Flavor of the Week: Mama’s Boy
“I’ll let you fuck me under one condition,” she said. “You have to fuck my mom first.” Her name was Star. And yes, she was a stripper.
I was drunk, alone and depressed. I had just been dumped by a chubby girl with a pig nose; she was a bitch and an awful lay to boot. And she dumped me. I needed something quick.
I went to the strip club on a whim. Walking through Times Square, the intense display of flamboyant commercialization guilty of obliterating the American spirit wasn’t cheering me up. So when I was handed one of those strip-club flyers that those scummy-looking guys pass out to other scummy-looking guys, I accepted my apparent creepiness and went to the strip club. Alone, I drank beer in rapid succession and stared at an endless stream of bouncing titties and jiggling asses. With my shattered ego, kinda-sorta broken heart and a brain swamped in booze, I didn’t even think about getting a boner until Star made her proposition.
“I’m serious,” she said. “I’ll let you fuck me if you fuck my mom.” Star had tan skin, platinum blonde hair, long legs, big breasts, a tight ass and everything else 11-year-olds think about when they jerk off.
“Are you serious?” I asked. “Yes,” she said, snapping her gum and looking totally bored. What was this chick’s aim? Was I being played? If I went back to her place, would I be beaten, robbed and raped by four rednecks with fungus-encrusted genitalia? I didn’t know, but it was worth the risk! “Let’s go!”
So on we went. I tried to get to know her better along the way but she said very little. She asked me for a cigarette twice and called me a “little bitch” both times I told her I didn’t smoke.
When we arrived, I was greeted by a completely nude human being of sorts. It looked like a woman, though I couldn’t be certain. Its body was little more than bones wrapped up in thin, wrinkly skin. Where tits should have been, there were what looked like two used-up wet paper napkins hung to dry. Where a vagina normally is was a spot of grayish hair, similar in look to a lonely dust bunny in an abandoned attic. On the lower torso there was a homemade tattoo of a jagged arrow. It pointed toward the vagina and read: PUSSY PROPERTY OF TRAVIS W.!
“Is this what you brought home for mama?” the thing said with a raspy, redneck voice, scratched and torn by decades of smoking.
“He was all that was available. I’m sorry,” Star said.
“Well, he’ll have to do. C’mon, boy. Let’s do this thang!”
The mother grinned, showing her dark yellow, methamphetamine-decayed teeth. She turned to go back into the bedroom. Her ass looked like a dried slab of meat left out in the sun.
“Mama likes oral,” Star said. “Hope you’re good at it.”
“Look,” I said. “I think I should just do you first.”
“No way, buddy,” Star said. “You gotta pay your tithing to get in this church.”
Her mother screamed, “Is he comin’ or what!” She hacked up a kilo of phlegm.
“Better get to work,” Star said. “Mama wants some.” I would have wished Mama luck and stealthily escaped. But then Star put her hand on her hips and pushed out her tits. I was sold. Mama, here I come!
In her bedroom, Mama opened her legs and pointed to the dustbowl. Star came in to observe, she was completely naked. “Look at me if it helps,” she said. I did but it didn’t work.
“This ain’t no real man,” Mama said. “He don’t know how to please a woman. Guess I’ll just have to do it myself!” Mama grabbed me by my hair and threw me on the bed. She was strong.
She looked down at my dick. “Pathetic,” she said. “And softer than a popsicle on the sidewalk in an Alabama August. Better help him out Star.” Star shoved her tits in my face. I was up.
“Now move,” Mama said, shoving Star out the way. “You don’t need to be pushin’, Mama!”
Star said. “Damn!”
“You shut your mouth, girl! I damn well do what I please.”
Mama got on top of me. Her pussy felt like sandpaper. She still humped fast and hard. The friction caused buzzing chainsaw noises. I gritted my teeth and endured the pain, trying to look at her luscious daughter standing next to the bed. Sex with her would erase all this horror. I was the suicide bomber enduring an explosion only to be rewarded with 1,000 beautiful virgins.
But something magical happened. Suddenly, everything felt good. Really good. Mama was still disgusting to look at, but I’d never had sex like this. Maybe it was her energy and enthusiasm—she was putting her all into this—but she moved like no women I’d ever been with. She twisted and turned, gyrated and vibrated. She flexed and bent and sent me into a state of empowered euphoria. I didn’t need Star anymore. Beauty is only skin deep, but an ugly pussy can be magical.
“OK, Mama,” Star said. “That’s enough. Let me have some. You’re gonna dry him up just like you do all the others.”
“Shut your mouth, girl! He don’t want you no more. Do ya’ boy!?”
“Well,” I said, gasping for air. “Maybe in a little while.”
“Damn it, Mama!” Star shouted. She stomped her foot and pouted. “You always do this! You always take away all the men with your stupid sex tricks.”
“Don’t hate on me just because I know how to work it, honey.”
Star was furious. God gave her all the looks in the world, but mom kept all the talent. Star’s frustration came out in a storm of anger. She threw a lamp at her mother. She missed and hit me in the head.
I woke up on the floor, covered in blood. Star and her mother were on the couch laughing and drinking hot cocoa. Whatever rift there was between them seemed to be over. They patched up their feud and reached an understanding sometime after I was knocked out. It was nice to see. And it made me realize that while sex is important—there’s nothing like family.
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A love-hate relationship with height
A love-hate relationship with height
Ground Zero then and now