Twelve hundred bucks was my share of the proceeds from finding the Partridge speakeasy. A fucking joke considering we were hoping to haul a couple million. During prohibition the place was a bordello for rum-runners taking Canadian whisky down the east coast. It cost me thousands to run the backtrail and do the research, but that wasn't where I took the biggest bath. It was the five months of planning, chasing it, and moving halfway across the country.
I don't even know why I'm writing this (I'd rather write about a success, not a failure) except that Ted recommended I do, to have it all on the record about Mare and Danny, my side of the story, not a bunch of lies for a judge or an arbitrator to pick through and give me the shaft. But I'll get to that in the moment. First I have to tell you about Partridge.
It was me and Ted Shaw that put up the money for it, I had the technical knowhow and Ted was the historian. I knew him from my time at Boston College, and even after I washed out and he stayed on, we kept in touch. One day he asked me if I'd ever heard of the Partridge speakeasy. Apparently, it was a brothel and bar where all the big rum-runners used to lay their heads and grab a good drink and a good lay before continuing up or down the coast. So far, so what, right? Well, he's been researching for his thesis about what became of all of these old booze lords - were they killed by the cops, where are their families now, that sort of shit - and he says to me 'Johnny, Partridge was the hideout for the robbers who preyed on the rum-runners. They would go there after big scores. And the government never truly found the place. They thought they did, so they stopped looking, but I'm pretty sure they didn't.'
So we got to talking and convinced each other, I guess, that we could be looking at millions stashed cash, gold and jewels, not to mention a ton of vintage booze, that is just out there for the taking, somewhere in New England. Ted had access to these guys correspondance, you see, it was donated to the college. Hundreds, thousands of letters from the robbers and their wheel-men and the prostitutes they were fucking, detailing the card games they cleaned out, the trucks they hijacked and the big scores they made, feeding like ticks off the back of Al Capone. A dangerous way to live. And Ted tells me, the list of seizures the government made at the time doesn't square with what he's reading in these letters. Like, there's millions unaccounted for.
Johnny, he tells me, that stuff is still out there. Heh, yeah, right. Fitting I'm writing this on April Fool's Day. That old whoremaster Ted got me good.
Things weren't going so great at the time. After Marilyn got pregnant with Danny, I left school to get a job. I've always kinda resented her for that. Mare is and was a great-looking chick, and I'm proud of that, being in a relationship with that class of woman. But she just went to bed with me too easily, you know? And bang, nine months later, out pops Danny. Goodbye Jesuit education. Hello job. I ended up getting three of them, and I always intended to get back to school, but I sorta got stuck, like a man sometimes does when he's scraping by on the measly salaries and benefits they give. Mare wanted to get a job but I wouldn't let her. A mother's place is looking after the kids, and I don't think it's too old-fashioned to say so. Christ, we used to argue about it. She ran a business online, designing wedding invitations and stuff, to help pay the bills, and when I found out, I was pissed. But we needed that money, and I resented her for that too. Having to take fifty bucks were, fifty bucks there from total strangers just to pay the rent. Fucking humiliating.
So I was tired all the time. Kid crying every night, wife can't shut him up, can't get any decent sleep. And that sorta set the tone for the next ten years. I was working, trying to inch my way up in the rat race, and Mare is at home, dealing with Danny, settling into her routine. She made friends with the wives of guys from my work, and we kept up appearances. There were some good times, the rare vacations, stuff like that. But every time I would start to get ahead, something would set us back. Car trouble, big repair bills. Kid needs some dental work, big bill. Kid wants to try baseball, equipment bill. I didn't have two nickels to rub together.
I worshiped my dad, you know? Tough old son of a bitch went early, he was 49, but he never took any shit. A union man. Mill worker. I hoped Danny would admire me the same way. But that's the bitch of it. It's like I couldn't understand my own kid. Danny is so quiet, almost shy, and I don't know where he gets it from. It's tough to draw him out of his shell. But god knows Mare talks and nags enough, especially about money. Just my luck that my male heir is the quiet one and the wife is the one with a mouthful of sass.
See, once about three years back, Mare gave me a tough time about a piece of business and I had to set her straight. And Danny saw me do it. Now I'm not saying I'm a saint, but she was all over me, yelling at me, saying I should let her get a job if I was going to be so bad with money, and I gave her what she deserved. A wife needs to respect her husband, that's just the way it is. My dad taught me that. My mom used to joke around with him, but one time she went too far and said something about how handsome one of his friends was, he gave her a slap in the mouth. And that's all I did to Mare.
Anyway, ever since I did that, Danny has been pretty quiet and he won't engage with me. I think Mare has kinda turned him against me, really. Real nice, right? Telling him what an asshole I am but never mentioning how I work to put food on the table. That's why I want to write this all down, so I can tell my side of the story, tell how it really is. Maybe I'll never have to make any of this public, but I'm not going to let some biased judge stick me if worse comes to worse. Ted recommended it. Before I stopped talking to him, that is. It was his last piece of good advice. So now, for the record, I only ever put my hands on Mare twice. That time three years ago.
And last week.
It was the Partridge operation, you see? We found it, back in the woods, a lodge, with the entrance to the brothel behind. The walls had been bricked and plastered over and we had to knock them down. We rented equipment and a truck to do that, and what did we find? An old, dusty whorehouse. Ransacked.Splintered headboards covered in dust half an inch thick. A few old liquor bottles, mirrors, candle-holders and lamps, coat racks, old newspapers from the roaring twenties. But as we went through the rooms, we get more and more desperate. Because there was no money. No money, no jewels, no stash. We tore up floorboards and put sledgehammers through tile. Every room had these little curios lined on the bedside tables, little devils or imps, like the owner had a wood carving habit he couldn't kick. While I was swinging those hammers and wielding the drill we rented, they seemed to be mocking me. Every one of them had this pernicious little gremlin grin, squatting or standing on one foot. They were size of chess pieces, and I would have smashed the ugly things (they were cheaply painted, the red, black, or purple color would rub off on your hands like chalk) except Ted thought they might be worth something. I couldn't see how. Every one seemed to be leering like a voyeur at a peepshow, a horny devil with a forked tail and a bulging loincloth. Some pervert woodcarver's idea of a joke, maybe, except they didn't look funny. Just grotesque.
So yeah, no money. The university bought some stuff. A collector from Portland bought the period furniture we could drag out. And when it was all said and done, I had $1,200, not even enough to pay down a single credit card. All that for dragging my family halfway across the country, and half year's work. The collector wouldn't even take the painted, chalky curios. When I showed him a couple, he got a weird look on his face, like a chill ran up his spine. He offered a price on the rest, but said he 'wouldn't take those, not even for free'. This is some old, bearded guy with glasses, remember, and I'm desperate for cash, so I ask him why not.
"Whores are superstitious, Mr. Lyle," he tells me. "And more than one of them has put a little maloika on a man who mistreated her from time to time. What you've got there is a woman's ill wishes. The evil eye."
Have you ever heard such fucking bullshit? A woman's ill wishes. So I leave that place with twenty hundred measly bucks and a satchel full of ugly little devil statues, and I have to figure out what to make of myself.
I didn't want to face Mare. We'd been fighting more and more, but I thought that when I showed her half a million, a million, whatever, she'd finally have to shut up about it and just accept that I'd made a good decision for the family. I've been snakebit, really, snakebit since we first hooked up and she got pregnant. Eventually I had to go home and tell her that what I'd found didn't amount to much. It went about how you'd expect. She called me a liar and a bastard, and said I was misrepresenting how promising the project looked. So I told her not to call me a liar, I just had some bad luck is all. And she says 'you make your own bad luck, it's not bad luck, it's bad decisions'. She tells me she could have had a job doing graphic design for local businesses back home except I forbid it. She used to do storefront signs for shops and the like, and she got her start with this one coffee shop. It wasn't just that I didn't want her working, you see; Mare is a good-looking woman, even in her early 30's she's kept it together. The owner of that coffee shop was only offering her work to get in her pants, and I knew I had to shut that down right quick.
So that's how it happened. She's screaming at me, and I'm screaming back, and she starts talking about those graphic design jobs she could have had and mentions the coffee shop. And I see this look in her eye, maybe like she's thinking what her life could'a been like if she was over there fucking some barista instead of me. "I could have taken that job and I would have loved it," she says, and there's something in that voice that tells me she's not just talking about the job, she's talking about fucking some other guy.
So I hit her. Not just once, but I followed her and gave her two or three smacks. Not trying to hurt her, just trying to shut her up, you know, not have to listen to her abuse. And Danny is out of his room and watching us fight, and he comes and grabs my arm. Christ, I never meant for him to get involved, but I was hot under the collar at Mare for what she'd said. Calling me a loser and a fuckup, wanting to fuck some other guy. So he has a grip on my arm and I just yank it away, hard-like. And there's a snap, that's Danny's wrist. Total freak accident.
So my wife's got a black eye and my kid's got a fractured wrist, and neither one of them wants to look at me. And here we are. That's why I'm writing this. To get on the record. You can only push a guy so far with your mouth before something happens. And Danny, well… like I said, pure accident.
I probably won't update this blog again, this is just a place to collect my thoughts.
From the private blog of user "snak3bit", April 4th, 2018
Mare and Danny still won't give me the time of day. I tried apologizing to Mare, trying to make her realize it's the pressure and the stress I'm under. As for Danny, I had a talk with him, but he's just so goddamn withdrawn, I don't know what to do. I sat him down on the bed and tried to explain what he saw is just a disagreement between mom and dad, and what happened to his arm is an accident.
Part of the problem is, he's always been a mother's boy. Not in a whiny, tattling way, but he gets along with Mare better than he gets along with me. I trusted her to do that, and sometimes I feel like she never bothered to tell him that I was out busting my ass trying to put food on the table. There are other things, too, things she did that drove me nuts. Like one day she comes in and tells me that she was talking to a photographer friend who would like to take some shots of Danny for a catalogue.
"She said Danny could be a model," she says. "I've always said he's a beautiful boy." That pissed me off. See, Danny looks a bit effeminate to me sometimes, he has these big blue eyes and long eyelashes, with really streamlined facial features. And no matter how many times I tell her to cut his fucking hair, she lets him keep it in this blonde neck-length tangle. Me, I think guys bathrooms are for guys and girls bathrooms are for girls. He's a boy, he should look like a boy. So when she sprung this photographer shit on me, damn right it pissed me off. Can you imagine? A ten-year-old kid in the fucking fashion industry. Absurd. Someone's got to pose for those catalogues but it's not going to be my kid, you can bet your life on that. And that was just one of dozens of things Mare has done with him that piss me off.
It's like they have these little secrets, little jokes that I'm not part of. While I was talking to Danny, I look over on the shelf by his bed and I see it - one of those devil curio things that I pulled out of that old brothel. A black one, ugly as sin. I tell you, a shiver ran down my fucking spine, seeing that reminder of Partridge. I lost my train of thought just seeing it, leering on my kid's shelf like a miniature gargoyle. Christ, you'd have to be crazy to want that thing watching you while you sleep. I was steamed. So I went out and asked Mare what she thought she was doing, rubbing my face in it, putting that thing on Danny's shelf like some sort of rebuke.
"It's his guardian angel," she says, not looking at me, just making dinner. "He likes it." I almost slapped her again. Cause I feel like she's sticking it to me, saying a thing like that. My kid doesn't need a guardian angel. Guardian from what? His ass is covered. No bills, no rent, no stress. I'm the unlucky one. Is she trying to say I'm some kind of monster just because I raised my hands two times in ten years?
Fuck.
I'm tired. I doubt I'll write anymore but it feels good to get it out, I guess.
From the private blog of user "snak3bit", April 6th, 2018
Still tired. On top of all this mess, I think I'm getting sick. Head feels a bit fuzzy, aspirin didn't help. I feel under the weather in other ways, too.
No surprise but with how bad things have been, Mare and I haven't exactly been having sex a lot. The romance goes out of things really fast when two people are at odds, but she's still a woman - a good-looking woman, at that - and I'm still a man. You'd figure she'd realize she has a wife's duty to fulfill in that department. But with this whole Partridge affair, the moving… we haven't had any intimacy for two or three months. Yesterday I came up behind her as she was seasoning some stew. She was wearing that apron of hers, tied at the waist, showing off her butt in those yoga pants. I cupped her breast, pressed my crotch against her, kissed the back of her neck. Mare really does have a dynamite set of tits, and that'll always be true no matter how bad things are at home, I suppose.
Well, she didn't precisely shove me away, but she didn't respond, either. I could have pressed the issue, but I didn't. She needs space after what happened. But there's only so much a man can take, you know?
Anyway, any guy knows the solution. I keep some spicy stuff on my laptop and I started looking at that when she took Danny shopping. Nothing perverse, just clips and images of women treating guys how they should be treated. If Mare isn't going to take care of me, I'll take care of myself. Except this time, something was wrong. It took me a long time to get hard, like the blood wasn't flowing right or something. Even when I eventually did, I wasn't feeling the pleasure I expected. After like twenty minutes I just gave up, if you can believe that.
I'm going to see a doctor tomorrow, embarrassing as it might be. Stress is no joke, it's a bitch to not even be able to take pleasure in jerking off. I just hope it's not cancer, or something like that. That'd be all I need.
From the private blog of user "snak3bit", April 7th, 2018
I dunno if I should write about this or what. First an update.
Saw the doc, did some tests. He made me drop my trousers and show him the goods, he took blood, he stuck one of those little swabs in the tip of my dick, the whole nine yards. I swear it's this whole situation that's got to me. Ungrateful wife, ungrateful kid, bad luck - it's affecting me physically. When I had my underwear down I looked down at myself and my penis actually looked smaller. I asked the doctor if the stress could do something like that and he said yes, it could. But he wants to rule out cancer and other stuff, so, I'll wait on the blood work.
Standing there with my flaccid cock out in that chilly office, noticing it seemed like it had shrunk, I felt so goddamn tired.
Mare has been going into the bathroom with Danny to help him bathe. His arm is in a cast, remember, and he can't really use it too well. I guess he sprained his elbow pretty good too, in addition to the wrist fracture. She does it every night, I don't know what to think about it. She's coddling him too much. I asked her why he can't just wash himself with his good hand and she shot me this look, like it was all my fault. She says Danny has been having nightmares ever since that day. I haven't noticed anything. But I've been so tired, I sleep like the dead.
What is she saying to him in that bathroom? Turning him against me?
From the private blog of user "snak3bit", April 8th, 2018
Had a shock. Mare went into the bathroom with Danny like she's been doing all week, and I was on the the couch, laying down. I've been feeling depressed ever since Partridge went sour. I noticed she left the bathroom door open a crack, and every so often I can hear her voice over the running water, and the squeak of the faucet as she finished filling the basin. I got the sense they were whispering to each other.
I wanted to know what she was saying to him. Because it's important to me she paint the whole incident in the proper light for him; that I was under pressure, unlucky, and I got screwed. I'm not a bad guy. But I could just imagine Mare in there with Danny, filling his head with a bunch of bullshit.
Your father is a no-good idiot.
Don't listen to anything he says.
So I got up off the couch and approached the door. I could feel the heat of the bathroom wafting out, it's a cramped, steamy place, the tub is build up against the back wall, just past the toilet and the sink. Barely wide enough for two people to squeeze past each other.
Danny was sitting on the edge of the tub, and Mare was on her knees in front of Danny with her back to me. She was in her sleeveless blouse and skirt, swabbing him with a cloth. There was something vaguely sexual about the way she was kneeling in front of him (I don't know what other way to put it), even though I'd seen her kneel in front of him a million times, straightening his pants, helping to tie his shoes when he was younger, this time it was different. Not because he was naked; every parent has seen their kid running around naked. It was the way she was washing him, like she was anointing him - dipping the cloth, wringing it out a little, swabbing it over his body. The reverence she was doing it with was obscene, as though our ten-year-old son was Jesus Christ or something.
I was listening at the door and I heard Mare breathing a little. Breathy noises, like she's concentrating really hard. You know how you might breath if you're doing something really intricate and you don't want to fuck it up? It was like that. She's dragging the cloth across his chest, swabbing his flesh, and it was like time was slowing down. I could hear the cloth scraping against Danny, I could see every droplet of water on his narrow, smooth chest And then, while I was watching, she leaned forward… and started licking and sucking on one of Danny's nipples.
My breath caught in my throat. It was like I was seeing motherhood in a primitive tribe where the women use their tongues to clean, like it's some symbolic religious deal. I read once there are tribes out there on islands, tribes that have never seen civilization, and the mothers think nothing of holding their sons up and… well, you know. This was like that. And Danny had his small hand in her hair, guiding her mouth along.
The weird part is, I actually got an erection. Even though I had tried to jerk off for twenty minutes earlier that day with no result, it happened almost instantly, watching my wife lean forward and lick her tongue around my son's chest, then purse her lips and make a wet sucking noise, and draw the flesh into her mouth. And then Danny let out this moan and his eyes shut so I could see those long lashes Mare was always gushing about.
When he opened them again his eyes met mine for a second and he gave me this look. I'll never forget it, because it wasn't a ten-year-old's face. I don't even know how to describe it. There was a shade in his expression. With his mom doing what she was doing, he should have been scared or overwhelmed. But Danny wasn't any of that. In that moment his face was burned into my memory; I could see the individual drops of perspiration on either side of his thin nose and glistening on his lips. His eyes were like ice. And he took his good hand, the one in Mare's hair, and guided her face his flat, narrow pectoral area and lifted his arm.
Mare put her face in his armpit and gave him a big lick, up and down. Like she was drinking his sweat. Tasting him. And again I thought of that devil-tailed imp figure, I don't know why. Maybe because of that look on Danny's face that was about as far from a ten-year-old boy as you could get.
I shut the door then. It made a noise, maybe Mare heard me, I don't know. Even if she did, she probably just thought I had pulled it shut from the outside.
Reading back over this now it seems like something out of an acid trip. Maybe I'll go back and delete it later.
Update 11:30 PM:
It couldn't have been like I thought. Mare can be a space-case but she'd never do something like that. And all that stuff I read into Danny's expression is just me projecting. Danny is still having nightmares. Mare says she wants him to sleep in bed with us until he's calmed down. Coddling again, but I guess now probably isn't the right time to argue. She agreed not to press formal charges when things got out of hand. I guess I owe her that much.
From the private blog of user "snak3bit", April 11th, 2018
I'm sick. Have to be.
I looked at myself in the mirror today, pants down. Now, I'm not obsessed with it or anything, but I measured my cock once and it was three inches flaccid and about six hard. That was maybe ten years ago, and I've never noticed a change.
Now, it's smaller. I don't know how, but it is. At first I thought it was the cold, but I gave it some time to warm up and it's still the same. Two inches flaccid instead of three. It looks like a little stub, you know, in that area of fat around the crotch? Even trimming my pubic hair there's no doubt, it's smaller.
What's worse, it's smaller when hard. I tried jerking off again, took my laptop into the bedroom and told Mare I needed some privacy to work out our finances. She was happy enough to not have me in the living room, I'm sure. Even looking at the naughtiest shit I could find, it took me more than half an hour to get hard. Once I did, my cock was definitely smaller. It was maybe four inches. Fuck.
Cancer. Gotta be. I don't know if testicular cancer can cause your cock to shrink; I haven't heard of anything like that, but that doesn't mean it's not possible. Called the doc, he says no results for 1-2 weeks, to sit tight. He told me to check my testicles for lumps. "Or get your wife to help you," he says. Fat chance of that. But I checked around and there are no lumps, no nothing. Just my familiar penis, same as ever except smaller than before.
Could stress do this?
Mare says Danny is going to sleep in bed with us tonight, he's still having nightmares. I looked into his room, that figurine is still on his shelf. Christ, what would possess her to put it there? Ugly fucking thing. No wonder the kid is tossing and turning. Other than that, Mare and Danny's moods seem better. I even heard Mare singing this morning.
From the private blog of user "snak3bit", April 14th, 2018
Mare is coming out of mood more and more. Maybe I don't need this blog after all. Danny is still really withdrawn, but that business with the washroom seems like forever ago. (I'll probably go back and delete the entry, honesty. Was I hallucinating?)
I'm still really tired. I don't know what to compare it to. My mind feels fuzzy, limbs heavy. I've been sleeping a couple of extra hours each day. Told Mare yesterday about going to see the doctor, she said it seemed like a good idea. She actually made breakfast for us this morning, we ate as a family for the first time in a while.
Danny ate like a horse, I've never seen the kid so ravenous. I guess it's a welcome change from the last few weeks, since the incident. Seemed like had no appetite for a while. He's been sleeping in the bed with us the past few nights, you know. Because of the nightmares. Sometimes I imagine I wake up to hear them talking or whispering together, but if I stir or shift on the bed, they quiet down.
It's weird to see them huddled up together, he's not a toddler or a five-year-old anymore. Mare sleeps in her nightgown with nothing underneath, and Danny just wears underwear. She keeps her body between him and I, so I can't really see. Is she holding him while he sleeps? More coddling. Stuff like that will affect a kid's sex life. I'll have to talk to her about it.
Christ, I'm tired. I've been taking some multivitamins, trying to shake this bug. Those test results can't get back soon enough. I swear, it's like something is draining the life out of me.
From the private blog of user "snak3bit", April 16th, 2018
Still tired. Looked in the mirror, it's even worse. Maybe an inch and a half flaccid. Testicles shrinking, too. Tried to jerk off, nothing. Things are better with me an Mare, at least. Arguing less. Told her we'd play out our rent here and then haul stakes back west, start over. She rubbed my neck and kissed me on top of the head.
It should have felt good, but it felt weird. Like she wasn't… I don't know. Paying me any mind? I should be ecstatic she's not nagging. But she's been so serene around the house, singing, dressing up more… it's like she's forgotten not just our problems, but the marriage behind them. Does that make sense? I don't know.
She kissed me more like a dog owner might kiss an old familiar dog that has no teeth left to bite with.
From the private blog of user "snak3bit", April 18th, 2018
I'm writing this from a coffee shop. I don't know when I'm going to go back to the apartment. Maybe never. Something happened, and I'm still wrapping my head around it, trying to make sense of what I saw.
Danny slept with us again last night. At 2 AM, my eyes just snapped open suddenly, as if I was waking up from a bad dream, though I couldn't remember what it was. Even though I had no idea what the dream had been, I could feel it had been terrifying, if that makes sense. It took me a moment to get my bearings, and as I laid there, I started to hear noises from the other side of the bed. Really soft, subtle noises, but there was still no mistaking them. Kissing noises. The sort of sounds you might hear if two people went into a closet to make out at a high school party and you put your ear to the door, playing the voyeur.
Mare was doing something to Danny. My mind immediately went back to that day when she was washing him in the bathroom. The way she cleaned him so worshipfully with her mouth. I had blocked it out, I guess, but it came flooding back, and my stomach turned to ice. Everybody knows the sound of making out, or oral sex, when they hear it. And this was like that. I just listened, sleep forgotten, I was perfectly still. I instinctively knew if I rolled over to look, whatever was going on might stop.
I rationalized. Maybe Danny was having one of those nightmares Mare mentioned, and she was kissing and cuddling him, trying to calm him down. But it didn't sound like that. It sounded wet, and hungry, and full. It sounded like a mouth struggling for more. I was afraid to look. Mare has been dressing up a bit more around the house, as I believe I have mentioned, and that extends to the bedroom as well. After wearing her dowdy old nightgown for nearly two years straight, the last couple of nights she's gone back to wearing panties and a sleeveless undershirt, like she did in college. And let me tell you, her tits look great in those shirts. Her ass too, in those silky panties. I loved her ass back when we met, and now, a decade later, it's bigger and better.
Christ, why am I digressing like this? Maybe to avoid writing about what happened. Mare has a bit different lately, I guess, is my point. More like she was when things were better and we used to make love all the time. Fuck all the time, I should say.
It sounded like she was sucking on Danny's cock.
I know there could be some other explanation, but I know a blowjob when I hear one. My wife, blowing our ten-year-old son! Can you believe that? Danny is maybe four feet tall, in order to do it she'd have to shift down on the bed a little, so her face was even with his pelvis. That's where the noises were coming from, not from the pillow or the headboard, but further down the mattress. And like I said, Danny sleeps in his underwear. These tight boxer briefs. Kids can get away with being immodest like that, you know kids, they love running around naked. If she pulled them down over his slender little hips, he probably wouldn't even object. She's been washing him after all, bathing him while his arm was broken. The way I figure, she probably ran her washcloth over his penis and balls a time or two.
And there's one more reason I think it was a blowjob. The swallowing. After fifteen minutes I heard Danny moan. A high-pitched moan, you know. Maybe I could convince myself it was from a nightmare, if I didn't also hear Mare swallowing at the same time. Gulping, more like. Like, I could hear Mare's throat working. Swallowing isn't a sound you hear often, but you know it when you hear it; and in the dead quiet of that room, I could hear it.
My cock was actually rock hard, can you believe it? Christ, it's enough to make you fucking cry. Forty minutes of jerking gets me nothing these days, but I hear something fucked up like this and it happens, totally involuntary. I'm not some freak or kiddy fiddler who gets off to the idea of his wife handling a young boy.
I heard Marilyn cough, and then exhale and say 'Oh, Danny," in this breathy voice. Like a whore who just had a really satisfying john roll off of her after a lay.
Did I really just write that? Looking back over this I feel like maybe I'm playing it up in my own head, remembering it worse than it was. I guess it's possible, I've been under a ton of stress, and I've been sick, too. I'm going back to the doctor to discuss my results in two days. What did I really see? Nothing.
Some sounds. A single moan from a boy. And 'Oh, Danny.'
I listened for maybe teh minutes more, but all I heard was the sound of soft breathing. Whatever they'd been doing, it was over. And I took the chance of tossing and rolling over, then. Marilyn was on her side, facing outward, shielding Danny with her body. I could see the swell of her hip making a perfect curve. And her ass. The way those medium-coverage panties were struggling to handle her round, full butt… even in the dimness of the room I could see the contrast they made with her moonlit skin. Her blonde hair was fanned out behind her, on the pillow.
I stared at her for a moment, and in that split second all I wanted to do was jerk off. But my cock was already flagging. I felt it in my shorts. Half hard it's shorter than my finger now, and thinner. I really can't get to that doctor soon enough. Pretty soon I was just feeling tired again. Tired and confused at what I'd heard.
Maybe if that was all that happened I could laugh it off as my own mind playing tricks. But in the morning, I woke up late. Dog tired, still, and from the way the light was coming in, I could sense it was almost noon. I could hear dishes clanking in the kitchen. So I push myself up and then go to slide across the bed, you know? Because Mare sleeps closest to the door, I have to cross over her side of the mattress instead of walking all the way around it. It's a small apartment, it's easier that way.
I felt this big, cold, wet sensation on my thigh. I had slid across a big puddle on the mattress. My first thought was, 'Did Danny wet the bed?' He used to do that from time to time, though not for many years now. And maybe because of the nightmares, he had a relapse. And in that moment I started to tie it all together in my head, thinking the noises and moaning from the last night were just something innocent after all. Danny moaning in dismay, waking up after wetting the bed, Mare kissing him to comfort him. 'Oh, Danny', an expression of sympathy, not lust.
I was actually glad. I'm ashamed to admit it, but… after the incident, I resented Danny a little. My own kid, turning against me. Acting like he doesn't need me. And all of Mare's coddling and all of their conniving and whispering, none of it amounted to anything, I told myself. The kid is acting all aloof but he still pisses the bed like a baby. And for all his mother's special treatment, the washing and taking him into our room, it made not one bit of difference.
But when I raised my wet hand to look at it-
It was semen. The right side of the mattress, Mare's side, was soaked in a pool of semen. A huge amount. More than any male could produce, I thought. I know it was semen, because I smelled it. There's no mistaking that coppery scent, the scent I've always associated it with chlorinated pools. In that room, and in that moment, it flooded into my nostrils and was overpowering. It had a nasty smell underneath, too, like meat. My hand was coated with it, and looking down at the bedsheets, I could actually individual strands that were so thick, they hadn't broken, and were still laying in the muck like discarded, bubbly shoelaces.
I realized my cock was hard again.
I wiped myself off and threw on some pants and a T-shirt, got in the car, and drove to this coffee shop. I've been here for seven hours. The only reason I'm able to write this is my briefcase happened to be in the car, with my laptop.
Is it a practical joke? That semen didn't come from me. And the only other male in my house is a ten year old kid. I think back to those swallowing noises… how full they sounded, and that flaking, black imp figuring leering on Danny's shelf, the way that obscene woodcarved loincloth bulged, and
Nah, I'm not going into that. I need to calm down. I should just delete this post. Sounds like the ramblings of a crazy person. Could be just Mare screwing with me, somehow. Revenge for that day. She's been calling on my cell, asking where I am. She says she wants to talk to me about Danny. I told her I'm alright, that I'd be 'back soon'.
Doctor's appointment tomorrow. Checked in coffee shop bathroom. One inch.
Christ.
From the private blog of user "snak3bit"
April 19th, 2018
Went home last night. Mare wanted to talk to me but I made an excuse, told her I was too tired and wasn't feeling well. Hell, it was the truth. I fell asleep on the couch. When I was dozing I remember a hazy image of Mare going to bed - she was in her panties and her nightshirt, walking in her bare feed, and I could see her ass bouncing as she moved - but I never followed her. It was like I had lead weights on all my limbs. You know that feeling you get when you have the flu or mono, and you're just dead tired? It was like that, but just the fatigue. I'm not stuffed up, lymph nodes aren't swollen. I checked. But whatever this is, it's really knocked me on my ass.
This morning I went to see the doc. This fucking quack, he tells me the tests didn't show anything! I just about exploded in his office. How is that possible? It was crushing to hear, because that diagnosis is what I need to make sense of all this weird shit. The fatigue, the shrinkage - my penis is wasting away to the size of a cocktail weenie, and this guy is telling me the tests are inconclusive?
I made him take me through it step by step - I'm not going to get bamboozled by a bunch of medical mumbo-jumbo. There are no elevated levels of anything that would mark cancer. I already told you there are no lumps. He says that cancers in other parts of the body can cause strange symptoms elsewhere - paraneoplastic symptoms - but he's never observed symptoms quite like mine. He's now, he says, going on the theory that I might have some sort of specialized damage to my prostate, perhaps combined with 'constricted blood flow to the penis', due to partial arterial blockage. But he doesn't sound too convinced.
Seeing that bewildered look on his face gave me a scare. Doctors can be frustrating, but there's nothing more frightening than seeing one glance at your chart and just shake his head. Because in that moment I could tell he wasn't trying to put one over on me or bullshit me, he wasn't being vague just to cover his ass or make me feel better - he was legitimately confused by the test results. He's scheduled me for a colonoscopy (fucking great, just what I need) and something called a total testosterone test. Before it was all over, I had to drop my trousers and show him how much worse things had gotten in just a couple weeks time.
"Don't worry, Mr. Lyle," he said. "With one symptom this acute, the related symptoms can't hide forever. We'll have a clearer picture soon enough." Standing there in his cold office, shivering with my one-inch cock barely poking out of my pubic area, I swear, I just felt like crying. It's like the world has it out for me or something. What did I ever do to deserve this much shitty luck? Sometimes I just feel like strangling Ted. It was his stupid idea that started this whole mess.
I thought about Mare, how good she looked in her panties and her sleeveless undershirt, walking toward the bedroom. You know how a woman can look when her panties are nice and tight, showing off just how much hip and thigh and rear she has, so the fabric cuts into her skin just a little? That was Mare. But even great as she's looking, and as improved as her mood has been, how can I engage sexually with her now, with my cock like this?
Fuck me.
UPDATE 11:00 PM
I'm not paranoid, I'm not crazy. Something strange is going on.
Keeping starting sentences and erasing them. Danny, Mare. Can't think about this right now. So tired. Have to sleep.
From the private blog of user "snak3bit"
April 20th, 2018
At the coffee shop again. Can't bear to be in the apartment.
I'm not crazy. I'm not paranoid. This is real.
Mare grabbed me yesterday afternoon, soon as I was in the door from seeing the doc. Said she wanted to talk about 'a problem with Danny'. Something was wrong. It was maybe 2 in the afternoon but she hadn't even gotten dressed. I wanted to scream at her, tell her that I had my own fucking problems, she and the kid were obviously doing fine, they weren't the one with visiting the doctor, feeling tired all the time, having problems with their privates. I felt the anger flare inside me, that same anger that came up when we had that incident… but it died away almost as fast. I didn't have it in me to smack her again.
Besides, there was a weird quality about her mood.
I don't even know what to compare it to. Like I said, she hadn't dressed. She was still in the undershirt and panties she slept in - really sheer panties, I could see every detail - and her hair was kinda tangled. She still looked beautiful, but a wild, fucked-up kind of beautiful, you know? The only thing I can compare it to is a like a young girl strung out on drugs; pills, heroine, or whatever. Still gorgeous but she's not taking care of herself, she forgets to dress or brush her hair, that sort of thing.
She took me by the wrist and I noticed the front of her undershirt had a big stain on it, a wet, greasy dark patch with a sort of creamy color. Looking closer, I saw these dried smears on her chest, in her cleavage. And there was this scent in the air. That same scent from the bedroom, when I woke up that day with a huge puddle of semen on the bed. Suddenly I very much didn't want to go back into that room, but that was where Mare was leading me, her bare feet pattering on the floor. She was saying something, something about Danny, but I don't remember what. "Come and see your son," she said. I should have been concerned, you know? Like something was wrong with Danny. But Mare wasn't hysterical or worried, it was more like she'd been keeping a secret. (I know how that feels, considering what I've got going on below the waist right now.)
Danny was standing against the wall, as if he was waiting for us, wearing only red boxer briefs with white piping down the side. I was struck by how thin he looked, just a slender little kid with a tangle of sandy-blonde hair around his head. And there was something else. It looked like Danny had something stuffed down the front of his underwear. A big sausage or something, like a kielbasa you'd get at the butcher shop. At first I thought Mare was playing a joke on me, revenge for that slap I gave her. I haven't told her about what's going on with my cock - I wanted to sort it out myself - but I figured she somehow found out and wanted to needle me about it. She'd arranged it, I thought, to make it look like our son had an enormous, flaccid penis satcheled in the front of his briefs, so weighty that it was nearly pulling the waistband down. Seeing something of that grotesque a size bulging from the crotch of a little kid was a total shock.
I was about to call her out for making this sick a joke at the expense of my health, and even worse, involving the kid in it. I know Danny and I haven't been the closest, but he's still my flesh and blood, my male heir. For Mare to do something like that was above and beyond, no matter what I did to her.
I walked marched over to him. I'm sure I had the same look on my face I've had before while I was about to spank him or yell at him, but this time Danny didn't flinch, and that was strange too. Danny has always been an emotional kid - that's what Mare always says, 'cute, but emotional' and that description always pissed me off, too, like he's a bitch or something - but this time the kid was cool as a cucumber. He showed no fear at all, and that made me even more pissed. He had this look on his face, this confident, knowing stare. In that moment I flashed back to the time I saw him in the bathroom, with his mother... cleaning him. He gave me that same look then, not a kid but a confident, old campaigner.
And… his eyes were different.
I don't know. Never mind that.
My point is, exposed in just his undies, Danny should have been embarrassed, but there was none of that in his face. He was in on it, I decided. Mare had poisoned him against me to the extent that he'd actually take part in a sick joke like this, making fun of his own dad. Well, I wasn't going to stand for that shit. A mother turning a son against his father, that's unnatural. I reached down to the waistband of his underwear and tugged them straight down his legs in one motion, roughly. I expected whatever Mare stuffed down there to go rolling onto the floor, and I then I was going to spank his bare ass as punishment, give him a few good whacks. That would teach him to disrespect me. Then, I'd send him out of the room and Mare and I would have it out. To my mind, her bringing Danny into it was just more proof she was hysterical and overreacting to what happened between us.
But I only got as far as the planning. I never brought my hand to bear against Danny, because there was nothing fake about what was in Danny's underwear.
When I pulled his boxer briefs down his hips, it revealed a huge, hanging, flaccid penis.
It was nothing like I remember. I last saw him naked… what? Eighteen months ago? Change room at a beach? It had been small then, like a pinky finger. Now, it was enormous, a joke prosthesis for a raunchy prank, except real. I could tell it was real, from the way the skin was a shade darker than his naked thighs, how it seamlessly attached to the smooth mound of his pubis, the obscene size and weight of it. It hung down to his knee, and under the base of the shaft were two enormous, smooth balls that couldn't fit between his thighs as he stood with his legs together.
I know it sounds crazy. It's impossible, right? No kid could have a penis that big. Even if Danny were an early bloomer, hitting puberty at 10, it was impossible. Flaccid, it had to be fourteen inches long, and thick, like an elephant's trunk.
Adding to the unreality, Danny didn't react at all when I pulled down his shorts. I'd meant to scare him, I expected him to cringe or flinch or cover himself. To cry, you know, like a kid will do when he's that age. Hell, I'd wanted him to cry. I'd wanted to show him he had done something wrong by playing his mother's games. But Danny didn't even move. He just kept looking at me with eyes that seemed grey, and darker than usual.
Those eyes. I thought back again to that figurine on his shelf, and
No, no. I'm not going to write that.
I just felt so tired, worn out and defeated. To look at Danny's penis, and contrast it to what it happened to mine… in that moment, I hated him. I hated that expression on his face, I hated his youth. The way his skin was flawless and unencumbered by the scars and the flab and the pock-marks that come with getting old. I hated him for the effortless beauty that comes with being a kid, and also for that size between his legs. Hell, I'd looked in the mirror just that morning and there was a ghost of a man looking back. Pasty, pale skin. Drooping muscles. Ingrown hairs and burst veins and squiggling blood vessels from all the stress and fitful sleep.
To see Danny looking so unaffected and free and filled with vigor, it was crushing. All the energy I've been missing, it was like it had transferred over to him. My hand fell to my side. Suddenly, I didn't want to spank him anymore. I just wanted to leave. Get out of that room as fast as possible.
Mare was on her knees next to Danny. She reached out and grabbed his length, holding it up and looking at me. "Look at this size!" she exclaimed, earnestly addressing me, playing it totally straight. "This isn't normal for such a young boy!" Compared to her forearm I could see how massive he was. My own son, making me look like an infant by comparison. Come and see your son, she'd said. Now it was like she was forcing me to look.
And sure, I've seen pictures of weird medical curiosities where someone really does have something weird going on with their penis, some African tribesman's dick growing out of control because of a tumor or something. There have been cases of abnormal penis development in toddlers because of accidental exposure to testosterone cream. (I looked this up many hours later, looking for any plausible explanation.) Maybe in another place and time I would have put the strangeness of the scene aside and asked those questions on the spot, because a pre-teen boy with a fourteen inch cock is not normal. But this wasn't some medical mystery. Danny's cock was just huge. And Mare's indecent handling of it, and the expression on Danny's face (which I now thought was quite smug), were both so off-putting and wrong.
I don't remember exactly what I said or did. I think I just stood there, feeling overwhelmed and speechless.
"It's longer than my arm!" Mare was saying. "And his balls are so swollen!" I took a few steps back. She was holding Danny with reverence, a temple maiden with a holy artifact. I couldn't stop looking at the stains all over her nightclothes and her tangled hair. And the smell. That smell of semen, seeming to fill the room.
I heard a churning noise and looked down at Danny's uncircumsized, hanging dick. Even with Mare holding it up under the shaft and balls, the end drooped down toward the floor. As I watched, a white curd of barely-liquid jelly slid from the tip and splattered down in a bubbly pile. Effortlessly, without even being hard, he'd ejaculated more than I had been able to produce in months.
Mare bit her lower lip and looked up at me. Her tongue passed over her teeth. She didn't look like a concerned mother. In that stained undershirt and those filmy, barely-there panties, she looked wild and wanton and ready to fuck.
Then Danny spoke. "Is something wrong, dad?" It was like two voices playing in stereo, and in haunted me to my core. It was a normal kid voice, Danny's voice, and another. He smiled an impish grin, and I realized I had an erection.
I ran. Straight from the bedroom to the living room, my heart beating fast. And I heard a child's high-pitched laughter coming from behind me.
UPDATE 3 AM??:
Slept another five hours. It's the middle of the night and I'm still on the couch. So tired. But removed from that encounter in the bedroom I feel like I have my wits again.
That voice. Was it just puberty? Is Danny's voice changing? No. It was more like two voices at once. I know what I heard. I'm not crazy. After I left the bedroom… they stayed there together for a very long time. They're still in there now as I type this, sleeping. But sometimes I hear them whispering to each other.
And sometimes I think I hear-
No, I don't want to write about that. I have to be sure.
From the private blog of user "snak3bit"
April 22nd, 2018
Didn't go to the appointment for the colonoscopy. I don't think it'll help. Something else is going on. Has to be. Mare and I haven't really talked since the bedroom incident. We go about our business - chores, groceries, Mare home-schooling Danny (moving across the country for the Partridge dig, we had to pull him out of school, and Mare was bitter about that, of course) - but we don't really speak except to share essential information.
Danny has started walking around the house in just his underwear, showing a lack of shame that's more like a toddler than a boy who is just going through puberty. But *is* he going through puberty? I don't know. No pubic hair evident. Shoulders aren't wider. He hasn't changed much at all, except for down there.
More and more it feels like
I don't know.
Like it's not Danny at all.
As recently as a month ago, Danny was always shy around me. He feared my temper, you see. (It makes a sick smile come to my face to think of that now.) This "New Danny" barely seems to acknowledge me. Heck, that goes for Mare too. And that's somehow much worse than when they feared my temper. Hell, I never meant to play the heavy, I only did what I had to do, to discipline my wife and son. But at least in those days, they paid me some mind.
Now, it's like… like I'm fading away.
Danny moves differently. When he sits down to watch TV or read, at first glance it might seem like the same old Danny. But the way he languishes, spread-legged, letting his thighs fall open to show the heavy bulge that huge penis makes in his underwear… he seems like such a sexual being. Not like a kid at all. Certainly not like a toddler who doesn't realize his own nakedness. It's like he knows, and he's showing off.
UPDATE 9 PM:
Was sitting at kitchen table, typing this. Danny walked to the bathroom to pee (still wearing just his underwear). Usually he closes the door, but this time he didn't. Even though I was in direct line of sight to the end of the hall and the bathroom door, he just pulled his dick out over his waistband and pissed, paying me no mind. His long cock would have drooped into the toilet water if he didn't hold it up like a big, fat hose and take aim.
His stream was unbelievably powerful, like a horse, and within a few seconds I could smell Danny's piss all the way out in the kitchen. I opened my mouth to tell the kid to shut the damn door, but his pissing was just so loud. It even drew Mare over reading in the living room. She leaned against the hallway and watched him.
He pissed for more than a minute straight. I know that doesn't sound like much, but try counting it off in your head, one second to sixty. It's a long time, and sitting there at the kitchen table, it felt longer.
I looked in Mare's face. It was filled with something like awe, and I had to look away. When Danny was finally done, she turned to me and said he'd be sleeping with us again that night.
The look on her face...
From the private blog of user "snak3bit"
April 23nd, 2018
It's worse than I thought, what's going on. Right under my nose, right behind my back.
Had two cups of coffee before bed last night and made a point to lie down but not doze off right away. Even with all the caffeine, it was still difficult. Whatever is happening to me, it really saps my strength. I just lay there with the sheet drawn up like a man in his death shroud, willing myself not to doze off. I actually had to concentrate just to stay alert, can you believe that? I felt like a driver who had been on the road for about eighteen hours, nodding off, blinking myself back awake.
But I had to know.
Mare and Danny stirred and whispered a bit as the night went on, but I couldn't make out the details. Mare did most of the talking. I got the sense she was asking Danny something, but I couldn't shift to take a closer look without them realizing I wasn't asleep. At first, I thought maybe nothing was going to happen. It must have been about 1 AM when Mare moved on the bed - I felt the covers pull - and her weight moved nearer the foot of the mattress. I let my eyes slip open a tad. It was dim, but there was still enough light to see what was going on.
Danny was on his belly, totally naked, and Mare was pressing her cheek against his backside, hugging him around the legs. I could see the way the weight of her head was pressing down on his flesh. Then, she turned her mouth into the milky, soft crescent of his buttock and kissed him there. I heard the sound of lips smacking gently, and I realized I'd heard those sounds before, since Danny started sleeping in our bed. I'd assumed she was kissing his forehead, stroking his hair, coddling shit like that. But this-
I don't know how long it went on, her kissing him there. It seemed like forever, but maybe it was only two or three minutes. I felt so disgusted, seeing Mare act so worshipful toward Danny. I'm no pervert; in our marriage I never asked her for much kinky stuff. So I was struck by how different she was acting, and how much she seemed to love kissing and nuzzling her nose and lips against Danny's ass.
Then I heard her whisper, "Let mommy take care of you," and I felt my stomach tie in knots. Christ, I can't believe I'm typing this. But I swear I saw it. She spread Danny's cheeks, each hand filled with one half of his smooth, young ass, and started licking his asshole. It wasn't some hesitant thing. She seemed so hungry for him. Even in our most amorous days, Mare never looked at me that way, never touched me like that. Sitting here now, writing this, I can't get it out of my head. The way she groped him, moaning and breathing harshly, as though his flesh was her personal pleasure to touch… it was obscene and unnatural. As she licked, she would dip her head lower, pressing her nose against the place between Danny's asshole and balls, where the swollen root of his huge cock attached this body, inhaling deeply, sniffing him like an animal. She had Danny's penis pulled back through his legs, it was resting on the sheets like a length of firehose, snaking a little because it was still half-hard.
Mare started to suck Danny's balls. Each one was so big she couldn't even put it in her mouth, but she ran her mouth over them, making wet kissing noises and getting them wet with spit. It made my stomach turn. She looked wild and untamed, but that beauty - the way her blonde hair spilled down over her shoulders, the way her breasts hung heavy in her undershirt, the nipples making little mounds in the cotton - was at odds with her disgusting behavior. Can you imagine? My wife, orally servicing my ten-year-old son, right there in our marital bed!
Mare did not let any taboo stop her in what she did. She buried her tongue in Danny's pink, puffy asshole, rimming him deep. Her mouth formed a complete seal around him, seeming to relish how he moaned and arched his back. Her hands groped his cheeks as she sucked, her cheeks hollowing and her lips elongating, and when she withdrew to catch her breath, fat strands of saliva formed bridges that connected her mouth to his glistening hole. She smeared these all over his undercarriage as she ran the flat of her tongue up and down his taint, licking shaft and balls until everything was glistening with spit.
I stole a look at Danny. His long hair was obscuring some of his face, but the way his eyes were squinted shut and his moist lips trembling, I could tell he was enjoying what was being done as he lay with his cheek on the pillow, head turned in my direction. I was struck by way the dim lights seemed to dance on the few spring freckles on the bridge of his nose, and on his shoulders. I could see his ribcage down his side, subtly floating just beneath the surface of his skin, and again I was struck by the unfairness of it all. Mare was right. Danny really could be a kid in one of those catalogues, modeling hoodies and back-to-school jeans, and she was smitten enough with him to kiss him in a way no mother ever should.
After a few minutes, Danny raised his pelvis up off the mattress, getting to his hands and knees, and Mare began to milk his cock downward, tugging him like a zookeeper relieving some enormous beast. Pre-cum was sliding from his tip, huge amounts of it, and suddenly it became clear why the sheets had been soaked in the mornings for nearly a week. I realized that Mare had been doing this every night, and leaving me to slide across the remainder of Danny's huge, sticky loads. This combined handjob and rimjob continued for several minutes, with Mare sometimes removing moving her mouth to kiss and lick at Danny's balls, taint or buttocks. She nuzzled his balls as if they were personal treasures, and whispered to him as she weighed their fullness in her palms.
"You're so backed up," she said, sotto voce. "It's okay, darling, let mommy help you. Show mommy your huge, thick load."
The smell of semen was getting thicker as Danny's pisshole continued to leak onto the mattress, and soon the emissions were getting cloudier and thicker as Mare's milking, rimming sexual service brought Danny to the edge. Eventually, Danny moaned - the only sound I heard him make - and then there was another sound, like liquid being squeezed from a squirt bottle, as a fat, glistening rope of semen poured out of his dickhole. It was like what I'd seen a few days before, in the bedroom, except even thicker, and there was much more of it. It was like jelly as it blasted out of his pipe and puddled on the bed, and Mare was moaning as she jerked and milked Danny, encouraging him to shoot more.
His semen was so thick. Rope after huge, heavy rope. And just when I thought he might be finished, Mare kissed his buttock, her lips indenting the soft flesh, whispering she knew he had more, she knew he had the good stuff, deep in his balls. She stuffed her tongue deep in his ass again and there was a noise, a low, bubbling, spewing noise, as I actually saw Danny's swollen protruding cum-tube bulge as he added to the off-white puddle under him with more blasts of nasty, backed-up semen. Even in the dim light I could see how different the color became as his orgasm subsided, the thickest ropes were almost yellow and filled with gooey chunks, and the stench of it immediately filled the bedroom, the overpowering scent of semen and something else. I don't know how to describe it. Something unpleasant.
Mare swooned when she the amount of his release, like a girl fawning over her favorite rock star. She praised him, kissing his balls and the tip of his cock, telling Danny how much she loved him and his massive loads. There was so much pride in her voice. She slid back up the bed and wrapped her arms around him, and they cuddled and settled in with his mess congealing beside them.
My heart was beating a mile a minute. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, smelling semen and sweat of a rutting mother and son. Had I been laying beside them as they did this, asleep, breathing in the miasma of my son's thick semen and Mare's wet, horny pussy, every night? I had an erection again, and touched myself experimentally. I felt a bolt of pleasure like I hadn't experienced in a month, since this all began. Why?
I don't know why. But the pleasure was so intense… I couldn't help but finish. That's the worst part - that I was so tired of feeling nothing… so beaten down from all my bad luck, I couldn't resist taking whatever pleasure I could. My dick felt about the length of a paper clip. My hand was too big to handle it, I had to use four fingers and rub it up and down. An image came to my mind, totally unbidden. Mare on her back, crying out in orgasm as Danny fucked her. He's clutching her waist, head between her large breasts, ejaculating into her, filling her with rope after rope of that thick, yellow trash I just saw him spray all over the mattress. To think, a ten-year-old kid, his hairless pink asshole slick from a rimjob, fucking my wife, filling her, drowning her fertile eggs in that slop.
I came. Like I said, I couldn't help it. And when I did, a tiny drop of wetness dripped from my pisshole and onto my thumb. It was as thin as water.
One drop.
Whatever compelled me, it disappeared quickly with my orgasm, and I felt dead tired again. I fell asleep after that. I think I had dreams, though I don't remember them. God, what is happening?
From the private blog of user "snak3bit"
April 26th, 2018
I've been weighing my options. Three days of waking, eating, sleeping, biding my time. I haven't let on that anything's wrong or that I feel like things are out of place. Mostly I'm packing up some stuff since we're going to get evicted eventually; putting our belongings into boxes, sealing them, and marking them has been a welcome distraction from this mess. Rent is due on the 1st and we're going to miss it, I figure after that we have 1-2 weeks before they give us the bum's rush.
Danny and Mare are getting more brazen. Yesterday at breakfast, Danny sat at the kitchen table totally naked. Mare was in nothing but a bra and panties. She cooked him bacon, eggs, toast, gave him two glasses of orange juice. He ate like a wolf. She ignored me, didn't serve me shit. Didn't even cook me anything. Showing zero respect, right in front of the kid. And when she sat down to eat and I saw her plate, I lost my appetite. Eggs, bacon, and toast again… but there was semen splattered all over it. Big, thick strands of semen. She lifted one forkful of eggs to her mouth and I could see the big, stringy rope of chunky cum dangling from it before she sucked it down. Yet she acted like nothing was wrong, and gave me this knowing, condescending smile.
I didn't even make you any food, her face said. I don't really think about you anymore, John. You're toothless. I only think about Danny. Your son, who has a penis that is fifteen inches longer than yours and makes you look like a total fag. I jacked his big dick off onto my breakfast because I love eating his cum so much. When's the last time I even kissed you goodnight? You're wasting away, John. You're tired and sick and fading like a ghost. And now you're going to sit here and watch us eat while your ten-year-old kid's monster cock flops underneath the table.
I could have choked her. But I had an erection again, too. My cock has shrunk to less than an inch flaccid, I'm almost afraid to look anymore. I just sat there and took the indignity. It was too tired to start a fight.
"Do you want some, John?" she asked, extending her next forkful toward me. A piece of bacon with a fat, lumpy wad of jizz stuck to it. I told her I'd pass, and she ate it with obscene relish, wrapping her tongue around it before savoring every bite. From now on, I don't think I'll eat Mare's cooking at all, actually. I'll stick to protein breakfast bars. And you should have seen the look Danny gave me. This little shit-eating smile, like he knew exactly what was going on and found it hilarious. This is not just me projecting, he knows exactly what he's doing. Ten-year-olds can be really naive, but they're also sly, you know? And Danny always was a smart kid.
So, options.
I could go to the police and tell them what Mare is doing. It's a clear-cut case of child abuse. But would that even work? They're obviously in it together. She's poisoned Danny against me, I'm sure of it, and they would lie each other up. They'd make it seem like I was just a paranoid man making perverse allegations. Sure, maybe a detective could sit Danny down and get the truth out of him. Kids are usually bad at lying, right? But then I think about how Danny has been the last few days. Like I said, he's sly. Often I catch him looking at me with this condescending little sneer on his face. Once, I confronted him about it and he denied it: "I wasn't looking at you, dad. Geez, don't be so paranoid."
See that? Lying. And it was effortless for him. He used to be such an earnest boy, but now it comes naturally to him to hide things. If I were to go to the cops he'd just do the same. And that's not all. Because of the nature of the… of what they're doing, the police would be laughing up their sleeves. Adding to my humiliation.
Hey, did you see the report that guy whose wife started fucking his son? Apparently the son has a huge penis!
Then they'd all have a good guffaw, those pigs. Besides, even if Mare goes off to jail (or more likely a mental hospital, with the way she's been acting), what have I really won? I get custody of a kid who doesn't respect me, blames me for what I did to his mom, a kid who is changing in ways I don't understand. He scares me a little, honestly. The way his voice was that one time, I can't think of any explanation. And when so many inexplicable things are happening at once, a guy can't help but feel like he's going a little batshit.
I don't want to send Mare to prison and fuck up the family even more than it already is. I just want things to be the way they were. Me as the breadwinner. Mare as the obedient and respectful wife. A son that I can relate to, who wants to learn things from me. I want to get back to that. I want them to look to me as an authority figure, not just as some impediment around the house to be ignored. And yeah, if I raise my hand at them again, I want to see concern in their eyes, concern about what they did to upset me. I want to see RESPECT. It's not just the sexual things they're doing and all that means legally or whatever. It's that I feel like I'm being made a fool of. I want satisfaction for that wrong.
It was Partridge. Partridge is when things went south and started to change. It's like when I left that speakeasy, dusty and forlorn and with storage bins of old newspapers and trash that turned out to be basically worthless, a curse came back home with me.
My mind always returns to that horny devil curio, the one Mare put on the shelf next to Danny's bed. And the maloika. I think of all the reasons I'm not going to go to the police, this is the main one: I can't go to the police because what's happening doesn't make sense. It's borderline supernatural.
No, no police. I'm going to email that collector, the guy who turned me down on the sale. I think his name was Simons. And I'm going to go back to the doctor, act like the good husband, act like nothing's wrong, while I figure this out. If Danny can be sly, I can play possum as well.
This is the first time since this all happened that I feel like I have a plan.