Again. But this time there was no bikers, no 
threats, nobody forcing us to do anything. We fucked 
because…" He lapses into an awkward silence.

After a moment, the interviewer prods, "Because?"

"Because we wanted to. Or needed to. I don't know. It 
was voluntary. It was on us. Nobody else to blame this 
time."

"I was lost in a haze of endorphins and oxytocin," Emily 
says, looking much less aroused than she had before -- 
perhaps some time has passed since the previous portion 
of the interview, because she looks much more composed 
than she did before, and her untameable hair has been 
pushed back into place. "I felt as though I was adrift 
in a warm, beautiful mist. I could feel Mike inside me, 
not getting very much softer, and I recall thinking how 
wonderful it felt to have a penis inside me that could 
still be hard after... ejaculation. I had my eyes closed 
and was simply savoring all the sensations. 

"Then," she continues, "I head Mike gasp softly and felt 
his body go rigid. I opened my eyes and saw his face. He 
looked absolutely stricken, aghast. He was looking at me 
with utter horror, which was when what we had done truly 
struck me."

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

"Physically ill."

"She put both hands on my chest and shoved me," Mike 
recalls. "I leaned back, and when I pulled out there was 
a massive... explosion out of her. It looked like a 
gallon of cum spilled out of her all over the sofa. We 
didn't have great furniture or anything, but what we had 
was spotless, and now there was gonna be a massive 
cumstain on it. For some reason that seemed really 
important and really awful at the time."

"I leaped up," Emily says. "I needed to get to the 
toilet because I was certain I was going to vomit."

"Why?"

"Shame. Self-loathing. The instant return of all the 
tension we'd just alleviated together, compounded by the 
guilt of having done this on our own. I truly felt as 
though I'd been beaten in my stomach with a club. I 
immediately stumbled because my shorts and panties were 
still around my legs, but I caught myself on the end 
table. I tried to pull my shorts up, but... 
unfortunately... well, that was where I made a mess."

"You know, like it wasn't bad enough that we'd just 
fucked," Mike says ruefully. "But then she stands up and 
just hurls all over the floor. It's kind of a blow to 
the ego when your sex partner does that, you know?"

"I don't think I could have felt worse at that moment," 
Emily admits. "I felt as though I were the world's worst 
mother, the world's worst wife, and, frankly, the 
world's worst person, and now I'd added to that the 
humiliation of befouling my own floor."

"What did you do?" asks the interviewer.

"I pulled up my underwear and shorts and, without 
looking at him, asked Mike to leave the house."

"The exact words were, 'Go, just go. Please,'" Mike 
recalls stoically. "So I pulled myself together and went 
for a drive, just... driving. Nowhere in particular, you 
know? I don't think I even knew what I was doing. I 
don't remember it. The first thing I remember is sucking 
on a strawberry milkshake as I waited at the light at 
St. Anthony and Johnson, over Northeast. I have no idea 
how I got there. I don't know if I got the shake at a 
drive-thru or if I went in, or whether I got a meal with 
it. I was just sort of... there, feeling like an 
asshole."

"I cleaned the place up," Emily says. "It took a 
considerable amount of effort, but I got the couch 
cushions clean... well, mostly. You could still tell 
there had been something there if you looked. I hoped no 
one would really look. I cleaned the floor, aired the 
place out, threw all my clothes in the washer, and took 
a very long, very hot shower."

"And after?" the interviewer asks.

"I had managed to pull myself together enough to start 
worrying about Mike," she says, "so even though I found 
it very awkward and humiliating, I called him. 
Unfortunately I heard his phone ringing in his bedroom, 
which speaks to his state of mind -- for a teenager to 
leave the house without his cellphone generally takes an 
impending tornado. Of course that made me even more 
worried, in addition to the guilt and shame."

"I didn't even care where I was going," says Mike. "I 
just didn't want to go home. Not then. I'd felt lousy 
before, but how the hell was I supposed to deal with 
this? I just kept thinking about how much I'd needed it, 
and how much she'd needed it too. There was no hiding 
from it now. We ripped into each other like animals, and 
we did it on our own. How was I supposed to look at mom 
after that? How was I supposed to face dad?"

"When Bob came back," Eden tells us, "I was baking 
cookies and painting the hallway between the kitchen and 
the mud room."

"...at the same time?" the interviewer asks.

She smiles a bit wryly. "Yes. I began by baking cookies, 
but that involves too much sitting about, which just 
gave me time to think. We had the paint, so I washed the 
walls, taped it up, and began to paint the hallway."

"She was a little... oh, what's the word... manic?" Bob 
tells us. "There was an odd gleam in her eye, like she 
was sort of out of it. If it was anyone else, I'd have 
sworn she was on something, but Emily hasn't even smoked 
weed since the kids were born. I knew Mike wasn't around 
because his car was gone, so I asked her how it went 
with him."

"I'm reasonably certain I babbled at him like a 
madwoman," Emily says. 

"She launched into a kind of rant about how well it had 
gone," Bob says, "but she didn't give any details and, 
to tell the truth, she didn't make much sense. She just 
threw out a bunch of adjectives -- 'great, fantastic, 
wonderful, terrific, perfect' -- but didn't really 
connect them into sentences. So I asked her if 
everything had gotten straightened out between the two 
of them, and she sort of... lost it."

"I was talking -- raving, really," Emily relates, "and, 
although I don't recall what I said, I do recall that 
there came a point when I realized that I was simply 
blubbering and weeping. It was then that I collapsed 
against him and gave up trying to do anything but cry."

"Honestly I had no idea what had happened," Bob says 
with a firm shake of his head. "I mean, none at all. I 
didn't know what had happened originally and I didn't 
know what had happened that day. All I knew was that 
there was something bad between them that they hadn't 
been able to work out, and that Emily was on the edge of 
a breakdown because of it."

"What did you do?" asks the interviewer.

"I made her take a double dose of Xanax and put her to 
bed," Bob says. "And then I finished baking the cookies 
and waited for Mike to get home."

Back to Mike. "I didn't dare go home before I was 
absolutely, one-hundred-percent certain that dad was 
back. No way I wanted to be alone in the house with mom, 
no way. Just the thought of it made me queasy. So I went 
to a movie, hung out at a mall, tried to eat dinner and 
failed. I was so antsy that I couldn't focus on 
anything. It was like seven-thirty when I realized that, 
if dad did get home before me and they were there alone, 
she might be telling him everything."

"Did you think she would?" the interviewer inquires.

"I don't know, man!" Mike laughs. "I mean, no, probably 
not, but maybe. How should I know? So I raced back and 
got home about eight. I parked in the garage and came in 
through the mudroom, and I saw that the hallway was like 
one-tenth painted. The baseboards were taped up, there 
was a drop cloth on the floor, the whole bit. I thought 
that was... weird."

"I was waiting for him in the kitchen," Bob says 
seriously.

"I got like two steps in and dad was like, 'What the 
HELL did you do to your mother?'" Mike says, puffing his 
chest out to make him resemble his broader father. "And 
I was like, "... why, what did she say?' 'Cause I was 
thinking she spilled the whole thing and I needed to 
find someplace new to live, right?"

"Mike was evasive, which honestly just made me angrier," 
Bob relates. "It wasn't that I blamed him necessarily, 
but I'd had to drug Emily and put her to sleep, it was 
plain that nothing had been resolved, and the goddamned 
hallway needed to be painted now because it had been 
started. I wanted some answers. So I told him to come 
clean and just tell me what was going on."

"And I was like, 'Wheeeeew!'" Mike laughs. "Because if 
he was asking, then mom hadn't told him what had really 
happened. There was no way he'd be asking what had 
happened if he knew, he'd be demanding explanations or 
just throwing my shit out on the lawn. So I gave him 
some bullshit about me and mom fighting -- and it wasn't 
even really bullshit because that's how it had started, 
but I didn't tell him what we'd been fighting about and 
I sure as hell didn't tell him I'd bottomed out in her 
pussy and shot her full of cum right after. I just said 
that I'd gotten out of line and said some mean stuff, 
but that mom had too, and we were both mad so neither 
one of us was willing to back down. I said I'd apologize 
in the morning."

"I still wanted to know what it was all about," Bob 
says, "but to tell you the truth I wanted it settled 
even more, even if I never learned the details. So I 
accepted Mike's... well, let's call it an explanation, 
even though it wasn't one, and told him I expected him 
to follow through with that apology."

"So then I was like, out of there," Mike says. "I went 
upstairs, locked myself in my bedroom, and started 
fucking around on Facebook, Twitter, IMing, just trying 
to keep myself busy enough that I didn't have to think."

"Did it work?" the interviewer asks.

"Oh fuck no," Mike says with a very definite shake of 
the head. "I could still smell her pussy on me. So 
eventually I went and took a long, hot shower, but that 
didn't help really. I went to bed and tried to sleep but 
once the lights were out and my eyes were closed it was 
like, bam!" Here he slams his fist into his palm for 
emphasis. "It was like I was right back there with her 
on the couch. I could see every expression, every time 
it changed because of what I did. I could hear her moans 
and her dirty words. I got so fucking horny, and the 
more I tried to stop thinking about it... well, don't 
think about an elephant, right?"

"What did you do?"

Mike smiles, but there's not much joy in it. "I beat it 
like I caught it stealing and came so hard I gave myself 
a stomach ache. Then I hated myself to sleep."

The screen goes dark. The credits roll.

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with 
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't 
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than a 
trusted partner. 4-million people around the world 
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per 
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 83