Cameron was a strapping young lad. Twenty years old and brimming with the confidence and delusions of grandeur expected of a young white male from an affluent background. While Amanda had relegated herself to the role of ‘black sheep,’ Cameron relished the role of the ‘good son.’ An all-American athlete in several sports with a perfect 4.0 GPA and two years closer to his BA in Business Management there was nothing that could stop him.
As he sped down the highway in his silver Audi coupe Cameron ran a finger through his light brown hair and flashed a gleaming white smile into the rearview mirror at himself. No one had ever mistaken Cam for humble–and why should they? He had everything going for him, including his 6’1″ 180lb frame of lean muscle stuffed into expensive clothes.
Cam hadn’t seen his parents since last Christmas nearly seven months ago and since then had only grown more confident and independent. During his time away from home he’d felt a sense of the man he was becoming really start to shine. If anything, it seemed everything came easy to Cam. The grades, the athletics, the girls–he barely had to work to get any of them. In this way he was the golden child and the Weaver family’s pride and joy.
At the same time, he had developed a more and more poisonous relationship with his younger sister. As Cam had racked up honor rolls, athletic achievements and social status Amanda had grown increasingly resentful. By the time he had left for college they were barely on speaking terms. Cam did love his sister, but he was also incapable of understanding why she was such an underachiever. And he never enjoyed hearing all the rumors about her promiscuity around the locker-room. Worse yet, perhaps, was that she didn’t even try to deny it.
But ever the good son, Cameron was going home to visit his father for his father’s sake as much as preserving his own image. He was perfectly okay with admitting that to himself and felt justified in his desire to be perceived as he believed he was– ‘the good son.’
While he had always enjoyed a strong relationship with his father, Cameron was a bit of a ‘momma’s boy.’ Although his father really identified with his ‘go-getter’ attitude and athletic ability, it was his mother’s guiding touch that really resonated with Cam as a kid. He knew right from the start that he desperately wanted his mother to think highly of him and her strict rules and ideals appealed to him greatly.
His father was far more lenient and especially as he aged–less idealistic. It seemed like he demanded less from Cameron and that translated into stagnation to him. His mother challenged him and gave him an idea of the kind of man he should be and the kinds of things he should aspire to achieve. His father seemed equally pleased no matter what he did, and he did not get the same satisfaction out their interactions as a result.
Eventually, this translated into Amanda seeming to identify with Jim and Cameron identifying with Sharon. He got great pleasure in living up to his mother’s ideals and was greatly looking forward to continuing to cultivate the type of self-image that would appeal to her. A kind of cognitive dissonance prevented Cameron from seeing the hypocrisy of selfishly manipulating his self-image to garner recognition–insulated from such a revelation Cameron saw himself as his mother saw him–the ‘golden child.’ That was his identity, whether strictly true or not.
As he pulled into the expansive driveway of his parents’ home, he took one last look at himself in the mirror before feeling supremely confident in his appearance. He stepped out in tight white chinos and a light blue button up that hugged tightly to his muscled frame and revealed the top of his toned hairless chest through three unbuttoned clasps. His expensive boat shoes clapped softly on the white concrete of the walkway up to the front door and he waited intently to see the door swing open and be greeted before even arriving.
He was more than mildly annoyed that it did not happen, and instead Cam had uncharacteristically not been greeted by an open door and smiling faces but a door he had to open himself to a dark and unwelcoming home.
“Hello?” he called out, straining to conceal the annoyance in his tone.
What the hell was this? He hadn’t seen his family in over half a year, and no one was even there to greet him? Cam gritted his teeth a bit–a bad habit–and continued looking around the house.
Now that he had stepped further into the building, he noticed some smells he was unaccustomed to clinging to the air. It smelled like cigarettes and weed–which utterly perplexed him. If his mother was anything it was strict and she would simply never allow smoking in the house, not to mention neither of his parents were partyers or smokers anyways. That left only one option–Amanda.
Cam had caught her sneaking out to smoke on several occasions and he was aware of her reputation at school as a stoner. But smoking in the house? This was a new low, even for her. More importantly, however, how had their mother not noticed? These questions and more swam through Cam’s head as he continued searching the house, now considering the option of a break-in or burglary as more and more seemed inexplicable to him.
Finally, a clicking of heels coming down the hall from the direction of the guest bathroom drew his attention.
“Cam, honey, I’m sorry I didn’t hear you drive up,” Sharon greeted warmly.
Cam didn’t hesitate to open his arms for a hug and the two embraced for several moments. Once again Cam was hit with an aroma of ash but this time it was coming from his mother–her clothes, hair, everything smelled heavily of cigarettes despite the scent of expensive parfum that attempted to conceal it.
After separating he intended to question her about it but was first struck by her appearance. Cam had always known his mother to be understated–classy but reserved. This applied to her manner of dress and light, tasteful application of make-up. It had practically served as a mock-up for the kind of woman that Cam had deigned to marry one day. But the version of his mother that now stood before him was anything but understated.
Her long straightened auburn hair cascaded silkily across her bare shoulders and nearly reached the amply exposed cleavage squeezed into the silvery-blue tube top she wore. Her black skirt was tight and reached barely mid-thigh, revealing long legs and lavish black heels. Her face, however, was the greatest change.
Cameron couldn’t remember a time when he had seen his mother in heavy make-up, and that included the pictures of her on her wedding day. She had always had a soft, inviting look about her and her sky-blue eyes sparkled kindly no matter the occasion. The version of his mother that he was seeing now was nearly unrecognizable.
Her skin appeared flawless and matte as a product of the expensive full-coverage foundation and concealer she was wearing. Her lips were a bright red that shimmered in the reflection of the overhead lights and radiated a ‘look at me’ intent. Her once inviting blue eyes were shrouded in shimmery silver and smokey black that extended from her large, oversized fake lashes up to her sharply penciled eyebrows.
Sharon noticed her son’s shock and knew that she was going to have to explain to some extent–which she had planned on anyways. She decided that this encounter would be akin to ripping off a band-aid, quick and painful perhaps but a fast-track to the healing process. Truth be told, Sharon didn’t really want to put forth the effort to change anything.
There was a time when the preservation of her self-image was of paramount importance. Most of her life in fact, she was living up to her parents’ idea of grace and class in everything she did whether she was conscious of it or not. It had now reached a point, however, where the shackles of their oppressive expectations had been cast aside and she no longer felt their ghostly judgements from the grave. She was finally free, and she wasn’t going to pretend otherwise for anyone–even her son.
“Mom, you look…,” Cam struggled to find the appropriate words but faltered.
His mother would say she looked like a ‘tart,’ or a ‘hussy,’ or perhaps even a ‘harlot.’ But he could not possibly say any of those things to his mother now and right now his compass was spinning so aimlessly that he wasn’t even sure he was capable of being coherent.
“I know sweety, your mom has changed a bit since Christmas,” Sharon began, wanting to ease into her explanation to avoid undue histrionics.
Cameron, for his part, was still incapable of speech and instead continued to wait in silence for things to start making sense.
“Let’s say that I’ve ‘come out of my shell’ in a way. The truth is that your father and I have been somewhat unhappy for a long time and kind of stuck in a rut. We wanted to do something to rekindle the magic and we kind of needed to find ourselves again after all this time, as strange as that sounds from a 46-year-old woman,” Sharon continued, sprinkling in truths but stopping short of revealing anything too real.
“Are you and dad going out somewhere? Is that why you’re dressed like that?” Cameron asked, finally finding his voice.
“Well, no,” Sharon paused to sniffle back some of the coke that was dripping down the back of her throat.
“So, you just…, always dress like this now? And your make-up?” he pressed, his confusion lending him the power of curiosity to continue to ask questions.
“For the most part, I like how it makes me feel to look this way,” Sharon half-heartedly replied, already growing tired of answering for her behavior.
“You smell like cigarettes,” Cameron followed-up, a previous concern bubbling up to his consciousness and demanding attention.
Sharon rolled her eyes and sighed, her patience for this low-level charade already faltering.
“I’ve started smoking Cam, you should know that right up front,” she replied almost in a huff.
The blunt nature of Sharon’s confession took Cameron by surprise and again he was unable to conjure an appropriate response. It was her shamelessness that shocked him into silence the most, as it was much easier to chastise someone when they expressed regret, guilt, or remorse. It was much harder and more uncomfortable to do when someone displayed none of those emotions.
“I’ve missed you honey and I know you probably want to have it out and be upset but this is me now, maybe it’s always been me and I’ve been trying to fight it, but this is the reality and you’re going to have to decide to accept that because I’m not going to change back,” Sharon explained, meandering from comforting to matter-of-fact as the weakness in her own words began to frustrate her.
“I should go see dad,” Cameron replied, needing some space and a more familiar face to get his bearings.
“He’s in the bedroom, probably sleeping,” Sharon motioned towards the back hall leading out of the kitchen and watched as her son walked purposefully away from her.
She mused momentarily on the success or failure of her attempts to mitigate the conflict of the previous conversation but quickly lost interest and headed back toward her sanctuary in the bathroom.
Cameron’s head was still spinning by the time he reached the bedroom, and it began to spin even faster upon seeing what awaited him. His father was indeed sleeping in the bed as his mother had predicted, but it was who slept next to him that he did not understand. Amanda, his 18-year-old sister was snuggled up to him in a manner that Cam felt was inappropriate to say the least. Maybe if she was still a child and needed solace after a nightmare but seeing his fully developed sibling in this position made his guts twist in revulsion.
Both of them were sound asleep and hadn’t noticed him yet, so Cam decided to take a few moments to investigate the surrounding area. The bedroom smelled heavily of weed and cigarettes and there was evidence as to why all around. A full ashtray and a pack of Camel’s were perched on his mother’s nightstand next to where Amanda was sleeping as well as a small marijuana pipe. It was clear to him that things had changed so drastically in his absence that he simply could not make sense of the family that he thought he knew so well.
Cameron decided not to instigate another awkward and contentious interaction and instead turned and left the two to continue to sleep in peace. Once back to the living room his mother had disappeared again, and he was alone in the empty and quiet home. Cam was at a loss as to what he should do. He drove half a day to come visit his family and comfort his father after his car accident and now he was feeling like being anywhere but there.
He headed out the front door and back to his Audi, needing a mental and emotional reset before facing any of these challenging feelings again.
Sharon crushed another couple of Oxy’s on the counter with her newly purchased pill crusher and almost started salivating as she anticipated the warmth of the opiates flooding her central nervous system. She had begun a tantalizing dance of uppers and downers that always had her yo-yoing back and forth between two extremes of pleasure. Just as her high from cocaine cascaded toward a crash, she would do some Oxy and be welcomed into the soft embrace of pharmacological bliss.
As she came up from the deep waters of her opiate high and started feeling cold, clammy and uncomfortable she did some coke and rocketed out of the ocean and back to the atmosphere. Sometimes she would fall into a coma-like sleep after snorting Oxy and she felt good about getting more that, as her sleep hygiene had suffered greatly as her coke habit intensified.
All of this was happening as Sharon blinded herself to the more dire implications of her behavior. She had nurtured her habits toward an addiction and because it felt good it had slipped into a blind spot that she’d developed perhaps to conceal that reality from herself. Without reflecting on her behavior and their eventual consequences, she was living a drug-fueled carpe diem that prioritized the pleasure of every passing moment above anything that might or might not occur in the future as a result.
There was also yesterday’s revelation that had served to lower the baseline of relative normalcy in Sharon’s life. Seeing her husband fucking their daughter without so much as an attempt to conceal it behind a closed door meant that nothing was off-limits. There is a point when you veer so far off the road that the lines that originally guided you along the way have completely fallen out of memory. An aimless careen through the murky expanse of reckless abandon and unrestrained pursuit of pleasure. The Weaver’s had left that road a long time ago.
Sharon bent down to the counter with glass tube at the ready and quickly and efficiently huffed the two thick lines of narcotics up her nose. She completed her ritual with another Marlboro Red 100 that she flicked to life with ease and drew the smoke deeply into her lungs as the Oxy began to do its job. Once again, she was drawn into a world of warmth and comfort like she had never known, and she stumbled her way to the living room in search of a soft place to crash.
She was semi-conscious for a few minutes of blissful nodding before everything went black and she fell into a dreamless sleep.
Cam sat on the back patio of his friend’s expansive villa and sipped his third IPA.
“You gonna talk about why you’re here out of the blue or just drink all my beer?” Foster asked, staring at his somber friend sprawled out on a pool chair staring into the clear blue water blankly.
“Don’t know, I’ll have a couple more and see how I feel,” Cam replied earnestly.
“Man, the ‘Cam man’ back in town and all we’re doing is stewing at home alone? This ain’t right man, we should be making the most of this bro. I haven’t seen you in ages and we’re just going to get drunk by ourselves on my patio?” Foster continued, trying to rally his typically driven friend toward a more exciting venture.
“You just want to feast on my scraps, don’t lie,” Cameron assessed wryly.
“Damn right, being your wingman is a much sought-after position!” Foster agreed.
And it was true. Where Cam went girls followed. After he’d chosen his conquest for the night, he would leave several others alone and disappointed and that’s when his entourage would descend and pick up the pieces. Lowered inhibitions and even lower self-esteem made the routine consistently easy pickings. Foster would accept those terms any time, and post-high school had brought with it a bit of a dry spell. Part-time jobs and community college wasn’t exactly attracting the women the way that Foster would have liked.
“What did you have in mind?” Cameron humored.
“We could head to a club, lots of places are pretty lax about their ID checks downtown,” Foster suggested.
“Yeah, the shitty clubs in the shitty parts of downtown,” Cam rebuked.
“Snatch is snatch man, it seems like you could really use a good time,” Foster countered with his version of ‘sound logic.’
Cameron just shook his head and killed his beer, already feeling quite a buzz after drinking three of the stout beverages.
“Sounds lame, I didn’t come back into town to bang some low rent towny Fos,” Cam rebutted plainly.
“Well shit man, why did you come back to town then? It sure as hell couldn’t have been to sit next my pool and drink all my beer,” Foster surmised bitterly, taking a long pull on his own IPA.
“I came to see my dad; he was in an accident, and I wanted to see how he was doing. Figured I’d spend a couple days with the family while I was here, just do the right thing,” Cameron explained before swiping the last beer in the six pack.
“Yeah, so? Why are you at my place then?” Foster questioned.
Cameron sighed deeply and took another gulp, not wanting to explain or divulge anything further but also tired of feeling like he had to.
“You wanna go back to my place?” Cameron asked.
Foster thought about it a moment, unsure of why he was even being invited. The truth was Cam didn’t want to be home, but he also didn’t want to be here. But going home with a buddy who could keep his mind occupied while he tried to make sense of his complicated family seemed like a good compromise.
“Why? Your parents out of town or something?” Foster replied.
“Nah, but they’ve got the good stuff,” Cam informed, referring to high end alcohol.
“Okay, okay, if we’re gonna get wasted it might as well be on your parents’ expensive alcohol. But hey, won’t your parents be pissed if we’re drinking their stuff in front of them?” Foster asked.
“I doubt it, things have changed quite a bit over there since I left,” Cameron replied cryptically.
Jim’s eyes blinked open, and he stretched gingerly, being careful not to strain his fractured rib or collarbone. A healthy yawn followed, and he looked down to see Amanda still sound asleep in the bed next to him. At least she’s clothed, he thought to himself.
Jim suddenly had a powerful desire to take a shower and knew that in order to manage it, he was going to have be extra careful and slow. He slipped out of bed and headed to the adjoining master bathroom and closed the door. Once disrobed and under the hot water he reveled in the steam of the room before taking his time with careful bathing.
The shower turning on woke Amanda, and as the empty spot on the bed would attest–it had to be Jim. She instinctively reached for the pipe on the table and examined the contents of the bowl before concluding that there was enough there to constitute a decent wake and bake. Bringing the pipe to her lips she flicked the lighter to life and circled the flame over the already partially ashen contents of the bowl. Pulling a series of mouthfuls of smoke into her lungs Amanda let them remain full for several seconds before unleashing a cone of smoke up toward the ceiling.
There was no better way to wake up, Amanda thought as she put the pipe and now spent bowl back on the bedside table. A shower did sound nice, she decided, heading toward the closed bathroom door.
Stepping back into the house was strange for Cameron, perhaps even stranger the second time when he knew that despite entering his childhood home, he was not going to find anything resembling his childhood residing there. But it also gave him some measure of calm, or perhaps that was the beer–he couldn’t be sure. Either way, he was done trying to make sense of it tonight. Instead, he led his friend into the kitchen and the always-stocked liquor cabinet.
Despite or perhaps as a result of never being heavy drinkers Cameron’s parents had always had a lot of high-end spirits on hand. Any time a dinner party or get together occurred an expensive bottle of alcohol was purchased or dropped off and usually remained mostly untouched in the cabinet until the next time. This meant that it had always been relatively easy to sneak a few swigs even in his younger years. This time, however, Cameron was not going to be sneaking anything.
He almost welcomed a challenge from his parents at this point, at least it would resemble some sort of normalcy.
Foster sat on one of the stools at the expansive island countertop and awaited his bounty for agreeing to this event. Cam took out a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label and a couple of bowler glasses and filled them nearly to the top.
“So, it’s like that huh?” Foster commented in surprise.
“Shut up and drink,” Cam replied flatly.
Foster chuckled lightly but did as he was told, taking a long sip on his whisky. He spun his stool around a couple of times and enjoyed the smooth action of its bearings before stopping himself to be facing the darkened living room.
“Holy shit, is that your mom?” Foster whispered loudly.
Cameron nearly choked on his whisky when he realized they’d walked into the house and not even noticed his mother passed out on the couch. The curtains were drawn, and she was slumped over silently, so she was easy to miss, but it was still a shock.
“Dude, I’m not trying to be disrespectful here, but I never knew your mom was such a babe,” Foster blurted in less of a whisper.
Ordinarily that would have elicited a white-hot rage from Cameron, perhaps even a physical confrontation–but tonight it didn’t feel worthy of such a reaction.
“Like I said, things have changed around here,” he replied, taking another long sip and wanting everything to numb out sooner rather than later.
Jim didn’t immediately notice the door swing open or his daughter stride in. In fact, it wasn’t until she’d tapped on the glass of the shower door that he was startled out of his bathing routine in surprise of her approach.
“You scared the shit out of me!” Jim gasped, thankful that he didn’t slip to his death.
Amanda didn’t reply she just slid the door open and stepped inside of the luxuriously expansive shower space next to her father. As the hot water cascaded across her bare skin and hair, she immediately felt the brush of Jim’s erection on her lower belly.
“Morning wood?” she joked, leaning into him a bit in response.
“Not exactly morning, and I think it has more to do with you,” Jim replied.
“You’re pretty frisky for an old guy,” Amanda continued to tease.
“Old? That hurts,” Jim joked, making a dramatic face of pained insult.
Amanda chuckled at her father’s silly face and grasped his cock in her right hand.
“How you wanna do this?” she challenged, feeling her box heat up.
“Carefully,” he replied, nodding toward his injured collarbone.
“Okay, sit,” she instructed, motioning toward the seat molded into the shower enclosure behind him.
Jim stepped back cautiously and sat down, his prick sitting upright and eager.
Amanda spun around and bent her thick, shapely ass over Jim’s lap, before snaking her hand between her legs from the front and spreading her labia.
Jim knew the score; he leaned a few inches forward and dove tongue-first into his daughter’s meaty cunt. He lapped and licked and plunged his tongue into her from behind, noticing that she’d begun thrusting her ass out toward him to accommodate his attempts.
“Does my pussy taste good daddy?” Amanda breathed.
“Mmmhmm,” was Jim’s reply as his tongue remained temporarily predisposed.
Jim was trying to clumsily jerk his cock with his non-dominant hand while his right one was out of commission, and it was proving unsatisfactory. Amanda noticed this looking at him from between her legs and took pity, pushing his face away from her mound and positioning herself above his cock.
“I’ll take care of you daddy,” she assured.
Jim watched as Amanda’s thick ass lowered slowly over his prick and Amanda guided it into her pussy with a deft hand. As she slid her way down his pole, he felt every muscle in his body tense and then release in ecstasy.
“Ohhhh my God,” he sighed.
It felt so hot and tight wrapped around his meat and Jim thought that he would be blasting his load into her womb very soon.
Amanda relished every second of her father’s manhood sliding its way inside of her. Finally, her ass contacted his thighs to signify she was balls deep and that propelled her to begin to bounce. The loud slaps of wet flesh as she bounced her thick ass on his cock were a testament to their uninhibited fuck session. She was not interested in playing coy or teasing, she wanted to get fucked.
She reached out to the stabilization handle to her right to buoy her balance while she rubbed her clit with her left hand. Her clit was already engorged and sensitive to her touch and it sent shockwaves of pleasure through her as she rubbed it furiously and continued bouncing excitedly on her father’s prick.
Jim felt the familiar tingling in his balls that warned of his approaching orgasm and leaned back against the shower wall. Amanda continued to impale herself on his stick as the first frantic ejaculations overtook him.
“I’m cumming,” he panted.
Amanda picked up the pace and raced for the finish line herself as she enjoyed the feeling of her father’s cock surging and shooting its cum into her. Finally, her hard work paid off and the breath in her lungs caught in preparation for her climax.
“Fuuuuuuuuck,” she groaned as her pussy convulsed and her clit exploded in sensitivity and pleasure.
She tried to maintain a continued rhythm of bouncing but was unable to remain standing, eventually collapsing onto her father’s lap while her orgasm continued.
Jim leaned on his daughter’s back as his own orgasm propelled a final few ejaculations to spew forth before finally subsiding.
“That was a big one,” Amanda commented, referring to the intensity and duration of her orgasm.
“Yeah, me too, I think you’ll be leaking my cum for a week,” Jim agreed.
“Mmmm, I like the sound of that,” Amanda purred in appreciation of her previously timid father’s brazen declaration.
“Of course, you do,” Jim replied through a laugh, finally capable of meeting Amanda on the same perverse landscape in some capacity.
“I’m turning into a prune,” Amanda replied, looking at the wrinkled skin of her fingers.
“We better get out, I was halfway there when I got in, if you turn into a prune I’ll turn into a raisin,” Jim joked, allowing Amanda to step gingerly to her feet.
“Yeah, let’s dry off and make dinner,” she agreed.
Cam didn’t know when it happened, but at some point, he had passed out. He had moved to one of the La-z-boy’s in the living room while Foster had kept the bottle at the counter to himself.
He only knew he had passed out because upon opening his eyes the room was considerably darker than he last saw it and it took several moments for his sight to adjust.
Also, he couldn’t be sure, but he could hear and sense movement coming from his left on the couch. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light of the room, he could make out two figures on the couch. Eventually it was clear that it was his mother and Foster, but he couldn’t quite tell what they were doing.
When he finally did, he felt a pang of terror and shock shoot through him. Foster was standing over his mother and thrusting his pelvis toward her face. He couldn’t quite see from his angle, but it appeared as though he was getting a blow job from his mom.
Suddenly Cam needed to move, he had to move and yet–he couldn’t. They hadn’t noticed him wake up and that meant that he didn’t need to formally deal with any of this madness. Cameron’s entire body screamed out for him to stand up, to yell and scream and cry but instead he remained frozen in place pretending to be asleep.
The soft slurping noises of fellatio were barely above a whisper and even Foster’s breathing was tempered. It was clear that neither of them intended for him to wake up during their act. Cam’s stomach twisted and roiled with anxiety as he silently prayed for it to end. He didn’t have to pray long as the barely audible whisper of ‘I’m gonna cum’ wafted through the air and signified a swift conclusion to this nightmare.
A few muffled grunts and slurps were all that remained of his mother’s clandestine attempt to suck off his high-school friend until it was finally over. Cameron shut his eyes and allowed those in the room to assume he remained asleep, and he listened to the sound of his mother’s heels lead down the hallway. A tiny peek several minutes later revealed that she was gone, and Foster was now passed out on the couch himself.
The entire ordeal was only a few minutes long, but it represented something so vile, so unbelievably inconceivable that it would likely haunt him for the rest of his life.
Perhaps most disturbingly, however, was that amongst all the feelings of disgust and revulsion was the tiniest flicker of a different emotion. An emotion that was far more difficult to understand or accept, jealousy.