There was a frantic knock on the door. I opened one eye and looked at the clock.

"Who the hell would need me at 4 o'clock in the morning?" I asked.

I sat up in bed. Actually, it was not a bed. It was more of a cot with a thin mattress on top.

I looked around at my apartment as the knocking on the door continued. Actually, it was not a real apartment. It was a room with a bed for the maintenance man. No one ever came to my door unless there was a problem, so I was never happy to answer the door.

I quickly put on my maintenance man uniform. The front of my blue shirt read "Mike Skinner, Jr." My dad, Michael Skinner, senior, insisted on adding the "junior" to my uniform shirts because he was the one who owned most of the apartment complexes in the city and not me. I owned nothing. I was just the hired help.

Graciously, my father allowed me to live here rent-free, but as with most things in life, there was a catch. I had to do all of the maintenance for all of his properties. Thus, I would receive calls late into the night about broken toilets and unresponsive air conditioning units.

My father was not someone you wanted to cross. Even though I was his son, my father demanded as much respect and loyalty from me as any of his many employees. In fact, I resigned myself to being just another one of his employees. In the back of my mind, I wanted to save up enough money and drive as far as possible from here. Until that day came, I was just Mike Skinner, the lonesome young maintenance guy.

When I opened the door, I came face to face with my beautiful stepmother. Greta was the latest of my father's many wives. Thin and wispy, her long blonde hair fell down around her delicate face. Whereas I was the rough and tumble ex-football player, Greta was the fragile young ex-waitress. I had a nagging suspicion that I was actually older than Greta, but for the time being, Greta was considered to be my stepmother. I had to be really careful what I said to her. I didn't want to risk the ire of my father.

My biological mother had died when I was still an infant, or so I was told. As long as I could remember, there was a parade of gorgeous would-be mothers. They were all pretty, but I was never really given a chance to get to know any of them. In fact, my father made sure I did not spend too much time with any of them. It was probably for the best because each stepmother was replaced rather quickly. Since I never spent any time with any of them, I would ask my father where my mother was buried. Unfortunately, each inquiry was met with anger. After I while, I stopped asking. My mother became nothing but a nagging mystery.

However, Greta was different. This mysterious and lovely creature was the only one that really showed any interest in me. I could recognize that Greta's face anywhere, even at this late hour.

Oddly enough, my stepmother was wearing a thin kimono that barely covered her thighs. I was happy to see those beautiful legs, but I was not happy to see the snake that had wrapped itself around her neck.

"Mike, you have to let me in," said my stepmom.

I tried to wipe the sleep from my eyes. It did not help that I had already worked well into the evening. A tenant had a plumbing problem that required my undivided attention until midnight. Afterwards, I feasted on tasteless noodles after midnight. Despite my growing distaste for the noodles, there was not much left in the monthly budget for anything else.

"Mom, what are doing here?" I asked in a whisper, "It is almost four in the morning."

"I didn't know where else to go," said my stepmom.

Her mascara had been smeared as if she was crying. The snake slithered around her waist and up one of her arms. I glared at the snake. I was sure the slithery reptile had something to do with all of this trouble.

"Is that a snake?" I asked.

"Yes," said my stepmom.

"Why do you have a snake?" I asked.

"This is my new job," my stepmom said.

"What new job?" I asked.

My stepmom sighed. Obviously, this was not something she wanted to explain to anyone, much less her inquisitive stepson. I looked around outside.

"What are you doing?" asked my stepmom.

I opened my door wider and motioned for my stepmom to enter my tiny apartment. Without asking, my stepmom slid past me and sat down on my bed. I was not sure if I should have let my stepmother come inside, but I was not about to leave her outside nearly naked. The neighborhood was known for gang activity. Promptly, I closed and locked the door.

"I am not supposed to have visitors," I said.

"Is that one of your dad's rules?" asked my stepmom.

I nodded. My stepmom rolled her eyes. Like me, Greta was not fond of my father's arbitrary rules and regulations. Mr. Skinner, senior ran his house like his business and everyone else felt like they were in a prison.

"This is not the best neighborhood," I whispered, "You can't be walking around here late at night."

"I didn't have much of a choice," said my stepmom.

"You can drop the snake over there," I said.

I pointed to an empty laundry bushel behind the door. I really didn't want the snake anywhere near my bed. My stepmom quickly slipped the snake off of her arms and dropped the snake into the bushel. I took a quick look at the snake. It was an ordinary black garden snake with no unusual markings. Snarling and hissing, it was long and frightening.

My stepmother looked around my tiny apartment. There were no dirty dishes in the sink and there was no evidence of the cheap noodles I had consumed hours ago. There were no dirty laundry on the floor and vinyl tile floor was free of dirty and debris.

"Do you always keep your apartment this clean?" asked my stepmother.

"My dad used to beat me senseless if my room was a mess," I said sadly.

"Why does that not surprise me?" asked my stepmother.

"I have the feeling you are not here at four o'clock in the morning to check if my room is clean," I said.

My stepmother smiled. She knew it was my weak attempt at lighten the mood. Obviously, my stepmother was in distress.

"I am working as a model," announced my stepmom.

"That's great," I said.

"Not really," said my stepmother, "They only want women who pose nude."

I pictured my beautiful stepmother undressing in front of a group of sweaty, overweight guys with cameras and video recorders. I frowned. I loved my stepmother and I was not thrilled with her new career choice.

"That's creepy," I said.

My stepmother nodded. Her gaze did not meet mine. I started to wonder if she was posing nude. Judging from the paper-thin kimono she was wearing, her new job probably did involve some nudity. I was torn. I was not sure if I was disgusted at her male coworkers or envious.

"How did you find me?" I asked.

"I knew your father sent you here to take care of his apartments," said my stepmom, "This apartment complex is the only one with a place to sleep for the maintenance guy."

"That is right," I annouced sarcastically, "I am now the maintenance guy."

"At least he gave you a place to stay," said my stepmom.

"Where are you staying?" I asked.

"I don't want to talk about it," said my stepmom.

My stepmother did not want to answer any more questions. In my mind, I pictured her crashing on a friend's couch with strange men wandering into the apartment at all hours of the night.

"Can I get your help?" asked my stepmom.

"Sure," I said.

I quickly checked the door to see if it was locked. My stepmom looked like she was going to cry. Immediately, I knelt down before her as she sat on the bed.

"What is going on?" I asked.

"I have to ask you a favor," said my stepmom.

"Sure, anything," I said.

"Do you promise not to tell anyone?" she asked.

"I promise," I said.

"This stupid snake bit me," said my stepmom.

"Okay," I said, "I'll take you to the emergency room."

My stepmom grabbed my arm. She did not want me to leave.

"I don't have any insurance," said my stepmom.

"You will die," I said, "What if this stupid snake is poisonous?"

"I have already talked to my boss," said my stepmom, "He said he can't help me."

"Okay, what did he say?" I asked.

"Someone has to suck out the poison," said my stepmom.

"That's easy," I said, "Where did the snake bite you?"

"Do you promise not to laugh?" asked my stepmom.

"I promise," I said.

Her face turned red. Reluctantly, my stepmom lifted the hem of her kimono. With reluctance, my stepmother separated her knees. She revealed to me a completely hairless crotch. She pointed to two bite marks at the entrance to her vagina. I looked at her and wondered what to do next. I didn't know whether or not I should be aroused or horrified. To my surprise, my stepmom was waiting for me to respond.

"Are you sure I should be doing this?" I asked.

"You can't tell a soul," said my stepmom firmly, "Especially not your father."

"How much time do we have left?" I asked.

"I am running out of time," said my stepmom, "Do you want me to die?"

"No, of course not," I said.

Without asking for permission, my stepmom stripped out of her silk kimono and dumped the kimono at the head of my bed. I was trying hard not to stare at her amazing body. With time running out, my stepmom threw all modesty out the window and spread her legs on my bed.

"Please, baby," said my stepmom, "Suck out the poison."

I felt like I was in a dream world. Here I was about to lick and suck a beautiful woman's crotch. My hands pushed her legs apart and my head dove onto the flawless skin. I wrapped my lips around the entrance to her vagina. I breathed in the fragrance of her musky scent and felt my penis leap in my pajama bottoms.

I did not know how long I knelt between her legs. I sucked at the two pin-pricks at the entrance to her vagina. I didn't know if I should swallow the poison, but I rationalized that the acid in my stomach would destroy the venom. On the other hand, black snakes were not supposed to be poisonous. My mind went back and forth on whether I should have swallowed the venom, but I was too busy licking her entire crotch.

I worked quietly so my stepmother did not think that I was enjoying myself. My penis was pressing against the inside of my pajama bottoms in an effort to see what I was doing. My stepmother had placed her ankles on my broad shoulders as if she was having a pelvic exam. In truth, I was examining her entire pelvic area, but I was using my mouth and not my eyes.

My tongue slid between the folds of her vagina and I heard Greta moan with delight. She seemed to catch her breath each time my tongue touched her clitoris.

"Oh my God," said my stepmother, "Don't stop."

"I don't want you to die," I said breathlessly.

"I knew you would do this for me," said Greta.

"I love you so much," I said.

"Please don't say that," said Greta.

"But I do love you," I said, "And I would do anything for you."

"I'm still your mother," said Greta.

"But you're getting a divorce," I said.

"We shouldn't be doing this," said Greta.

Looking up at her face, my stepmother's eyes rolled up and she started to breathe faster. Her perky breasts started to shake as her chest moved up and down. My tongue immediately circled her clitoris and my stepmother's body started to shake.

"Oh my God," said my stepmother, "What is happening to me?"

Greta groaned and fell backwards. Her body was shaking and shivering. Suddenly, a milky white fluid started to ooze out of her vagina. I think she was having a full-blown orgasm. She finally ended it by pushing my head away from her crotch.

As she collapsed on the bed, I ran to the bathroom. I spit out whatever was in my mouth. My beautiful stepmother was still on my bed with her legs spread apart. She was trying to catch her breath, but the self-satisfied grin made me think she completely enjoyed herself. Her grateful face turned to me as I gargled repeatedly.

"You can't tell a soul," said my stepmom.

"I promise," I said after spitting out the mouthwash.

My beautiful stepmom smiled as she put her kimono back on her sweaty body. By this time, there was no need for modesty.

"Where are you staying tonight?" I asked.

"That is none of your business," said my stepmom.

"You are welcome to stay here," I said.

My stepmom turned to me with a raised eyebrow. She was about to scold me, but she thought otherwise.

"Why?" asked my stepmom.

I could not hide my delight. She came over to me with her arms crossed. I could see the inner conflict in her mind. One part of her wanted to thank me for saving her life, but the other part wanted to keep their relationship completely platonic.

"I won't tell a soul," I said.

"But you're still working for your dad," said my stepmom.

"I don't think I have much of a choice," I said, "I have to work somewhere and this is the only job that came with a free place to live."

My stepmother looked around and frowned. She was not too impressed with my new-found domicile. Usually I would have found her reaction insulting, but beggars don't get to be choosers. After living at my father's sumptuous villa, I could understand why my mother was not thrilled with an apartment that was the size of a walk-in closet.

"Why are you working for your dad? Do you know he is not leaving you anything in his will?" asked my stepmom.

"I know he is not leaving me anything in his will," I said, "But I am not staying here forever."

"Where are you going to go?" asked my stepmother.

"I am going to get my degree," I said, "And I am going somewhere far from here."

"I like the idea of going somewhere far from here," said my stepmother.

"What happened between you and my dad?" I asked.

"After you left," said my stepmother, "Your father decided to have someone clean out the refrigerator and turn off all the utilities."

"I see," I said.

"You don't look so surprised," said my stepmom.

"My dad usually does that to evict a tenant," I said.

"Isn't that illegal?" asked my stepmother.

"Usually my father turns off the air conditioning unit," I said, "Since most tenants won't call the heating and cooling guys to repair the unit, most tenants just leave."

"Don't they leave a mess?" asked my stepmom.

"That is when my father calls me," I said.

"Why?" asked my stepmom.

"I am the guy who goes in there to clean everything up," I said.

"That sounds like a lousy job," said my stepmom.

"That is why I am going back to school," I said, "I am tired of cleaning up after my dad."

"Good for you," said my stepmom.

My stepmom suddenly looked away from me. Obviously, my stepmom did not want to betray any of her inner thoughts. I came forward and knelt before her, but she did not want to meet my gaze.

"I did what you told me to do," I said.

"I appreciate that," said my stepmom.

"I know I am to blame for your divorce," I said, "And I am so sorry."

"It was never your fault," said my stepmom, "Your father is just an arrogant son-of-a-bitch."

Greta stood up with her back to me. Her gorgeous legs stiffened. I could feel the anger and tension rising in her body. Of course, I felt so guilty.

"I am so sorry," I said again.

"There is no need to apologize," said my stepmom, "He would have found another reason to divorce me."

Finally, my stepmom turned to me. She tried to force a smile.

"He is so worried about how he looks to his friends," said my stepmom.

I wanted to reach out to her. I wanted to give her a reassuring hug. I wanted to tell her that not all men acted like my father, but I didn't want to scare her away either. She stood before me with her arms crossed. Her proud face displayed all of the indignant anger she had reserved for my father.

"You're probably the same way," said my stepmom.

My stepmom stared at me and waited for my response. Finally, I nodded my head in agreement. What did I know? Perhaps, my stepmom was right.

"You are probably right," I said finally, "I hope you find someone who will make you happy."

At that, the snake hissed. We both looked at the bushel basket. The head of the snake was peeking out.

"What are you going to do with the snake?" I asked.

"I never did like snakes," said my stepmom, "But I guess I need to return it to the photographer."

I went to the stack of clean clothes behind the bushel basket and gave my stepmother a pair of sweats and a hoodie. I presented her the clothes and pointed to my tiny bathroom.

"I was surprised to see you holding a snake," I said.

"I don't need these," said my stepmother.

I looked at my stepmother in the eyes and down at her paper thin kimono. I wondered where she kept her car keys. On the hand, my stepmother drove an old Buick that was two decades past its prime. That was one car that no one wanted to steal.

With a frown, Greta took the sweats and the hoodie anyway. In a flash, my stepmom disappeared into my bathroom for a moment to change. I turned to glare at the big black snake in my laundry bushel. I wanted to take a machete and chop the naughty reptile into tiny bite-size pieces. Before I could act on the impulse, my stepmother returned. Needless to say, my stepmom looked better in my clothes than I did. She knelt down before the bushel basket and gently picked up the snake.

"Thank you," said my stepmother.

Without warning, my stepmother kissed me on the lips. Before I could react, my stepmother unlocked the door and walked out into the early morning dawn. I felt emptiness inside me as she disappeared around the corner. I wanted to chase after her and declare my love for her, but I was afraid of chasing her away from me. I knew Greta was hurting from the divorce. Sadly, I only reminded her of my father.

With great sadness, I stood at the door as the sunlight grew brighter and brighter. It was a new day and I had to live that day without her. Maybe I would find someone else to take her place. My stepmother was the first person who stood up for me when it came to my father. Now, my stepmother paid the ultimate price and she was getting a divorce. No one had ever been that devoted to me before, and she deserved my complete loyalty.

I sighed. I was so envious of my father. The hairs on the back of my head stood up each time I imagined my father having sex with Greta. At times, I felt like I would trade ten years of my life just to have Greta as my own wife. Alas, my wife would be fruitless if I had nothing to offer Greta. Shaking my head, I did not even have a decent home for her, or any other woman for that matter. I was just a young man with a dream. Sure, I was taking classes as the local community college, but tuition ate up most of my take-home pay. There was barely enough for a decent meal each day.

Of course, it was not always this way. Two years ago, I managed to get a football scholarship to my father's alma mater. I was on top of the world and my father was very proud of me. That was also after he had met my stepmother, Greta, and life was sweet for my father. He had a young wife and a kick-ass son who was on his way to the pros.

As luck would have it, I never made it to the pros. Our first game was against our biggest rival in the state. On the first play, the quarterback tossed me the football and I ran down the sidelines. Unfortunately, I never made it far. Several players from the other team grabbed me and tossed me like a ragdoll off the field. To make matters worse, they tossed me right onto the bench of the opposing team. Since I was still holding the ball, the rear of the metal bench broke both of my arms. If that was not painful enough, my crotch landed on the cold steel of the metal bench and shattered the cup I was wearing. I learned later that the plastic pieces shredded my manhood like a propeller.

To add insult to injury, all of this was captured on videotape. The video clip was played over and over by the sportscasters. This made my father furious. He had never been so humiliated in his life. He was so ashamed of me that he never once visited me at the hospital. It was months before I was able to leave the hospital.
I underwent surgery to reconstruct my penis despite the fact that the prognosis was hopeless. In the end, Dr. Ludlum cobbled together the remaining tissue around a ten inch plastic tube. It was her hope that the remaining tissue would heal. Still, she was careful not to inflate my hopes. There was a distinct possibility that I would have to live life without ever having another erection. Dr. Ludlum pointed out that ten inches was the optimum length to increase the chances of proper insemination. She said the sperm count should return to normal, but that would take considerable time.

During this time, my father stayed as far away from the house. He found every reason not to be home and talk to his own son. Of course, this made Greta furious. I would hear them arguing on the phone.

"He is your own son," said my stepmom, "It would not kill you to at least talk to him."

My father never did talk to me. He would send me text messages with what he wanted me to do, but that was the extent of my dealings with my dad. As my respect for my father dwindled, my respect for my stepmom rose. She barely knew me and she was actually on my side. From that day forward, I took my deflated ego and swore to make my stepmom happy.

Regrettably, I was not much use to anyone. I had casts on both arms and required help going to the bathroom. Despite the fact that my father did not want anyone else living in the house, my father consented to having Greta's mother live with us. The other solution was to have an in-home nurse. Of course, my father did not want to pay for an in-home nurse.

At this point in time, I was great pain and my usual reluctance to accept help was set aside. Greta brought her mother into my room. Since I could not dress myself, I was pretty much confined to my bedroom in a bathrobe. One morning, Greta introduced me to her mother.

"Mike," said my stepmother, "This is my mother, Betty."

I took one look at Betty and wondered if this was actually her sister. They looked so similar that I wondered if the pain medication was making me hallucinate. Betty was as beautiful as her daughter. She was also well-endowed. Whereas Greta had long blonde hair, Betty had long, black hair. Both women had the same lovely blue eyes and that mischievous smile.

Without asking, Betty came forward. Her breasts were much larger than that of her daughter and she made certain I took notice of them. Betty wore a simple sundress, but the front was strategically unbuttoned to reveal more of her cleavage. I also noticed that her nipples were pushing against the thin fabric of her dress. As she mesmerized me, Betty shook my hand.

"Glad to meet you, Mike," said Betty.

Betty giggled like a schoolgirl when I stammered for something to say. I glanced over at Greta and noticed that Greta did not approve of her mother's behavior.

"Mom, are you flirting again?" asked Greta.

Betty shrugged her shoulders. She frowned at her daughter.

"Your son is staring at my boobs," said Betty, "What am I supposed to do?"

I blushed. Greta glared at me. I was caught red-handed. Whereas Greta was fuming, Betty was starting to like the extra attention.

"Can I see it?" asked Betty.

"Mother," said Greta, "He is still doped up."

"This is the best time," said Betty, "He won't remember we were even here."

Without asking, Betty lifted up my bathrobe. I tried to crawl up the bed and away from her, but I was too weak to run away. I knew she was going to laugh at my Frankenstein penis, but I was wrong. Her jaw dropped and her eyes grew big.

"Holy crap," Betty said, "Was it always that big?"

Once more, I was blushing. There was nothing worse than having two beautiful women examining your penis.

"No," said Greta.

"Was it always that thick?" Betty asked.

"No," said Greta.

"I don't understand," said Betty.

"The doctor wanted more length," said Greta.

"Why?" asked Betty, "It looks like a freaking baseball bat."

"Even if he can't have an erection," said Greta, "He can still get someone pregnant."

Betty nodded her head. She seemed to agree with the doctor's prognosis.

"Can he have an erection?" asked Betty.

"No one knows," said Greta.

"How long before it heals completely?" Betty asked.

"We will see," said Greta, "It has only been a few weeks since the surgery."

"I see," said Betty.

Unceremoniously, Betty grabbed my rear end and rolled me over. There was a look of horror on her face. She pointed to the lines of scarred tissue across my back and below my waist.

"What are those?" asked Betty.

"I don't know," said Greta, "I have never seen those before."

"Who did this to you?" asked Betty, "Did your father do this to you?"

I sighed. I was hoping no one would ever see those scars. My father used his belt to whip me into submission. Each time I disobeyed his orders, I was treated to a few more stripes across my rear end. At times, my father would miss and I would get a few stripes across my lower back. The scars started to appear when the previous whip marks failed to heal completely.

The worst beating came when I tried to run away. I didn't get very far because my father's employees saw me leaving. I was brought back and promptly whipped while his employees watched. I wondered if my father purposely whipped me in front of his employees as a warning to anyone who wanted to disobey his direct orders. Whatever the reason, these scars were now on display for Greta and Betty to see.

"Oh crap," said Betty, "This boy is covered with marks."

"I sure hope my husband was not the one to do all of this," said Greta.

"Let us ask him," said Betty.

"Did your father do all of this?" asked Greta.

With resignation, I nodded. There was no use hiding the truth from them. My father was the only family I had.

"You have to be careful what you say to your husband," said Betty, "Your husband could be one sadistic son-of-a-bitch."

"Now I am getting worried," said Greta, "I had no idea he was like this."

Afterwards, Betty rolled me back so that my scars would be hidden from view. Promptly, Greta pulled down my bathrobe and covered up my manhood. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Mom," said Greta, "I have you in the next room."

That was the arrangement. Betty was in the room next to mine. Whenever I had to go to the bathroom, I was to call for Betty.

Since I was still taking painkillers, I forgot to call Betty the first time I had to go to the bathroom. I tried to aim my penis with two broken arms. Eventually, Betty found me trying to use the bathroom without help. As luck would have it, I accidentally tinkled on her shoes. Needless to say, Betty started cursing me and walked out of the bathroom.

Ashamed, I wanted to cry. I just stood there helpless. I had the feeling it was going to be a long recovery process.

To my surprise, Betty came back. This time she had no shoes. Without asking for my permission, Betty pushed back the sides of my bathrobe and exposed my mangled penis.

Betty hesitated for a moment. I knew exactly why she hesitated. Somehow, her job description did not include holding onto a stranger's penis. With one hand, Betty aimed my member and I urinated into the toilet.

To my surprise, Betty examined my penis very carefully. I was embarrassed about my penis, but Betty seemed to take great interest in my member like a scientist.

"Does it hurt?" asked Betty.

"Not right now," I said.

"Can you feel anything?" asked Betty.

At that, Betty looked at me while she playfully squeezed the shaft. I nodded.

"Does that hurt when I squeeze it?" asked Betty.

I shook my head. I was not sure where the conversation was heading.

"Interesting," said Betty mischievously.

At that, Betty gave me a quick squeeze on the shaft and left the bathroom. I was not sure whether or not she was still mad at me, but I decided not to ask.

The next day, my stepmother had to go see her lawyer. The marriage was dissolving right in front of everyone's eyes. Every day, my stepmother was yelling and screaming on the phone at my father. I knew Greta wanted her husband home, but there was no concession on my father's part. I knew how stubborn my father could be. He didn't like to be told what to do or that he was wrong.

When I awoke that morning, my stepmother came into my room with Betty. She greeted me with her usual smile, but there were bags under her eyes. I sat up in bed and waited for them to talk.

"Usually I would get your prescriptions," Greta said, "But I have to see the lawyer today."

My stepmother looked at me closely. She took a look at my colorless face with one raised eyebrow.

"I guess you need your pain medications today," said Greta.

Weakly, I nodded my head. Greta turned to Betty and gave her instructions on getting to the pharmacy. In less than a half hour, Betty had hustled me in and out of the shower. Afterwards, Betty stuffed me in the back of the family sedan in jeans and a t-shirt. To no one's surprise, I was happy to wear something besides a bathrobe. Still, I had not underwear. Needless to say, there was no underwear designed to cover ten permanent inches of manhood, so I was given a loose pair of blue jeans.

As it turned out, the family sedan was an old Lincoln Continental. Usually, I was not allowed to ride in the family sedan. The Lincoln Continental was strictly reserved for guests. To say the least, my father did not believe in giving his children their own vehicles. As a result, I learned to drive in a company truck. Today, I was in a lot of pain, so the smooth ride in the Lincoln Continental made the drive tolerable.

Soon, Betty and I were off to the pharmacy. I had never been to this particular pharmacy, but Betty had no problem finding her way there. Looking out the window, I quickly noticed that this neighborhood had no gated communities. Beggars wandered over broken pavement like zombies. Many windows were boarded up and it was hard to tell which buildings were actually occupied. Widespread graffiti could not hide the broken masonry on the walls. All of the old newspapers being blown around could not hide the broken asphalt on the streets.

Today, Betty did not wear any jewelry for a reason. In fact, Betty wore a frumpy old dress that she probably found on sale at the dollar store. At first, I thought Betty would be scared. To my surprise, Betty seemed very comfortable walking through this neighborhood.

Betty stopped the Lincoln Continental in front of a battered brick and stone building. From the decorative stonework, I guessed that the building was originally built during the Great Depression. The windows were covered with cigarette and alcohol advertisements. In the distance, I heard the clicking of a train rolling down a track. There was a giant concrete overpass that cast its shadow over the crumbling sidewalk. Despite my fear, I was ushered out of the sedan and into the pharmacy.

Betty and I waited in line for a few minutes when two men showed up. Without warning, the barrel-chested men confronted Betty. From the look on Betty's face, these men were not there to ask for the time.

"You are coming with us," said the first man to Betty.

"The boss wants to see you," said the second man.

A look of fear came over Betty's face and I knew we were in serious trouble. Without thinking, I put my body between the men and Betty. Since I was still in pain, I was starting to get annoyed at the men's lack of respect for my driver. I needed my pain pills and these two clowns were keeping me from getting them.

"Who are you?" asked the first man.

"Beat it, kid," said the second man.

"I don't think so," I said snarled.

To their surprise, I straightened myself up and looked down at the two men. Of course, the two men saw my two broken arms in casts and started laughing.

"What the hell do you think you are going to do?" asked the first man.

"Look at this kid," said the second man, "He has a cast on each arm."

"Can you even write with those hands?" asked the first man.

They started laughing. The first man pulled out his revolver and started waving it in front of my face. I stared at the gun for moment and shrugged. I told myself that there was probably a security camera somewhere and the police were probably on their way. In fact, the people waiting in line scattered like pigeons seeing a cat. The pharmacist behind the counter shut the pass-through door and flipped the sign to indicate that the pharmacy was closed for the rest of the day.

"Why are you not afraid?" asked the first man, "Are you stupid or something?"

My body shook. I needed the pain medication soon or the pain was going to get progressively worse. Betty stood behind me and trembled with fear. I had the feeling that these two men were there to abduct her.

"She is not going anywhere," I declared.

"Who are you?" asked the second man, "Who do you think you are?"

"He is a dead man," said the first man.

"This is my fiancé," I said.

The two men laughed.

"Did you know that she is a hooker?" asked the first man, "The boss wants her back and you're going to turn around and leave."

"He looks like a rich kid," said the second man.

"What is he going to do? Is he going to write us some checks?" asked the first man.

They laughed hysterically. The second man went to the counter and picked up two ball-point pens. He placed a pen in each one of my hands.

"Go ahead, rich kid," said the first man mockingly, "Write us some checks."

"Your daddy can't save you once we put a bullet through your chest," said the second man.

The two men continued to laugh. Enough was enough. I was fed up with people laughing at me. With great anger, I thrust both ballpoint pens forward. The tips of each pen sank into their throats. Blood started to trickle out. Betty screamed. The revolver dropped to the floor. I backed off. The ballpoint pens were still stuck in their throats as they gasped for air. They looked at me in horror as they tried to pull the pens out of their neck.

I pushed the men aside and pounded on the pharmacy counter. Betty was still trembling, but she was able to coax the pharmacist to re-open.

"Please help us," said Betty, "My grandson needs his medications."

"No," said the pharmacist from behind the door, "We don't want anyone getting hurt."

"They won't be a problem anymore," I declared, "But you probably need to call an ambulance."

With great caution, the pharmacist opened the door and looked at the two men. Both men were writhing in pain on the floor. There were pools of blood in front of each man.

Thrusting the doctor's note forward, Betty took the opportunity to present the pharmacist with my prescription. The pharmacist peered at the note for a few seconds, memorized the name, and left us waiting. After a few minutes, the pharmacist returned and handed Betty a bag with his quivering hands. We could hear the sound of pills inside the bag. My name was printed in bold letters on the outside of the bag.

Without delay, Betty tried to give the pharmacist some money, but the pharmacist insisted on accepting nothing for the pills. After Betty took the pills, the pharmacist promptly pushed us out of the store. We left before the police arrived and neither one of us spoke a word all the way home.

That night, Betty and I sat across the table from Greta. My stepmother had seen the news and instantly recognized her mother on the security footage. Of course, the guy with the two casts was me. Needless to say, my stepmother was not happy with the results of the confrontation. Greta was already unhappy about the trip to the divorce lawyer, but she was furious when she saw the news footage on television.

At the table, Betty stared down at her salad and picked at the lettuce without saying a word. I tried to drink my stepmother's protein shake without puking. The green protein shake was a mixture of kale, carrots, and seeds. In all honesty, it smelled like fungus and tasted like re-fried beans. My body wanted meat, but no one made any attempt to give me anything else.

"Mom," said Greta, "You were supposed to keep a low profile."

"How was I supposed to know that they were following me?" asked Betty.

"What possessed you to take on two criminals?" asked Greta to me, "You can't even go to the bathroom by yourself."

"No one is hurting your mother while I am around," I said firmly.

"Do you have a death wish or something?" asked Greta.

"I was in pain," I said, "I needed my medications and those two idiots decided to get in the way."

"You were going to get yourself in a world of pain," said Greta.

"I was already in pain," I muttered to myself.

Of course, I didn't look at my stepmother directly in the eyes. I knew she was furious. When she finished her dinner, Greta stood up and walked to the kitchen. Instinctively, I watched her walk away in her tight athletic pants and sports bra. The bright colors seemed to light up the room and draw attention to her slim figure. I watched as her gorgeous posterior muscles tightened with each step she took. Unfortunately, Betty noticed that I was watching her daughter. I felt a warm hand on my knee.

"Are you in love with my daughter?" asked Betty

With eyes as wide as saucers, I turned to Betty. I knew that I had been caught. There was a mischievous smile on her face. I wanted to deny that I was watching at Greta's gorgeous body, but nothing came out of my mouth. Betty giggled.

"You are one naughty boy," said Betty with a giggle, "Shame on you."

"I didn't do anything," I said innocently.

"You were checking out her ass," said Betty.

"It was an accident," I said.

"She is supposed to be your mother," said Betty, "Shame on you."

"Is it a crime to love your mother?" I asked.

"I thought I was supposed to be your fiancé," said Betty teasingly.

"My mom would kill me if she found out that I said that," I said in a whisper.

"So why did you say that I was your fiancé?" asked Betty.

"Please don't be angry that I said that," I said.

"So was that a slip of the tongue?" asked Betty.

I looked down at my green shake and sighed. I had no idea why I called Betty my fiancée. Maybe my mind revealed my true intentions. I knew I was blushing as Betty looked at me suspiciously. Finally, Betty smiled. She knew that I had unintentionally spilled the beans.

"Are you mad at me?" I asked.

"Did you know that I am still married?" asked Betty playfully.

"So what were those men talking about?" I asked, "Did they work for your husband?"

"I haven't seen my husband in twenty years," said Betty, "Besides that is none of your business."

"If I am going to jail for you," I said teasingly, "I would like to know why."

"No one is going to jail," said Betty.

"So why were those guys looking for you?" I asked.

"I am not telling you anything," repeated Betty.

"Why won't you tell me?" I asked.

"You are just a pervert," said Betty, "You need to be slapped for looking at my daughter like that."

"I happen to like girls older than myself," I said teasingly.

Betty glared at me.

"That is my daughter," said Betty indignantly, "And she is your mother."

"Okay, okay," I said, holding my hands up in mock surrender.

"Besides I think you are older than my daughter," said Betty.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"I am sure," said Betty.

Finally, I stopped arguing with Betty. I cast my gaze to the floor and apologized.

"I am really sorry," I said.

"You better be sorry," said Betty.

By this time, my stepmother had returned. Betty arose from the table.

"I am not very hungry tonight," said Betty, "I am going to go to bed now."

As Betty stood up from the table, Greta went over to her mother and gave her a hug.

"I just don't want anything bad to happen to you," said Greta, "I don't know what I would do if I lost you."
"I would be just fine," said Betty.

Greta waited for her mother to leave before talking to me. As Betty walked away, I tried not to look at Betty the way I had looked Greta. I had already been caught once. There was no need to push my luck. When I looked up, my stepmother was sitting again. I saw the empathy in her face.

"I know you have a lot of anger towards your father," said Greta.

I nodded.

"I do, too," said Greta.

"Does that mean you are getting a divorce?" I asked.

"I don't know," said Greta, "I actually spoke with your father at the lawyer's office."

"Will I ever see you again?" I asked.

Greta sighed. She probably did not want me getting involved in the divorce negotiations.

"Do you promise not to take your anger out on anyone else if your father and I get a divorce?" asked Greta.

I thought for a moment about my future. Soon, my father was going to kick me out of the house without a penny to my name. To make matters worse, I would never see Greta or Betty again. I had the feeling Greta was going to take her mother miles and miles away from here.

"Okay," I said finally.

"Please understand," said Greta, "None of this is anyone's fault."

I looked at my stepmother. This entire situation was my father's fault. He was the one who was too proud to come home to his wounded son. He was the one who refused to forgive his new wife for taking sides with his son.

"I don't believe that," I said, "I don't think you believe that either."

My stepmother sighed. Greta did not sound too convincing. Still, my stepmother looked me in the eye and made me swear to her.

"Promise me," said Greta.

"Okay, okay," I said, with my hands up in mock surrender, "But only for you and your mother."

"Thank you," said Greta, "I appreciate that."

The next day, Betty found me in the exercise room in the basement. I had never seen my father in that exercise room, so I had always assumed the room was designed for me. Since my hands and arms were completely useless, I found the machine to do leg lifts. Earlier that morning, I got myself dressed without Betty's help by arranging my clothes on the bed and sliding into them. It was a clumsy process, but I was desperate for some privacy. Being cooped up in the house was driving me crazy.

After nearly a month in recovery, I had grown bored watching television. The daytime game shows were no longer exciting. All of the reality shows seemed to lack authenticity. The news shows and talk shows were all about the evils of conservatism.

I needed to do something. I should have appreciated this time of inactivity and rest, but my father had raised me to be a man of action. I knew of people who would have been completely happy watching television all day, but I was not one of those people.

I went to the exercise machine designed for leg lifts. Since I could not change the settings on the machine, I sat down and hoped the settings were not too high. I pushed with all of my might with my legs. To my dismay, the pedals only moved a few inches and I was reduced to a blubbering pile of sweat. My strength had left me.

When Betty found me, I was perspiring. She looked at me in horror.

"What are you trying to do?" asked Betty.

I stopped what I was doing and looked up at Betty. The raven-haired beauty looked at my disheveled shirt and shorts. I knew she was wondering how I managed to get into the shirt and shorts without the use of hands.

"I am exercising," I said finally.

"You are supposed to be in bed," said Betty.

I rolled my eyes.

"I am so bored sleeping and watching television all day," I said.

"Most people would be happy to just sleep and watch television all day," said Betty.

"I thought so, too," I said, "But I was wrong."

"Can't you find something on television?" asked Betty.

"The financial shows are interesting," I said, "But I can't stand the rest."

Betty sat down next to me. She sighed. The woman took a look at all the expensive and almost-new exercise equipment all around her.

"My daughter says I should exercise, too," said Betty.

"Good," I said, "We can both exercise."

"I can't lie to you," said Betty, "I'm bored sitting around all day, too."

"Why don't you take a day off?" I asked.

"I can't do that," said Betty.

"Why can't you go out?" I asked.

"My daughter says it is not safe out there for me," said Betty.

"Why isn't it safe out there for you?" I asked, "Are you wanted by the police?"

"No," said Betty, "And that is none of your business."

"You don't look like a criminal," I said.

Betty frowned.

"Thanks for nothing," said Betty.

"Do you owe money to someone?" I asked.

"No," said Betty.

"So what is there to worry about?" I asked.

"I don't know," said Betty.

There was an awkward pause as I thought about what to say next.

"I am so bored," I said, "I actually want to exercise."

Betty laughed.

"You must really be bored," said Betty.

"I could just be losing my mind," I said.

"In my experience," said Betty, "The smartest people get bored watching television."

"What are you trying to say?" I asked.

"Maybe you should go back to college," said Betty.

"Did Greta tell you what happened?" I asked.

"She told me that it was an accident," said Betty.

I sighed. I always felt embarrassed every time the accident was mentioned.

"I don't think my dad is sending me back to college any time soon," I said.

"Why not?" asked Betty.

"I think my dad is going to kick me out of the house," I said.

"What makes you say that?" Betty asked.

"I can hear Greta's conversations," I said.

"Everyone hears my daughter's conversations," said Betty, "They are always yelling and screaming at each other."

"I think I know why you are here," I said.

Betty looked at me out of the corner of her eyes. She waited for my answer.

"Why am here?" asked Betty.

"My father is too cheap to hire a really in-home nurse," I said, "That is why he asked Greta to bring you here."

Betty laughed.

"I didn't think of that," said Betty, "But I think you are absolutely correct."

"When I was growing up," I said, "My father had me mow the lawns for all of his properties."

"Why didn't your father hire a landscaping crew?" asked Betty.

"I was free labor," I said.

Betty and I both laughed. I found it absurd that my father made me work without pay. Betty shook her head. She probably found it absurd that someone with such wealth would cut corners by making his own son work for free.

There was an awkward pause. We avoided each other's glances. We were both tired of being cooped up inside. Even though the television set had over eight hundred satellite channels, we were both tired of sitting around watching television.

"I don't see a pool here," said Betty.

"This house never had a pool," I said.

"Why doesn't your father have a pool here?" asked Betty.

"My father doesn't like pools," I said.

"Greta says he owns a lot of apartment complexes," said Betty, "Don't they have pools?"

"They all have pools," I said.

"How do you know that?" asked Betty.

"That is because I have had to clean all of them," I said.

"Aren't you a rich kid?" asked Betty.

"My father is rich," I said.

"I know that," said Betty.

"I am not rich," I said, "I own nothing."

"Aren't you going to inherit all of this someday?" asked Betty.

I shook my head.

"I don't think so," I said, "I don't think I am even in my father's will."

"I don't believe you," said Betty.

"Have you listened to Greta's phone conversations?" I asked.

"Don't you get birthday gifts and Christmas gifts?" asked Betty.

I laughed as I shook my head.

"I don't even have a car to drive," I said, "I have to hitch a ride with his landscaping crew."

"Do you have driver's license?" asked Betty.

"Yes," I said, "But don't tell my dad."

"Why not?" asked Betty.

"My dad doesn't know I have a driver's license," I said.

"How come your father doesn't know? How did you get a driver's license?" asked Betty.

"I asked one of the landscaping guys to teach me how to drive," I said.

"I don't believe you," said Betty.

"I used the company truck to take the driving test," I said.

"Did your father know about the driving test?" asked Betty.

"No," I said, "And I would appreciate it if you don't tell him."

"How are you going to keep that a secret?" asked Betty.

"I have my own post office box, too," I said.

"That was smart," said Betty, "At least you can still have mail even if your father kicks you out of the house."

I sighed. I was not looking forward to my father kicking me out of the house. I was sure my father was not going to tell me until the very last minute. Unbeknownst to my father, Betty and I could hear all of Greta's conversations.

"My daughter says I should try a sports bra," said Betty.

"Why did she say that?" I asked.

"My daughter says I should wear yoga pants," said Betty.

"Do you do yoga?" I asked.

"Absolutely not," said Betty, "I don't know anything about yoga."

"I think you would look great in exercise clothes," I said.

"Are you kidding me?" asked Betty, "Why do you young people love exercise clothes?"

"What is wrong with exercise clothes?" I asked.

"Exercise clothes show off all of your flaws," said Betty.

"But you don't have any flaws," I said.

Her eyes grew big. She did not believe I had just said that. Betty paused. She had not expected the compliment.

"I can't believe you just said that," said Betty.

"What is wrong with what I said?" I asked.

"Are you still trying to get into my pants?" asked Betty in frustration, "Don't you know I am still a married woman?"

"You said you haven't seen your husband in twenty years," I said.

"So what if I haven't seen my husband in twenty years?" asked Betty.

"Why don't you divorce him and marry me?" I asked.

Betty glared at me. She was wondering why I was sitting there with a huge grin on my face.

"Have you taken your medication yet?" asked Betty.

"No," I said.

"Have you had breakfast?" asked Betty.

"No," I said, "I would rather starve than have another one of those green protein shakes."

Betty sighed. She rolled her eyes.

"I can't stand these high-fiber, high protein breakfasts," said Betty.

"Those protein shakes give me all sorts of gas," I said.

Betty started laughing.

"You are not the only one having gas," admitted Betty.

"Maybe we can go get pancakes or waffles somewhere," I said.

"How do we do that?" asked Betty, "Don't you know we are not allowed to go anywhere?"

Betty was right. Greta was just like my father. There was never any time for fun with my father. It was always about making money and working hard. Even though most people admired those traits, our father and son relationship suffered. Even when he was away, my father seemed to call at just the right time to keep me from seeing my friends or go to a party. After a while, I didn't have any more friends in high school.

"My dad doesn't let me do anything either," I said.

"My daughter is always telling me to stay out of trouble," said Betty.

"At least we have one thing in common," I said.

Betty nodded. Then she asked me a hard question.

"Why don't you leave?" asked Betty, "Why don't you start a new life somewhere else?"

"I tried to run away once," I said.

"What happened?" asked Betty.

"My father had some guys track me down," I said.

"Was he happy to see you again?" asked Betty.

"No," I said, "He beat my ass so hard that I could not walk the next day."

"Is that how you got those scars across your back?" asked Betty.

"That was the last time I ever crossed him," I said.

There was an awkward pause. I was not sure if Betty understood what my father was capable of doing.

"You can't live in fear for the rest of your life," said Betty.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"My dad is going to kick me out anyway," I said, "It is only a matter of time."

"When do you think he is going to kick you out?" asked Betty.

"If I heard correctly," I said, "My father will kick me out of the house after the casts come off."

"I don't think you will leave the house," said Betty.

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

"This is a beautiful place," said Betty.

I sighed.

"This is not my place," I said, "And my dad doesn't want me here for much longer."

Betty shook her head. She did not believe me when I talked about my father.

"Do you want to see something cool about this house?" I asked.

"What are you talking about?" asked Betty.

I went over to the far wall of the exercise room. This wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. I went to the corner and gently pushed against the wall. Immediately, that part of the wall swung open. It was a secret door. Beyond the door, Betty could see a row of priceless sports cars. Betty's eyes grew big.

"What is that room?" asked Betty.

"This is where my father stores his beloved sports cars," I said.

"How did you know about this?" asked Betty.

"I followed him one day," I said, "He left the house when my stepmother thought he was exercising."

Betty frowned.

"Your father is such a rat bastard," said Betty, "I bet he was cheating on my daughter."

"I used this same door to leave the house once," I said.

"Was this the time that you ran away from home?" asked Betty.

I nodded.

"My father stopped using this door after I found out," said Betty.

"What does he do nowadays?" asked Betty.

"Nowadays," I said, "My father has a secret apartment in Las Vegas."

"Why am I not surprised?" asked Betty.

At that, Betty turned around and left the room. I watched as Betty swung her hips from side to side like a professional stripper. I found it curious that Betty did not walk with any modesty whatsoever. In fact, Betty seemed to delight in drawing attention to her muscular posterior.

A few minutes later, Betty returned with her daughter, Greta. She pulled her daughter to the far side of the room where I was standing.

"What am I supposed to see?" asked Greta.

"Is that a secret door?" asked Betty.

"I never knew about this door," said Greta.

"Junior says his father sneaks out of the house through this door," said Betty.

Greta crossed her arms. She was furious. My stepmother looked through the door and shook her head at all the shiny automobiles. She pulled out a finger and counted the total number of vehicles and whistled.

"Does the divorce lawyer know about all of these expensive cars?" asked Betty.

"Don't worry," said Greta, "I am going to call my lawyer after we get done here."

"That is why the house looks bigger from the outside," said Betty, "No one knows about this half of house."

"This is how that son-of-a-bitch disappeared on me," said Greta.

"I didn't know that," said Betty.

"My husband and I had an argument one day," said Greta, "He probably used this door to disappear."

"There is more," said Betty.

"What else do I need to know?" asked Greta.

"Ask junior here," said Betty.

"What do I need to know, Mike?" asked Greta.

"My father has a secret apartment in Las Vegas," I said.

"How do you know this?" asked Greta.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"He has always had a secret apartment in Las Vegas," I said.

"Have you ever been there?" asked Greta.

"No," I said.

"So how do you know that he has a secret apartment in Las Vegas?" asked Greta.

"My father brags to his friends about the secret apartment all the time," I said.

"My deadbeat husband had a secret apartment in Las Vegas, too," said Betty.

Greta raised her hands up into the air in frustration.

"Why am I the last one to know about these things?" asked Greta.

"Did you see what is in this room?" I asked.

Greta and Betty stepped into my father's secret garage. They marveled at the classic sports cars.

"There are six cars in here," said Greta.

"My father tells people the cars are worth a half millions dollars," I said.

"Why are you telling me all this?" asked Greta.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"I will never own them," I said, "But maybe you will."

"Maybe you should tell your divorce lawyer," said Betty.

Greta nodded her head in agreement.

"Thanks, Mike," said Greta.

Betty stood beside me and squeezed my shoulders. I saw the smile on her face and it made me happy. Greta saw her mother standing next to me and immediately placed herself in between.

"You two are getting too friendly with each other," said Greta.

"Good work, junior," said Betty.

"Thanks," I said to Betty.

The next day, Betty came into my bedroom. She wore a brightly colored athletic pants and a matching sports bra. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and there was a bead of sweat on her forehead. I almost swore that I was looking at Greta, with the exception of the larger bosoms and the darker hair. Needless to say, her outfit immediately put a smile on my fact. I could clearly see all of her luscious curves. Carefully, I tried to cover myself with my bathrobe. Just in case I started enjoying the view, I didn't want my manhood active and exposed.

"Are you working out?" I asked.

"It was your mother's idea," said Betty.

"You look great," I said.

Betty stopped. I could tell that she was not expecting a compliment. A smile came to her face and one of her eyebrows was raised in suspicion.

"You are trying to get into my pants," said Betty.

"Everybody is trying to get into your pants," I said plainly.

Betty gasped. Playfully, she slapped me on the face.

"That is an awful thing to say," said Betty, "You should be ashamed of yourself."

"It is the truth," I said.

"All guys are pigs," said Betty.

"Why don't you admit it?" I said, "You are beautiful and you know guys want to get into your pants."

Betty rolled her eyes. However, that did not stop Betty from looking in the mirror to check out her muscular posterior.

"You look great," I said again.

The raven-haired beauty stood in front my mirror. I sat there and watched. From behind, Betty looked exactly like Greta with the exception of her hair color. I loved the muscle tone on her posterior. From what people told me, regular exercise did nothing for the posterior. Instead, I heard a rumor that a person only developed muscle tone on their posterior through daily sexual activity. If that was the case, Betty must have had plenty of lovers.

"Are you checking out my ass?" asked Betty.

I tried to say something in my defense, but my mouth only produced a stream of unintelligible syllables. Betty turned and walked towards me. That is when I noticed that her nipples poked through the thin, man-made fabric. To make matters worse, her breasts jiggled each time she took a step.

"Are you checking out my tits?" asked Betty.

I tried to say something, but Betty placed a finger over my lips. She looked at me sternly.

"There is no use lying to me," said Betty, "I can tell if you are lying to me."

"Sorry," I said.

Today, Betty was more than happy to help me in the bathroom. I noticed she was always eager to touch my member. I was not sure why because it was full of scars. Still, Betty seemed to take her time examining it.

In like manner, Betty helped me with my lunch. This was something she had refused to do the day before. Since I had stitches on my fingers, I was absolutely useless at the dinner table. I could barely hold a glass to drink. In the same way, I could barely use a fork and a spoon.

Before dinner, Betty and I sat me down on the edge of the bed. Playfully, she patted me on the knees. There was no anger on her face, so I waited for her to speak.

"Why are there no pictures on the walls?" asked Betty.

"I don't know," I said, "That is what my father always wanted."

"There are no family photos anywhere," said Betty.

"If you had as many ex-wives as my father," I said, "You would not be putting up any family photos, either."
Betty shook her head. I had to agree with Betty. My father's aversion to family photos seemed to border on obsession. In fact, I did not know of any pictures of me and my dad together.

"That is so weird," said Betty.

"I agree," I said.

"Your mother wanted me to talk to you," said Betty.

I looked into her bright blue eyes and waited for her to speak. Betty was absolutely stunning in her athletic pants and sports bar. The exercise clothes were tight to her skin and succeeded in smoothing out her figure. On top of that, I smelled her sweet perspiration. For these reasons, her close proximity to me made me happy.

"I know what is going on with you," said Betty.

"Sure," I said mockingly, "I want to know, too."

Betty looked at me the way a teacher looked at a student. Usually, I would have stepped out of the room. All my life, I had been the target of my father's many criticisms, so I was not thrilled about getting another lecture from anyone else. Still, Betty's thighs were warm and soft next to my bare legs. Perhaps, I was taking too many medications. I had no idea why I lingered so long in Betty's presence. She said she was twenty years older than me, but I was not sure.

"You are lonely," said Betty.

"Maybe," I said.

"How long have you been here in this house?" Betty asked.

"The accident was at least a month ago," I said.

"Have you talked to any girls since then?" Betty asked.

I thought about it for moment. Then, I sadly shook my head.

"I broke up with my girlfriend right after the accident," I said.

"Were you having sex with your girlfriend?" Betty asked.

"No," I said.

Betty looked confused. She frowned. Obviously, Betty did not believe a word I was saying.

"I only dated her so I can make someone else jealous," I said.

"I see," said Betty.

"I really wanted this other girl," I said, "I have been chasing after her all through high school."

"Are you saying you didn't like your girlfriend?" Betty asked.

"She was the most popular girl at school," I said, "But it was just a show."

"What?" Betty asked.

"My girlfriend didn't want to have sex with the boy she really wanted," I said, "So she dated me because I was too scared to touch her."

"How did that go?" asked Betty.

"Not too good," I said.

I sighed. I replayed the confession in my head and decided that my dealings with women were utter failures. I stared at the floor. A melancholy feeling swept over me. Was my entire life a complete failure? Maybe my father was right. I was just an embarrassment for everyone.

Betty gently nudged me back from my sadness. I felt her finger under my chin. She was trying to steer me back from despair.

"Thank you for sticking up for me the other day," said Betty.

"I could not let anyone take you away from me," I said.

"You make it sound like I am your girlfriend," said Betty, "I am probably twice your age."

"What is wrong with that?" I asked.

"You are just lonely," said Betty, "Once you get back with your friends, you'll forget all about me."

"You forget something," I said, "I don't have any friends."

"That is a lie," said Betty.

"Have you met my father?" I asked.

"No," said Betty.

"You won't like me once you meet him," I said, "He is not the friendliest person in the world."

"Don't you worry about Betty," she said, "I can handle myself around old men."

Before I could ask a question about that, I heard my stepmother's voice coming up the stairwell.

"Dinner is ready," said Greta.

Betty rolled her eyes.

"I can't stand another salad," said Betty, "I want some steak."

"If I have another kale smoothie," I said, "I think I will throw up."

"That stuff looks like grass clippings and water," said Betty.

I laughed.

"You know I am right," said Betty.

"Mike," said my stepmom downstairs, "Where are you?"

Betty and I looked down the stairwell and I promptly waved one broken hand at my stepmom.

"I'll be right down, mom," I said, "I just need to get dressed."

Without further delay, Betty pushed me back into the room. She helped me get dressed and carefully slid my damaged member into one of my pants legs. I didn't even bother wearing any briefs because I had yet to find any underwear that could accommodate my scarred shaft.

"Thank you," I said.

Then something strange and wonderful happened. Betty put her face in front of mine and gave me a small peck on the cheek. I blushed and Betty watched my reaction with a smile.

"What was that for?" I asked.

"I never thanked you for helping me out," said Betty.

"You are welcome," I said.

"Don't listen to what Greta says," said Betty, "Those men would have dragged me away."

"I think you are right," I said.

Before she could say another word, I stopped her. I shook my head. I did not want an explanation from her.

"I really don't need to know what happened in the past," I said.

Betty seemed surprised. There was an awkward pause.

"Are you sure?" asked Betty.

"I am not sure I want to know," I said, "It is no one's business."

Looking into my eyes, Betty seemed puzzled and amazed. I had the feeling she did not believe what I just said.

"You are the first man who has ever said that to me," said Betty.

I shrugged my shoulders. Even though I was curious about her past, I was not sure if I wanted to know all the salacious details.

"No one is perfect," I said, "I am not perfect and I should not expect anyone else to be perfect."

I smiled at Betty. Perhaps I was seeing the error of my old ways. For a long time, I had acted like a rich kid who did not appreciate all that had been given to him. It would not be long before I was going to be homeless and penniless. I had heard my stepmother's conversations. My father was going to throw me out on the street. To make matters worse, none of my rich friends were there to lend me a hand. In fact, none of them wanted to talk to me anymore. After the accident on the football field, no one returned my phone calls. I was going to be just another homeless person on the street, so there was no reason for me to be critical of anyone else. Who was I to be critical of Betty's past?

I looked at the beautiful woman in front of me and realized that she was my only friend. Who was I to judge her past? Her blue eyes looked at me with amazement.

Betty leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine. She slipped into my embrace and we kissed like old lovers. With her arms around my neck, Betty gave me the kiss of lifetime. I felt my resistance melting away. My soul was now owned by this woman and I could do nothing to resist her charms.

When I finally broke off the kiss, my member started to rise. The engorged member pushed against my pants. To make matters worse, Betty's warm hand was gently caressing my member through the fabric.

Betty looked up at me with a devious smile. She was very proud of herself. She was clearly enjoying my reaction.

"You are one naughty boy," said Betty.

I was confused. Was my penis really rising? The doctor said I had a slim chance of a full recovery. Was I really attracted to an older woman? Sure, Betty was well endowed. She also had a shapely figure because she worked out.

"What is going on here?" asked my stepmom.

I froze. Betty and I were still in each other's arms. She was dreamily looking into my eyes and I was smiling from ear to ear.

"Were you two kissing?" asked my stepmom.

At that, my stepmom pulled Betty away from me and dragged her down the stairs. I followed close behind.

At the dinner table, my stepmother seated Betty and I with a chair between the two of us. There was a green smoothie in a tall glass in front of me. I sighed. Suddenly, I no longer had an appetite. I turned and saw a glass salad bowl in front of Betty. Needless to say, Betty was not happy to see her dinner either.

After Betty went back to her room, I sat there talking to my stepmom. It was very uncomfortable.

"What was that all about?" asked my stepmom.

"We were just talking," I said.

"Why you were kissing her?" asked my stepmom.

"I am sorry, mom," I said, "It was an accident."

"What is wrong with you kids these days?" asked my stepmom, "Kids today are having sex at a younger and younger age."

"Sorry," I said again.

"Does your father know you are having sex already?" asked my stepmom.

"We didn't have sex," I said.

"She was grabbing your pants," said my stepmom, "How do I know what happened before I came upstairs?"

"Nothing happened," I said, "I swear."

"Why is she not wearing shoes?" asked my stepmom.

"Because I accidently peed on her shoes," I said.

There was an awkward pause. Then my stepmom started laughing.

"What is so funny?" I asked.

"Did you really pee on her shoes?" asked my stepmom.

"I didn't mean to pee on her shoes," I said.

"That is the funniest thing I have ever heard," said my stepmom.

"I can't seem to control the direction," I said.

My stepmom laughed some more.

"Relax," said my stepmom, "Your father pees on the toilet seat all the time."

Now, it was my turn to laugh.

"Is that really true?" I asked.

"And your father does not have anything wrong with his hands or arms," said my stepmom.

"I guess it runs in the family," I said.

"No," said my stepmom, "All men have the same problem."

I shrugged my shoulders. Who was I to argue with my stepmother?

At first, I was not thrilled with having a mother that was closer to my age. My stepmom seemed so innocent and sweet. What in the world was she doing with an old geezer like my father? My stepmother was frowning. She didn't seem to enjoy her present relationship with my father.

"Let me guess," I said, "Dad hasn't called again."

"Is it that obvious?" asked my stepmom sarcastically.

"This is my fault," I said.

Immediately, my stepmom squeezed my shoulder.

"Honey," said my stepmom, "Why do you think that?"

"Because my dad hates me," I said.

"He doesn't hate you," said my stepmom.

I looked over at my stepmom. Her tone of voice was not very convincing. Even she thought that my father's recent behavior was extreme.

"Okay," said my stepmom finally, "Accidents happen all the time, and your injury could have happened to anyone."

I sighed.

"I am sure my dad didn't like you taking my side," I said.

"I don't even know you all that well and I think he is acting like a jackass," said my stepmom.

"Can I be honest with you?" I asked.

"Sure," said my stepmom.

"I wasn't sure if I would like you," I said, "My dad never let me actually talk to you before he got married."

"That was his idea," said my stepmom.

"I didn't know that," I said.

"Your dad thought we might have problems getting along," said my stepmom.

"I appreciate you taking my side," I said, "That's the nicest thing anyone has done for me lately."

"You are quite welcome," said my stepmom, "Let's just try to make the best of the situation, okay?"

"Okay," I said.

That night, my stepmom came to my room. She was dressed in her silk nightgown with a towel around her head. I could see her smooth and beautiful legs when the pain started again. I winced in pain. My stepmom immediately notice and raced to my side.

"What is it, Mike?" asked my stepmom.

I pointed to my groin. Without asking, my stepmom pulled away the sides of my bathrobe. To my embarrassment, my mangled penis was trying to rise. The doctor had said that the veins would take some time to heal. As more blood pulsated through my penis, the more pain I experienced.

"Holy crap," exclaimed my stepmom.

Her eyes seemed to burst out of her eyes. I didn't know whether or not she was stunned or horrified. My stepmom just stood there. Eventually, my erection subsided and my penis dropped back down. Her jaws dropped as she examined my mangled penis.

I fell backwards on the bed. I was trying to catch my breath. The pain had subsided, but I was exhausted. I felt my stepmom lift my penis into her hands, but I was too tired to hide my shame.

"Holy crap, Mike," exclaimed my stepmom, "Did you just have a hard-on?"

"I am so sorry," I said.

"Am I getting you excited?" asked my stepmom.

I covered my face with my broken hands. I wanted to find a rock and crawl underneath.

"Please don't be mad at me," I said, "I don't have much control over my penis."

"I see," said my stepmom with eyes wide open in surprise.

At that, my stepmom promptly left my bedroom and down the hall. I heard the door to the master bedroom shut. I sighed. I had just managed to alienate the one friend I had left. Could things get any worse?

That night, I mysteriously awoke. With great effort, I sat up in bed. I listened carefully and I heard the box springs creaking in the adjacent room. What in the world was Betty doing?

By this time, my medications had worn off and I was once again in great pain. Still, I managed to roll out of bed and shuffle across the floor. To my dismay, my bathrobe remained on the bed behind me. I wanted to cover up, but I wondered if Betty was in trouble. Perhaps, she was just rocking back in forth in bed. Still, only children shook the bed by rocking back and forth.

I shuffled to Betty's room and peered into the darkness. The dim moonlight was streaming through the windows. To my surprise, Betty was naked on the bed with a knife in her hands. She was facing the window with fear in her eyes. Naturally, I was not sure what to do next.

"What is she doing?" asked Greta.

I nearly jumped out of my skin. I had not expected anyone else to be awake. If I was not in such pain, I probably would have jumped three feet into the air.

"Oh, shit," I said, "Don't scare me like that."

To my surprise, my stepmother was naked also. I could see her perky breasts and hairless crotch. Usually, I would stare at such a beautiful woman like a lovesick teenager, but that was not the case tonight. My arms were shooting pain up and down my spine. The broken bones were still healing and nerves were being pinched each time I moved.

Quickly, I pointed to Betty and gazed helplessly at her. I had heard stories of people who had suffered great trauma brandishing weapons while in a dream state.

"She is doing it again," said Greta.

"Why is she doing this?" I asked.

"The psychiatrist warned me about this," said Greta.

"Is she going to kill herself?" I asked.

"No," said Greta, "But I think she is reliving a past memory."

"Does that have anything to do with those men that tried to grab her the other day?" I asked.

"That is a long story," said Greta.

"Were they going to hurt Betty?" I asked.

My stepmother sighed. Even in the dim light from the moon, I could tell the answer was in the affirmative. Those men really did want to abduct Betty. The thought of having Betty kidnapped made my blood boil.

"Yes," said Greta finally.

"I won't ever let them do anything to hurt Betty," I said.

It was strange watching my stepmother's expression. Bathed in moonlight, we were both standing in the hallway completely naked. This was not unlike a scene from a romantic movie. My stepmother was such an alluring creature that I had completely forgotten that she was angry at me.

"Are you sexually attracted to my mother, too?" asked Greta.

"I thought she was your sister," I said.

"Are you saying that I am old?" asked Greta.

"Of course not," I said.

"She is twice your age," said Greta, "Have you no shame?"

I shrugged my shoulders. I didn't see the problem in dating anyone older than myself.

"She is very beautiful," I said.

"What about me?" Greta asked.

"I can't have anything to do with you," I said, "You are supposed to me my mother."

Greta stopped. She could not argue with me. There was an awkward pause as she tried to respond. She knew I was right. Even if Greta was not my biological mother, society would not understand a mother and son relationship progressing into romantic love.

"If I am your mother," said Greta, "She is your grandmother."

I stopped. Why did Greta have to bring that up? In the back of my mind, my stepmother was right. By the same token, society would not understand a grandmother and grandson relationship progressing into a romantic love.

"I can't have you stringing my mother along," said Greta.

"I am not stringing anyone along," I said.

"There is no possible way you can have any meaningful relationship with my mother," said Greta.

"Why can't I have a relationship with your mother?" I asked, "I am sure she can speak for herself."

"I can't have some horny teenager using my mother for sex," said Greta.

"I am not a teenager," I said, "I am twenty years old."

"You are acting like horny teenager," said Greta.

"Besides," I said, "Betty says I am actually older than you."

Greta's eyes grew big and her nostrils flared open. Her body stiffened as she wagged a finger at me. Her breasts jiggled seductively as she shook her finger at me. This made me smile. Unfortunately, Greta perceived my smile as arrogance and she wagged her finger even faster.

"If you were not so big," said Greta, "I would put you over my knees and spank you."

I looked at Greta. I wondered how my stepmother would actually try to get me over her knees to spank me. I had the feeling that I could easily crush her knees with my weight.

"Are you serious?" I asked, "How do you plan on doing that?"

"You are just one horny teenager," said Greta.

"Aren't you supposed to be my mother?" I asked, "Why are you walking around naked at night?"

"I live here, too," said Greta.

"Why is your mother naked, too?" I asked.

"You are naked, too," said Greta.

"That is because they don't make underwear for this," I said.

I pointed to my mangled penis. Fortunately, I was in too much pain for arousal. My stepmother looked down and saw no erection. At that, my stepmother sighed. I knew for certain that my stepmother would have screamed at me if I had an erection. With no erection, my stepmother could not win the argument about me being a horny teenager. She threw her hands up in frustration.

"What happened earlier?" asked Greta.

I shrugged my shoulders. I had no explanation for my stepmother.

"I am so sorry about what happened earlier," I said meekly, "Can you forgive me?"

My beautiful stepmother looked at me suspiciously out of the corner of her eye. Her arms were crossed and one hand was stroking her elegant chin.

"I just don't want you having sex with my mother," my stepmom said finally.

"Look," I said, "I don't know how long I have to be home."

"No, we don't know," said my stepmom.

"I am not allowed to go anywhere," I said.

"Unless I am taking you to the doctor's office," said my stepmom.

"Right," I said.

"What do you want to do?" asked my stepmom.

"Is Betty going to be stuck here, too?" I asked.

"Yes," said my stepmom.

"Is it okay if I practice kissing with your mother?" I asked, "It has been a long time since I had a girlfriend."

My stepmother frowned. She looked at me with suspicion.

"We would only be kissing," I said innocently.

"Didn't you say you wanted a relationship with my mother?" asked my stepmom.

"Of course I want a relationship with your mother," I said.

My stepmother crossed her arms. Like a mother hen to her baby chicks, Greta prepared to cross-examine me about my true intentions.

"What kind of relationship?" my stepmom asked.

"That would be up to her," I said.

At that, we both heard something drop to the floor. Both of us looked into Betty's bedroom. With eyes wide open, Betty had emerged from her dream state. We saw the knife on the floor next to the bed.

"What are you two arguing about?" asked Betty.

Our loud argument had jolted Greta's mother out of her dream. Betty looked at the knife and kicked it away. With one foot on the floor, Betty's hairy crotch straddled the edge of the bed. I had the sudden urge to kneel beside her and inhale her feminine aroma. If I was not in such pain, I knew I would have displayed a full erection. Instead, I calmly stood there with Betty's gorgeous daughter. Greta was standing so close to me that I could smell the perfume on her naked body. I wondered why Greta was standing so close to me, but I decided not to ask. Instead, I focused on my beloved Betty and waited for her to speak. With a surprised look on her face, Betty turned to Greta and me. Her beautiful blue eyes tried to focus on her daughter and me.
"Why are you two standing there naked?" asked Betty.

"We were wondering why you had a knife," I asked.

"Are you okay, mom?" asked Greta.

"Was I dreaming again?" asked Betty.

"Yes, mom," said Greta.

Before anyone could say another word, I politely excused myself. The pain had returned with a vengeance and I wanted to rest again. It was too soon for another round of pain medication, so I decided to go back to bed. Resting actually alleviated much of the pain, since the pain increased with movement.

"I think I need to go back to bed," I said finally, "I am glad you are okay, Betty."

"Where are you going, Mike?" asked Betty.

"Mike is going to back to bed," said Greta interjected.

There was no use talking to Betty anyway, because Greta had strategically placed herself between her mother and me. As expected, Greta had her hands out and was pushing me down the hall.

"No," protested Betty, "I want him to stay with me."

"Absolutely not," said my stepmom.

"I want him to keep me company," said Betty.

"You two are not having sex in my house," said Greta.

Mother and daughter started talking and I promptly shuffled back to bed. I was glad Betty was okay, but I really did not want to the target of my stepmother's wrath. I took one look at my stepmother's slim figure and sighed. My stepmother was every teenage boy's wet dream and her mother was every man's secret fantasy. As fate would have it, I was stuck indoors with two beautiful women and one useless penis. Maybe it would have better if I had died from my injuries on the football field. At least, I would have been hailed as a hero at my funeral.

Since my bedroom was next to Betty's bedroom, I could still hear their conversations. I laid myself down on the bed and stared at the ceiling as mother and daughter argued in the next room.

"What is the harm in having Mike sleep in my room?" asked Betty.

"I am not that stupid, mom," said Greta, "You two want to have sex."

"You are just jealous," said Betty.

"I am not jealous," said Greta.

"Don't lie to me," said Betty, "You want him in your bed, too."

"That is not true," said Greta.

"What is the harm anyway?" asked Betty.

"He is your grandson," said Greta.

"After you get divorced," said Betty, "He is no longer your son."

"What are you trying to say?" asked Greta.

"I think you want to keep him all to yourself," said Betty, "I think you want him to jump in your bed after the divorce is final."

"He is half your age," said Greta, "Do you really think he will stay with you?"

"Look, I have been clean and sober for the last five years," said Betty, "I deserve a boyfriend."

"He will just break your heart," said Greta.

"I think you are just sexually frustrated," said Betty.

"Is that because I have not slept with half of the old men in this city?" asked Greta.

"Are you calling your mother a whore?" asked Betty.

"I am not the one who worked as a call girl," said Greta.

"That was a long time ago," said Betty.

"Those guys are still looking for you," said Greta, "I am not sure anyone can keep you safe."

"Mike can keep me safe," said Betty.

"Mike can't even piss in the toilet by himself," said Greta.

"He has a nice penis," said Betty.

"It is the size of a baseball bat," said Greta.

"I don't care," said Betty, "I like it."

"That penis is too big for any woman," said Greta, "You can just forget it."

"It would sure be fun trying to squeeze it all in," said Betty.

"It will never happen," said Greta.

"Why do you say that?" asked Betty, "Do you think you can squeeze it all in?"

"Mom," said Greta, "I don't want you having sex with Mike."

"So have you thought about trying to squeeze it in?" asked Betty.

"I don't know," said Greta.

"Can he really get someone pregnant?" asked Betty.

"Mom," said Greta, "I don't want any sisters or brothers."

"Why don't you forget about the divorce?" asked Betty.

"What are you talking about?" asked Greta.

"Your husband and your son both have the same name," said Betty.

"What are you trying to say?" asked Greta.

"Does the marriage certificate say Michael Skinner, senior?" asked Betty.

"It just says Michael Skinner," said Greta.

"Since no one was there," said Betty, "You can just tell people that you married Michael Skinner, junior."

"What would my husband say?" asked Greta.

"Your husband is never here," said Betty.

There was a pause.

"That reminds me of something," said Greta.

"What is that?" asked Greta.

"I don't have the marriage certificate," said Greta.

"Where is it?" asked Betty, "It is hard to get a divorce if you can't prove that you were ever married."

"You are absolutely correct," said Greta.

"Why don't you find that first thing tomorrow?" asked Betty.

"That is a good idea," said Greta.

"Try to get some sleep, darling," said Betty.

"Good night, mom," said Greta.

I heard a door open and close. The house was quiet again. I laid there on top of my bed in the gloom of the night. The pain in my arms had subsided once I laid still. I thought about Betty in the next room and Greta in the master bedroom. I loved them both, but I resigned myself to just being their loyal grandson and son, respectfully. With that thought, I drifted off to sleep.

The next day, Betty was the first person I saw. When she appeared, I suddenly felt happy. I was not sure why. Clearly, Betty was middle-aged. Still, I remembered our kiss. It was not the awkward kiss of some high school debutante. This was the kiss of a woman who had experience. Many thoughts crossed my mind. Was she willing to get a divorce for me? How many men did she satisfy during her former career? What would sex be like with an experience woman? My mind had so many questions.

To Betty's surprise, I opened the door for her. She bounced into the room in a white t-shirt and jeans. I could see that she wore no bra underneath her t-shirt. In fact, I could see her hardened nipples pushing against the cotton fabric.

"Mike," asked Betty, "Why are you out of bed?"

I grabbed her by the hand and pulled her inside the room.

"Are you feeling okay?" asked Betty.

"I don't know," I said.

At that, Betty stepped forward and fell into my embrace. Our lips met and I inhaled her sweet aroma. My nostrils were intrigued by her natural scent. Betty did not wear any perfume. Usually, women her age wore expensive scents. Even working-class women used scented soaps to mask any bodily odors. No, Betty was different. Her own musky scent filled my lungs and produced a primitive sense of excitement in me.

However, the moment of joy was short-lived. Betty pushed away from me. Her hands were on my chest. She looked like she was going to cry.

"We have to talk," said Betty.

Betty sat me down on my bed and stood above me with her arms crossed. I waited for her to speak. The woman paced back and forth in front of me. I tried to not look at her body, because I knew what would happen. I looked at her face and tried to concentrate on her words. I tried to think of non-sexual topics to keep my mangled penis from getting excited again. Still, I inhaled her musky scent. It was the smell of moisture and hair in a secret place.

"You do know that I have a husband," said Betty.

I looked down at her hands. She wore no rings and promptly pointed to her fingers.

"I don't have a ring," said Betty.

"Why don't you have a ring?" I asked.

"I got married when I was very young," said Betty, "I never got a ring."

"Doesn't he want everyone to know that you are his wife?" I asked.

"He had no money at that time," said Betty.

"I'm so sorry," I said.

"Don't worry about it," said Betty, "You didn't know."

"Is that Greta's father?" I asked.

Betty shook her head. She watched my facial expressions and saw the look of surprise on my face. I waited for the explanation with baited breath.

"My husband was always working," said Betty, "He needed the money."

"I don't understand," I said.

"My husband said that he knew of this rich guy who offered me a great deal of money," said Betty.

"What did he want?" I asked.

Betty looked at the floor. She didn't want to see me eye to eye. From the expression of shame on her face, I immediately knew what had happened.

"Oh no," I said.

"It was a lot of money," said Betty, "My husband bought his first house with the money."

I waited for the rest of the story. Breathlessly, Betty spilled the beans on the rest of the sordid story.

"I got pregnant with Greta and my husband left me," said Betty, "He also took my son.

"I am so sorry," I said.

"I left Greta with my mother and I went to work for the rich guy," said Betty.

"Where is your husband now?" I asked, "Did you ever find your son?"

Betty shrugged her shoulders. She was not sure.

"That was twenty years ago," said Betty.

"Did you ever divorce him?" I asked.

"No," said Betty.

"I wonder what this guy looks like," I said.

"He looks a lot like you," said Betty.

"Me?" I asked.

At that, Betty came over and sat on my lap. She once more embraced me and we kissed. It was a passionate kiss. I felt guilty. Was Betty kissing me only because I looked like her husband? I loved kissing Betty, but I didn't want to take advantage of a woman's long lost love relationship. Still, I enjoyed kissing Betty and I gladly cradled her in my arms as we kissed.

"I know you are in love with my daughter," said Betty.

I sighed.

"It's okay," said Betty.

"I don't want you to think that I am just kissing you and thinking about your daughter," I said.

"I don't want you to think that I am just kissing you and thinking about my husband," said Betty.

"Where do we go from here?" I asked.

"Did you really want to have a relationship with me?" asked Betty.

My eyes grew big. How much did Betty hear of my conversation with Greta?

"Yes," I said.

"Do you really want to have a relationship with a married woman?" asked Betty.

"Do we know where he is?" I asked.

Betty shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't have a clue," said Betty.

"I really feel bad about doing this," I said.

"Would you do anything for me?" asked Betty.

"Of course," I said, "I would do anything for you."

"Anything?" asked Betty.

"Anything," I said.

"Do you promise to do anything I want you to do?" asked Betty.

"I think I am putting my life in your hands," I said, "I will probably end up with a bullet in my skull from some jealous husband."

Betty smiled. I guess she enjoyed garnering the attentions of more than one man.

"I'll make it worth your while," whispered Betty as we kissed again and again.

When we finished kissing, Betty went downstairs to fetch my medications. She came back with a bottle and a glass of water. Lovingly, she placed the right number of pills in my mouth and brought the glass to my lips. After choking down some painkillers, I fell back onto the bed. I wondered if Betty had mistakenly given me the wrong dosage, because I immediately closed my eyes for a long nap.

When I awoke, my stepmom was looking down at me. She was hysterical.

"What are you two doing?" asked my stepmom.

My head was still in a fog, but I realized my arms were around Betty. To my surprise, Betty had been sleeping, too. To everyone's surprise, Betty was wearing only a bra and panties.

"I can't believe you two were having sex in my house," said my stepmom.

"Mom, I was asleep," I said weakly.

When she realized what was going on, Betty hurriedly got dressed just before my stepmom escorted her out of my room. I could hear my stepmom exclaiming her frustration as she chased Betty to the adjoining room.

"Am I the only one not having sex in this house?" said my stepmom.

"You didn't even invite me to your wedding," said Betty, "You are so embarrassed by your own mother."

"I am not the one having sex with complete strangers for money," said Greta.

"I am still your mother," said Betty, "You still have to respect me."

"I am not the one sleeping with my son," said Greta.

"You want to sleep with Mike, too," said Betty.

"That is not true," said Greta.

"You talk in your sleep," said Betty, "You talk about your son all the time."

Greta let out surprised gasp. She was not expecting to hear that from Betty.

"That is not fair," said Greta.

"You dream about having sex with your son every night of the week," said Betty.

"Are you going to sleep with my husband, too?" asked Greta.

"Maybe I will," said Betty.

"You probably already slept with him, too," said Greta.

The door slammed to the master bedroom and the door slammed to Betty's room. Only then did the entire house got quiet. I had never felt so lonely in my life.

That night, my stepmom didn't leave the master bedroom. My father's house had many rooms, but I did not want to be in any one of them. I felt so alone. There was only a slim chance that Betty would ever return to my room, even though I don't remember anything happening. Still, there was no way to know and my stepmom was furious.

The next day, I noticed that my stepmom leaving the house as I was clumsily trying to dress myself. I heard the noise of a car being started in the driveway. Looking out the window, I wondered why my stepmother decided to drive an old Buick sedan that was twenty years past its prime. A few weeks ago, my father had given my stepmother a brand-new Mercedes sedan. Obviously, it was my father's way of placating his new bride. In my mind, the old Buick seemed to be an odd choice in transportation.

Quietly, I went down the steps. Once I was downstairs, I peeked out of the windows. The old Buick had stopped halfway to the front gate. Frustrated, my stepmom turned off the engine, stepped out of the car, and ran back into the house.

Filled with curiosity, I crossed the yard and opened one of the rear passenger doors. Quietly, I shut the door and slid behind the front seat. Despite the pain in my hands and arms, I kept my mouth shut. I took some deep breaths as the pain subsided and reminded myself to not use my hands and arms too much. It did not take long before my stepmom returned. Greta opened the door and tossed something into the passenger seat. Slamming the door, Greta mumbled a curse as she buckled up.

"I can't believe I am giving that idiot any of my hard-earned money," grumbled my stepmom.

Changing gears, Greta's old Buick jerked forward. I waited a while before looking out of the windows to see where we were heading. The number of potholes seemed to increase. Needless to say, we were driving through some of the roughest places in town. Needless to say, I was bounced everywhere in the car. From time to time, I saw abandoned warehouses and crumbling tenement buildings out of the windows. Why in the world was my stepmom driving straight into the danger zone?

When my stepmom finally stopped the car, I pulled myself up and looked out of the window. We were in the middle of an open field surrounded by more crumbling buildings.

Opening the door, my stepmom stepped out of the car. I could hear her talking to someone. The conversation got heated and I heard a hand slap my stepmom on the face. Without thinking, I stepped out of the backseat of the old Buick. My stepmom had a hand over her cheek as she looked away. I found myself surrounded by several men. They were all barrel-chested and extremely annoyed at my presence. To their shock, I towered over all of them, irritating them even more.

"Mom, are you okay?" I asked.

The greasy-haired guy next to my stepmom eyed me curiously.

"I told you no witnesses," said the greasy-haired guy.

"Tom, he has nothing to do with all of this," said my stepmom, "Get back in the car, son."

"Who are you?" asked the greasy-haired guy, "Greta, we had a deal and you promised me that you would be alone."

"Who are you?" I asked.

Slowly, Tom wandered over to me and looked into my face. I noticed the butt end of a pistol peeking out from the front of his pants. Still, I stood my ground. I could feel the pain in my arms each time I moved. Usually, I would be running down the street in fear. Maybe it was the pain that was interfering with my survival instincts. Maybe I had finally reached my limits when it came to tolerating the pain. Whatever the reason, I placed myself between Greta and Tom.

"That's none of your business," said Tom, "Her mother owes me money."

I looked at my stepmom. My stepmom blushed. She did not know what to say.

"Are you the one who wanted to kidnap Betty?" I asked

"You bet your ass," said Tom, "Her mother worked for me."

Once more, I looked at my stepmom. There was fear in her eyes. She was overwhelmed at the unfortunate turn of events. Then, I turned my attention back to Tom. He was as tall as Greta and had similar facial features.

"Are you two related?" I asked.

At that, the men surrounding us chuckled. Tom smiled. He smacked his chewing gun and waved his finger at me.

"Look here," said Tom sarcastically, "We have a smart cookie here."

"We don't look alike at all," said Greta.

"Go ahead, Greta," said Tom, "Tell your boy that your mother was a whore."

"Is that true?" I asked.

"Tell him the truth, Greta," said Tom.

"We can talk about this later," whispered my stepmom.

"Tell your mother I want the rest of the money in thirty days," said Tom, "Or I will send my boys to come and find her."

Tom's friends started nodding their heads. My stepmom swallowed hard.

"Is your mother in trouble?" I asked.

"You bet your ass," said Tom, "Your mother will fork over the cash or she will work for me until she dies."

My stepmom's face was as white as a sheet. She was truly frightened. She quietly tugged on my arm. Clearly, my stepmom wanted to be someplace else.

"We can always make Greta work for us," said Tom, "I know a few rich guys who would love to get a hold of that high-class ass."

Tom's bad breath hit my nostrils and I wanted to throw up. I felt a rage inside me that I had not sensed since before that fateful football game. I had been repressing all the anger that I was reserving for my father. Normally, I would have walked away from a situation like this. In my mind, Tom was probably a common crook. I wondered if anyone would miss Tom and his friends if they suddenly disappeared off the face of the earth. I was not thinking about being outnumbered six to one. The pain in my arms and hands was interfering with any rational thought.

Without warning, I felt a strange thirst for blood. Someone had to pay for all the pain I had experienced lately, and Tom seemed to be the perfect candidate for the slaughter.

"I don't like the way you're talking to my mom," I growled.

"What the hell are you going to do about it?" taunted Tom.

Immediately, my stepmom stepped in between myself and the greasy-haired guy. My stepmom sensed that events were spiraling out of control. She saw the rage in my eyes.

"Easy, Tom," said my stepmom, "I really didn't know he was here."

"Wait a minute," said Tom pointing to m, "I know who you are."

"You don't know who I am," I said.

"I know who you are," said Tom, "You're the kid that had his nuts smashed at that college football game."

To her disappointment, my stepmom immediately saw even more anger in my eyes. She pushed hard against my chest. Tom's friends took a closer look at my face and they all started to howl with laughter.

"Tom, just take the money and go," said my stepmom.

"Who says you owe this guy money?" I asked.

"I do," said Tom, "Her mom used to work for me as a hooker."

"Tom," said my stepmom, "Why did you have to say that?"

Tom counted out the money as my stepmom tried to get me back into the car.

"How is it hanging?" asked Tom, "I heard they had to sew your tiny pecker back."
By this time, Tom's friends were rolling around the ground with laughter.

"Don't listen to him," said my stepmom, "I can explain all this later."

"Maybe her mother can help you with that pecker," said Tom, "She used to be one of my best hookers."

At that, something inside me snapped. All decorum went out the window. I didn't care if I had two broken arms. Slipping past Greta, I ran up to Tom and gave him a swift kick in the groin. Tom's eyeballs grew huge and he dropped the bundle of money on the ground. I looked him squarely in the eyes and slammed my forehead onto his nose. Blood splattered everywhere as he fell backwards. His hands made a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

Without thinking, I reached into Tom's belt grabbed his pistol as he fell backwards. I started firing at Tom's friends. They were still laughing as I pulled the trigger five times. The high caliber pistol sent huge amounts of lead crashing through skulls. Bone fragments and brains flew in the air. When I was finished, there were five men on the ground bleeding from gunshot wounds to the head.

Then I pointed the pistol at Tom. There was a bewildered look on his face.

"Holy crap," said Tom, "You broke my nose."

His insolent attitude only served to anger me more. Without delay, I took the butt of the pistol and proceeded to pummel Tom on his face. After a few minutes, Tom's face was a bloody mess. My arms and hands were in pain. I probably strained a muscle, but I knew I had to end the confrontation soon. Even though his friends were all dead or dying, Tom was still a viable threat.

I checked the revolver. It was a six-shooter. There was one bullet left. Without another thought, I pointed to Tom's head and pulled the trigger. I saw the look of horror on Tom's face before the bullet collided with this skull. Tom's brains splattered all over the parking lot after a large hole appeared on his forehead.

At that, my stepmom scooped up all of her money that had fallen to the ground. Afterwards, she pulled me into the car. She turned the key and put the car in reverse. Greta hit the gas and the old Buick kicked up gravel as it backed away. Looking at the bodies of the men, I waited to see if anyone was getting up, but none of the men were moving. Greta stopped and changed direction. She spun the car around and drove away at top speed.

That evening, I did not even eat dinner. I had no appetite. By the time we had returned home, the adrenaline had worn off and I was in great pain.

Later that night, my stepmom came into my bathroom. There was an awkward quiet between the two of us as she brought some clean towels to me. I was naked in the shower. I grimaced from the pain emanating from my arms. My stepmom had previously wrapped my casts with plastic bags. In this way, I would not get any of the casts wet.

Doctor Ludlum had specifically asked that I not use my arms and hands. Still, I tried to grab the soap with my right hand, but my fingers would not wrap around it without a great deal of pain. In fact, the soap annoyingly slid around in the soap dish. After a few minutes of general frustration, I resigned myself to standing in the shower as the water trickled down my face.

While I was wallowing in self-pity, my stepmom stepped into the shower with me. She was wearing only a bra and panties. Normally, I would have stared at her beautiful body, but I was experiencing too much pain to even care. Without a word, my stepmom grabbed the soap for me and proceeded to wash me.

"I am so sorry," I said.

My stepmom sighed. She was probably embarrassed about her mother. Everyone had family secrets and this was one secret my stepmom probably wanted to take to her grave.

"Relax, my dad doesn't even talk to me anymore," I said, "Your mom's secrets are safe with me."

"You didn't need to hear that about my mother," said my stepmom.

"I thought you said I should not be having any relationship with your mother," I said teasingly.

"I don't want you to look at her any differently," said my stepmom.

"I won't," I said.

"My mother has made a lot of mistakes since my dad walked out on us," said my stepmom.

"I bet that was hard for you," I said.

My stepmother shrugged her shoulders. Still, she did not meet my gaze.

"It will be our little secret," I said.

"I appreciate that," said my stepmom.

"I don't understand why anyone would walk out on someone as beautiful as your mother," I said.

Greta's face blushed. She had not expected that compliment.

"You really should control your hormones," said my stepmom jokingly.

"I don't understand why my father refuses to come home to a woman as beautiful as you," I said.

"You really have to control your anger," said my stepmom.

"I am not happy with my father and I wasn't going to let Tom take your money," I said.

"I don't think you were that concerned about my money," said my stepmom, "I think you are still angry about what happened to you at that football game."

I sighed. She was right. This was the first time that I had showed any emotion about that football game. I went from the apple of my father's eye to a complete embarrassment. I went from having a bright future to having a broken phallus. This was the worst way to release my anger. It would only be a short time before the police arrived at the house to take me to jail for murdering six people.

"I'll keep your secrets if you keep my secrest," said my stepmom.

"I wasn't going to let them hurt you," I said.

"I know," said my stepmom with a sigh.

"Now I'll be going to jail," I said.

"Not if I can help it," said my stepmom, "That is why you are confined to your room."

"Yes, ma'am," I said teasingly, "I guess I am grounded indefinitely."

"You're not going anywhere," said my stepmom, "We will wait until this blows over."

"How much money has he taken from you?" I asked.

"I was raised by my grandmother," said my stepmom, "Tom found me after my mom skipped town."

"Was that when Tom started asking for money?" I asked.

"Tom knew that my mother sent me money," said my stepmom, "And Tom wanted that money."

"That is called extortion," I said.

"I wasn't about to drive your dad's Mercedes," said my stepmother, "I am sure Tom would have taken that, too."

"You are probably right," I said.

"Are you always this violent?" asked my stepmother.

"No," I said, "But I wasn't going to let anyone hurt one of my friends."

"Tom was not going to hurt me," said my stepmom, "This is not the first time I have turned money over to him."

"How long has this been going on?" I asked.

"At least a year," said my stepmom.

Then I noticed that my stepmother's bra and panties were getting soaked. She adjusted her bra a few times because the straps were sliding off of her shoulders.

"I really should let Betty do this," said my stepmom.

"Why don't you let Betty do this?" I asked.

Greta frowned and looked at me suspiciously.

"If Betty was here," said my stepmom, "Betty would be completely naked in the shower."

I blushed. Even though I had no objection having any woman naked with me in the shower, I was not about to let my stepmom know that. I tried not to think of Betty's naked body with me in the shower. It had been so long since I had a girlfriend. Just the thought of Betty naked was getting me excited. Still, the pain in my arms and hands was destroying any sexual thoughts in my mind.

"No," I said meekly.

"That is bullshit," said my stepmom, "She was practically naked and sleeping in your bed."

"Betty was in her underwear," I said.

"I caught you two kissing the other day," said my stepmom.

"She was thanking me," I said.

My stepmom rolled her eyes at me. I started to wonder if my stepmom was a little jealous of Betty. My stepmother was much younger than Betty and more physically fit. Still, I wondered if my stepmom was starting to mistake me for my father. Since my father was never around, I was the now the man of the house.

"Does everyone who does something nice for you have to kiss you?" asked my stepmom.

"As long as you are not a guy," I said.

"What about me?" my stepmom asked.

"What about you?" I asked.

"You killed six people for me today," said my stepmom.

I swallowed hard. Now, my stepmom thought I was a mass murderer with an uncontrolled anger problem. I tried my best to rationalize my actions.

"I thought you were in danger," I said.

My stepmom was silent for a moment.

"I have never had anyone stand up for me like that," said my stepmom.

I looked into her eyes. I was not sure if she was serious. A woman as beautiful as my stepmom would surely attract a lot of unwelcome attention. Surely, someone would have stood up to defend her.

"You forget that I used to play football," I said, "I'm not afraid of a little rough and tumble."

"Is that how your father raised you?" my stepmom asked.

I nodded. It was the sad truth. My father did not want a weakling as a son. He made me play sports for as long as I could remember.

"My dad does not take prisoners," I said, "He does not tolerate wimps."

My stepmom looked at me carefully. There was a little fear in her eyes.

"I guess I don't know your father all that well," my stepmom said.

My stepmom was unlike the other women who came before her. Most of the women my father dated were shallow and vain. None of them ever expressed any genuine interest in me except Greta. That meant a great deal to me.

"How did you meet my father anyway?" I asked.

"I was working at a restaurant," my stepmom said.

"I didn't know that," I said.

"Your father and his friends kept coming into the restaurant," said my stepmom.

"What did you think of my father?" I asked.

"I thought he was an arrogant son-of-a-bitch," my stepmother said, "And I should have trusted my instincts."

"Most people say that," I said.

"What do you think of your father?" my stepmother asked.

"I don't," I said.

"What does that mean?" my stepmother asked.

"It has not been easy being his son," I said, "He is such a demanding person."

"I would have to agree with that," my stepmother said.

I waited for my stepmom to finish her sentence.

"I don't know how many times I turned him down before I went on a date with him," my stepmother said, "He literally swept me off my feet."

"I guess the honeymoon is over," I said.

"That is true," my stepmother said, "The honeymoon has been over for months now."

"Sorry to hear that," I said.

"So how many times has your father remarried?" my stepmother asked.

"I lost count," I said.

"Is that why he didn't want me talking to you?" my stepmother asked.

"He doesn't let me talk to any of his wives," I said, "You're the only one who has bothered to spend any time with me."

"I am happy to help," said my stepmother, "I have had to take care of my mother and grandmother, too."

I tried to imagine a beautiful young girl taking care of her aging grandmother and a mother who worked as a prostitute. Even though she claimed to have had little to no dealings with her mother, I was sure that this had a negative effect on young Greta. On the other hand, this would explain why my stepmom had not married before.

"Thank you for helping me out," I said, "I'll just rinse off and go to bed."

"You can't go to bed all wet," my stepmother said, "You still need to dry off."

"I will be fine," I said.

I tried to reach for the towel, but sharp pains ripped through my arms. I paused. The pain was so severe that I let out a deep growl.

"Where do you think you are going?" my stepmom asked, "You have not answered my question."

"What question is that?" I asked.

"Am I supposed to kiss you now?" asked my stepmom.

"Why?" I asked, "What have I done for you?"

"You killed six people to protect me," she said.

"Maybe they are not dead," I said.

My stepmother tilted her head and looked at me with amazement. Her arms crossed as she stared at me in disbelief.

"Tom's brains were all over the parking lot," my stepmother said.

"Yes," I said, "That is true."

"If anyone survived that shooting," said my stepmother, "They would have already told the police."

"They were a bunch of thugs," I said, "Who would care about any of them?"

"Tom might be working for someone," said my stepmother.

"We don't know that," I said.

I was struck by my stepmom's persistence. I knew I could not resist her. Her lips were only a few inches away. I swallowed hard because I was facing a serious moral dilemma.

"So," my stepmom said, "Am I supposed to kiss you now?"

I shrugged my shoulders. I was not sure what to say next. Of course, I wanted a kissed from a beautiful woman, but I had a feeling that kissing my stepmom would bring my father's wrath on me.

"My father would kill me," I said.

"He would probably kill us both," said my stepmom.

Hurriedly, I tried to think of something witty to say. Maybe I could steer the conversation to a less explosive topic.

"I am sorry for getting all your underwear wet," I said.

My stepmother looked down at her underwear. Her bra strap had slid off for the twelfth time and her panties were completely damp. The fabric was clinging on to her skin and revealing the shape of everything underneath. Usually, this would be enough to produce an erection, but I was in so much pain. I tried my best not to weep like a little girl. Instead, I grimaced each time I moved my arms and hands.

My stepmother watched my face and knew that I was in great pain. Usually I would have enjoyed being in the shower with a beautiful woman, but I was not enjoying the pain.

"I guess you're too weak to try anything stupid," she said.

At that, my stepmother stripped off her bra and panties. She twisted each of them and let the moisture drip to the base of the shower. Once again, my stepmother revealed hairless crotch. Her breasts were perky and her nipples were hardened by the cool air circulating throughout the bathroom. Needless to say, my jaw dropped.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I am rinsing you off," she said.

My stepmom took the sprayer and washed off the soap off my body. Within minutes, I was free of the soap and she was drying me off with a towel. I looked away. That image of her completely naked in the shower with me would be a cherished memory forever more. Still, I had no time to enjoy the view as my stepmother hustled me off to bed.

Once in bed, my stepmom threw some blankets over me. For most of my life, I slept in my underwear, but tonight I did not care. This time, I was going to be completely nude under the covers. My stepmom carefully tucked my hands and arms under the blankets as her perky breasts hung down onto my face. Her nipples seemed to poke out and I wondered if my stepmom was teasing me on purpose. When I failed to reach up and grab her breasts, my stepmom spoke to me with her face only inches away.

"You really must be in a lot of pain," said my stepmom.

I nodded helplessly.

"I am taking you to the doctor tomorrow, okay," said my stepmom.

"Sure," I said.

Without warning, my stepmom leaned forward and pressed her lips onto mine. I wanted so much to wrap my arms around her, but that was not going to happen tonight. We pressed our lips together for what seemed like an eternity. For a moment there, I felt no pain. Perhaps I had been without a girlfriend for a long time. Perhaps I was trying to get back at my father. Perhaps I was relishing the salacious nature of a forbidden love. Whatever the reason, I felt friendship, love, and sexual attraction all at once. It was transmitted with one lengthy kiss.

When our lips parted, my stepmom sighed. I watched her facial expressions in the hope that she felt the same way.

"You are not supposed to be sexually attracted to your mother," said my stepmother breathlessly.

I blushed. I knew she was right. Still, I didn't think of her as just a sexual object. I wanted to be her best friend and confidante. I wanted to be her constant companion. I was starting to lose my soul to her subtle charms. I cast my gaze downwards in shame.

"I know," I said, "You are absolutely right."

"We can't be kissing like this," said my stepmom, "Especially since we are both naked."

"Right," I said, "It is a good thing my father is not here."

"This is his house," said my stepmom, "He could burst through that door at any time."

"I am so jealous of my father," I blurted out.

"Why?" asked my stepmom.

"I wish you married me instead," I said.

My stepmom blushed. Her eyes grew big.

"We only kissed once," said my stepmom, "Why would say that you want to marry me?"

"That was a great kiss," I said.

Once again, my stepmom blushed. She looked at me through the corner of her eyes. One eyebrow was raised.

"Are you trying to flatter me?" asked my stepmom.

"No wonder my father married you," I said, "You really are a good kisser."

My stepmom didn't know if I was joking or not. Lovingly, she patted me on the shoulder.

"You must be in a lot of pain," said my stepmom, "People say the strangest things when they are in pain."

At that, my stepmom left my bedroom. It was an absolute thrill to watch the muscles in her posterior as she walked away. Suddenly, I had a vision. It was a vision of Greta having sex with my father. I cringed. I tried to remove the image of my father having sex with her before I threw up.

I sighed. I knew he did not deserve her love. My father found her first. Thus, I would always be the man on the outside, and I hated it.

To my surprise, my stepmother returned without putting on a bathrobe or anything. This beautiful creature slowly walked up to my bed with a glass of water and pills. The glass of water was strategically placed over her mound of Venus. Her other arm was placed across her nipples for some measure of modesty.

"Mike," said my stepmom, "I got your pain pills."

"And nothing else," I said.

My stepmom helped me sit up. She motioned for me to open my mouth and dropped the pills inside. Afterwards, she brought the glass up to mouth so I could drink. The pills slid down my throat.

"Tomorrow," said my stepmom, "I have my exercise class first thing."

"Okay," I said.

"I will send my mother to help you get dressed," said my stepmom.

"Thanks, mom," I said.

"Hopefully my mother will keep her clothes on," said Greta teasingly.

The next day, Betty helped me get me dressed and my stepmom drove me to the hospital. My stepmom took me to see the lovely, Dr. Ludlum. The doctor was a beautiful brunette with brains to match her stunning figure. Dr. Ludlum was as frail and thin as Greta, so the two of them got along nicely.

After a few x-rays, Dr. Ludlum discovered that I broke a finger in each hand. Fortunately, the casts protected my arms. Unfortunately, the broken fingers were radiating pain up and down my arms since the bones were pinching the nerves. To no one's surprise, the doctor ordered two larger casts to replace the originals casts. This time, the casts would include the injured fingers. The whole process took most of the morning since that they had to remove the old casts and create new ones.

By the very end of the process, I was exhausted because I had been asked to twist, turn, and hold still in strange positions. At the end, Dr. Ludlum sat my stepmother down for one final out-patient talk. At first, it was all about the broken arms and fingers. Dr. Ludlum elaborated on what I could and could not do with the casts. When that was finished, Dr. Ludlum asked the final question.

"Have you been stimulating your penis?" asked the doctor.

Needless to say, the question caused me to choke. I knew I was blushing. The question was so embarrassing. I had a hard time talking to a woman about my reconstructed penis, much less a gorgeous woman like Doctor Ludlum.
"What was that?" asked my stepmom, "I thought you said something about his penis."

"Has your son been doing his exercises?" asked the doctor.

"He has been exercising in the weight room," said my stepmom.

The doctor laughed. She shook her head.

"No," said the doctor, "Has he been doing his penis exercises?"

"Excuse me?" asked my stepmom.

"If you want grandchildren," said the doctor, "Your son has to exercise his penis."

"What do mean exercise his penis?" asked my stepmom.

"Has he been masturbating?" asked the doctor.

The doctor and my stepmom both looked at me. I looked down at my broken fingers and shook my head.

"No," said my stepmom finally.

"Does he have a girlfriend?" asked the doctor.

Once again, my stepmom looked at me. Once more, I shook my head and looked down at the floor again in shame.

"No, not since the accident," said my stepmom.

"How do you expect him to regain his conjugal function?" asked the doctor.

"What is a conjugal function?" asked my stepmom.

"I see that Mike forgot to talk to you about that," said the doctor, "I told him, but I forgot to tell you."

My stepmom glared at me. Once more, I looked at the floor in shame. It was embarrassing enough that my penis was ten inches of scar tissue. It was even more embarrassing that my stepmom had to know about it.

"You might have to help him," said the doctor.

"Excuse me? What?" she asked.

"You have to stimulate his penis," said the doctor.

"He is my son," said my stepmom, "I can't do that."

"Is he your biological son?" asked the doctor.

"No, but what would my husband think?" my stepmom asked.

"It is only for medical purposes," said the doctor.

"Isn't that against the law?" asked my stepmom.

"Only between biological mothers and sons," said the doctor.

"I don't feel right doing that," said my stepmom as she crossed her arms.

"Hopefully, I didn't spend ten hours in surgery on his penis for nothing," said the doctor as she rolled her eyes.

Greta's jaw dropped. She looked at me to see my reaction, but I was staring down at the floor. I did not want to look directly into Greta's eyes.

"There has to be another way," said my stepmom.

"I have patients whose mothers would do anything for their sons," said the doctor.

"Are they having sex with their sons?" asked my stepmom.

"I would not call it sex," said the doctor.

"What exactly are they doing for their sons?" asked my stepmom.

"I have one mother that stimulates her son before he goes on a date," said the doctor.

"Stimulate?" asked my stepmom.

Greta's eyes grew big with surprise. She did not believe her ears.

"She requires her son to masturbate before sees his girlfriend," said the doctor.

"You must be joking," said my stepmom.

Dr. Ludlum did not laugh. In fact, there was no expression on her face. The good doctor was completely serious.

"Are you telling me the boy's mother helped her son masturbate before a date?" asked my stepmother.

"Sometimes there is no touching involved," said the doctor.

Once more, my stepmother's eyes grew big. She waited for Dr. Ludlum to explain.

"I don't understand," said my stepmother, "You just said stimulate."

"I have one mother who just gets naked for her son," said the doctor.

My stepmom's head looked like it was going to explode. Her jaw dropped.

"What kind of people are you dealing with?" asked my stepmom.

"Normal, everyday people," said the doctor, "In some countries, it is okay to be naked in front of your family."

"That's crazy," said my stepmom, "Why would you do that?"

"You have to realize something," said the doctor, "People in other countries live in one-room homes and there is no privacy whatsoever."

"I don't care what they do in other countries," said my stepmom.

"Your son has to develop the muscles in his penis or they will never function correctly again," said the doctor.

My stepmom tried to argue with Dr. Ludlum.

"Why? Is this really necessary?" she asked.

Dr. Ludlum nodded her head. My stepmom put her hands in the air in surrender.

"Okay, okay," said my stepmom, "What am I supposed to do?"

"If you don't want to touch your son," said Dr. Ludlum, "You can just provide some inspiration."

"Inspiration?" asked my stepmom, "I don't understand."

"I have one mother that took lessons in pole dancing just for her son," said Dr. Ludlum.

I could feel my stepmom's gaze fall on me, but I knew better than to meet her eyes. I looked straight at the floor and kept my mouth shut.

"I see you two have seen each other naked already," said Dr. Ludlum.

"How in world did he talk to you on the phone?" asked my stepmom, "He can't even get dressed."

"Your son never called me," said Dr. Ludlum.

"How did you know about what happened the other night?" asked my stepmom.

"I can see just by your reaction," said Dr. Ludlum.

My stepmother glared at me and I once again I cast my gaze onto the floor in shame.

"My lips are sealed," said Dr. Ludlum with a smile, "I won't tell a soul."

My stepmother blushed. She was not happy that the doctor was smart enough to sense that something had already transpired between mother and son. My stepmother sighed. There was no use hiding the truth from Dr. Ludlum.

"Are you saying that all I have to do is get naked for my son?" asked my stepmom.

"I want to know on the next visit whether or not he has had an erection," asked Dr. Ludlum.

"Is this what the other mothers did?" asked my stepmom.

"This particular client has more than one son," said the doctor, "So far, there are no unwanted pregnancies."

My stepmom turned to see my reaction. Once again, I tried to avoid her gaze. She knew that I was already enamored with her. In the back of her mind, my stepmother probably thought that I had arranged all of this.

The doctor ordered me to stand up. Unceremoniously, she lifted up my paper gown and presented my mangled ten-inch penis to my already frustrated stepmother.

"Was it always ten inches long?" asked my stepmom jokingly.

"No," said the doctor, "It was only half that long."

At that, my stepmother laughed. My shoulder immediately drooped. I felt embarrassed. There was nothing worse than two beautiful women talking about your penis length.

"Why did it have to be so large?" asked my stepmom.

"I am surprised that you consider his penis to be so large," said Dr. Ludlum.

"Why did you say that?" asked my stepmom.

"You are a very beautiful woman," said Dr. Ludlum, "I am sure you have your pick of sexual partners."

"I am not a slut," said my stepmother firmly.

"What is the measurement of the longest penis you have ever had during sex?" asked Dr. Ludlum.

"Why do you have to know that?" asked my stepmother.

"Does your husband have a large penis?" asked Dr. Ludlum.

"Of course not," said my stepmother.

My stepmother laughed. I tried not to laugh, but my stepmother quickly saw my reaction. She caught my eye and I saw her anger.

"You weren't supposed to know that," yelled my stepmother to me.

Once more, I cast my gaze downwards. I felt ashamed at laughing at my stepmother's misfortune. On the other hand, I wondered if I still had a chance to woo my stepmother after the divorce.

"Have you had past lovers who were bigger?" asked Dr. Ludlum.

My stepmother shook her head in disappointment, so Dr. Ludlum directed her attention to my mangled member. Of course, I felt like a circus freak while the two women gawked at my penis. The doctor slipped on a pair of gloves and examined my flaccid member anyway.

"It is healing nicely," said the doctor.

My stepmom and my doctor were both looking at my penis like it was a slab of beef at the butcher shop. When I finally looked down, my stepmom had my penis in her hand. My doctor was gently showing her how to stroke it.

"This is so wrong," said my stepmom.

"Someone has to do it," said the doctor.

"Why did you have to make it so long?" asked my stepmom.

"The tissue was pulled and stretched anyway," said the doctor, "This was the actual length of the remaining tissue before we added the implant."

"Why is it so thick?" asked my stepmom.

"The thin tissue needed more support, so he was given a thicker tube," said the doctor, "The rest of the thickness comes from scar tissue."

To my surprise, my stepmother was still going through the stroking motions. My stepmother nodded in agreement with the good doctor when it came to the issue of scar tissue. Dr. Ludlum inspected the rest of my penis by pulling up a rolling stepping stool.

"I still don't know about all this," said my stepmom.

"I know women who insist that their sons have sex with them instead of with their girlfriends," said the doctor.

"Why?" my stepmom asked.

"Most of these women are beyond their child-bearing years," said the doctor, "So the women don't worry about any unwanted pregnancies."

"You have got to be joking," said my stepmother, "Who are these people?"

"There are too many deadly diseases today," said Dr. Ludlum, "Young men have to be very careful."

"How am I supposed to have a normal mother-son relationship after having sex with him?" asked my stepmom.

"Actually, it is beneficially for both mother and son," said the doctor.

"You have got to be kidding," said my stepmom.

"Most of these women have reported higher levels of happiness," said the doctor.

"I don't believe that for a minute," said my stepmom.

"These women have welcomed the attentions of a younger man," said the doctor, "Even if the younger man is their own son."

"Isn't the boy just using his mother as a sex toy?" asked my stepmom.

"The woman gets to teach her son how to be a true gentleman," said the doctor.

"Do these boys ever get married?" asked my stepmom.

"Eventually they do," the doctor said, "And their wives have reported a higher level of maturity in their new husbands."

"Does her son ever come back around for some quality time with his mother?" asked my stepmom sarcastically.

"Yes," said the doctor.

There is a twinkle in the doctor's eyes as my stepmother's dropped. Obviously, my stepmother was trying to make a joke.

"Isn't the son is cheating on his wife by sleeping with his own mother?" asked my stepmom.

"It does happen," said the doctor.

Once more, my stepmother rolled her eyes.

"I thought so," said my stepmom.

I looked at the floor. I could feel my stepmother's eyes burning through my head. At that moment, it was very dangerous if I showed any interest in having sex with her. I tried my best to clear my mind. Maybe my stepmother would not see all the unclean thoughts running through my head.

Needless to say, the ride home with my stepmom was very quiet. There was an awkward tension between the two of us.

"You don't have to do this," I said finally.

My stepmom sighed.

"I'll find some another way," I said.

"There is no other way," said my stepmom finally.

"It is not necessary," I said, "I probably won't be getting a girlfriend any time soon anyway."

"Don't say that," said my stepmom.

"It looks like I'll just be another one of my dad's employees anyway," I said, "There is no need to give him any grandchildren anyway."

"Don't say things like that," said my stepmom, "Your father might forget about all of this tomorrow."

"I seriously doubt that," I said.

"If nothing else," said my stepmom, "Don't forget about your future and start taking classes at the community college."

"I will just have to find some way to pay for it myself," I said.

"This is no time to feel sorry for yourself," said my stepmother, "You can't wait for your dad to pay for anything."

"I agree," I said.

"I can't wait for your dad to fix this marriage," said my stepmother, "Because I don't think your dad wants this marriage anymore."

"I am sorry to hear that," I said.

"I am sorry, too," said my stepmother.

"For what it is worth," I said, "I would like to thank you for watching out for me."

"I was happy to take you to see the doctor," said my stepmom.

It was an awkward moment. I had a feeling my relationship with my stepmom would soon end. Once the divorce was final, Greta and Betty would probably leave the house and never return. My father was still at other locations besides our home. This made my stepmom was furious. I even heard her raise her voice and repeat the dreaded word "divorce" on the phone. I felt so sorry for her.

Honestly, I blamed it all on myself. I was the reason why my father was not coming home. I had humiliated my father so much that he didn't want to be near me. Since my stepmom had called out the error in his ways, my father in turn took out his anger on her. Eventually, their relationship was so strained that my stepmom refused to even talk about my father.

One night, my stepmom popped into my room after dinner. Betty had already gone to bed and I was once more lying on my bed in my bathrobe. I spent the day in the basement working with my dad's fitness machines. I had yet to see my father ever use the machines, but I was glad to do something besides lay around the house popping pain pills. Betty was there using the fitness machines, too. Unfortunately, Betty was not used to doing intense workouts. She basically collapsed on her bed after dinner.

Tonight, I was trying to change the channels with the remote and cursed when my fingers failed to press the correct keys. Wandering down the hallway, my stepmom was dressed in her own bathrobe. There was a towel wrapped around her hair when she stood at the doorway to look inside my room. There was a sympathetic look on her face.

"How are your hands?" asked my stepmom.

I finally dropped the remote on the nightstand in frustration. I sighed and motioned for my stepmom to enter my room. She promptly sat beside me on the bed. Without asking, my stepmother leaned backwards and put her head on my chest. Her floral-scented soap drifted into my nostrils. There was a big smile on her face as she playfully swung her beautiful legs back and forth.

"There was nothing on television that I wanted to watch anyway," I said.

My stepmom looked at me with one raised eyebrow. She did not believe me.

"I can help," said my stepmom.

"Thank you," I said.

"How are you doing?" asked my stepmom.

"I am frustrated," I said.

"I can see that," said my stepmom.

"Was it that obvious?" I asked.

"Can I ask you something?" asked my stepmom.

"Sure," I said, "Ask me anything."

"How is your penis?" asked my stepmom.

Suddenly, I was tongue-tied. This was not the question I expected. My stepmom giggled as I mumbled something unintelligible.

"I still feel some pain down there," I said finally.

"Dr. Ludlum said there might be more pain because the blood is finally moving around like it should," said my stepmom.

"Is that why it hurts so much?" I asked.

"When does it hurt the most?" asked my stepmom.

"Only when I go to the bathroom," I said.

"Does it hurt only when you go to the bathroom with Betty?" asked my stepmom jokingly.

"How did you know that?" I asked.

My stepmom giggled.

"When did she decide to get totally naked?" asked my stepmom.

"Betty was not totally naked," I said, "She still had her underwear."

"Does she hold your penis when you go to the bathroom?" asked my stepmom teasingly.

"How did you know that?" I asked.

My stepmom rolled her eyes. She playfully smacked me on the back of my head.

"She is old enough to be your mother," said my stepmom, "I can't believe you are getting turned on by my own mother."

"We are not having sex," I said, but she did not believe me.

"Do you want to know why your penis hurts so much?" asked my stepmom.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because your penis is trying to have an erection," said my stepmom.

That was when I finally put the pieces of the puzzle together. Betty did spend a great deal of time holding my penis. In fact, Betty used my penis like a leash and playfully pulled me into the bathroom sometimes.

"You are kidding me," I said in disbelief.

"I know about these things," said my stepmom sarcastically, "And your father should be teaching you these things."

"I am so sorry," I said, "I hope you are not mad at me."

"Don't worry," said my stepmom, "It is about time my mother left town again."

"Why?" I asked.

"I have received some strange phone calls," said my stepmom.

"What phone calls?" I asked.

"My mother is receiving calls here," said my stepmom.

"What is wrong with that?" I asked.

"No one is supposed to know she is here," said my stepmom.

"I didn't know that," I said.

"I have the feeling they have tracked her down," said my stepmom.

"Oh no," I said.

My stepmother watched my facial expressions. Suddenly, she raised one of her eyebrows.

"I would not be surprised if she slid your penis into her vagina this week," said my stepmom.

My jaw dropped. I had never heard my stepmom say such naughty things before.

"You are blushing," said my stepmom.

"No," I said innocently.

"I don't want you having sex with my mother," said my stepmom.

"Okay, okay," I said.

"Are you a virgin?" asked my stepmother.

I had never felt so uncomfortable in all my life. There was nothing worse than being questioned by your mother regarding your virginity.

"Yes," I said finally.

"That would explain a great many things," said my stepmother.

"Are you disappointed?" I asked.

"No," said my stepmother with a smile, "In fact I think that is great."

"Why?" I asked.

"If you are still a virgin," said my stepmother, "You won't be passing along any diseases."

"I see," I said.

My stepmother giggled. I started to wonder why she was giggling.

"Why did you say that I would be passing along diseases?" I asked.

"Sexually transmitted diseases," said my stepmother.

She playfully punched me on the shoulder. I smiled. I guess I was tired from the workout, because I should have known what she was talking about.

"Who would I be giving a sexually transmitted disease?" I asked.

"Your girlfriend, silly boy," said my stepmother.

"Okay," I said.

"What ever happened to your girlfriend anyway?" asked my stepmom.

I looked down at the floor. I felt shame ever y time I thought about her.

"She did visit me in the hospital," I said, "But that was the last time I ever saw her."

My stepmom patted me on the knee. She took her finger and lifted up my chin.

"Cheer up," said my stepmom, "Why don't we watch a movie and get your mind off of your ex-girlfriend?"

"Sure," I said.

At that, my stepmother pulled her head off of my chest. Without her knowledge, my bathrobe opened up. To my dismay, my penis was suddenly exposed. I tried to cover up again, but my hands were completely helpless. If that was not embarrassing enough, my stepmother stood up and her own bathrobe slipped to the floor.

"Oh shit," said my stepmother.

Our eyes met. She realized that my penis was exposed and her eyes grew big. I realized she was suddenly naked and my jaw dropped. Her arms tried to catch the bathrobe as it slipped away and her perky breasts danced in front of my eyes. Mesmerized, I glanced down at her hairless crotch. Her mound of Venus was suddenly in full view. My nostrils could smell her earthy aroma.

Then I felt the pain. I closed my eyes. Blood was trying to surge through my penis and delivered shockwaves of pain up to my brain. It felt like sharp pins and needles on each square inch of my mangled penis.

"Oh my God," exclaimed my stepmother, "It is happening again."

When I opened my eyes, my stepmother was trying to cover my nakedness with my robe. Unfortunately, she forgot all about her own nakedness. Without thinking, my stepmother took one step forward and fell face first onto my chest. In the confusion, my stepmother grabbed my penis by mistake. She gave it one mighty tug to keep herself from sliding in the wrong direction. Regrettably, that was all the stimulation I needed. Without warning, my body stiffened and my penis started ejaculating. Molten semen was flowing through like a blowtorch to butter. I gasped from the pain. My stepmother screamed as white-hot fluid shot into the air.
"It is on my face," she screamed, "Get it off my face."

Her hand squeezed harder and I sent more fluid into the air. Eventually, I nearly passed out from the intense ejaculation. The pain was as great as the pleasure. I had never experienced anything like this before.

Finally, my stepmother stood up. She screamed because sticky white goo dripped from her hair and all over her face.

"Oh my God," yelled my stepmother, "When is the last time you blew a load?"

I didn't reply. I was struggling to breathe. My ten-inch penis was still erect and I was still in pain. Still, I could not take my eyes off of my beautiful and naked stepmother. As expected, she was extremely angry.

"Stop looking at me," she screamed.

My stepmother picked up her fallen bathrobe and marched out of the room. When she finally left the room, my erection subsided. Only then was able to breathe normally. I collapsed in my bed. I was shaking all over. Sweat poured from my face. I was exhausted.

The next morning, my stepmother did not come to see me in my room. Instead, she sent Betty to my room with my breakfast. After breakfast, I went to find my stepmother. I didn't want her angry at me. We sat down together in the living room.

"I guess we can tell Dr. Ludlum that it is still working," said my stepmother.

"It was really painful," I said, "And I am really sorry about what happened."

"You really should not be infatuated with your mother," said Greta, "It is not natural."

"I know," I said.

"It is also not legal," said Greta, "I could go to jail."

"Would it be illegal if I married you?" I asked.

My stepmother's jaw dropped. She did not know what to say. The question caught her completely off-guard.

"What kind of question is that?" asked my stepmother.

"You are not my birth mother," I said, "So would it be illegal if I married you?"

"Sorry, I am already married to your father," said my stepmother.

"Why don't you answer the question?" I asked.

My stepmother stood up with her arms crossed over her breasts. She paced back and forth as she mentally prepared her next statement.

"I appreciate you wanting to marry me," said my stepmother.

"You are so beautiful," I said, "Why would I not ask you to marry me?"

My stepmother popped me on the back of the head.

"Because I am your mother," said Greta, "That's why."

"At least I want to marry you first," I said, "Some guys just want to get into your pants."

"Like your father," said my stepmother, "I told him we had to get married first."

"I am sorry," I said, "I wish my dad didn't treat you so badly."

"We haven't talked in days," said my stepmother, "He is driving me crazy."

Finally, my stepmother sat down next to me. She took my hands and looked into my face.

"I know exactly what happened to you," said my stepmother, "You are a young, horny male who hasn't had sex, yet."

"Is it only about my age?" I asked.

"Yes," said my stepmother, "Horny boys like you are a dime a dozen."

"Maybe I can learn to control it," I said.

"Maybe," said my stepmother, "You will have to work on that."

"Okay," I said.

"Nice talk," said my stepmother.

At that, my stepmother left and I did not see her for the rest of the day. Later that day, Betty gave me my pain medication. Within minutes, I was passed out for the rest of the day. When I awoke, the bed sheets had been pushed to one side. I was spread-eagle and naked on the bed. There was a curious smell in the air. I had perspiration on my face. I also felt like I had just run a marathon.

To my surprise, I heard the shower running in the bathroom next to my room. I tried to prop myself up, but I felt too weak and nauseous. Then, I heard a voice.

"Mike, are you awake?" asked Betty.

"Yes," I said.

Betty bounced into the room with just a towel. Her ample breasts jiggled seductive at eye level. She smiled. The woman knew I was awed by her beauty. She tossed the towel aside and grabbed each breast. Seductively, Betty tiptoed to my bedside.

"Do you like these?" asked Betty.

Her nipples were hardened in the cool air and she presented them to my lips.

"Kiss them," she commanded.

Without thinking, I opened my mouth and sucked on her nipples like an infant. Betty moaned her approval.

"Do you want to see what you did?" asked Betty.

"What did I do?" I asked.

Betty sat on the bed next to me. She swung a leg over my head and spread her legs. I looked at her hairy crotch with great interest. She parted the hair and presented a reddened furrow.

"Did I do that?" I asked.

"Yes," said Betty.

I swallowed hard. Did I really have sex with Betty while I slept? Was that even possible?

"You are going to get me pregnant," said Betty proudly.

Betty pulled apart the folds of skin and white goo started to ooze out of her vagina. She giggled.

"You are one naughty boy," said Betty.

"Did I do that?" I asked.

"Yes," said Betty, "Your mother said to help you."

"Oh crap," I said, "What have I done?"

If that was not strange enough, Betty proceeded to straddle my face. She guided my lips to her hairy furrow.

"Kiss me," said Betty.

Her intoxicating fragrance drove me crazy. I could feel the blood surging through my penis. I knew I was having another erection, but I didn't care. My tongue dove onto her furrow and licked her everywhere. Betty started to moan. She started to shiver with delight. My eyes could see her ample breasts high above my muffled face. I kept licking until my tongue started to get tired and my face was covered with her vaginal juices. Then, Betty's body tightened. Her thighs nearly crushed my face. She was having an orgasm. For nearly ten minutes, Betty seemed to spasm with every flick of my tongue.

Afterwards, Betty came down off my face and wrapped herself on my body. We held each other for a long nap, and this became our afternoon activity. Much of the time, we just laid around naked. Betty would straddle my lap and slide my erection into her eager vagina. Eventually, my erections grew less and less painful, and my afternoons became more and more exciting. If Betty and I were not kissing on the lips, Betty was bringing her vagina to my face. The scent of a forbidden furrow was enough to get me excited. I knew it was wrong, because Betty was still married. Still, I could not get enough of her slim figure, her ample breasts, her shapely posterior, and her insatiable vagina. Her forbidden furrow seemed to swallow my entire ten inches with ease. Betty's body seemed to shake from head to toe with multiple orgasms each time my penis disappeared inside. Since my hands were pretty useless, there was nothing to stop Betty from climbing on top of me completely naked and I kept ejaculating into her vagina over and over again.

Weeks later, Betty was gone. It was six months since the accident and I was starting to regain some strength in my hands. Although my fingers were still in the casts, I could now move my arms around with minimal pain. Thus, I could take care of myself in the bathroom.

Eventually, my stepmother sent Betty to another city. Even though she was heartbroken, Betty did not show any of this to Greta. I didn't know if Betty wanted to keep our relationship a secret, but I played along with the charade. I watched from a window as Greta gave the cab driver money to take Betty to her new home. I guess that my stepmother did not want Betty to protest. After a tearful wave, Betty disappeared into the cab and disappeared from my life.

I spent the next few days working out in my father's gym downstairs. I had all the accouterments of a rich kid, but I was not motivated to indulge myself with videogames and satellite television. There was a hole in my heart and I didn't know what to do.

My mother-in-law seemed overly pleased with herself, but she had no time to gloat. Her relationship to my father had come to the breaking point. They were now speaking with lawyers. Even though she was one in a long line of women in my father's life, I loved Greta with a passion. I came every time she called. I didn't complain when she unloaded her frustration with my father. I even stayed in the house like she had told me.

I also stayed in the house because I was afraid to go to jail. So far, there was no word on the television about the murder of Tom and his friends. Still, I was working out continuously in the basement gymnasium. I wanted to be physically fit. Still, I didn't know what to do if Tom's friends arrived with firearms. My mother-in-law had disposed of Tom's pistol, but that did not stop me from being vigilant.

To take my mind off the impending divorce, I picked up some of my father's real estate books. He had a beautiful library in his study which I never really explored. Being the son of a rich man, I placed no value on an education. Today, I had a different view of an education. I had overheard that my father wanted me out of the house once the casts came off. That meant I was going to be thrown out without financial support. I would not be a rich kid anymore. I would just be another young person looking for work. Since I had no marketable skills, I suddenly realized that I needed a diploma. I was not about to work long hours at minimum wage for the rest of my life.

One morning, my stepmother found me in my father's study. To my surprise, Greta was dressed in a business suit.

"Hi, mom," I said, "You look nice today."

"Thank you, son," said my stepmom.

My stepmother did not look happy.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Oh, it is your father," said my stepmother, "We can't seem to compromise on this separation agreement."

Greta came to me and gently placed her hands on my chest. I wrapped my arms around her and she laid her head on chest. We stood there in a friendly embrace until Greta's heart rate returned to normal.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked.

"I was not even asking for any money," said my stepmother.

I nodded. There was no use telling my stepmother about my father's passion for winning at all costs. Mr. Michael Skinner, senior had no interest in losing, even if it meant stomping all over his own family.

"Your father had a message for you," said Greta.

"What?" I asked.

"He is kicking you out once the doctor removes the casts," said Greta.

I rolled my eyes with a sigh. I had known that for some time now, but it was good to finally have the honest truth.

"You don't seem too surprised," said Greta.

I shook my head.

"I already know," I said.

"How did you know?" asked Greta.

"I can hear you all over the house when you argue with my dad," I said.

"Sorry," said Greta, "I didn't know I was being that loud."

I chuckled.

"I don't even argue with my dad anymore," I said, "I don't ever win anyway."

Greta looked at me quizzically. She seemed puzzled at my reaction.

"Why are you so different from your father?" asked Greta.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"I told myself that I don't want to be like my father," I said plainly.

"I see," said Greta.

"My father has no friends," I said, "I can't live like that."

"Will I ever see you again?" asked Greta.

"Of course," I said.

"You have that doctor's appointment next week," said Greta.

"They might even remove the casts," I said.

"Which means you won't be living here anymore," said Greta.

"I will be fine," I said, "I will be taking classes at the local community college."

"What are you going to do about work?" asked Greta.

"There is an opening for a maintenance person at my dad's apartments," I said, "I can start there so I can put something on my resume."

Once more, my stepmother looked at me quizzically. I was sure she was wondering why I would even work for my own father after being thrown out of the house.

"I thought you were just another rich kid when I first met you," said Greta.

"I can't blame you," I said, "Now, I can't wait to get a fresh start and make my own way in the world."

"I am glad you are thinking this way," said Greta.

"Besides," I said, "I can't have your respect if I stay here."

"Don't you want to inherit all of this?" asked Greta.

I looked around at the many rooms in the house. There were beautiful cars in the garage. There was a fully stocked kitchen and wine cellar. I even stared at the beautiful fireplace in the library, which was one of many in the house. Many gilded books inhabited the shelves. Each of them was worth a small fortune. Still, I wanted none of it. They all reminded me of my dad. I finally shook my head.

"I have been my dad's punching bag for too long," I said, "I am not sure I can take it anymore."

"You can stay here and have anything that you want," said Greta.

"I am not in his will," I said, "So I will never get anything anyway."

"How did you know that?" asked Greta.

"Like I said," I said, "I can hear you all over the house when you argue with my dad."

Greta gasped.

"You weren't supposed to know that," said Greta.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Don't worry," I said, "I had a feeling I was not going to be included in his will anyway."

"Is that the real reason why you are leaving?" asked Greta.

"There is nothing here for me except you," I said, "And you will be gone soon, too."

Greta hugged me. I knew she was sobbing. I held her tight, because I didn't want to lose her. Still, I knew that our relationship was nearly over. I would never see her again.

I sighed.

"Will I ever see you again?" I asked.

"I will find you," she said tearfully.

Months later, I was hard at work as my father's maintenance man. It was a bitter pill to swallow. I had no friends and no money. Still, I found a silver lining in all of my misery. Since I had no friends and no money, I had plenty of time to study at the local community college. There was a mix of people at the community college. This included adults who were working during the day and working towards their degree at night. Unlike my first college experience, the majority of the students at the community college were paying their own way by working a steady job. These people were serious about their education. They were full of hope and enthusiasm for the future, something I was not accustomed to seeing.

As luck would have it, my stepmother came to see me one night because of a snake bite, and I was once again enamored with her various charms. I thought I had lost her forever, but she did come back into my life. This made me very happy.

By now, the summer had returned. I was once more running between one apartment complexes and fixing air conditioning units. In the mornings, I was stuck cleaning the pools before the tenants awoke.

Today was no different. In my swim shorts, I pulled up the long pole and found several leaves in the net. The morning sun beat down on me mercilessly. It was going to be a hot day. Still, I was happy to be cleaning out the pool instead of cleaning up the parking lots. The temperature was always higher on the hard asphalt.

I brushed off the sweat from my face. To take my mind off of the monotonous whine of the pool pump, I tried to recall parts of the economics lecture from the night before. Since I was footing the bill for my own education now, I was very motivated to learn whatever I could.

That was when my stepmom appeared. This time, my stepmom was wearing more than just a short kimono. In fact, my stepmom had a ragged set of jeans and a faded t-shirt. I smiled. I set down my pole and went over to meet her.

"You didn't need to stop what you were doing," said my stepmom.

My arms were open wide and my stepmom readily accepted a hug. She seemed embarrassed about something, so I waited for her to speak.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Oh, it is nothing," said my stepmom.

"I doubt that," I said, "I have a feeling you didn't come here to see me cleaning pools for my dad."

My stepmom looked at the concrete beneath our feet. She sighed.

"Don't tell me," I said, "Is this about my dad?"

Rolling her eyes, my stepmom did not want to admit that her current mood was being affected by my father. I was all too familiar with my father's persistence on getting his way. When my father wanted something, people either stepped aside or got crushed.

Gently, I stepped forward and took her hands. She had not used any of the expensive perfumes. My father probably demanded that the perfumes stay in his house. Still, I loved the smell of her body. I even loved her blonde tresses. My stepmom was no longer going to the expensive beauty parlors. My father probably took away all of her credit cards. Still, I loved everything about her except the bags under her eyes. Neither one of us got much sleep last night.

"You can tell me," I said, "I have no reason to tell my father."

"You still work for your father," said my stepmom.

"My father hasn't talked to me since my accident," I said, "I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"I find that stupid that he does not talk to his own son," said my stepmom.

"I find that stupid, too," I said.

"What is going to happen now?" asked my stepmom, "Will he ever talk to his only son?"

I sighed.

"I am not his son," I said, "I'm just another one of his employees."

"At least one of us has a job," said my stepmom.

"Why? How can they fire you?" I asked, "That night was not your fault."

"I know," said my stepmom, "That stupid snake bit me."

"Did you tell him that?" I asked.

"He didn't believe me," said my stepmom.

"Why didn't he believe you?" I asked.

My stepmom seemed surprised to hear that question from me.

"I wasn't about to lift up my skirt and show him where I was bit," said my stepmom.

At that, I fully understood why my stepmom did not pursue the issue. My jaw dropped. Embarrassed, my stepmom buried her head in my chest.

"I am sorry I asked," I said.

"That is not all," said my stepmom.

By this time, my stepmom was holding me tight. I had the feeling she was about to cry.

"Talk to me," I said.

"Your father wants to leave me with nothing," said my stepmom.

"He didn't leave much to any of his other wives," I said.

"I really didn't marry him for the money," said my stepmom.

"I believe you," I said.

"I just want the divorce to be final," said my stepmom, "I am just tired of all of this."

"What are you going to do now?" I asked.

My stepmom looked up at me.

"I am leaving town," said my stepmom.

"Are you going to stay with your mom?" I asked.

My stepmother nodded. She watched my face. I was heartbroken.

"I have to make sure my mom is safe," said Greta.

"I know," I said.

"I haven't seen her in weeks," said Greta.

My stepmom looked directly into my eyes. Her lips were so close, but I stopped myself from kissing her. I had never been so attracted to anyone else before in my whole life, but this was one relationship that could have some serious repercussions. This relationship was also very taboo. If I wanted to pursue this relationship, I would have to take my stepmom far, far away where no one knew who we were.

"I know what you want," said my stepmom.

"And it is something I can never have," I said.

"There is no need to make things worse than they already are," said my stepmom.

"I understand," I said.

"Thank you," said my stepmom.

"Will I ever see you and Betty ever again?" I asked.

"I don't know," said my stepmom.

"Do you think they are still looking for your mother?" I asked.

"I don't know," said my stepmom.

"I wish there was something I could do to help," I said.

My stepmom stared into my eyes. Unfortunately, there was doubt in her eyes.

"They might be coming for you," said my stepmom, "I can't take that chance with my mother."

I sighed.

"I will be back," said Greta, "I promise."

I fought back the tears and put on a brave face. My stepmom let go of me and she walked away. She waved goodbye as I watched her head to the parking lot. I waved one last time as she opened the door to her old Buick. In less than five minutes, the old Buick left the parking lot for parts unknown.
The next few weeks were a blur. I buried myself in my studies so I didn't have to think about Greta or Betty. I missed them terribly, but I was not about to sink into depression. I had a dream of being independent. Ever since the accident, my father had not spoken to me and that irritated me to no end. If my father didn't want me to be in his life, there was no reason to have him in mine. I wanted none of his money anymore.

In the past, I had prided myself on being the heir to a real estate fortune. Nowadays, I was just another employee. I overheard my stepmother's conversations. I was no longer in my father's will. I had been disowned. It was then that I realized that I had no future with my father. I was just another face in a crowd of billions of people.

In my despair, I failed to answer repeated phone calls from Doctor Ludlum. Since I had no phone, Doctor Ludlum left messages at the various apartment complexes where I was a maintenance man. Finally, I called her back from the manager's office at one of the apartment complexes.

"Mike Skinner?" asked Doctor Ludlum.

"Hello, Doctor Ludlum," I said.

"I have been trying to track you down," said Doctor Ludlum.

"Sorry," I said, "I don't have a phone."

"I guessed that you are no longer living with your father," said Doctor Ludlum.

"Yes, Doctor Ludlum," I said, "He kicked me out."

"Why?" asked Doctor Ludlum.

"I don't know," I said.

"You missed your last checkup," said Doctor Ludlum, "I need to see you in my office."

"But I don't have any insurance," I said.

"I understand," said Doctor Ludlum.

"I don't have any way to pay for the visit," I said.

"Look," said Doctor Ludlum, "Just come into my office and I'll figure out some way for you to pay for the visit."

"I really don't want to be a burden on anyone," I said.

"You let me worry about the insurance," said Doctor Ludlum, "You just worry about getting yourself into my office."

Before the phone call ended, I had scheduled a checkup with the good Doctor Ludlum when I had no work and no classes. She had scheduled a Sunday afternoon appointment. The doctor said that there would not be any people there to ask any questions.

That Sunday afternoon came sooner than I expected. Sunday mornings were usually quiet around the apartment complexes, because most of the mischief happened on Saturday night. I went to bed late Saturday night because there were several overall toilets that needed my attention. Needless to say, I tried to grab an extra hour of sleep before making my way towards Doctor Ludlum's office.

With no automobile, I had to take a few buses to reach her office. Usually, I would have complained about riding public transportation. My father had plenty of sports cars which I would drive without his permission, but that was before the accident. Now, I was just another working-class adult that paid the bus fare because they had no other way to get around town.

To my surprise, no one paid any attention to me. True, I had cobbled together a wardrobe of jeans and t-shirts from the second-hand store, but they were all clean. Even my sneakers were from the second-hand store. At least people were not teasing me about the accident on the football field. The people who rode the bus were too busy working and sleeping to watch much television. In fact, I started to enjoy the lack of notoriety. I was no longer the rich kid that everyone learned to hate. I was just another face in the crowd. Perhaps I could re-invent myself. I can make a new identity. That new identity would have nothing to do with Mr. Michael Skinner, senior.

It was well past noon when I arrived at Dr. Ludlum's office. Her office was in a one-story townhouse near the hospital. Many of the prominent doctors had offices around the hospital and Dr. Ludlum was no exception. When I arrived, I saw the security camera above the door buzzer and concluded that someone was watching the front door. I looked straight at the camera and rang the buzzer. There was a speaker above the buzzer and I heard a familiar voice.

"Mike," said Dr. Ludlum, "I am glad you came."

"Good afternoon," I said.

Then I heard a loud buzzing sound and the door popped open just enough. I thanked Dr. Ludlum and made my way inside. Once inside, I heard the buzzing sound again. This time, the front door shut tight with a resounding click.

I waited for someone to come for me in the waiting room, but no one ever showed up. Instead, I heard the sound of the doctor's voice over in the loudspeaker.

"Mike," said Dr. Ludlum, "Why don't you come into my office down the hall?"

"Okay," I said.

The office was terribly quiet. Usually, it was buzzing with activity. The waiting room was usually crammed with people waiting to see Dr. Ludlum. This time, the good doctor was inviting me into her own office. I started to get worried.

I travelled down the hall and came to a large door with Dr. Ludlum's name on a placard. I knew these oversized doors were meant intimidate any unwelcomed guests. Still, I pressed on and entered her office.

The gorgeous Dr. Ludlum was behind her oversized desk in her familiar white lab coat. She motioned for me to sit in a chair in front of her desk. Sheepishly, I came forward and sat down.

"How are you feeling, Mike?" asked Dr. Ludlum.

"I am feeling fine," I said.

Immediately, Dr. Ludlum stood up, grabbed the stethoscope, and proceeded to examine my arms. She rolled up my sleeves and looked over every inch of my arms.

"They seem to be healing nicely," said Dr. Ludlum.

"Thank you," I said, "You saved my arms."

Dr. Ludlum blushed. She did not expect the compliment.

"Are you still taking the pain pills?" asked Dr. Ludlum.

I shook my head. I explained to the good doctor that I had stopped taking the pills after my father kicked me out of the house.

"Your mother called me and tried to explain the situation to me," said Dr. Ludlum.

"I don't have any insurance," I said.

Dr. Ludlum went back around her desk and opened up my medical records. She seemed a little disappointed when she came to the total medical bill.

"Your father's insurance company refused to pay your hospital bill," said Dr. Ludlum.

I swallowed hard. My spirit was crushed. I was in disbelief. My jaw dropped in amazement.

"Why?" I asked.

"Your father's insurance claimed that you were never covered," said Dr. Ludlum.

"I have the insurance card," I said.

"Yes, we have copies of your insurance card," said Dr. Ludlum.

"Why would they issue an insurance card if I was never covered?" I asked.

"I don't know," said Dr. Ludlum.

I sat there dumbfounded. Dr. Ludlum pushed the paperwork in front of me. I looked at the totals for the hospital stay. They were large numbers. It would take me years to pay off those medical bills.

"I don't understand," I said.

"The insurance company was disputing the necessity of having your penis reconstructed," said Dr. Ludlum.

When I heard the reason, I rolled my eyes. I shook my head. That was the dumbest reason I had ever heard.

"Did they expect me to live life without a penis?" I asked.

"Yes," said Dr. Ludlum.

I frowned. That was not the answer I expected.

"That's stupid," I said.

Dr. Ludlum shrugged her shoulders. She held up her hands in a sign of surrender.

"I would agree with you," Dr. Ludlum said, "But the hospital wants to get paid for their services."

"What do I do now?" I asked, "I am just working as a maintenance man."

"I could eliminate my own fees," said Dr. Ludlum, "I am allowed to have one pro bono patient each year."

"Thank you," I said.

"But you have to find some way to pay the hospital," said Dr. Ludlum.

I sighed. How was I supposed to pay back such a large amount of money? The only solution was to go to my father, but there was no guarantee that he would help.

"By the way," said Dr. Ludlum, "How is your penis?"

I was startled by the question. Before I could protest, Dr. Ludlum had me standing up and pulling down my pants. She turned one of the desk lamps to illuminate my mangled penis. Without gloves, Dr. Ludlum examined my manhood with great interest.

To my dismay, I started to have an erection. My penis seemed to respond to her soft hands and gentle touch. Dr. Ludlum started to smile and giggle.

"Mister Skinner," said Dr. Ludlum, "Are you attracted to me?"

"Sorry," I said sheepishly.

To make matters worse, Dr. Ludlum squatted under my penis. I was not sure what she was doing, but her face was merely inches from my erect penis. I tried not to look because a million impure thoughts were streaming through my consciousness.

"Your mother told me about your recent sexual experiences," said Dr. Ludlum.

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"There is no need to be shy," said Dr. Ludlum.

I sighed. I tried to think of different way of telling the story, but the good doctor was not afraid to discuss controversial subjects.

"You were having sex with your grandmother," said Dr. Ludlum.

"We were both stuck in the house," I said, "We were both lonely."

"Do you like older women?" asked Dr. Ludlum.

"Have you seen her?" I asked, "She is absolutely beautiful."

"Did the age difference bother you?" asked Dr. Ludlum.

"No, not at all," I said.

"Have you had these feelings before?" asked Dr. Ludlum, "I don't see anything in your medical files about your mother."

"I don't remember my real mother," I said, "My dad never says anything about her."

"That is really sad," said Dr. Ludlum.

"My grandmother looks just like my mother," I said, "I thought they were sisters when I first met them."

"Are you attracted to your mother, too?" asked Dr. Ludlum.

My eyes grew big. I stopped talking. Dr. Ludlum looked at me through the corner of her eyes. She raised one suspicious eyebrow and waited for me to speak. I stumbled for something to say.

"I am your doctor," said Dr. Ludlum slyly, "These conversations are protected under patient-doctor privilege."

"Thank you," I said, "I never meant for any of this to happen."

"Don't thank me yet," said Dr. Ludlum, "We have to figure out some way for you to pay your hospital bill."

Once more, I choked. My mind drew a blank. How am I supposed to pay off this hospital bills? I knew in the back of my head that starting over elsewhere would have to wait.

The good doctor went back behind her desk and rifled through her cabinets. After a few minutes, Dr. Ludlum came back with a single note. She presented me the note. It had the name "Dennis Waco" and local telephone number.

"Call this person," said Dr. Ludlum.

"Who is Dennis Waco?" I asked.

"He is one of my patients," said Dr. Ludlum, "He heard about your reconstructive surgery and wanted to talk to you."

"Did Dennis get reconstructive surgery, too?" I asked.

"Not exactly," said Dr. Ludlum.

"Does Mr. Waco need reconstructive surgery?" I asked.

"No really," said Dr. Ludlum.

"I don't understand," I said.

"Just call him," said Dr. Ludlum, "After you are done seeing Mr. Waco, let us set up another appointment."

"Okay," I said.

"Before you leave," I just need a few blood samples."

"Sure," I said.

While a pulled up my pants, the good doctor took my blood in several vials. She put a tiny bandage where she pricked me with the need and sent me home. I was expecting the good doctor to explain the need for the mysterious Dennis Waco to contact me.

The next day, I used one of the phones belonging to one of the property managers. To my surprise, Dennis Waco himself answered the phone.

"This is Mike Skinner, junior," I said, "Is this Dennis Waco?"

"I am so glad you called," said Dennis.

"Dr. Ludlum asked that I give you a call," I asked.

"Fantastic," said Dennis, "You are just the man I wanted to see."

"What is this all about?" I asked.

"Can we arrange a time to meet?" asked Dennis.

The following day, I took a series of busses to the same part of town where I met Tom and his friends. Mr. Waco's office was one of the many unremarkable warehouses in the area. Judging from the worn bricks, broken sidewalk, and discolored windows, the warehouse was built during Prohibition. There was one single metal door and I promptly rang the buzzer for that door. There was a security camera above and I turned to look directly into the camera. A speaker overhead gave me instructions to enter the building after the lock on the metal door sprang to life.

"Come inside," said the voice.

Inside, there was a large man who arose from his chair. The man resembled a gorilla with a cheap business suit, but I thought it would be best if I kept my mouth shut. Promptly, he asked for identification. He checked my driver's license and pointed to one of the many doors that surrounded his chair. I was ushered into the next room and ordered to sit down. There was a single plastic chair and a single light bulb dangling from the ceiling. Nervously, I waited for Mr. Waco. What did I get myself into?

After fifteen minutes of nervousness, the large man re-appeared and I was promptly escorted down a long corridor and into Dennis Waco's office.

A middle-aged man stood up from behind his large desk. There were plush chairs everywhere with expensive lights dangling from the ceiling.

"Mike, how are you doing?" asked Dennis, "My name is Dennis Waco."

"I am fine," I said, "How are you doing, Mr. Waco?"

"My friends call me Dennis," said the middle-aged man.

There were movie posters all over his oversized office. The mysterious Dennis Waco wore sunglasses for some odd reason. There were no windows in his office, so the sunglasses were probably just to look stylish. He came over to me and shook my hand.

"I have been waiting to meet you," said Dennis.

"Why?" I asked.

Dennis waved his hands at all the movie posters in his office. Then, I knew exactly what type of movies Dennis made. Each poster had the picture of a gorgeous and nearly naked woman in one or more seductive poses.

"Wow," I said.

Dennis finally took off his sunglasses and placed them on his head. He seemed to admire every one of the beautiful women on his movie posters.

"I am glad you like what you see," said Dennis.

"I do," I said.

"I am a producer," said Dennis.

"Wow," I said again.

"That is good," said Dennis, "I hope you don't have anything against these types of movies."

"Actually, I don't watch many movies at all," I said.

Dennis stopped talking and looked at me in disbelief. I could tell he was very interested in what I was about to say.

"Why not?" asked Dennis.

"I have been working for my father for as long as I can remember," I said, "I watch some television before I go to bed, but I don't usually get to go out much."

"That is horrible," said Dennis.

"It is always about work," I said.

"Are you working now?" asked Dennis.

"I am the maintenance man for my father's apartment complexes," I said.

"How much do you make?" asked Dennis.

"Minimum wage and a place to stay," I said.

Dennis looked at me with amazement. I shrugged my shoulders.

"My dad kicked me out of the house," I explained.

"Doctor Ludlum says you have some recent hospital bills," said Dennis.

I rolled my eyes. I did not need to be reminded that I owed the hospital a great deal of money.

"Yes, I have a large hospital bill," I said.

"What if I told you I can make those hospital bills disappear?" said Dennis.

I looked at the movie posters and scratched my head. I did not understand why anyone who made these movies would be interested in a guy like me. Obviously these movies featured female performers. Why would he need someone like me?

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

Weeks later, I was back at the warehouse. I was naked and the make-up artist was attaching the last of the fake stitches that covered my body. There were also two fake bolts glued on either side of my neck. Finally, there were fake bags painted underneath each eye.

Dennis had come by earlier to talk to the make-up artistic. With a hand motion, Dennis had me stand up and turn around. I guess that he wanted to check a few items. In the end, Dennis pointed to the scars on my back and rear end.

"We probably have to use some body paint to cover these up," said Dennis.

The make-up artist nodded and Dennis left. Within minutes, the scars on my back and rear end were covered with body paint. Needless to say, I felt nervous. I was completely naked and no one was bothered. My ten inches of mangled manhood swung between my legs and the cute, little make-up artist did not even take notice. Even though I had my doubts about having sex in front of the cameras, my penis was already partially erect. Thus, I walked over to the movie set with my penis lazily swinging to and fro like a chimpanzee in a tree.

"Mike," said Dennis, "I see that you are ready."

"Sorry," I said.

I blushed. I was completely embarrassed about walking around with an erection. Still, Dennis brought me onto the movie set like a doting grandfather.

"Mike," said Dennis, "I want you to meet your new co-star."

Dennis presented an actress to me. The movie set was supposed to portray a medieval scene complete with stone floors and walls. Like me, the actress was naked. Dennis explained that this woman was veteran of many adult films and she knew how to ease newcomers to the film business. Dennis said she had returned to adult films after raising her daughter. This explained her ample bosom. To no one's surprise, my penis came to full erection after seeing those oversized nipples. Obviously, the woman had breast-fed a lucky child and I wanted to do the same. Her hairy crotch reminded me of Betty and I started to get really excited. In fact, I didn't care if the woman was not a skinny waif. I missed Betty and I missed having sex with her on a daily basis.

"Alright," said Dennis, "Say your lines and do your thing."

Dennis backed away from me and my co-star before prompting the film crew to get prepared.

"Quiet on the set," yelled Dennis, "Lights, camera, action."

With a huge smile on my face, I stepped forward. My co-star was laid across the floor completely naked. She seemed absolutely bored. I was wondering when she was going to start yawning.

"Oh, no," said my co-star, "You are the monster."

My co-star placed a hand on her head and pretended to faint. I stood there with a grin and an erection. Her breasts were not as big as those of Betty, but her hourglass figure was a sight to behold. I was starting to love this job.

"Please don't hurt me," said my co-star in an exaggerated voice.

Her acting ability was terrible, but I was not there to be a critic. I was there as an extra. I was painted up to look like a re-animated corpse. I didn't even have any lines of dialogue. Still, I smiled broadly as my co-star drew herself closer to me. Finally, she knelt before me and looked up at me with bored eyes.

"I will suck your monster cock," said my co-star in her stage voice.

Before the aging starlet could grab my mangled manhood, I reach down and kissed her. Taken by surprise, my co-star froze for a moment. I knew this was not Betty and it made me sad that I would never see Betty again. Thus, I kissed my co-star as if she was Betty. I gave her a truly passionate kiss.

At first, my co-star did not know what to do. I wondered how many times she had been asked to have sex with complete strangers. Her lack of interest in me was not her fault. Still, I kissed her like I would kiss Betty. My lips wanted to express my love for Betty and the on-screen kiss was electric.

When our lips finally parted, my co-star's blue eyes were wide with surprise. Gently, I brought her up so that we were eye to eye.

"I am only supposed to give you a blowjob," whispered my co-star.

I nodded my acknowledgement, but I kissed her again. My arms wrapped around her like I would have wrapped my arms around Betty.
"You are so beautiful," I whispered.

My co-star continued to be in shock as we embraced. My hands stroked her back the way I had stroked Betty's delectable figure.

"Do I know you?" whispered my co-star.

"I sure hope so," I said, "I wish I had never let you go."

My co-star blushed. She seemed to enjoy the gentle words, but she was not sure of my identity. To no one's surprise, my co-star freed her hand and promptly smacked me on the face. The movie set was completely quiet, but I didn't think anyone heard my gentle words.

"Let me go," yelled my co-star, "I don't want any more kids."

"I won't fit anyway," I said.

My co-star looked at me with great suspicion. She looked down at my mangled member. I sensed that she was trying to decide if my penis could actually fit into her vagina.

"Yes it will," said my co-star.

"Don't even try it," I whispered, "I could only think of one woman who could squeeze that entire thing inside."

My co-star looked at me. Her raven locks seemed to mesmerize me and she knew it.

"I know why you are looking at me like that," said my co-star.

"What are you talking about?" I asked innocently.

"You are such a pervert," said my co-star, "You don't like women your own age."

"What makes you say that?" I asked.

"You have a mommy fetish," said my co-star.

I was confused. What was a mommy fetish? This was the first time I had ever heard about this condition. Was it a sexually transmitted disease?

"I don't know what you are talking about," I said finally.

To everyone's surprise, my co-star laid down on the fake stone floor. She spread her legs wide and beckoned me to come closer.

"Come to mommy," said my co-star.

By now, my penis was fully erect. My co-star was wetting her fingers and spreading saliva over the entrance to her vagina. She pushed the folds apart and waited for me to come closer. I looked over to Dennis. The man was motioning me to move forward.

"Just don't come inside your mommy, okay?" asked my co-star.

Breathlessly, I nodded. I had been thinking about Betty for days. I missed her so much. Still, I felt guilty for wanting another woman. I felt like I was cheating on Betty, even though Betty and I were not married. Betty and I were not even boyfriend and girlfriend. We just two people stuck together in my father's house.

My co-star grabbed the tip of my penis and slid my mangled member into her vagina. She took a deep breath as the entrance to her vagina started to stretch apart.

"Oh my God," said my co-star, "That hurts."

"Do you want me stop?" I asked.

By now, my co-star had her eyes closed. She looked like she was in pain.

"No," said my co-star, "Don't stop."

I could see Mr. Waco in the background. He was motioning for me to continue.

"Keep going," said my co-star.

I leaned forward and her vagina started to swallow my entire penis. My co-star was breathing fast. She grabbed my chest and pulled me closer to her. I saw her puckered lips and I accepted her kiss. Her warm lips reminded me of Betty.

Soon, my co-star was pulling me forward until I could go no further. Her eyes would get big each time my penis stopped moving. Her vaginal walls were squeezing so hard that I knew I could not hold out. I tried to think of non-sexual things like taxes and politics, but her kisses were soft and inviting. I wanted to kiss her forever.

Perhaps I was just a lonely young man who had fallen in love with an older woman. Betty never complained about the diameter or the length of my penis. In fact, Betty had an insatiable appetite for sex. Once my penis was inside her, Betty did not stop until we were both exhausted.

"Holy shit," growled my co-star, "Here it comes."

Without warning, my co-star's body started to shake. I kissed her tenderly. I felt her vagina squeeze tightly around my penis. Her vaginal muscles were strong and the pressure on my penis almost took my breath away.

I knew I wanted to ejaculate, but I tried to hold it back. I had the feeling my co-star was not on birth control, so I tried my best to not think about anything sexual.

My co-star's orgasm lasted a full five minutes. Afterwards, I pulled my penis completely out of her vagina. She kept shaking even after I pulled my manhood out of her oozing vagina. My penis was covered with a shiny coating of girl juice. The camera zoomed up closer to my mangled manhood. Quickly, I turned away from my co-star. With her eyes shut, my co-star was completely unaware of what was happening when I started ejaculating. I shook from head to toe as I shot sperm in the direction of the camera. Dennis and the camera crew were breathlessly cheering as I continued to empty my testicles of hot seed.

When it was all over, Dennis raised his voice.

"Cut," yelled Dennis.

Dennis walked over to me. The man did not even look down as he avoided the sperm on the movie set. He motioned for one of the support staff and a janitor came over to mop up my mess. I sat down and waited for instructions.

"Fantastic," said Dennis, "Why don't you take five?"

I was whisked away to a waiting room by his assistant. I took advantage of the break to use the adjoining the bathroom and breathe a sigh of relief. I had no idea what to expect about all of this. I had never even been in a school play or even appeared onstage for a musical program. I looked at down at my mangled penis and wondered how to control it. I almost impregnated a complete stranger simply because I had little to no knowledge about sex. This complete stranger was only the second woman who had sex with me.

Still, Mr. Waco promised a paycheck large enough to eradicate my hospital bill. I told myself that I would take the money directly to Dr. Ludlum. Then, I would return to saving enough money to leave this town permanently. I would leave my father and all of his fabulous wealth in the rear view mirror.

Later, Dennis and his staff burst through the door. They hurried me back to the movie set and urged me to do one more scene. A make-up artist was touching up the false stitches all over my body as they hurried me through the studio.

When I arrived at the movie set, my co-star came to greet me. The bored look on her face had disappeared. She was grinning from ear to ear.

"Hi, I am Elaine," said my co-star.

"Hi, I am Mike," I said.

"Mike, we need to film one more scene with you," said Dennis.

Elaine nodded with excitement. Her nipples were hard and I noticed that someone had shaved off the hair on her crotch. Immediately, my penis started to get excited again.

"That's great," said Dennis, "I was going ask you if you can get another erection."

I reached out to Elaine and held her hand. She looked down at my mangled member as she stood closer to me.

"Do you like older women, Mike?" asked Dennis.

"Yes," I said.

"How much experience have you had?" asked Dennis.

"Not much," I said truthfully.

Elaine giggled. She saw me gazing at her shaved crotch and I blushed.

"I usually work with jerks," said Elaine.

"It is a cutthroat business," said Dennis.

I bent over and kissed Elaine. I savored her scent as our lips touched.

"Whoa," said Dennis, "Let's save the romance for the camera."

"Sorry," I said, "She is so beautiful."

Once more, Elaine giggled. I watched her posterior as we walked past several empty sets. My co-star seemed to enjoy being watched by me.

"Elaine was at the top of her game," said Dennis.

"She is tops with me," I said.

Once more, Elaine giggled like a schoolgirl. She seemed to appreciate the extra attention she was getting from me.

"Then I got divorced," said Elaine.

"We had to take her to rehab," said Dennis.

"I am glad everything is okay," I said.

"Thank you," said Elaine, "I appreciate that."

"We are adding a new scene," said Dennis.

"Don't worry," said Elaine, "You don't have to hold back."

"You can come inside her," said Dennis.

"They made sure that I can't get pregnant," said Elaine.

"She is also very smart," I said.

Once more, Elaine giggled. I wondered if anyone had ever said that she was smart. She drew closer to me as she blushed. Before Dennis could stop us, we were kissing again.

"Guys," said Dennis, "Let's save that for the camera."

"Do you want me on top?" Elaine asked Dennis.

"Yes," said Dennis, "I want you to have an orgasm like you had before."

"Right," said Elaine.

"Can we do that?" asked Dennis.

Elaine looked down at my mangled member and nodded her head. She pointed to my penis.

"That thing is so wide," said Elaine, "I wasn't sure how it got inside."

Minutes later, I was lying on the floor surrounded by fake stone walls. Elaine came from the opposite side of the movie set and sat on my lap. She straddled my erect penis and slid her vagina over the tip. Elaine took both hands and parted the folds. She closed her eyes and her vagina started to swallow more and more of my penis. I groaned. Even though she had been in other adult films, Elaine's vagina felt tight around my penis. I looked up at those beautiful breasts. I could also see her shaved crotch. The whole area was brightly lit, but my mind still played tricks with me. I missed Betty so much that I started to think that Elaine was actually Betty.

When her vagina had swallowed up my penis, Elaine shuddered with delight. I tried to hold back. I knew I was going to ejaculate soon, but I wanted the scene to last until Elaine herself had an orgasm.

The next half hour went by as a blur. Elaine was moving her crotch up and down on my penis. It did not take long for a milky white fluid to appear at the base of my penis and on her crotch. Elaine kept her eyes closed and her mouth shut. Sweat appeared on her chest as she bounced up and down on my penis. Sweat appeared on my forehead because I was trying to hold back my ejaculation.

There was a camera aimed between both of our legs. There was also a camera pointed directly down her cleavage. Then, the impossible happened. Elaine started to have another orgasm. Her entire body shook. I felt her vaginal muscles tighten, but I tried to hold off my ejaculation.

"Oh shit," said Elaine, "I am coming again."

As she had the orgasm, Elaine was slamming her crotch down on my penis with the ferocity of a charging bull. I tried not to think of sex, but it was difficult with a beautiful woman riding your penis like a bull-rider.

"I can't hold it much longer," I whispered.

Elaine did not care. She was lost in the sensations and she was not listening to anyone. The camera crew zoomed in to her gorgeous posterior as it undulated.

Suddenly, my penis popped out of her vagina. I felt the cool air hit my mangled manhood and I started ejaculating. Streams of sperm started spraying in the direction of the camera. I found Elaine lips and kissed her hard. We were both experiencing an orgasm and we lost track of time.

When it was all over, Dennis and the crew were clapping.

"Elaine is back," announced Dennis.

Like a prize-fighter, Dennis raised Elaine's fist into the air as a sign of victory. That afternoon, I collected an envelope full of large bills. Elaine was also there to collect her money. We held hands like high school sweethearts and Elaine left me her telephone number. Afterwards, Dennis called everyone a cab and we were whisked away to our homes.

The next day, I visited Dr. Ludlum. She took me to the hospital finance department and I paid off the entire bill. I was on top of the world. Who knew I could pay off all my hospital bills?

After paying off the hospital, there was a little extra for groceries and a cellular phone. It was not a fancy phone. This model was already three years old, but the battery was still able to charge. A few of the buttons were loose and the screen was had tiny nicks and scratches. Still, it allowed me to get calls. The alternative was to go into the management office each time I need to call someone. Both Dr. Ludlum and Mr. Waco advised me to get a cellular phone so they could contact me directly. I wanted to make sure I got to Dr. Ludlum's appointments. In addition, I wasn't sure if Mr. Waco wanted me to be part of any other movie productions.

As it turned out, I welcomed all other sources of income, even if it was a source of notoriety. So far, no one seemed to know that I made an adult film. In fact, no one recognized me at all, even as Michael Skinner's only son. Like most people, I wanted to be praised and recognized by my fellow man. Still, there was an advantage to be invisible in society. Since no one seemed to know who I was, I was free to make as many adult films as I wanted.

I tried calling Elaine, but she was busy with her teenage daughter. I told her it was okay. Her parenting activities took precedence over my social activities.

"It is okay, Elaine," I said, "I just wanted you to call you because I promised that I would call you."

"I appreciate that," said Elaine, "I like a guy who keeps his promises."

"I have no idea why anyone would want to lie to you," I said.

"Guys lie to me all the time to get into my pants," said Elaine.

"I am not surprised," I said, "You do attract a lot of attention."

Elaine gave me a quizzical look.

"Are you trying to flatter me?" asked Elaine.

"It is true," I said, "You really do attract a lot of attention."

"But you are so young," said Elaine, "You really should be dating girls your own age."

"My father dates girls my own age," I said, "It makes sick."

"Is he having a mid-life crisis?" asked Elaine.

"He has been having a mid-life crisis for most of my life," I said.

Elaine laughed.

"Are you still living at home?" asked Elaine.

"No," I said, "My father kicked me out not too long ago."

"Is that why you are doing these kinds of films?" asked Elaine.

"I hope you are not too disappointed," I said, "I am just the maintenance man."

I explained to Elaine that I was the maintenance man at the apartment complexes that my father owned. Elaine stopped talking.

"I live in one of those apartment complexes," said Elaine.

"Well, you will probably see me cleaning the pool there," I said.

"These apartment complexes are owned by Michael Skinner," said Elaine.

"That is my father," I said.

"Oh crap," said Elaine, "That can't be."

"What? What is wrong? Did I say something wrong?" I asked.

There was a sigh on the other end of the phone line. Elaine seemed like she was going to cry.

"I knew you looked familiar, but I could not place your face," said Elaine.

"I am so sorry if I said something wrong," I asked.

"I don't think you will believe this," said Elaine, "But I was married to your father."

The statement hit me like baseball bat between the eyes. I nearly fell out of my chair. My heart started to race. Could this be really true?

"When I married your father," said Elaine, "He had baby boy."

"How long ago were you married to my father?" I asked.

"We were married a year and a half," said Elaine, "But that was almost twenty years ago."

"If that is true," I said, "Didn't you get anything when you divorced my father?"

"No," said Elaine, "The schmuck left me with nothing."

"If it makes you feel any better," I said, "He has done this to all of his wives."

"Why am I not surprised?" asked Elaine.

"He threw me out and disowned me," I said, "I am not even in his will."

"That is so cruel," said Elaine, "He is making his own son work as the maintenance man."

"It's okay," I said, "I do an honest day's work and get an honest day's pay."

"I am glad to hear that you feel that way," said Elaine.

"I take it that you are doing these films for the same reasons as me," I said.

"You are correct," said Elaine.

"Don't worry," I said, "Your secret is safe with me."

"I appreciate that," said Elaine, "My part-time job at the dollar store is not making me a millionaire."

"I assume your daughter doesn't know about any of this," I said.

"I would appreciate it if you keep it that way," said Elaine.

"I promise," I said.

"Thank you," said Elaine.

"Look, I know you need to get back to your daughter, so I probably should let you go," I said.

"You're a young guy," said Elaine, "You don't need to be tied down by an old woman with a daughter."

"That is not what I am worried about," I said.

"What are you worried about?" asked Elaine.

"You took care of me when I was little," I said, "You were my stepmother."

"You didn't know who I was," said Elaine.

"My father would kill me if he ever found out," I said.

"That makes two of us," said Elaine.

"Are you angry with me?" I asked.

There was a pause. I waited for her answer. What have I done? I just had sex with my stepmother. To make it worse, I had sex with my stepmother on film. There would be no reason to lie to my father, because all he would have to do was buy the DVD.

"Do you think I should ask Dennis to pull the film?" I asked.

"No," said Elaine quickly, "It is probably too late anyway."

"How long does it take to get to DVD?" I asked.

"Dennis has a website," said Elaine, "It only takes him 24 hours after editing to put it on the website."

"Is it already streaming on the internet?" I asked.

"Probably," said Elaine.

I sighed. It was too late to stop the film from being watched.

"Mike, listen to me," said Elaine.

"This is my entire fault," I said.

"That is not true," said Elaine, "I should have trusted my instincts when I saw you."

"I don't think they gave us much time to get acquainted," I said.

Elaine laughed.

"Most of the time," said Elaine, "The guy was done in five minutes."

"Is that true?" I asked.

"Dennis likes to shoot with multiple cameras," said Elaine.

"I noticed that," I said.

"When the scene is too short," said Elaine, "Dennis gets clips from the different cameras to make the film longer."

"That is very sneaky," I said.

"In this way," said Elaine, "He doesn't have to hire as many people if each scene is longer."

"I guess there is a lot I have to learn about this business," I said.

"I got into this business because I was struggling to make ends meet," said Elaine.

"Was that after the divorce?" I asked.

"Your dad hired me as the nanny at first," said Elaine, "I didn't mind because you were so cute at that age."

"Thank you," I said, "No one has ever told me that."

"Your dad was married to someone named Betty," said Elaine.

"I have a friend named Betty," I said.

"She was an absolute stunner," said Elaine, "I had no idea why your dad wanted to fool around with someone like me."

"That is something my dad would never tell anyone," I said.

"When I threatened to leave," said Elaine, "Your father said he would divorce Betty."

"What happened?" I asked.

"When Betty gave birth to her daughter," said Elaine, "Your father tossed her out on the street and took you and me to another city."

"I know you are very beautiful," I said, "But that is no reason to toss the mother of your children out into the street."

"I completely agree with you," Elaine said, "But I was young and naïve."

"What happened next?" I asked, "I am almost afraid to ask."

"When you father found someone else," said Elaine, "I found myself and my daughter out of the street."

"If it makes you feel any better," I said, "He threw me out, too."

There was another awkward pause. Finally, Elaine spoke up.

"I have a picture of you, your dad, your real mom, your sister, and your father," said Elaine.

"Are you in the picture, too?" I asked.

"I am the nanny and I am the one holding you," said Elaine, "Your mother is holding your newborn sister."

"I would love to see that picture," I said.

"I am not sure when we can get together," said Elaine, "But I will be sure to bring the picture."

"Thanks," I said, "I'm just going to keep this between the two of us."
"Are you going to tell Dennis?" asked Elaine.

"No," I said, "I will leave that up to you."

"What if Dennis asked you and I to have sex again?" asked Elaine.

"I don't know," I said.

"Who would ever believe that my greatest sexual experience was with my stepson?" said Elaine.

"I don't know if they will send me to jail," I said, "So I am not telling anyone."

"What am I going to tell my daughter?" asked Elaine.

"I guess that makes her my half-sister," I said.

"Yes," said Elaine.

"Please don't take this the wrong way," I said, "But maybe we should keep this to ourselves."

"I know my daughter," said Elaine, "She asks a lot of questions."

"For what it is worth," I said, "I am glad you found me."

"Why do you say that?" asked Elaine.

"I spent most of my life without a real mother," I said, "At least you remembered me."

"Thanks," said Elaine.

"Call me if you need anything," I said.

"Take care of yourself, son," said Elaine.

I set the phone down and jumped for joy. Who knew that I had another stepmother? I wanted that picture. I wanted to know the identity of my real mother. It was the question that had plagued me my whole life. Who could she be? Why did my father throw her out? Why did he keep me instead of my sister? The questions swirled in my head. I had never been so excited in all my life.

Weeks later, I was going to see one of the property managers. This property manager's name was Stan and I have found him to be one of the most honest people I knew. Stan was a large fellow who would wave at everyone. This man knew no strangers. I loved going to see Stan because Stan would always tell you the truth and nothing but the truth. Of course, Stan never did get far in life because he refused to pander to anyone's ego, especially my father's overblown ego. Still, I loved working for Stan, and I had a feeling I reported to Stan because my father didn't like Stan's honesty.

On this particular day, there was large limousine parked outside the rental office. Usually Stan was in his air-conditioned office. Today, Stan was outside with a small person in a business suit standing next to him. Maybe my father was inside the limousine. Maybe he would finally talk to me. My father had not talked to me since the accident.

Stan quickly introduced me to Mr. Jenkins from the Acme Athletic Company. The little guy seemed to be in a rush.

"Good morning, Mr. Skinner," said Mr. Jenkins, "I am here to take you to the studio."

"Do you work for Mr. Waco?" I asked.

"Who is Mr. Waco?" asked Mr. Jenkins, "I work for the Acme Athletic Company."

"What do you need me for?" I asked.

"You are going to film your first public service message," said Mr. Jenkins, "You will tell everyone about our safe products."

"Didn't you guys make that athletic supporter that shredded my penis into all those pieces?" I asked.

Mr. Jenkins stopped. He had not expected my question. There was an awkward pause.

"We are very sorry for your injuries," said Mr. Jenkins.

"Sorry?" I asked, "Who is going to pay for all of my hospital bills?"

"I thought we gave you enough money to pay for your injuries," said Mr. Jenkins.

"What money?" I asked.

"We gave you a nice fat check," said Mr. Jenkins.

"What check?" I asked.

Stan laughed.

"This boy doesn't have a pot to piss in," said Stan.

"It was deposited in your bank account," said Mr. Jenkins.

"I don't have a bank account," I said.

"We are talking seven figures," said Mr. Jenkins, "I hope you did not cash out the entire check."

Stan laughed again.

"He is the maintenance man," said Stan, "I think I would know if he had seven figures in a bank account somewhere."

"I don't understand," said Mr. Jenkins.

"Mr. Skinner works for me," said Stan, "He is my maintenance man."

"If I didn't get the check," I asked, "Who did get the check?"

The little man pulled out a tablet and started pressing buttons. A few minutes later, Mr. Jenkins showed a photograph of the check.

"See," said Mr. Jenkins, "That was the amount of the check."

"Holy crap," said Stan, "That's a lot of money."

"I have never seen that check," I said.

I was starting to get angry. The little man quickly punched a few buttons and a photograph of the back of the check appeared. There was a familiar signature on the back of the check. I had seen that signature before and it usually meant trouble for me. I looked at Mr. Jenkins directly in the face.

"That's not my signature," I growled.

"That is your father's signature," said Stan.

"Are you sure?" asked Mr. Jenkins.

Stan and I crossed our arms and stared at poor Mr. Jenkins. The little man looked like he was going to have a panic attack.

"Yes," said Stan, "I see that signature every month."

"Are you sure this is his father's signature?" asked Mr. Jenkins.

"His father signs my check every month," said Stan.

"Maybe his father is holding his money in a bank account," said Mr. Jenkins.

"Mike does not have a bank account," said Stan.

"Are you sure?" asked Mr. Jenkins.

"I pay him in cash," said Stan.

"Why?" asked Mr. Jenkins.

"Because Michael Skinner, senior, does not want his son on his books," said Stan, "He doesn't want to pay any taxes or insurance on Mike Skinner, junior."

"Oh no," said Mr. Jenkins, "This is check fraud."

"You better check into that," I said, "Go back and tell your people that my dad has your money."

"What about the public service message?" Mr. Jenkins asked.

"I didn't sign the check," I said, "I am not doing any commercial."

Mr. Jenkins ran into the limousine and the car sped away. Stan and I stood there as the dust from their departure swirled around.

"Do you think this is some sort of sick joke?" I asked Stan.

"I don't think it is a very funny joke," said Stan.

"Do you think my father would actually pocket my check?" I asked.

Stan shrugged his shoulders. The big man scratched his head and pondered my question.

"He doesn't want to pay taxes and insurance on you," said Stan, "He probably took your money, too."

"I could have used that money to pay the hospital," I said.

"That check could have set you up on easy street," said Stan.

"Now my father has my money," I said, "Why am I not surprised?"

Stan sighed and shook his head from side to side.

"When are the honest guys going get a break?" asked Stan.

"I don't know," I said, "But I am getting really tired of being screwed over by my dad."

"You are not the only one," said Stan.

The next day, Stan told me to come into the property manager's office. To my surprise, Stan asked me to shut the door behind me. The jovial man had me sit in one of his chairs as he spoke to me.

"What's going on, Stan?" I asked.

"I am supposed to fire you," said Stan.

My jaw dropped. Stan was serious. Since he was the most honest person I had ever known, I waited for Stan to explain what would happen next. Was this my father's idea? Did I do something wrong? I knew I had sex with Elaine, but that was not on company time. Maybe my father bought the DVD and saw me doing adult films. Maybe he was upset with my decision.

"It is nothing that you did," said Stan.

"I didn't know that," I said, "Just let me know if I am doing anything wrong."

"No," said Stan, "You are doing everything right."

"I don't understand," I said.

"Your father called me up and asked me to fire you," said Stan.

"Why does he want to fire me?" I asked.

"That is the good part," said Stan.

"I can't wait to hear this," I said sarcastically.

"Your father wants you to call the Acme Athletic Company and tell them that you will do their commercial," said Stan.

"What if I don't want to do the commercial?" I asked.

Stan smiled. His belly quaked as he laughed.

"He told me to fire you if you don't do the commercial," said Stan.

"You saw the check," I said, "Would you do the commercial?"

"Hell no," said Stan.

"What is going to happen to you?" I asked, "Is he going to fire you, too?"

"Where is he going to find someone to work for peanuts like you and me?" asked Stan.

I shrugged my shoulders. I saw advertisements in the newspaper for maintenance men and none of those jobs paid minimum wage. Still, these advertisements did not mention a place to stay. They also gave Stan a roof over his head. Nevertheless, Stan's one-room apartment was the size of a walk-in closet. Stan would always complain about the tiny bathroom since he was large fellow.

"Are you going to fire me?" I asked.

"How is your father going to know?" asked Stan, "You get paid in cash."

"Do you think the other property managers would tell my dad that you and I are still working here?" I asked.

"Do you think the property managers want to clean the pools or pick up the trash?" asked Stan.

"No," I said.

"They will keep quiet as long as the pool is clean and the grounds have no trash," said Stan.

"What did you tell my dad?" I asked.

"I told him that I fired you," said Stan.

My jaw dropped again. I waited for Stan to explain.

"I can't believe you did that," I said.

Stan shrugged his shoulders. He started laughing again.

"The old man blew a fuse," said Stan, "He started cussing and screaming like some bratty teenager."

"I can't believe you did that," I said.

"I saw how many zeroes were on that check," said Stan, "That's a lot of zeroes."

"I can't believe he forged my signature and took the money," I said.

"Did he even pay for any of the hospital bills?" asked Stan.

"No," I said.

"What are you going to do about those hospital bills?" asked Stan.

"I took care of them myself," I said.

Stan scratched his head. I could see that Stan was thinking. He was wondering how I could even pay any of the hospital bills.

"My doctor decided to waive her fees when I explained my situation to her," I said.

"You are one lucky devil," said Stan.

"I had to make arrangements with the hospital for the rest of the bills," I said.

"Is that because your father's insurance refused to pay for anything?" asked Stan.

"Exactly," I said.

"That is not right," said Stan.

"You are correct," I said.

Stan nodded his head. He sighed.

"I can't believe your old man decided to take your money," said Stan, "Didn't he realize that you would find out sooner or later?"

"That's what I don't understand," I said.

"Check fraud is a serious offense," said Stan, "You can go to prison for that."

I shrugged my shoulders. As much as I wanted my dad to love and appreciate me, I was completely aggravated by his deception. Here I was struggling to pay my bills while my own father robbed me blind. I could remember working summer after summer on his properties without pay. Sure, I was able to live at home, but I had no car, no money, and no free time. As looked back over my miserable life, I did all of it to please my father. Now, I didn't care about pleasing him anymore.

"He can go to jail for all I care," I said.

"That was definitely his signature," said Stan, "I know because I see it on the checks I get from him."

"Do you think my dad will force me to do that commercial?" I asked.

"Just stay out of sight for a while," said Stan.

"What do you think I should do?" I asked.

"Nothing," said Stan.

"Should I just do my job like nothing ever happened?" I asked.

"I have never seen your father come down here," said Stan, "He is probably in Las Vegas again."

"He has probably spent all of my money," I said.

"I am really sorry," said Stan, "But you are probably right."

"The Acme Athletic Company is not going to like that too much," I said.

"That's not your problem," said Stan, "Just do your job and I will make sure you get paid."

"Thanks, Stan," I said, "I can't thank you enough."

"Don't mention it," said Stan.

We shook hands. Stan opened the door and I once more ventured out to the land of plugged toilets and broken air conditioners. I forced the thoughts of all that money out of my head. The money was lost, especially if my father had going to Las Vegas. It would not be the first time my father lost a bundle in Sin City.

"He can go to jail for all I care," I muttered.

The next day, I walked home from the community college. I was whistling and minding my own business when someone ran up behind me. It was a beautiful young girl with blonde hair and tender eyes. Like Greta, she seemed frail and thin. To my surprise, her face seemed oddly familiar. After a moment or too, I suddenly realized that the young girl's face resembled that of Elaine's face. I stopped and turned around. There was a boy following her, but he was still about a few hundred feet away. He was running after the girl, but he slowed down when he discovered me talking to the young girl.

"Are you the pool guy?" asked the young girl.

I immediately pointed to the young boy that was approaching us. The young girl immediately stood behind me.

"Is this boy bothering you?" I asked.

"He goes to my school and he won't go away," said the young girl.

"Don't worry," I whispered, "He won't bother you for long."

The young boy approached us and sneered. He immediately pointed his finger at my face. The young boy was about my height, but he wasn't very muscular. Despite his obvious lack of muscle mass, he started yelling at me with a rich-kid attitude that made my blood boil. Instantly, I knew he needed to be taught a lesson.

"Aren't you the pool guy?" sneered the young boy.

"What is that to you?" I asked.

"Step aside," said the young boy, "That's my girlfriend."

"I am not your boyfriend," yelled the young girl.

"Is this punk bothering you?" I asked.

"Yes," said the young girl, "He told all his friends that he had sex with me."

"Come back here, you little slut," said the young boy.

The young boy attempted to reach behind me and pull on the young girl's arm. Instinctively, I put my hand out to keep the young girl from being dragged away. That was when the young man let go of the young girl. To everyone's surprise, the young boy swung his fist and punched me in the left cheek. The blow stunned me to a moment, but I did not fall over. In fact, I stood my ground and glared at the young boy.

The young girl was still behind me, but she took a cursory glance at my cheek.

"Are you okay?" asked the young girl.

I felt the pain, but it soon passed. The young man was not so fortunate. He was holding onto his fist as if he was in great pain. The people nearby stopped. They were all wondering what I would do next.

"You broke my fingers," yelled the young man.

He started yelling at her again.

"You are coming with me, bitch," said the young man.

Once more, the rage inside me came bubbling up like a festering wound. The young man sounded like my father when he yelled. My meaty fist came up and slammed into the young boy's face. For weeks, I had been hauling chemicals to each of the pools in the apartment complexes. The large barrels were over eighty pounds apiece and I had to carry them up a lot of steps. I was pleasantly surprised at the power behind my fist. There was a sickening crack as my fist smashed into the side of his jaw.

The young woman behind me stared in horror as the young boy fell backwards onto his butt. He sat there stunned for a full minute. There were a few cheers from the people watching, but I was not doing this for anyone's amusement. I knew I had to protect the young girl. I had a feeling this young girl was Elaine's daughter.

With my fists still clenched, I waited for his next move. The young boy looked like he was going to cry. He pulled a tooth out of his mouth.

"Oh my God," said the young boy, "You broke my tooth."

"Serves you right, you pervert," said the young girl.

"My daddy will sue you," yelled the young boy.

Once more, my fist slammed into his face. Immediately, the young boy's nose started to bleed. He touched his upper lip and looked at the blood on his finger. After that, I started to see fear in the young boy's eyes.

"My daddy is a lawyer and he will have you thrown in jail," yelled the young boy.

Once again, my meaty fist slammed into his face. He sat stunned for another minute. The young boy could not believe that he was hit again in the face. He looked at me and wondered if he was going to be beaten to a pulp. I snarled at the young boy.

"Shut your mouth, kid," I said, "Or you will be floating face down in someone's pool."

"You fucking pool boy," said the young boy, "My daddy will make sure you never have another job in this town ever."

"Good," I said, "Being the pool boy sucks."

"You leave me alone, you pervert," said the young girl.

"No one gets away from me," said the young boy, "You're my girlfriend and that is how it is going to be."

"I am not your girlfriend," yelled the young girl.

I turned to the young girl. Suddenly I had a brilliant idea.

"Can this boy swim?" I asked.

"Why? I don't know," asked the young girl.

I looked around. I saw an apartment complex that belonged to my father. It was not too far away. In front everyone, I grabbed the young boy by the hair and dragged him down the sidewalk. He started yelling and screaming in a high-pitched voice. The young girl followed close behind and yelled at the young boy.

"You creep," said the young girl, "Why did you tell everyone that I sucked your dick?"

"You're going to do more than suck my dick," said the young boy.

"I'll never have sex with you, creep," said the young girl.

"Yes, you will," yelled the young boy.

I listened carefully to their conversation. I knew I had to put an end to this young boy's controlling behavior. I knew I had to protect this young girl. There was a chance that the young girl was not Elaine's daughter, but I was not about to take that chance.

"Do you have a permanent marker?" I asked.

The young girl listened to my question and wondered if she had a permanent marker. Her eyes lit up. She started to look through her backpack.

"Yes," she said, "I think I do."

"Let us tell the world what you think of this creep," I said.

By this time, we were inside the apartment complex. I had dragged the young boy to the center of the apartment complex next to the pool. It was just behind the row of bushes, but the young boy had no idea what was behind the bushes.

"Where is your marker?" I asked.

The young girl handed me a permanent marker. I quickly scribbled the word "rapist" across his forehead. The young girl seemed pleased. She giggled. As I handed the young girl her marker, the young boy started to speak again.

"What did you do?" asked the young boy.

"I am putting your name on your face," I said, "I want to make it easy on the paramedics when they find your dead body."

"What do you mean by dead?" the young boy asked.

"I am talking about your dead body," I said, "So leave my sister alone."

"Is she your sister?" asked the young boy.

"You better believe it," I said.

"Oh crap," said the young boy.

At that, I picked up the young boy. One hand grabbed the locks of his hair and the other hand grabbed his rear belt loop. With no difficulty, I lifted him clear over my head. To my amazement, the young boy was not that heavy. All my heavy lifting of pool chemicals had paid off handsomely. Slowly, I walked towards the bushes as the young boy cried for his mother. He was crying and screaming like a toddler. The young girl rejoiced as I approached the bushes.

"Do it," yelled the young girl.

"If you say so," I said.

At that, I heaved the boy over the bushes. The young boy sailed through the air like a trapeze artist. His arms were flailing about. He looked like a turkey in flight and landed with a large splash at the deep end of the pool.

"Leave her alone," I yelled.

"Serves you right, you pervert," said the young girl.
The next day, there was a knock on the door. Since most people didn't know where I was staying, I went to door with much hesitation. Before I opened the door, I reminded myself to put a one-way viewer in the door so I could see who was on the other side.

"Hello?" I asked.

It was Elaine and she was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. My eyes lit up when I saw that beautiful body. Elaine's jeans were a little tight and they highlighted every curve on her delectable figure.

Since she had dark hair, Elaine reminded me so much of Betty. Still, I knew Elaine was nothing like Betty. Elaine was younger and she was still concerned about getting pregnant. I guessed that Elaine was probably in her early forties.

Elaine blushed, because she knew that I was always happy to see her. Without asking, I pulled Elaine into my one bedroom domicile.

"Sorry to bother you," said Elaine, "I know it is late."

Holding each of her smooth hands, I pulled her close to me. My lips were inches away from her lips. I looked at her lovely face and noticed that she had no makeup. I smiled because I happened to like her natural beauty. I didn't care for layers and layers of cosmetics.

"I am so happy to see you," I said.

"I am sorry," said Elaine, "I don't even have any makeup."

I shut the door and we sat down at the edge of the bed. I continued to hold Elaine's soft hands.

"I don't care," I said, "I like you better without makeup."

"Are you sure?" asked Elaine, "You can see all of my wrinkles and spots."

"I don't even care," I said.

Elaine looked at me and blushed. She was not used to being treated well.

"What does your mother think about all of this?" asked Elaine, "Does she know that you like older women?"

"I don't know anything about my mother," I said.

"What does that mean?" asked Elaine.

"My father never told me her name," I said.

"I thought maybe you were in love with your mother," said Elaine.

"I can't be in love with my mother if I don't even know her name," I said.

"So how did you start liking older women?" Elaine asked.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"My first real girlfriend was twice my age," I said.

"Where is she now?" asked Elaine.

"I don't know," I said, "Her daughter does not want me to have anything to do with her mother."

"You are not the first guy that likes older women," said Elaine.

"Are there more guys like me who like older women?" I asked.

"There are not many young guys you like older women," said Elaine, "But I have had to work with many of them."

"I didn't know that," I said.

"When women get to be as old as me," said Elaine, "You start doing scenes where there is an older woman and a younger guy."

"Do you like doing those scenes?" I asked.

Elaine nodded her head enthusiastically.

"You get to work with the youngest guys," said Elaine, "The younger guys are nicer and happier."

"I hope I was nice to you," I said.

Elaine nodded.

"There was something different about you," said Elaine, "It was like I had met you before."

"I hope I was nice to you in the past, too," I said.

"You were an easy toddler," said Elaine, "But enough about me."

I waited for Elaine to continue.

"We need to talk about my daughter," said Elaine.

I sighed. I had the feeling that Elaine came to see me because she wanted to talk about her daughter.

"How did you know that she was my daughter?" asked Elaine.

"She looks just like you," I said.

"What did you tell my daughter?" asked Elaine.

"Nothing," I said, "I had to go back to work."

"What else did you talk about?" asked Elaine.

"We didn't talk afterwards," I said.

"I wish you had not said anything," said Elaine.

"I am really sorry about that," I said, "Maybe your daughter will forget that I said she was my sister."

"My daughter has always wanted a brother or sister," said Elaine.

"I told that punk that no one was hurting my sister," I said.

"Gretchen could not stop talking about you," said Elaine.

"She only knows me as the pool guy," I said, "Maybe I should have kept it that way."

"My daughter went to talk to Stan," said Elaine, "He found out that your last name is also Skinner."

I cast my gaze at her feet. I had made a critical mistake.

"I am so sorry," I said, "That was my fault."

"My daughter has been asking about her real father," asked Elaine.

"What did you tell her?" I asked.

"I never told her the name of her real father," said Elaine.

"Why did you do that?" I asked, "Was there a reason for that?"

"I didn't want her bothering Michael Skinner senior," said Elaine.

I nodded. I understood completely.

"What did you tell her about me?" I asked.

"I told her you were Mike Skinner junior," said Elaine, "I also told her that I was once your stepmother."

"Did she believe you?" I asked.

"No, not really," said Elaine, "So I had to bring her some pictures."

"What pictures?" I asked.

Elaine pulled out a battered old photograph. She pointed to the toddler in the photograph.

"There you are," said Elaine.

The photograph was almost twenty years old. Everyone was at a backyard picnic. I saw Elaine and she looked like she was barely out of high school. In fact, Elaine looked exactly like her daughter with the exception of having darker hair. Off to one side, I was smiling. My arms were wrapped around Elaine as I sat on her lap. Elaine was sitting to one side on a lawn chair. My father was in the middle of the photograph with Betty. Curiously, my father and Betty were not embracing. There was an icy coldness between them and they were not even looking at each other.

"What is wrong?" asked Elaine.

"Is that Betty?" I asked.

I stared at the photograph in disbelief. I started to panic. Was that really Betty? I knew that face anywhere. I even saw Betty in my dreams, but I had never seen any photographs of her from twenty years ago. Even today, Betty had that hourglass figure that would turn heads. Now, I was faced with the possibility that Betty was really my biological mother. My entire world was starting to shatter. Did I really have sex with my own mother?

"How did you know?" asked Elaine, "Your father and I left town for the big city a year after we took this photograph."

I remembered Betty's story about my father leaving town with her son. Greta heard the same sad story from her grandmother. Soon afterwards, Betty had a mental breakdown. She could not even care for daughter. Her grandmother essentially raised Greta. Betty fell into a deep depression and turned to drugs, alcohol, and prostitution. It all started to make sense.

"Was Betty my biological mother?" I asked.

"Yes," said Elaine, "We didn't know at the time, but she was already pregnant with a daughter."

"Is her name Greta?" I asked.

"How did you know that?" asked Elaine.

"I know Greta, too," I said.

"Did you know who your biological mother was?" asked Elaine.

I shook my head.

"No," I said, "I didn't know who she was until now."

We both sat down on my bed. I was stunned at the news. Elaine waited for me to speak, but I didn't know what to say. It was such a shocking revelation to me.

"I named by daughter Gretchen," said Elaine.

"Did you ever meet Greta?" I asked.

"Yes," said Elaine, "That was why I named my daughter Gretchen."

"I didn't know that," I said.

"Both babies were so cute," said Elaine.

"What about me?" I asked.

"You never listened to your father," said Elaine with a giggle, "But you came every time I called you."

"Why am I not surprised?" I asked sarcastically.

"You were a happy baby," said Elaine, "You never fussed at me or cried."

"I wished I remembered you," I said.

"You certainly remembered my nipples," said Elaine teasingly.

I blushed. Elaine giggled like schoolgirl as she sat with me at the edge of the bed. I took her by the hand and asked her a serious question.

"What do we do now that I spilled the beans?" I asked, "How do you want me to handle this?"

I waited for her to speak. She had a mischievous look in her eyes.

"What exactly do you want to know?" asked Elaine.

"Should I refuse if Dennis asks me to do a scene with you?" I asked.

Elaine sighed. Finally, she spoke.

"I think doing a scene with you would be awkward," said Elaine.

"I agree," I said.

"I would have to get back to you on that," said Elaine.

"Okay," I said, "I would hate to be doing a scene with you and call you out as my mom."

Once more, Elaine giggled. I had the feeling she was laughing at all the awkward situations that could transpire between the two of us.

"People so pay money to see that," said Elaine.

"Would people really pay money to see that?" I asked.

"They do make adult films where family members start having sex with each other," said Elaine.

"I assume that the family members are actually related," I said.

"Yes they are," said Elaine, "And I heard they pay a lot of money."

"How do you know that?" I asked.

"Dennis had asked me about it before," said Elaine.

"Are you going to do things with your daughter?" I asked.

"I don't think Gretchen is ready for that," said Elaine, "I am not even sure I want Gretchen to be making adult films."

"Does she know you make adult films?" I asked.

"Gretchen thinks I clean toilets for a living," said Elaine.

"Don't feel too bad," I said, "I clean pools for a living."

"I told Gretchen once that I was going downtown to help some people out," said Elaine.

"What happened next?" I asked.

"Gretchen said her friends also had mothers who also went downtown to help," said Elaine, "Now Gretchen thinks I am a maid."

"You never actually lied to her," I said.

"You and I know that I probably need to tell her the truth some day," said Elaine.

"You probably have to tell her the truth if you want to bring her to work with you," I said.

Elaine sighed. I could tell she had reservations about having her own daughter doing adult films.

"My daughter is young and pretty," said Elaine, "Dennis has been asking me if Gretchen wanted a job."

"All the boys at her school seem want to get into her pants," I said.

Elaine rolled her eyes. She did not want to be reminded of all the horny boys at Gretchen's school.

"I want something bigger and better for Gretchen," said Elaine.

"I completely understand," I said, "That is why I am going to the community college."

"Gretchen has never been a good student," said Elaine.

"She seems to be really street smart like her mother," I said.

"Thanks," said Elaine.

"Maybe she will go to the community college," I said.

"I was hoping she can see that you are going to the community college," said Elaine, "I want her to have a better future than what I had."

"Does she know I go to the community college?" I asked.

"No," said Elaine, "That is why I am inviting you to dinner one night."

"I would be happy to have dinner with you," I said.

"I want you talk to her about what you are doing at the community college," said Elaine.

"I think I can handle that," I said with confidence.

"I knew I could count on you," said Elaine.

"But I don't even know what to call you," I said.

"You can call me Elaine like everyone else," said Elaine.

"You were my stepmother at one point in time," I said.

"Don't go crazy on me," said Elaine.

"I am trying not to go crazy," I said, "But I have been searching for my mother for so long."

"Do you know Betty?" asked Elaine.

"Yes," I said.

"What is so crazy about that?" asked Elaine.

"My father married Betty's daughter," I said.

Elaine's eyes grew big. She frowned.

"Did your father actually marry Greta?" asked Elaine, "Do you know how crazy that sounds?"

"I don't think he knows that Greta is Betty's daughter," I said.

"How can he not know?" Elaine asked, "Is he blind? Doesn't he see that they look alike?"

"Betty was not there at Greta's wedding," I said, "At least that was Betty's story."

"Did Betty not see any wedding photos?" asked Elaine.

"No," I said.

"Your father was always hiding all the photographs," Elaine said, "I had to hide this photograph from your father."

"My father takes all of his wives to Las Vegas to the same wedding chapel," I said.

Elaine rolled her eyes. From her reaction, I had the feeling that Elaine had gone to the same wedding chapel in Las Vegas.

"I wondered if that wedding chapel was still there," said Elaine.

"Did you all take photographs?" I asked.

"We did take a few photographs," said Elaine, "But they all disappeared."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

Elaine put her hands up in mock surrender.

"I assumed your father took them away," said Elaine.

"Why would he do that?" I asked.

"He was a jerk," said Elaine, "Like most of the men in my life."

"Do you want to know something strange?" I asked.

"What?" Elaine asked.

"Betty claims she never got divorced," I said.

Elaine frowned. Her facial expressions started to transform in front of my eyes. The look of disgust turned into anger. She was mad enough to spit nails. Standing up, Elaine paced back and forth. Her fists were clenched in rage.

"That son-of-a-bitch," said Elaine, "He told me the divorce was final."

"Did my father ever divorce my mother, Betty?" I asked.

Elaine tried to explain what happened. When their relationship ended, Elaine sued for divorce. However, there was no evidence of the two of them ever being married. Even the wedding chapel in Las Vegas denied they were ever there. Since Elaine had no photographs, the case was dismissed and Elaine ended up penniless with a baby girl.

"That rat bastard," said Elaine, "I swear I will stab him in the guts one day."

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Stand in line," I said, "You are not the only one who wants to kick his ass, too."

Eventually, Elaine sat down next to me. There was still the anger in her face.

"I am so mad," said Elaine, "I can spit nails."

"Wait until Betty hears about this," I said.

"How can she not know who married her own daughter?" asked Elaine.

"I wish I can answer that," I said.

"I guess if your father can lie to me," said Elaine, "He can probably lie to everyone else."

I nodded in agreement.

"Betty went off the deep end after my father left," I said, "I can only imagine what she went through."

"I guess I went off the deep end, too," said Elaine.

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

"I started dancing at the local strip club to keep food on the table," said Elaine, "Then I answered an ad for a modeling agency."

"Was that Mr. Waco?" I asked.

"No," said Elaine, "It was someone else."

I nodded. I watched her face contort as she brought back some painful memories.

"I am sure there are things you would rather do besides adult movies," I said.

"It was really good money for a while," said Elaine.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I got hooked on prescription drugs," said Elaine, "That is why I ended up in rehab."

"I am sorry to hear that," I said.

"Why did your father kick you out of the house?" asked Elaine.

I pointed to my penis.

"I was a real embarrassment to my father," I said.

"Why would your father kick you out of the house because you got hurt?" asked Elaine, "Didn't he realize it was just an accident?"

"It could have happened to anyone," I said.

"That just seems cruel," said Elaine.

"Living at home is not all that much fun anyway," I said.

"I have watched you working around the pool," said Elaine, "I watch you carrying all those chemicals and equipment."

I showed her one of my arm muscles with pride. Elaine laughed.

"I don't even need to go to the gym anymore," I said proudly.

"Do you know where I live?" asked Elaine.

"No," I said, "Your daughter might not appreciate me being there."

"What?" asked Elaine, "What would have happened if you were not there, yesterday?"

"The boy wanted to drag your daughter down the street," I said.

"My daughter is not the only one," said Elaine.

"That boy needs to be stopped," I said.

"I think you did a real good thing," said Elaine.

"What did I do?" I asked.

"You wrote that word across this forehead," Elaine said, "The boy forgot all about it."

"Did he go to school with that word across his forehead?" I asked.

"He sure did," said Elaine.

I started laughing. I could only imagine what would happen if I walked to school with the word "rapist" painted across my forehead. Girls would be running for their lives.

"What happened?" I asked.

"The boy is being held in the county jail for sexual assault charges," said Elaine.

I stared at Elaine with disbelief.

"Did your daughter call the police?" I asked.

"No," said Elaine, "But three other girls have come forward saying the boy raped them."

"Why does that not surprise me?" I asked sarcastically.

"I hope he stays in jail for a very long time," said Elaine.

"I agree," I said.

Elaine nodded.

"The boy said something about his father being a good lawyer," I said.

"His father is your father's lawyer," said Elaine.

"That is a strange coincidence," I said.

"Maybe it is time for all your father's wives to get together and sue him for child support," said Elaine.

"I think my father's lawyer will already be extremely busy," I said.

"I agree," said Elaine.

At that, Elaine leaned forward and kissed me. Without thinking, I wrapped my hands around her waist and returned the kiss. Her lips felt so good on mine. The warmth and scent of her body was intoxicating. I was not sure why she was kissing me, but I was not about to stop.

"I love you, son," said Elaine, "I missed you so much."

"I love you, too," I said, "I am so glad I found you, mom."

At that, Elaine went back to her tiny apartment. She had to go back to Gretchen and I had to get some sleep.

That night, my thoughts went back to Betty. I had a feeling Betty didn't have any idea I was her son. We were rolling around on my bed like a pair of teenagers in heat. I could recall how her skin felt and all the naughty scents of our love-making. Would Betty ever forgive me? I would be heartbroken if she hated me for the rest of her life. If she ended up hating me, I could not blame anyone but myself. I felt so shameful that I still wanted to have her sex with her. It was even worse that my previous infatuation was with Greta. Now, Elaine was telling me that Greta was probably my sister. I was reeling from the overload of information about my real family.

I cursed myself for having a father that changed his wives like Henry VIII. Now, I had mothers and stepmothers dropping into my life in unexpected ways. That also meant that I had siblings that I never even knew about. What other surprises were in store for me?

Weeks later, Gretchen found me as I was getting off the bus. She looked at me with great curiosity. She saw the books and the backpack.

"What is the pool guy doing with all these books?" asked Gretchen.

"Hey, Gretchen," I said, "How are you doing?"

"You are Mike Skinner, junior," said Gretchen.

"How did you know?" I asked, "Did I ever tell you my name?"

"I have a question for you," said Gretchen.

"Sure," I said.

Gretchen and I started walking down the path to the apartment complex. She skipped along with her blonde locks of hair blowing in the gentle breeze.

"Why is Mike Skinner, junior, cleaning pools?" asked Gretchen.

"My dad kicked me out of the house," I said.

"Why?" asked Gretchen.

"That is a long story," I said.

"Aren't you supposed to be living large on your father's money?" asked Gretchen.

"I wish I was living large on my father's money," I said, "But I don't want his money."

"Why don't you want his money?" asked Gretchen.

"Can you keep a secret?" I asked.

"Sure," said Gretchen, "What is the big secret?"

I veered off the path and went near one of the trees in the apartment complex. I pulled the backpack off my shoulder and stopped.
"Pull up my shirt and look at my back," I said.

Curious, Gretchen lifted up the back of my shirt. After a few seconds, Gretchen pulled my shirt back down.

"What are all those scars?" asked Gretchen.

"My father gets very angry sometimes," I said.

"Did he do that to you?" asked Gretchen.

"Those marks took a long time to heal," I said, "There are more scars down below my belt."

Gretchen was horrified. I put a finger in front of my lips.

"You can't tell a soul," I said, "My dad doesn't want anyone to know."

"I see why you don't want his money," said Gretchen.

I put the backpack across my shoulders again and we continued down the path. I looked around to see if anyone had been looking at us.

"All of my dad's money won't be enough to remove these scars," I said.

"Is he my father, too?" asked Gretchen.

Silently, I nodded. I looked down at the ground because I was embarrassed about showing anyone the scars on my back.

"Is my father really a monster?" asked Gretchen.

"Maybe your mom had a reason for not telling you about my dad," I said, "I don't want you or anyone else getting hurt."

I could tell that Gretchen's mind was having trouble processing all of this information. She looked like she wanted to cry.

"I am really sorry about this," I said.

"It is not your fault," said Gretchen.

"You don't have to be a part of this," I said, "You can always walk away."

Gretchen was silent as we continued to walk. She did not look at me until we arrived at her apartment.

"It was nice walking with you," I said.

"I am not sure I want to meet my father," Gretchen blurted out.

"I am really sorry about that," I said, "But I thought you might want the truth."

"You have a lot of scars back there," said Gretchen.

"I try not to think about it," I said, "It only makes me angry."

"Did you want to stay at home?" asked Gretchen.

I shook my head.

"No," I said, "I would rather have my freedom."

"Are you angry with your dad?" asked Gretchen.

"Yes," I said, "He's not the nicest person in the world."

"Maybe it was better that I grew up with my mom," said Gretchen.

Suddenly, Elaine poked her head out one of the third floor windows. I smiled at Elaine. She must have been cleaning the apartment because the beautiful woman was dressed casually in jeans and a tank top.

"Is that you, Gretchen?" asked Elaine.

Gretchen looked up and waved at her mother.

"Hi, mom," said Gretchen.

"Hey, honey," said Elaine, "Are you hungry?"

"Hello," I said.

"Is that you, Mike?" asked Elaine.

"Hi, mom," I said, "How are you doing today?"

"Good to see you, honey," said Elaine, "Come on upstairs."

The three of us sat down for some soup. I could not remember the last time I had ever had dinner like a normal family. It was so nice just to sit and talk with friends around a dinner table. I realized it was just soup out of a can, but I didn't care.

"What are you studying, Mike?" asked Elaine.

"I am studying economics and finance," I said.

I looked over at Gretchen. The young girl did not believe me.

"You are going to the community college just to pick up girls," said Gretchen.

"I don't have a whole lot of girls in my classes," I said.

"You can study economics and finance, too," said Elaine.

"That sounds so boring," said Gretchen.

"What are you going to do when you graduate high school?" I asked.

"I don't know," said Gretchen.

"What do you want to do?" I asked.

Gretchen shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know why you are going back to school," said Gretchen.

"I love learning about money," I said.

"I like money, too," said Gretchen.

"Gretchen doesn't like math," said Elaine.

"I just don't see why it is important," said Gretchen, "My mom didn't go to college and she is doing just fine."

"We are barely scraping by," said Elaine.

"I don't want to be the pool guy forever," I said.

"Don't you like nice clothes?" asked Elaine, "Don't you like going to parties?"

Gretchen sighed. Her mother was right, but the young girl was not about to admit that to anyone.

"It takes money to do that," I said.

"Aren't you doing okay being the pool guy?" asked Gretchen.

"I can't lift those heavy chemicals forever," I said, "I will be too old to lift anything one day."

"What are trying to say?" asked Gretchen.

"I would like to get a desk job so I can continue working even after I get old," I said.

"I didn't even think about that," said Gretchen.

After dinner, Elaine came to my side. I was reading my library book on finance at the table. Reluctantly, Gretchen brought out her mathematics homework and she was asking me questions. Fortunately, all of the math concepts were still fresh in my memory and I was able to help Gretchen.

"Mike, I have to go to work," announced Elaine.

I looked up at Elaine's beautiful face. She smiled down at me. I longed to kiss her right then and there, but Elaine put a firm hand on my shoulder.

"You're not going anywhere, cowboy," said Elaine.

Gretchen rolled her eyes at her mother.

"Mom, I don't need a babysitter," said Gretchen.

"I am working the night shift," said Elaine, "I would feel better if someone was here with you."

"You just don't want me to have a boyfriend," said Gretchen.

"You are absolutely correct," said Elaine, "Especially if all they want is to get into your pants."

"Mom," said Gretchen, "You really need a boyfriend."

Elaine looked down at me. The smell of her skin was intoxicating. Sometime after dinner, Elaine had removed her bra. Her nipples were pushing against the fabric of the tank top and her cleavage was in full view. No doubt, Elaine knew that I was looking at them.

"Can I tell you something, Gretchen?" asked Elaine.

"What is that, mom?" I asked.

"Your brother loves to breast-feed," said Elaine.

I blushed. Gretchen's jaw dropped. She started giggling. When the young girl saw that I was blushing, Gretchen could not contain her joy. Playfully, Elaine grabbed her breasts and kneaded them. Gretchen was squealing with laughter.

"You are blushing," said Gretchen to me, "It must be true."

My eyes started wandering towards Elaine's ample bosom. I wanted to be the one to grab those breasts, but I knew I had to control myself. I swallowed hard. My hands trembled and my penis started to awaken. To make matters worse, Elaine bent down and kissed me on the lips. It was a short kiss and I definitely wanted more, but I wisely refrained.

"You can snooze on the couch until I get back," said Elaine.

"Yes, mom," I said.

Looking over at her daughter, I noticed that Gretchen was not even paying attention to what was happening. Elaine went around the table to her daughter.

"Try to be in bed before nine," said Elaine.

"Why am supposed to be in bed before nine?" said Gretchen, "Why didn't you give my brother a curfew?"

"He is sleeping on the couch," said Elaine, "He is not sleeping in any of our beds."

Gretchen nodded her head in agreement. Elaine bent down and kissed her daughter. I watched as mother and daughter kissed. To my amazement, they kissed like old lovers. It was not a simple peck on the cheek. Their lips were completely joined for an extended period of time.

When they finished kissing, Elaine winked at me. Outside, a car beeped its horn. Gracefully, Elaine crossed the room to the window. She opened the window and looked down. The woman waved at someone down below.

"My cab is here," said Elaine, "Time to go to work."

Elaine gave me a playful squeeze on the shoulder and winked at me again. I wanted to join her, but I knew I was not invited. In fact, I felt a little jealous. I could only imagine who the lucky guy or guys who would be having sex with her tonight. On the other hand, Elaine probably felt the same way about me when I went to Dennis Waco's adult fantasy land. The woman blew me a kiss before she opened the door and left.

For a while, Gretchen and I did our homework. I finished reading my library book on finance and Gretchen finished her math problems. Since it was not nine o'clock yet, Elaine wanted to watch television and I promptly joined her on the couch.

"Can I tell you a secret?" asked Gretchen.

"Let me guess," I said, "You like girls."

Gretchen's jaw dropped. She was not expecting to hear me say that.

"How did you know?" asked Gretchen.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"That is easy," I said.

"What gave you that idea?" asked Gretchen.

"You haven't had much interest in boys," I said, "You don't even talk about boys."

"What else gave you that idea?" asked Gretchen.

"That was a great kiss you gave mom," I said.

Gretchen blushed. She had not expected me to notice.

"You did the same thing," said Gretchen.

"When we first met," I said, "I didn't know that she was my stepmother."

Gretchen looked at me utter disgust.

"Were you in a bar trying to pick up my mom?" asked Gretchen.

"We were not in a bar," I said, "I don't drink anymore."

"Why don't you drink anymore?" asked Gretchen.

"My dad found out that I went drinking every now and then," I said.

"What did he do? Did he beat you up?" asked Gretchen.

I nodded.

"He beat me so hard that I ended up in the hospital," I said, "So now, I don't drink anymore."

"I thought you said you don't live with your father anymore," said Gretchen.

"You can't be too careful nowadays," I said, "I need to be sober so that no one beats me up anymore."

"That makes sense," said Gretchen.

"Thank you," I said, "I appreciate you saying that."

"Are you going to ask if I go drinking?" asked Gretchen.

"I don't want to know," I said.

"Why don't you want to know?" asked Gretchen.

"What is there to know?" I asked, "Why do you want to tell me all of your deep, dark secrets?"

"You are my brother," said Gretchen.

"Your mother was my nanny," I said, "So that makes you my sister by marriage."

The young girl shrugged her shoulders.

"Okay," said Gretchen, "Maybe you are not my blood brother."

I put my hands on Gretchen's shoulders.

"I don't want to know anything else," I said.

I put my hands down and retreated to the other side of the couch so that I was further away from the small television set and Gretchen. To my surprise and frustration, Gretchen slid across the couch so that she was almost sitting on my lap. The young girl was so close that I could smell a hint of her sweat.

"Admit it," said Gretchen, "You wanted to have sex with my mom."

I tried not to look her in the face. Instead, I felt a tiny hand turn my face until I was looking directly into Gretchen's eyes.

"Oh my God," said Gretchen, "You did have sex with my mom."

"It was an accident," I said helplessly.

"What was it like?" asked Gretchen.

The question took me by surprise. What daughter asks their mother's lover for intimate sexual details? My jaw dropped. Perhaps my hearing was defective. I could not believe what I was hearing.

"Why are you asking me this?" I asked.

"Because I want to sleep with her, too," said Gretchen.

At that, my eyes grew big. My jaw dropped again. Suddenly, Gretchen realized what she just blurted out and covered her mouth.

"You didn't hear that," said Gretchen quickly.

"Why are you telling me this?" I said, "How am I supposed to keep that a secret?"

"I was just kidding, okay?" said Gretchen.

I shook my head. The young girl was absolutely serious when she blurted out her secret.

"No," I said, "You were dead serious."

"Please promise me that you won't tell mom," said Gretchen.

I threw my hands up in the air in mock surrender.

"So what if you want to sleep with your own mother?" I asked, "Why don't you tell her and stop all of this drama?"

"I can't tell her this," said Gretchen, "She would kill me."

"Why would she kill you?" I asked.

"She wants grandchildren," said Gretchen.

"All mothers say that to their daughters," I said.

"Are you sure?" asked Gretchen.

"Your mom might take it as huge compliment," I said, "Not all daughters love their mothers so much that they want to have them as lovers."

Gretchen stopped. She started thinking about what I had just said.

"Am I crazy for wanting to have sex with my own mother?" asked Gretchen.

"Do you think I am crazy?" I asked, "Do you think I want to hide my love for your mother?"

"No," said Gretchen finally.

"When did this all start?" I asked.

Gretchen sighed. I could tell this was something she had been hiding for a long time.

"It all started a long time ago," said Gretchen.

"It always starts a long time ago," I said, "My love started when I was still breast-feeding."

At that, Gretchen started to put the memories together. It all started to make sense with her.

"I think I was the same way," said Gretchen.

"There are millions of people out there," I said, "Was it a coincidence that I found your mother?"

"Maybe you were looking for her," said Gretchen.

"I was looking for her because that is what I liked," I said.

"I see," said Gretchen.

"Did you ever have a boyfriend?" I asked.

"No," said Gretchen as she shook her head, "I was never serious with any boy."

"Some girls are never serious about boys," I said.

"Does that mean I am a lesbian?" asked Gretchen.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"I don't know," I said.

"My mom is all that I have ever known," said Gretchen, "I have never even had a father."

"My dad is all that I have ever known," I said, "Now I have a stepmother and a half-sister."

"Are you sure I am your half-sister?" asked Gretchen.

"I don't know for sure," I said, "But it makes me happy just thinking about you and your mom."

"Why do you say that?" asked Gretchen.

"It is good to know that I have other family members," I said.

"What did your father say about your mother?" asked Gretchen.

"Nothing," I said, "He never wanted to talk about my real mother."

"Did he ever talk about my mom?" asked Gretchen.

"No," I said, "I was not even allowed to talk to any of his wives either."

"That is weird," said Gretchen.

"I agree," I said.

"That sounds so sad," said Gretchen.

"Now you understand why I was so happy to find you and your mom," I said.

"I am happy, too," said Gretchen as she smiled broadly.

At that, I leaned back and Gretchen immediately put her head on my chest. Lazily, we glanced at the television screen. The young girl was quiet. I knew she was deep in thought, so I kept my mouth shut. Eventually, I started to doze off.

Hours later, I felt a tiny hand shake my chest. My eyes opened. Gretchen's frightened face was in front of me.

"Sorry," I said, "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"Listen," whispered Gretchen, "I think someone is trying to get inside."

From the bedrooms, I could hear the noise of a window being shaken. The noise was almost imperceptible. Whoever was shaking the window was trying not to make too much racket. Suddenly, there was the squeak of a window being opened.

"What was that?" asked Gretchen.

"Let's go find out," I whispered.

We both went into Gretchen's bedroom. The young girl followed close behind me. When I flipped the light switch, Gretchen and I saw the young boy that had followed her home. This time, the young boy was sifting through Gretchen's underwear drawer.

For a brief second, the lights blinded the young boy. I took the opportunity to race forward and plant a meaty fist in his face. Three items clattered to the floor. The young boy sailed across the room to the opposite wall.

Briefly, Gretchen came forward and retrieved a hunting knife. I looked at the knife. I suddenly had the vision of the young boy holding the knife while he raped Gretchen.

The young boy struggled to his feet. His knees were starting to shake.

"It is not what you think," said the young boy.

"It is exactly what I think," I said.

At that, I rushed forward and grabbed the young boy by the neck. I proceeded to slam my meaty fist repeated on his face. My anger supplied the power behind my fist. Soon, the young boy's face was one bloody mess.

Afterwards, I dragged the young boy out of the apartment kicking and screaming. I went to the walkway between the apartments and tossed the young boy from the third floor. Once again, the young boy was sailing through the air. Fortunately, the young boy landed in some bushes.

"I am glad you threw him into the bushes," said Gretchen, "You could have killed him."

"I didn't know there were bushes there," I said, "He just got lucky."

After he recovered from his fall, the young boy rolled off the tops of the bushes and ran off into the night. His face was bleeding again and he kept looking over his shoulder at me. I glared at him from the third floor walkway.

"I will find out where you live," I roared, "I will make sure you never come back."

After the young boy disappeared, Gretchen stood next to me. Her arms were wrapped around me. I saw the fear in her eyes. She was trembling. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around her and tried to comfort her.

"Don't worry about that boy," I said, "He won't come back unless he wants me to rearrange his face again."

Gretchen laughed. Her fear quickly turned into joy.

"What is so funny?" I asked.

"I don't mind if you do rearrange his face," said Gretchen.

"Just let me know when and where," I said.

"I can't believe that he brought a knife," said Gretchen.

"I guess he did not want anyone rearranging his face," I said.

"Maybe you should break his legs," said Gretchen, "That should keep him from coming here anymore."

"That sounds like a great idea," I said, "Remind me to do that next time."

I looked over the walkway railing. Several people had come out of their apartments. Some were in pajamas. They had been watching the young boy running away. They also saw the bushes and all the leaves that had been knocked off onto the grass.

"I will fix that tomorrow," I said.

After that, I took Gretchen inside. We went back to the couch. The television set was displaying a show that I did not like. Quickly, I used the remote to turn off the television set. No one was watching the television set anyway.

"Has this boy done this before?" I asked.

"I have never seen him inside the apartment before," said Gretchen.

"We probably need to tell the police," I said.

"This is not the first time the police have arrested this guy," said Gretchen.

"I don't understand," I said.

"There are rumors that he does this all the time," said Gretchen.

"Are you saying this guy breaks into people's houses to steal their underwear?" I asked.

"Yes," said Gretchen.

"What about with the knife?" I asked.

"I don't know," said Gretchen, "But I am glad I was here with you."

"I am glad I was with you, too," I said.

"Who knows what that sick pervert had in mind with that knife he dropped on the floor?" said Gretchen.

"Did you hear two things hit the floor or did you hear one thing hit the floor?" I asked.

Gretchen thought about my question.

"I think I heard three things hit the floor," said Gretchen.

Quickly, the two of us went back into Gretchen's room. We scanned the room. The door to the nearly empty closet was open. I saw a few shoe boxes on the floor and few dresses hanging up above. There was nothing on the top shelf except for a hat. Her bed was essentially an iron frame with an old twin-sized box spring. The mattress on top had seen better days and the headboard was gone. The nightstand had a single drawer and a lamp on top. The lampshade was at least thirty years old. Near the door was Gretchen's dresser. The top drawer was open to reveal her meager underwear collection.

"I could have sworn I had heard three things fall to the floor," said Gretchen.

"If that is true," I said, "They should still be in your room."

The young girl still had the knife in her hands. Gretchen was scanning the room with me. Like me, she was looking for anything out of place. Maybe the young boy had dropped something else.
After a few minutes, Gretchen found a small electronic device in her dresser drawer. I scratched my head. I had never seen anything like it. Since my father never bought me anything nice, I was a complete failure at recognizing any of the new electronic gadgets that were available. I looked at Gretchen for guidance.

"What is that?" I asked.

"I think it is a portable recording device," said Gretchen.

"Why would he be carrying a recording device?" I asked, "What kind of sick person wants to film him breaking into someone's house to steal their underwear?"

"Do you think he was going to film me being raped?" asked Gretchen.

I frowned. I could only guess at the contents on the recording device.

"We probably need to take this to the police," I said.

"Do you think he will come back for this?" asked Gretchen.

"I think you are correct," I said, "The pervert knows that this can be used against him in a court of law."

"What do we do now?" asked Gretchen.

"I don't know," I said, "But we better find out what else he left behind."

We searched through the bedroom. Gretchen spotted a fist-sized, metal object underneath her bed. I reached underneath the old bed and pulled out an automatic pistol.

"Is that a gun?" asked Gretchen.

"I wish I had not touched this," I said.

"Why would say that?" asked Gretchen.

"Now my fingerprints are on this gun," I said, "The police will think that I brought the gun."

"What do we do now?" asked Gretchen.

I checked the gun. After I removed the magazine, I saw the 45 caliber ammunition. The magazine was fully loaded. On the side of the gun, I noticed that the safety latch was being used.

"The safety is on," I said.

"Why is that important?" asked Gretchen.

"The safety mechanism keeps the gun from firing," I said.

"Do you think this gun would have fired when he dropped it?" asked Gretchen.

"Yes," I said.

"How do you know so much about guns?" asked Gretchen.

"My father had guns all over the house," I said, "He taught me how to use his guns."

"Why would he do that?" asked Gretchen.

"I was supposed to stand my ground if we had an intruder," I said.

"What about your dad?" Gretchen asked, "Isn't he the man of the house?"

"No," I said, "I was supposed to give my dad time to escape."

Gretchen frowned.

"Our dad is a real hero," said Gretchen sarcastically.

"I was supposed to take a bullet for him," I said.

"The more I know," said Gretchen, "The less I like our dad."

"I like him even less than you do," I said.

Gretchen took a closer look at the ammunition. A troubled look came over her face.

"That is a large bullet," said Gretchen.

"This is a 45 caliber bullet," I said, "This ammunition was designed during World War Two to knock someone down with the first shot."

"Why would that boy bring such a dangerous gun?" asked Gretchen.

"I think he was going to use the gun to scare you into doing what he wants with you," I said.

"That makes me really sick," said Gretchen.

"If this bullet hits someone's skull," I said, "There won't be much of that skull left."

"How do you know that?" asked Gretchen.

I pointed to the shallow hole at the top of the bullet.

"This is called a hollow point bullet," I said.

"What does that do?" asked Gretchen.

"A hollow point bullet is designed to open up as goes through a target," I said.

"Why is that important?" asked Gretchen.

"That means the bullet makes a bigger hole as it leaves your body," I said.

"Are you saying that this bullet is designed to get bigger?" asked Gretchen.

"It is very deadly," I said, "I have a feeling he was not going to leave any witnesses."

Gretchen crossed her arms across her breasts. There was a worried look on her face.

"Do you think he will be back?" asked Gretchen.

"It is a good bet he will come back for the recording device and the gun," I said.

"What do we do now?" asked Gretchen.

"I think I have a plan," I said, "But we will probably need to get Stan's help."

"What do we do with the gun?" asked Gretchen, "Can't we just get rid of that?"

"I will take care of the gun," I said, "You find out what is on that recording device."

At the police station, I sat with Gretchen as we waited for the detectives to interview her. After looking at the contents of the recording device, Gretchen and I were both sickened by the heinous acts the young man had perpetrated. Like a true narcissist, the young man had recorded all of details of the crimes. His face and the faces of each of the girls were clearly seen on the video footage.

Gretchen had made video disks of what she found on the video recorder. She was planning on turning over the video disks, but she was afraid. The young girl knew that the young boy was running around free. The young boy's father had a lot of money, so the young boy was able to post bail every time.

"I am here for you," I said.

"I appreciate you being here," said Gretchen.

"I am not going to let anyone hurt you or your mom," I said.

Gretchen put her head on my shoulder. I knew she was frightened.

"What if he releases that video footage?" asked Gretchen.

"I bet that is how he kept his victims from saying anything," I said.

"I understand now," said Gretchen, "He tells the girls to keep quiet or he will post those videos of them being naked."

"He needs to be stopped," I said.

A police detective opened the door and motioned for Gretchen to follow him. The young girl looked at me and I smiled.

"You are doing the right thing," I said.

"Thanks," said Gretchen.

"I will be right here," I said.

I gave her the thumbs up signal and Gretchen went into the open door into the detective's office. I was so proud of her. It took a lot of courage to come forward with that information.

The next day, the newspaper had reported that police detectives were able to obtain video footage of the serial rapist committing his crimes. The newspaper printed a picture of the son of my father's attorney and asked that anyone with additional information come forward. The boy was being held without bail in the county lockup. Police were speculating that the boy was going to be tried as an adult because of the severity and extent of his crimes.

Days later, Elaine came to see me at my humble domicile. I had just polished off a bowl of cheap noodles when I heard a knock at the door. The day had been unusually hot, so I was reluctant to open the door and let all of the cool air escape. There was an old window air-conditioning unit at the far end of my tiny apartment and it was at the end of its useful life. Still, I was curious to see who was coming to see me at near the midnight hour.

I unlocked the door and looked outside. The lovely Elaine was standing there.

"Elaine?" I asked.

"Is this a bad time?" asked Elaine.

"Of course not," I said.

I opened the door wider and ushered her inside. She seemed embarrassed to come into my tiny apartment. I pointed to my bed and locked the door. Elaine sat down on my bed.

"I would ask you to sit in my living room," I said, "But I don't have a living room."

"This is fine," said Elaine.

I sat down next to Elaine and waited for her to speak.

"I just wanted to thank you for being with Gretchen the other night," said Elaine, "I don't know what I would have done after that kid broke into my apartment."

"I think that kid is going to have bigger problems," I said.

"I hope so," said Elaine, "I don't want anything to happen to Gretchen."

"Neither do I," I said, "I was glad I could help."

Elaine stopped. I waited patiently for her speak.

"I was not sure what you wanted from me," said Elaine.

"Who said I wanted something?" I asked.

"Gretchen gave me the impression that you wanted to start something," said Elaine.

"I don't understand," I said.

"Gretchen gave me the impression that you wanted a sexual relationship with me," said Elaine.

I frowned. Gretchen was probably coming to her own conclusions about my intentions.

"I thought Gretchen didn't want me to have a sexual relationship with you," I said.

Elaine paused.

"Don't misunderstand me," I said, "I would love to have sex with you."

"But you don't want to upset my daughter," said Elaine.

"Exactly," I said.

"Where does that leave us?" asked Elaine.

"I don't know," I said, "But I am leaving that up to you."

"I appreciate that," said Elaine.

"I don't want to pressure you into anything," I said.

Elaine smiled.

"I haven't seen you in twenty years," said Elaine, "But you still care about me."

I put my hands on her hands.

"I don't want get between you and your daughter," I said.

"I can still remember you sitting up in your crib," said Elaine, "I can remember you smiling at me whenever I entered the room."

"I wish I could remember all of that," I said.

"You were the only reason why I agreed to have a baby with your father," said Elaine.

"Me?" I asked.

"You were an easy baby," said Elaine.

"Thank you," I said.

"You never made a fuss as long as I was near you," said Elaine.

"I didn't know that," I said.

"You don't even make a fuss today," said Elaine.

"I am just glad I am with you," I said.

At that, Elaine leaned forward. She placed her lips on mine and we started kissing. My hands came up to keep her steady, because Elaine had wrapped her arms around my head. I lost myself in her charms as I accepted her loving kiss.

When we finally stopped kissing, Elaine and I turned towards the door at the same time. There was Gretchen standing there with the door open. The gentle breeze was lifting up some of her blonde curls. Her jaw had dropped and her eyes were wide. There was a look of utter surprise on her face. Elaine and I sat there at the edge of my bed with our arms wrapped around each other.

"Mom," said Gretchen, "What are you doing?"

Elaine stumbled for something to say, but she did not release me from her embrace. Without hesitation, I started to talk.

"Hi, Gretchen," I said.

Gretchen's waifish figure came forward after closing the door. She seemed perturbed that her own mother had a relationship.

"Where did you go, mom?" asked Gretchen.

"I am just thanking Mike for helping you out the other night," said Elaine.

"Do you always have to be kissing other guys?" asked Gretchen, "Do have to kiss my brother, too?"

"She is a great kisser," I said.

Elaine giggled. Gretchen rolled her eyes.

"Have you no shame?" asked Gretchen.

"If you are allowed to have girlfriends," said Elaine, "I am allowed to have boyfriends."

"Do you have more than one boyfriend?" I asked.

Elaine blushed.

"Wow," I said.

"Most guys would be bother by that," said Gretchen.

"How many girlfriends do you have?" I asked Gretchen.

"That is none of your business," said Gretchen.

"All of them are still virgins," said Elaine.

"Mother," said Gretchen, "He doesn't need to know all of that."

Elaine's eyes met mine and she knew that I wanted her delectable body. Lovingly, my fingers ran through her hair as Elaine closed her eyes. Gretchen looked like she was going to puke.

"Stop that," yelled Gretchen, "You two are acting like you are in high school."

"She is a good teacher," I said.

Elaine raised an eyebrow. She looked at me suspiciously.

"I have been your teacher since you were a toddler," said Elaine, "I can tell when you are being a bad little boy."

"What do you do with bad little boys?" I asked teasingly.

"They get sent to my room," said Elaine.

Once more, Gretchen's jaw dropped. She could not believe what she was hearing.

"Were you two having sex?" asked Gretchen.

Elaine hid her face on my chest. I looked away from Gretchen in shame. There was no hiding our sexual attraction to each other.

"That is against the law," said Gretchen, "You are not supposed to be sleeping with your mother."

"He is only my stepson," said Elaine.

"I don't care," said Gretchen, "He is still my brother."

Elaine turned to her daughter in frustration.

"If I don't date," said Elaine, "You don't date."

Gretchen gasped.

"That is so unfair," said Gretchen.

"If I don't have any boyfriends," said Elaine, "You don't get any girlfriends."

"You are my mother," said Gretchen, "I can't have you sleeping with my brother."

"Would you rather have me date someone else?" asked Elaine.

Gretchen paused. She had to think about what she was going to say next.

"You like to date losers," said Gretchen.

"So do you," said Elaine, "That is why your brother came to your rescue."

Gretchen rolled her eyes at her mother. Then, she directed her anger at me.

"Why were you dating my mother?" asked Gretchen, "Do you think she has money?"

"She is a beautiful woman," I said, "She is also a fantastic kisser."

Elaine blushed. She giggled like schoolgirl and pressed her lips onto mine again. I gladly accepted her kiss and she pressed her breasts onto my chest.

"Stop kissing my mother," said Gretchen.

"You can kiss your mother, too," I said.

Gretchen glared at me. She crossed her arms in defiance.

"Go ahead," I said, "Kiss your mother."

"I am not kissing her on the lips," said Gretchen.

"Don't you love your mother?" I asked.

Elaine looked at me and wondered what I was trying to do. I motioned for her to sit on the other side of her mother. Reluctantly, Gretchen sat at the edge of the bed next to her mother.

"Are you happy now?" asked Gretchen.

"Kiss your mother," I said.

"I am not kissing my mother," said Gretchen, "That would be weird."

Elaine gave me a wink. She had an idea. Gretchen watched as her mother turned to her.

"What are you going to do?" asked Gretchen.

"I know you have been wanting to have sex," said Elaine.

"That is not true," said Gretchen.

"Don't lie to me," said Elaine, "I read your diary."

Gretchen gasped.

"Why did you do that, mother?" asked Gretchen.

"I don't want you getting pregnant," said Elaine, "I want you to wait until you get married."

"Why? Am I not free to do what I want with my body?" asked Gretchen.

"If that is true," said Elaine, "I am free to date Mike."

Gretchen's eyes grew big. She did not understand her mother.

"I don't want you sleeping with my brother," said Gretchen.

"I don't want you getting pregnant," said Elaine.

At that, Elaine leaned over and kissed her daughter on the lips. Gretchen froze. She did not understand what was happening. When it was over, Gretchen sat there dumbfounded. Elaine smiled triumphantly.

"I kissed your brother and now I kissed you," said Elaine.

"Why did you do that?" asked Gretchen.

"She is a fantastic kisser," I said.

"Thank you," said Elaine.

There was a look of horror on Gretchen's face. She did not know what to do.

Without prompting, Elaine leaned over and kissed Gretchen once more. I saw Elaine cup one of her daughter's breasts and Gretchen immediately stiffened her body. The young girl had not expected her mother to grab her breast in an overtly sexual fashion.

I expected Gretchen to run out of my bedroom screaming at the top of her lungs. I was guessing that Elaine wanted her daughter to leave so we could have some quality time. After a minute or two, I looked at my watch. Gretchen and Elaine were still kissing like lovers. For some reason, Gretchen's body started to relax. I started to wonder if the two of them were actually enjoying themselves. It was no longer a simple kiss between mother and daughter.

Finally, Elaine broke away from her daughter and breathed. I was starting to feel the temperature rise in my tiny domicile. Gretchen was starry-eyed looking at her mother. She giggled.

"Mom," said Gretchen, "We're not supposed to be kissing like that."

"I know," said Elaine, "But I love you so much."

"I love you, too," said Gretchen, "But you are my mother."

"Did you like the kiss?" asked Elaine.

Gretchen nodded.

"I have never kissed like that before," said Gretchen.

"I told you she was a fantastic kisser," I said.

Elaine turned around and gave me a quick smooch. I smiled like a Cheshire cat and Gretchen seemed jealous.

"Do you want to kiss again?" asked Elaine.

Gretchen blushed. I could see the conflict in her eyes. Finally, she nodded her head.

"I love you, mommy," said Gretchen.

"I love you, too," said Elaine.

Once more, Elaine leaned over. This time, her lips missed their mark. Instead, Elaine's lips fell on Gretchen's neck. Her daughter was being kissed tenderly on the neck. The young woman closed her eyes and enjoyed the tingling sensations that were running up and down her spine.

Then, Elaine pressed her lips down on Gretchen's lips like a tiger pouncing on its prey. Once more, Elaine's hands were more cupping one of Gretchen's breasts. The young woman gasped.

Even though I was not involved, I remained quiet and watched with delight. Mother and daughter were kissing like lovers and I was enjoying the spectacle. I started to lose track of time.

During this romantic interlude, I glanced at the photograph that Elaine had brought. I stared at Betty. I missed her so much, but I realized that Betty had to know the truth some day. Maybe Greta would show Betty a wedding photo and the truth would come out. I really did not want to be the one to tell her. I felt so ashamed. I was letting my own mother straddle my penis until she had an orgasm. The smells of her perspiration came back to my memory. I remembered the foamy white liquid that oozed out of her vagina and realized that I had emerged from that same vagina. I hung down my head in shame.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door. We all froze. Elaine and Gretchen removed their hands and lips from each other. The two women looked at me.

"Are you expecting someone?" asked Elaine.

I shook my head.

"No," I said.

In dread, I stood up. I had learned to be wary of people knocking on my door at night. It almost always meant trouble. I felt like a I was walking in slow motion. All eyes were on me as I cracked open the door and peered outside.

"Hello?" I asked.

"It's me, Stan," said a voice.

I pulled open the door to see Stan standing there and out of breath. He was dressed in pajamas and wore bedroom slippers. His face was unshaven and red.

"Good," said Stan, "I'm glad you are still alive."

"What?" I asked.

"Your dad called me," said Stan.

"How often does he call you?" I asked.

"He calls me whenever he wants something," said Stan, "This time he wants you come see him."

"Why would I do that?" I asked, "I thought he fired me."

"For all he knows," said Stan, "You have already left town."

"What did you tell him?" I asked.

"I told him that I told you that you were fired," said Stan.

"Does he believe you?" I asked.

Stan shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know," said Stan, "But I think you should leave right now."

"Why does he have to leave?" asked Elaine.

Stan finally noticed that Elaine and Gretchen also in the room. He acknowledged each one of the women.

"Ma'am, Mr. Skinner, senior, is sending some guys to make Mike sign some papers," said Stan.

"What papers?" asked Elaine.

"I was sent a check and my dad decided to cash the check," I said.

"That is check fraud," said Gretchen, "Can't they put you in jail for that?"

"They can put you in jail for bigamy, too," said Elaine.

"I think you have to serve five years in jail for bigamy," said Stan.

"Is that true?" asked Elaine.

"Maybe my dad wants to avoid jail time," I said.

"How many years can they put you in jail for check fraud?" asked Gretchen.

"I think the penalty is ten years in jail for check fraud," said Stan, "It all depends on the amount."

"How much is the check?" asked Elaine, "Why send some goons to make Mike sign some papers?"

"It was a very large check," I said.
"If it is only a few thousand dollars," said Elaine, "You will spend that much on lawyer's fees."

"It was a really large check," said Stan.

"How large is the amount on the check?" Gretchen asked.

"Seven figures," I said.

Elaine and Gretchen both gasped.

"Do you understand now why his father wants Mike to sign these papers?" asked Stan, "His father wants to find some way to not go to jail for check fraud."

"Are they going to hurt Mike?" asked Elaine.

Stan nodded his head. The man looked at me and pointed his thumb at the door. He was motioning for me to leave as soon as possible.

"I am not sure if Mike should stay around to find out," said Stan.

Elaine and Gretchen arose from the bed. The two women came to either side of me and pleaded with me to follow Stan's advice. Stan had always been honest with me, so I had no reason to believe that he would fabricate such a crazy story about my father. I was being chased out of town because my father did not to face any jail time. Forging my signature on a million-dollar check was serious business.

On the other hand, my father had no idea that his ex-wives were going to discover the truth about his bigamy. This was going land him in jail, also. I gave Elaine the names of my father's ex-wives. It was now time for Elaine to gather all of the ex-wives and send my father to jail. I hated that Betty fell into a spiral of drugs and prostitution when my father threw her out. I hated that Greta was thrown out like the rest of my father's wives. I hated that Elaine had to do adult films to put food on the table for her daughter. I hated that Gretchen would eventually know that Elaine had done these films. My father had destroyed all of these lives. It was time that my father paid them back by serving jail time.

Stan gave me his ten-speed bike. It was almost brand-new because Stan hated to exercise. He gladly rolled the bike out and handed me the lock. Elaine and Gretchen gave me an old duffel bag and put all of my earthly belongings inside. I was given a hasty farewell and I pedaled off into the night.

After the end of my Economics 101 testing, I saw a familiar face at the bottom of the stairwell. With her gorgeous blonde locks of hair and lithe body, Greta eyed me suspiciously. Her arms were crossed and I sensed that she was not there purely for social reasons. Even though I wanted to throw my arms around her with joy, I approached her cautiously.

"You are a hard man to find," snarled Greta.

"I am glad to see you, Greta," I said.

I wanted to reach down and kiss her, but Greta gave me no indication that she would accept any physical contact.

"What is wrong?" I asked.

"Do you know how long I have been trying to find you?" asked Greta.

"Who sent you?" I asked.

"What are you talking about?" asked Greta.

"I might be a college dropout," I said, "But I was not born yesterday."

"Your father sent me," said Greta.

"What are you getting if you find me?" I asked.

"What are you talking about?" asked Greta.

I frowned at her. I was disappointed that Greta had so easily succumbed to my father's wishes.

"I am not that stupid," I said, "My father sent you so I would sign some papers."

"So what if he sent me to sign some papers?" Greta asked.

"My father forged my signature and got the settlement money," I said.

"What settlement money?" Greta asked.

"My accident made the sports equipment manufacturer look bad," I said, "Their stock took a tumble."

"I don't understand," Greta said.

"The sports equipment manufacturer wants me to do a public service commercial so that people will start buying their products again," I said.

"Did you do the commercial?" Greta asked.

"No," I said, "Because I was not there to get the check."

"Who got the check?" Greta asked.

"My father's signature was on the back of the check," I said.

"Why would you care if your father got a few dollars from some company?" asked Greta.

"The check was not for a few dollars," I said.

Greta put her hands on her hips. Obviously, she did not believe me.

"How much money is involved?" Greta asked.

"I am talking seven figures," I said.

Greta's eyes grew as big as saucers. She almost stopped breathing.

"You have got to be joking," Greta said.

"This is no joke," I said.

"What happened?" asked Greta.

"The Acme Athletic Company came to pick me up to do the commercial," I said.

"Did you do the commercial?" Greta asked.

"No," I said, "I told them I never received the check."

"I bet that was a surprise," Greta said sarcastically.

"They showed me a copy of the canceled check," I said, "I pointed out to them that the signature belonged to my father."

"Holy crap," Greta said, "You could have been a millionaire."

"That is why my father wants me to sign these papers," I said, "He wants to keep the money for himself."

"You can't be serious," said Greta, "Why would your father want to steal your million dollar check?"

"My friend Stan says that my father has had some bad luck lately in Las Vegas," I said.

From the expression on her face, Greta had no idea about my father's gambling debts. I could see the panic in her eyes. Clearly, Greta expected something from the divorce. She probably did not want to hear that my father could be bankrupt.

"Why am I not surprised?" asked Greta, "Your father and I got married in Las Vegas."

"He also married my nanny in Las Vegas," I said.

"What nanny?" Greta asked, "When did you have a nanny?"

"After my father left my mother," I said, "My father married my nanny."

Greta laughed. I sighed. My whole family history sounded like it came straight from a drugstore romance novel.

"Why does that not surprise me?" said Greta, "Your father is one son-of-a-bitch."

"I found out who she is," I said.

"Okay," said Greta, "What does this have to do with me?"

"She had a photograph of me, my father, and my mother," I said.

Once more, Greta put her hands on her hips. Clearly, she did not believe me.

"Where is the photo?" asked Greta.

I started looking though my wallet. Eventually, I made a photocopy of the original photograph that Elaine owned.

"You are not going to like it," I said.

I unfolded the photocopy and handed it to Greta.

"That's your father alright," said Greta, "That's you with the nanny."

"You missed the most important person in the photograph," I said.

Once more, Greta's eyes grew wide as saucers. She suddenly slapped me on the face. Pain radiated from my cheek where she had slapped me, but I refused to retaliate. I had a feeling she was going to react this way.

"Is that my mother?" asked Greta.

"Yes," I said.

"I never wanted you to sleep with my mother," said Greta angrily, "I can't believe she is your mother, too."

I continued to feel the sting of her hand on my cheek. Still, I didn't say anything and let the truth soak into Greta's angry mind.

"You are such a pervert," said Greta, "I don't want to ever see you again."

"I really had no idea," I said.

"If I find out that you knew all along," said Greta, "I will stab you myself."

"I am really sorry," I said, "No one ever told me."

"My mother kept saying that you looked like her husband," said Greta, "You should have figured it out."

Greta closed her eyes. There was a look of horror on her face.

"Oh my God," said Greta, "I married my own father."

I swallowed hard.

"It gets worse," I muttered.

"If my mother is right," said Greta, "Your father never divorced my mother."

"That means your marriage and the nanny's marriage never happened," I said.

Greta started crying uncontrollably. Still, she did not let me get near her.

"You stay back," screamed Greta, "You just ruined my life."

"I am so sorry," I said.

"There is no need to get divorced," said Greta as she threw her hands up in the air, "The marriage was never legal."

"Look," I said, "You can always send him to jail for bigamy."

"What are you talking about?" asked Greta.

"My dad can go to jail for at least five years for getting married before getting divorced," I said, "You really should look into that."

"I don't understand," said Greta.

"My father sent you here because he can go to jail for check fraud," I said.

"Are you saying that your father can go to jail for signing and cashing that check?" asked Greta.

"That is why he sent you," I said.

"What if you sign those papers?" asked Greta.

"I don't know," I said, "I am sure it has something to do with keeping the money."

"I don't understand," said Greta.

"What did he promise you?" I asked.

"He promised to sign the divorce papers and give me the keys to the Mercedes," said Greta.

"Why would you do that?" I asked, "Why would you need divorce papers if the marriage was never legal anyway?"

"Oh my God," said Greta, "You just destroyed my world."

"No," I said, "My father destroyed your world."

"I don't understand," said Greta.

"My father should never have married you or the nanny," I said, "He was breaking the law."

"What do I do now?" asked Greta.

"Tell your lawyer the truth," I said.

"Are you kidding?" said Greta, "Why would I tell my lawyer that I married my own father?"

"What is wrong with that?" I asked, "How were you supposed to know? Why would it be your fault?"

"It is illegal and immoral," said Greta, "Besides no one would ever believe me."

"A paternity test would prove that," I said.

Greta started thinking. I could tell the wheels of justice were starting to move inside her head. Finally, she turned around. I could hear the boiling hatred in her voice. She wagged a trembling finger in my face.

"I hate you," said Greta, "You ruined my life."

"No," I said, "My father ruined all of our lives."

"Why did you have to tell me all of this?" asked Greta, "I just wanted a divorce so my mom and I can move on with our lives."

"Where is Betty anyway?" I asked.

"She is safely out of the city," said Greta.

"Are you sure about that?" I asked.

"What is that supposed to mean?" asked Greta, "Are you threatening me?"

"No," I said, "My father had me fired when I refused to sign those papers."

"What does that have anything to do with my mother?" asked Greta.

"Then my father sent a few goons to twist my arms," I said.

"I don't believe you," said Greta.

"I am surprised he sent you," I said.

"Why does that surprise you?" asked Greta.

"I never would have suspected that you would ever do his dirty work," I said.

Greta frowned. She glared at me. My last comment must have shaken her to the core.

"I am not doing your father's dirty work," said Greta.

"My dad is going to jail for check fraud and you are going to let him get away with millions of dollars," I said.

"I just want to get on with my life," said Greta, "I don't want to be involved."

"My dad is going to jail for bigamy and you are only concerned about your own divorce," I said.

"How do I know this is even true?" asked Greta.

I took the photocopy out of her hands, folded it up, and slid it back into my wallet. Greta stood there with her hands crossed. I could tell she was growing impatient with me. I had the feeling she just wanted me to sign the papers so she could go back home.

"My father is still married to your mother," I said, "My father should go to jail for marrying you and all the other women."

"I just want my own divorce to be final," said Greta.

"I don't think you understand," I said.

"Can you explain it to me?" asked Greta, "What am I missing here?"

"The judge can't grant you a divorce if my father was still married to someone else," I said, "Your marriage is null and void if the judge hears about this."

"You are bluffing," said Greta.

"My father's third wife has already told the police," I said, "I am surprised that my father is still walking around a free man."

At that moment, Greta stopped. Immediately, she was deep in thought.

"What are you not telling me?" I asked.

"Your father kept telling me to keep this a secret," said Greta.

"That is because he doesn't want anyone to know where he is hiding," I said.

"I wanted to meet him somewhere," said Greta, "But he did not want to be anywhere in the city."

"That is because the police are looking for him," I said.

"I don't believe you," said Greta.

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" I asked.

"Why I do that?" said Greta, "He would think I lost my mind."

"My father is about to lose his freedom," I said, "It is only a matter of time."

At that, Greta stomped off. I could hear her angry footsteps as she went down the stairwell. I sighed. If Greta was angry with him, there was a good chance he would never see Betty again. I felt heartbroken.

That night, I followed Greta. I didn't know why, but I felt I had to find my father. If the source of my troubles centered on my father, it made sense to gather information on my father. I felt angry because he disowned me. Still, I put those destructive feelings aside. I needed to keep my head clear and my ears open. My entire future depended on how I dealt with these troubles. Why was my father hunting me down? I knew about my father forging my name on the check. I knew he wanted the money. Did my father send people to hurt me? I was not about to let that happen. How do I stay one step ahead of my father? I knew I had to find out what my father was doing.

I followed Greta out to the parking lot. Since she was not a student at the community college, Greta did not know the layout of the school like I did. I took a shortcut to the parking lot. I could hear Greta arguing with someone on her cellular phone, but I did not see her yet.

I scanned the parking lot. Without much trouble, I spotted Greta's old Buick. Her car seemed antiquated compared with the newer models in the parking lot. Of course, there were a few classic muscle cars spread throughout the lot, but Greta's old Buick was not a muscle car at all.

I made a mad dash for the old Buick. To my surprise, the old Buick was not locked. I had the feeling Greta would have been happy to let someone steal the old car so she could pocket the cash value. I opened one of the back doors and slid inside. I spread myself as flat as possible on the floor after I closed the door behind me. I could hear Greta's voice coming nearer.

"You asshole," said Greta, "When were you going to tell me you were still married?"

Greta opened the driver's side door and tossed her purse inside. The purse bounced and I heard the gentle thud. She was furious.

"Don't lie to me, you son-of-a-bitch," said Greta, "You are going to jail for doing this."

I heard Greta shut the driver's side door. A key went into the ignition and Greta turned the key. The car sprang to life.

"Do you want to avoid jail time?" asked Greta, "Give me half of everything you have in 48 hours or I will talk to the judge myself."

Greta threw the car in reverse to back up. After that, Greta stopped the car, pulled the car out of reverse gear, and the car lurched forward. We rocketed out of the parking lot.

"No more negotiating," said Greta, "The more you talk, the less I get."

There was an angry response on the other side.

"I bet you are at the house right now," said Greta, "Are you using that secret door to your sports car so you can wine and dine your next wife?"

Greta started to laugh after she received a response. It was a laugh from someone who was tired of hearing lies. Judging from the content of the phone conversation, my father had moved back into the house with his future wife. Greta was laughing because she was finally told the truth. All of my father's many lies had been unraveled and Greta was going to change her plans accordingly.

"Do you want to avoid jail time?" asked Greta.

Greta waited until she received a response from my father.

"I want a million dollars deposited in my bank account by noon tomorrow," said Greta.

There was an angry response on the other end of the line.

"Don't tell me you don't have the million dollars," said Greta, "Everyone knows you forged your son's name to get his money."

The phone call lasted for another minute.

"See you in jail, asshole," said Greta.

Greta drove for a while in complete silence. She was still driving aggressively and I was tossed around in the back like wet laundry in a dryer. When the car finally stopped, Greta took some stuff from her purse and stomped out of the vehicle. Carefully, I raised my head to look out of the window. I saw my father's house where Greta and I had once stayed. Greta was marching down the street to the gate at the end of my father's driveway. She had a pile of papers in her hands. I recognized the papers as the ones Greta had asked me to sign.

That was my cue to exit the vehicle. Silently, I opened the rear door and slid outside. I closed the door behind me as quietly as possible.

"You do your own dirty work, asshole," said Greta, "I can't believe you stole money from your own son."

The security camera and attached floodlight automatically turned in Greta's direction. The young woman tossed the papers over the gate. The papers fluttered back to the ground like fresh snow. The driveway was suddenly littered paper. Without warning, the wind increased in strength and pushed the papers further up the driveway towards the house.

"Go ahead and call the cops," said Greta, "I will tell them there is a warrant for your arrest."

With Greta creating a distraction, I made my move. I took a running leap up the wall. I just managed to catch the top edge of the wall. With all of my strength, I pulled myself up and over the wall. I clumsily landed on some bushes on the other side.

"Come out here like a man," snarled Greta, "You can't hide in there forever, asshole."

Greta continued her profanity-laden tirade, but there was no response from inside the house. I knew that my father hired security guards whenever he was home. Unfortunately, my father also kept tabs with my whereabouts with the same security guards. When I tried to escape, my father hunted me down, dragged me back home, and punished me severely.

"I know you can hear me, you son-of-a-bitch," said Greta, "I want my money in my bank account or I'll have you arrested, asshole."

I made my way to the back of the house as Greta concluded her tirade. As a parting gift, Greta lifted up her hands for the security camera and presented her middle finger.

"You are a dead-beat dad and a lousy husband," said Greta, "I hope you rot in hell."

At that, my beautiful and courageous stepmother stomped back to her old Buick. I listened to her angry footsteps. I hid in the bushes and watched.

About ten minutes later, the overhead door to the garage for his sport cars opened. One could see all the expensive cars lined up and ready for action. A single man stepped out from the garage. It was my father. People said he looked exactly like me when it came to height and facial features. However, my father had a large belly because he loved expensive meals at good restaurants. He also had facial hair and a cold demeanor. Several men joined my father.

"I want her followed," said my father.

The men nodded. My father took out a remote control. The main garage door opened and my father used the remote control to open the gate. A large black sport utility vehicle roared out of the garage. The men got into the vehicle and sped off.

As my father stood there, I thought about confronting him. Why did you kick me out of the house? Why did you steal my check? Why did you get married again if you were never divorced to my mother? Why didn't you tell me that Betty was my mother? Why didn't you tell me Elaine was my nanny and stepmother? Did you know you married your own daughter? The questions were endless. On the other hand, I didn't know if my father was alone. If my father had more security personnel, I would be a dead man the minute I was seen on the surveillance cameras.
My father used the remote control and the gate was closed. He seemed to be deep in thought as he looked beyond the gate. All of a sudden, his cellular phone rang. The annoying ringtone jerked my father from his reverie.

"Hello?" asked my father, "Where is my lawyer?"

That was the opportunity I needed. I made a desperate dash for the sports car garage. I looked for a suitable car and slid underneath the car's chassis. I tried to get my breathing under control. My heart was racing, but I knew any heavy breathing would give away my location.

"What do you mean he is out of the office?" asked my father, "I don't care if his son is in jail for sexual assault."

I could hear footsteps. My father was probably walking back into the garage.

"You tell that worthless asshole that everyone knows his son is a serial rapist," said my father, "He has been covering for that worthless son of his for far too long."

I sighed. I could only imagine what my father said about me to all of his friends. The overhead door came to life. The garage door motor started to hum and the hinges started to squeak. When the overhead door shut, the inside of the garage was plunged into darkness. Only the brightness of the hallway lit the inside of the garage, and that light ceased to illuminate when my father shut the door. I heard the deadbolt click and I was permanently locked in the sports car garage.

I waited until my eyes adjusted to the dimness. I could see the outlines of each car, but nothing more. I slid out from underneath the car and tiptoed to the door to the hallway. There was a red light illuminating the overhead door control. From memory, I knew that the secret door was just beyond the main door to the hallway. The fitness room was just off the hallway and behind the adjacent wall. My fingers reached out to the wall and tried to find the secret door. I knew there was a magnetic sensor on the door to the hallway. This alerted security that someone was trying to break into the house. However, I did not know if there was a magnetic sensor on the secret door.

I pushed gently on the secret door and it magically popped open. Since there was no door hardware, I used the tips of my fingers to pry open the secret door. Light came through the door as I opened it just enough to slide inside the fitness room.

The lights in the fitness room were off, but the hallway lights provided enough illumination to make my way past the exercise equipment. I tiptoed across the faux wood floors to get to the hallway. I had to ask myself a question. Where was the best place to hide in this house? Where did the security company hide their surveillance equipment?

A year later, I was sitting in the audience of the large courtroom in the county. I could hear the hum of the crowds outside. Television cameras were all over the building, but they were not allowed inside the courtroom. My father was seated with his defense attorney on one side. On the other side, Mr. Jenkins and his friends were representing the Acme Athletic Company. The lady in judge's seat had grey hair and almost no emotion. It was none other than the honorable Judge Julia Dolby. I remembered Miss Dolby. She had visited my father on numerous occasions, and I was afraid that the Acme Athletic Company would never get their money back. My father had made generous donations to Miss Dolby's political campaigns, but that did stop Miss Dolby from being a judge in my father's check fraud case.

My father's attorney stood up and spoke.

"Your honor," said my father's attorney, "My client, Mr. Michael Skinner, senior, is an upstanding member of society and pleads not guilty to the charge of check fraud."

"Thank you," said the judge, "Does the prosecution have anything to say?"

"Your honor," said the prosecuting attorney, "We would like to submit the following for examination."

A copy of both sides of the check was displayed on a projector screen for jury to see. The prosecuting attorney used a pointer to bring attention to the signature on the back of the check. Afterwards, a copy of my father's signature was compared to the signature on the check. The audience buzzed with excitement when the two signatures were placed side-to-side for comparison.

The judge slammed the gavel a few times to quiet the crowd. Everyone grew silent.

"Order in the court," said the judge.

My father's attorney stood up. There was a smile on his face.

"Your honor," said my father's attorney, "Father and son have similar signatures."

There was another murmur from the audience. No one seemed to be buying my father's ludicrous argument. Afterwards, the prosecuting attorney came forward and asked that a witness be summoned.

Afterwards, the prosecuting attorney presented the jury all of the information from my father's bank account. My father was the only one who had access to the bank account. His attorney said that I had deposited the million dollar check in his account for safe-keeping.

"Your honor," said the prosecuting attorney, "We would like to bring forth a witness."

My father's attorney immediately arose.

"Objection, your honor," said my father's attorney, "The defense was never told there was a witness."

Helplessly, Judge Dolby shrugged her shoulders.

"Objection overruled," said Judge Dolby, "I would like to know the identity of the witness."

"I would like to call Michael Skinner to the witness stand," said the prosecuting attorney.

My father arose from his seat.

"My apologies," said the prosecuting attorney, "I would like to call Michael Skinner, junior, to the witness stand."

Surprised, my father sat down. I stood up and stepped onto the aisle. All eyes were on me. I looked straight forward at the judge. I knew my father was glaring at me. He had been searching for me for months. I knew he was not expecting me to show up at the courthouse.

The bailiff came over with the courthouse Bible and asked me swear to tell the truth. He also took my driver's license and presented it to the judge. Carefully, the judge looked at the driver's license and my face. When she was satisfied with my identity, the judge returned my driver's license to me.

"Your honor," said my father's attorney, "We object."

"Why do you object, counselor?" asked the judge.

"My client's son doesn't know how to drive," said my father's attorney.

The audience let out a gasp.

"Objection overruled," said the judge, "It is a valid driver's license."

The bailiff motioned for me to go to the witness stand. Without hesitation, I took my seat at the witness stand. The prosecuting attorney came forward and pointed to the projected image on the screen.

"Is that your signature?" asked the prosecuting attorney.

"No, sir," I said.

The prosecuting attorney immediately called for another image to be projected on the screen. I quickly saw the image of a signature card from my local bank.

"Is this your signature for your bank account?" asked the prosecuting attorney.

"Yes," I said.

"The prosecution does not have any further questions for the witness," said the prosecuting attorney.

I saw my father arguing with his attorney. After a minute or so, my father's attorney stood up and approached me.

"When did you open up this bank account?" asked my father's attorney.

I gave my father's attorney the date.

"My client's son does not have a bank account or a driver's license," said my father's attorney.

"Objection, your honor," said the prosecuting attorney, "The defendant had someone else pretend to be Michael Skinner, junior, to obtain possession of the check."

The prosecuting attorney motioned the projector operator. Immediately, a copy of a driver's license was projected onto the courtroom screen. I looked at the screen. It was certainly not my driver's license. I did not recognize the person's face that was displayed on the driver's license.

"Your honor," said the prosecuting attorney, "This information was presented yesterday."

My father's attorney mumbled something under his breath. There was a hushed murmur from the courtroom audience. As the judge slammed the gavel, my father's attorney returned to his seat.

"No further questions for the witness," said my father's attorney.

"You can step down," said the judge to me.

I stepped down from the witness stand. I checked to see if the compact disk was still in my jacket pocket. I looked over at my father. He was glaring at me. I could see the burning hatred in his eyes. He was tapping his fingers on a compact disk. My father waited for me to approach. With fear, I approached my father.

"I am sorry, dad," I said.

My father motioned for me to come closer to him. As he whispered to me, I switched the compact disks.

"I am going to kill you," said my father, "No one ever crosses me."

"I didn't have a choice, dad," I said, "They found me first."

"Why didn't you say something else?" asked my father, "Did you want your dad to go to jail?"

"No, sir," I said.

"If I go to jail," said my father, "I will have you killed."

I nodded my head. My father continued to mumble something into my ear. As he spoke, my fingers slid my compact disk out of my coat pocket. I left my compact disk on the table and stuffed my father's compact disk into my coat pocket. I looked at my father's angry face and cast my gaze downward in mock reverence. Sheepishly, I went back to my seat in the courtroom audience.

"Do you have any final comments, counselor?" asked the judge.

"Yes," said my father's attorney.

My father's attorney grabbed the compact disk in front of my father and presented it to the projector technician. Within minutes, the jury was treated to a presentation. One after another, my father's friends were captured on film. Every one of my father's friends had glowing praise for my dad. They said he was a community leader and a true philanthropist.

Without warning, the jury was treated to security camera footage of my father's office. My father was relaxing in his plush office chair while he talked on the phone.

"I tell you that Judge Dolby is one ugly bitch," said my father, "But she will do what I say if she gets enough money."

The audience in the courtroom came alive. Judge Dolby's face was flush. Her eyes grew large and she glared at my father. My father's attorney stood up.

"Objection," said my father's attorney.

"Objection overruled," said the judge, "I want to see the rest of this."

My father started to get up, but the bailiff immediately pointed to him.

"Sir," said the bailiff, "You will not interfere."

The bailiff had one hand on his pistol. Immediately, my father froze. Quickly, my dad held his hands up in the air and sat back down.

The presentation continued. There was more of the security camera footage.

"If I give that old hag a couple grand," said my father, "She would be dancing on top of my desk like a young hooker."

Judge Dolby looked like she was going to explode. My father saw the judge's expression and swallowed hard. This was not something he wanted anyone to know.

"No one knows I hired that actor to be my son," said my father, "I need that million-dollar check to pay off my gambling debts."

The audience gasped. The judge promptly slammed the gavel down several times.

"Order in the court," yelled the judge.

"I know a guy that forges checks," said my father, "He can make me a driver's license for that actor so that I can grab hold of that check."

The jury listened to my father laughing hysterically on the security camera footage. By now, my father had grabbed his attorney by the shirt collar.

"Do something," cried my father, "I don't want to go to jail."

My father's attorney did not know what to do. There was no denying that it was my father in the security camera footage.

"Are you kidding?" asked my father, "I never even divorced my first wife."

This prompted the judge to start looking through her case files. Clearly, this new information was encouraging her to do something else, but no one knew what she was doing.

"I don't give a damn about any of my wives," said my father, "They can be homeless for all I care."

The judge pulled out a case file and started to look through its contents.

"My attorney has no problem lying to the judge," said my father on the security camera footage, "He has managed to keep that serial rapist of a son out of jail for the last ten years."

"You jerk," said my father's attorney, "Why did you have to bring my son into this?"

The judge was glaring at my father and his attorney.

"Objection," said my father's attorney, "I demand that this piece of evidence be thrown out because the defense has not had time to process this information."

"Objection overruled," said the judge, "The defense brought this information forward."

The presentation continued. The audience in the courtroom was spellbound. Each member of the jury wanted to know what new piece of information was going to be offered next. Judge Dolby shook her head. She had never been so embarrassed in her life. No doubt, she was wondering what this presentation was going to do to her political career.

"Are you kidding?" said my father on the security camera footage, "His boy made videos of all of all the sick stuff he did to those girls."

The judge motioned for the bailiff to come forward.

"Get a copy of that video disk to the detectives after this is done," said the judge to the bailiff.

The judge was pointing to the court stenographer. The poor woman was typing as fast as her little fingers allowed.

"I want all of this recorded," said the judge, "I want every stinking detail on the record."

When the presentation ended, Judge Dolby dismissed the jury to their deliberation room. By this time, the courtroom audience was in an uproar. In the confusion, I left the courtroom. I hurried to the bike rack. I saw Stan's ten-speed and unlocked the bicycle. Within minutes, I was pedaling as fast as possible. I did not look back.

The next day, I looked at the newspaper. The courtroom drama made the front page. Judge Julie Dolby summarily sentenced Michael Skinner, senior, to five years in prison for check fraud. Not surprisingly, the court ordered my father to pay the entire sum of the check back to the Acme Athletic Company. To add to his problems, Judge Dolby decided to rule on my father's bigamy case, too. The jury recommended a minimum of five years for each time my father re-married without getting a divorce from his first wife. In the end, Michael Skinner, senior, received a minimum of twenty years of jail time.

Days later, Elaine called me. She asked me to contact Stan. There were problems at the apartment complexes, so I promised her I would talk to Stan right away.

The next day, I went to see Stan. One could see small beads of perspiration on his forehead. There was a worried look on his face. Since I usually did not see Stan this way, I was concerned.

"What is going on?" I asked.

"I think we are in big trouble," said Stan.

"Okay," I said, "I am listening."

I sat down in the plastic chair in front of Stan's tiny desk. My friend wiped the perspiration off his brow.

"Most of the property managers have left," said Stan.

"Why did they leave?" I asked.

"Your father filed for bankruptcy and the managers are afraid they won't get paid," said Stan, "Most of them have decided to leave."

"How many property managers are left?" I asked.

"You are looking at the last property manager," said Stan.

"Who is left to collect the rents?" I asked.

"I am the only one collecting the rents," said Stan.

"Are you doing everything?" I asked.

"Yes," said Stan.

"Do you need help?" I asked.

"I need all the help I can get," said Stan.

"You will get help," I said, "But we need a plan."

"Why do we need a plan?" asked Stan, "We just need people to collect rents."

"You and I can collect the rents," I said, "But there is no guarantee we will get a paycheck."

Stan paused. My friend was thinking through all of the possible scenarios in his head.

"I see what you mean," said Stan, "But at least I have a roof over my head."

"Maybe we need to ask the Acme Athletic Company for some time," I said.

"We need time to get this situation under control," said Stan, "Your father has to collect enough rents so the bank gets their mortgage money."

"If the bank doesn't get their money," I said, "We will definitely be out of a job."

"Exactly," said Stan, "Now you sound like your dad."

"My father might be a lousy dad and a bad gambler," I said, "But he understood where the money needed to go to make everything work."

"I am so glad you were paying attention," said Stan.

"If the bank doesn't get their money soon," I said, "The bank will shut us down before the bankruptcy judge can sell these apartment complexes."

"We don't know what the bank will do," said Stan.

"Exactly," I said.

"We need time to collect all the rents," said Stan.

"I can ask the Acme Athletic Company for more time," I said.

"We need at least six months," said Stan.

"I will ask for six months to collect all the rents that are due," I said, "I will make sure all the landscaping and maintenance is done."

"What does the Acme Athletic Company get?" asked Stan.

"I will ask the company to take the apartments in exchange for the millions," I said, "I will ask that the company keep us for six months to get the properties ready for sale."

"That will keep your father's company out of bankruptcy court," said Stan.

"If your father goes to bankruptcy court," I said, "We all get nothing."

"I agree," said Stan.

"The Acme Athletic Company will want to sell the apartments to get their money back," I said, "But I will need to convince them that keeping us would allow them to sell the apartments at a higher price."

"I like the way you think," Stan said, "This deal can be good for them."

"This deal will allow us time to find other jobs," I said.

"This deal will allow you and me to find somewhere else to live," Stan said.

"What do you think?" I asked.

"I don't think we have much of a choice," Stan said.

The next day, Stan and I were waiting in a beautiful conference room in the Acme Athletic Company's main office. I loved the comfortable leather conference chairs, but I was not comfortable being in a negotiation where I was at the mercy of a stronger opponent. The team of lawyers and the CEO of the company, John Smith, sat on the other side of the table. They looked at Stan and I like big game hunters viewing rabbits.

Stan was sweating profusely in his old suit. The good man told me he had last put on his suit when there was a death in his family. From the way Stan was sweating, I wondered if Stan was going to be the next death in his family. The good man dabbed his forehead every few minutes.

I had borrowed one of my father's suits. To my surprise, I found the suit to be comfortable. The only problem was the waistline. Obviously, my father had a bigger belly. I had to find a suitable belt to keep the trousers from sliding down. The jacket and the fitted shirt were a fraction too small around the chest. I guessed that all the heavy lifting I had been doing lately was more exercise than my father had done in the last decade. Still, my father's suit seemed like a great choice and Gretchen was glad to help me check each button and belt loop.

With Stan unable to say anything without dripping large drops of perspiration, I prepared to be the sole spokesman for the apartment complexes.

"Why are you here, Mr. Skinner?" asked John Smith.

"I would like to propose a deal," I said.

"I am not sure there is anything left to say," John Smith said, "We need our money back from your father and we are going to ask the bankruptcy judge to sell the apartment complexes."
"What if we can make more money for you in six months?" I asked.

"I don't see how you can do that," said John Smith, "You don't even have a bank account."

"How do you know that?" asked Stan.

"We checked," said John Smith.

I put a hand on Stan's shoulder. I knew the good man was trying to defend me, but this was not the time or place. Stan looked at me. I nodded.

"We would like to get six months to recoup all of the lost revenue from tenants with who have not paid the rent since my father was sent to jail," I said.

John Smith looked surprise. His lawyers started talking to each other in hushed tones.

"How are you going to do that?" asked John Smith.

"You can get a better price for the apartment complexes if they are fully rented and all accounts paid in full," I said.

"We had not planned on being landlords," admitted John Smith, "We only want our money back."

"I understand," I said.

"We realize we might not get all of our money," said John Smith.

"What if I told you that you can get your money and more?" I asked.

"I don't know," said John Smith, "We were hoping the auctioneer can get a reasonable price for those apartment complexes."

"If you give us six months," I said, "We can guarantee you will get your money and more."

"Like I said," John Smith said, "We are not in the real estate business and do not wish to be a landlord."

"Let us do that for you," I said.

"What are your friend's qualifications?" asked John Smith.

"Stan has been a property manager for my father for over fifteen years," I said, "His apartment complex has the lowest delinquency rates of all of my father's apartment complexes."

"What are your qualifications?" asked John Smith.

"I have been the maintenance man for my father's apartment complexes since I was thirteen years old," I said.

There was a surprised gasp from each one of the people on the other side of the table. John Smith was horrified.

"There are child labor laws in this state," said John Smith, "You must be joking."

Stan leaned forward.

"You won't find this on the company ledger," said Stan, "Mike is paid in cash."

"How do we know that?" asked John Smith.

"How do you think Michael Skinner, senior, keeps his overhead low?" asked Stan.

John Smith and his team of lawyers looked over my father's financial information. They all seemed amazed.

"There are no line items for maintenance," said John Smith, "How is this possible?"

Stan pointed to me.

"This man here does all the maintenance for all the apartment complexes," said Stan, "He gets paid less than minimum wage."

"That is against the law," said John Smith.

Stan and I laughed. John Smith was not amused.

"What is so funny?" asked John Smith.

"My father doesn't like to pay much for anything," I said, "That includes his son."

"We work for the lowest rates in the city," said Stan, "Check your numbers."

The lawyers did check the numbers in my father's financial statement. They were all shaking their heads.

"This is pathetic," said John Smith, "These labor rates are way below industry standards."

"Exactly," I said, "We are willing to continue these rates for six months."

"Why would you do that?" asked John Smith.

"If you don't get enough money for the apartment complexes," I said, "You won't be able to offer me another check."

"How much can we get for those apartments complexes?" John Smith asked his team of lawyers.

The auctioneer's estimate was less than the amount of the check that my father had wrongfully taken. John Smith sighed. This was not the answer he wanted to hear.

"I want you to recover your money," I said.

"Okay," said John Smith, "That seems fair."

"If you don't recover your money," I said, "You can't offer me another check."

"We need you to tell the general public that our products are safe," said John Smith.

"Exactly," I said, "We can get you more for those apartment complexes if all delinquent accounts are brought current."

"You sound like an accountant," said John Smith.

"I am taking classes at the community college," I said.

"Is your father paying for your education?" asked John Smith.

"Not since the accident," I said.

"I see," said John Smith.

"I can't speak for my father," I said, "I have no idea why he would steal money from his own son."

"We know all about your father," said John Smith, "But we don't know anything about you."

"How much time does the bankruptcy court need to liquidate all of my father's assets?" I asked.

"We are estimating that it will take at least a year," said John Smith.

"Why not give us six months to collect all the delinquent rents?" I asked, "Why not let us get most of the apartments rented?"

"Can you do that?" asked John Smith.

"We can do that," said Stan.

"If we fail," I said, "The bankruptcy court seizes the apartment complexes anyway."

"I see," said John Smith.

"You get your money one way or the other," I said.

"If you can pull this off," said John Smith, "We can all make a lot of money."

"All we ask is to give us six months to get the apartment complexes ready for sale," I said, "You can even pick out the real estate broker."

John Smith turned to his legal team. They threw out a few names for Mr. Smith to consider.

"I think we can handle the real estate broker," said John Smith, "Just have everything ready for sale in six months."

"Yes, sir," I said.

"Thank you, sir," said Stan.

I stood up when John Smith stood up. I shook his hand and thanked him profusely. Stan did the same.

"We will talk to the bankruptcy judge," said John Smith, "We will ask them to keep you and your staff for the next six months."

"You can keep all the profits from the sale," I said.

"Do you still want to do that public service message for us?" asked John Smith.

"After the six months," I said, "I will do whatever you need for me to do."

John Smith nodded and disappeared through a door on the far side of the conference room. The security guard stood beside us. He escorted us out of the conference room, into the foyer, and back out into the parking lot.

"How are we supposed to collect all that rent money?" asked Stan.

"I have a plan," I said.

"Most of the property managers have gone," said Stan, "We don't have the manpower to do all the collecting and all the maintenance."

"I am already doing all the maintenance," I said.

"What about the collecting?" Stan asked.

"I think I need to call my mother," I said.

"Does she have friends who can help her get all the rent money?" asked Stan.

"We will see," I said.

"Okay," said Stan, "I hope you know you are doing."

The first person I called was Greta. I called her on my cellular phone.

"Hi, Greta," I said, "Is this a good time to talk?"

"I told you that I don't ever want to talk to you again," said Greta.

"I know," I said, "But this is not about you being my sister or Betty being my real mother."

"What is it?" asked Greta, "You have sixty seconds before I hang up."

"I need Betty's help," I said, "I need people who can collect the rent money for my father's apartment complexes."

"Your father has property managers to do all of that," said Greta.

"Most of them have left," I said, "Only Stan is left."

"I am sure your father can hire new property managers," said Greta.

"That won't happen," I said.

"Why not?" asked Greta.

"My father got dragged off to jail," I said.

There was a gasp. I could hear Betty's voice in the background. Greta was trying to relay the information to her mother. Finally, Betty picked up the phone.

"Mike," said Betty, "Is that you?"

"Mom," I said, "I am so sorry."

"I should have asked more questions after I realized that you looked like my husband," said Betty.

"It was not your fault," I said.

"It was not your fault, either," said Betty, "I just never realized my husband would try to marry his own daughter."

There was awkward pause as Greta and Betty started arguing on the other end of the telephone line. When they were through, Betty returned to the telephone.

"Greta threw up when she got home," said Betty, "I would have thrown up, too."

"My father got twenty five years in prison for check fraud and bigamy," I said.

"Did my husband have two trials?" asked Betty.

"No," I said, "The same judge was hearing both cases and combined the two."

"I see," said Betty.

"With my father in jail," I said, "No one is collecting the rent money anymore."

"That means you get no paycheck," said Betty.

"Exactly," I said.

"You might be working for free," said Betty, "But no one else will work for free to collect the rent money."

"We need to add some incentives," I said.

"What incentives?" asked Betty.

"The collection agencies usually want a cut of the check that arrives," I said.

"Exactly," said Betty.

"We can ask these debt collectors to get keep whatever they gather over and above the stated rent due," I said.

"What about the police?" asked Betty, "Would these renters go to court if my people get too rough?"

"We only have six months to get all the rent collected," I said, "The apartment complexes will be sold long before anyone is seen in court."

"That could work to our advantage," said Betty.

"Can we get these people to help us collect the rent?" I asked.

"I will start making phone calls," said Betty, "I will have them call you if they are interested."

"Thanks, mom," I said.

"I love you, son," said Betty, "You don't know how long I have been searching for you."

"I love you, too, mom," I said.

Suddenly, someone was yelling something on the other end of the telephone line. There was an awkward pause.

"You are the one who slept with my husband," said Betty, "Don't point fingers at me."

There was more yelling on the other end of the telephone line.

"At least my boyfriend loves me," said Betty, "I can't say the same thing for your ex-husband."

Then, the telephone line went dead.

The next day, Stan and I waited in his office just before 8 o'clock. There was a knock on the door and I promptly opened it. Two men in brown and tan uniforms strolled inside. Both men had shaved heads and steel-rimmed sunglasses. None of the uniforms had any markings or lettering. They wore no nametags or identification cards. They did have two large caliber semi-automatic pistols with additional ammunition on their belts.

"Good morning, gentleman," said Stan.

"Are you Mr. Skinner?" asked one of the men.

"I am Stan," said Stan, "That there is Mr. Skinner, junior."

I picked up a clipboard.

"Do we have any non-lethal weapons?" I asked.

Each of the men pulled out a stun gun. They showed me the indicator lights. Each stun gun appeared to have a full charge.

"Ready for action," said the two men.

"Let's get to work," I said.

Stan picked up the phone.

"I'll have the day laborers park on the far side of the apartment complex," said Stan.

"Thanks, Stan," I said, "We'll start on the north side and make out way to the south end."

I took the two men with me and knocked on doors. I had a list of all the delinquent accounts. When a resident refused to answer, I would unlock the doors for the two men. The two men would rush inside and fire their stun-guns at anyone inside. Even though I did not agree with their methods, I knew I was on a deadline. There were hundreds of tenants who had not bothered to pay their rent once they heard my dad was in jail and the property managers left town.

Once the tenant was dragged outside the unit, they were handcuffed and asked to pay. If they refused to pay, I asked Stan to send the day laborers into the apartment. Within fifteen minutes, the tenant's property was loaded onto a dumpster. I would switch out the lockset and set the tenants free. After visiting six or more tenants, word spread that the sheriff was kicking people out who did not pay their rent. As expected, the remaining tenants flooded the property manager's office. Stan was happy to collect their delinquent rents and a hefty penalty fee.

At the end of the day, Stan added up all the penalty fees. I had my two men sign a release waiver and turned over the sum of all the penalty fees. It was a giant stack of cash and I showed them the receipts. Since I had no idea what these men were capable of doing, I showed them the utmost respect and I made sure the two men were handsomely paid. As I had discussed with Betty, I did not ask them for their names or their criminal background. This was strictly a business deal and I paid the fees. After everything was said and done, the men did not complain and happily left with all their cash.

That night, I left Stan and the apartment to see Gretchen at another one of the apartment complexes. I wanted so much to get Elaine's approval. She had been very encouraging. I had a feeling that Elaine wanted time alone with me, but Gretchen had mysteriously attached herself to me. I wondered if it was a strange brother-sister bonding, but I would have preferred the company of an insatiable vixen like Elaine.

I knocked on Elaine's apartment door. Suddenly, there was a great deal of commotion behind the door. A high-pitched voice started to ask questions from behind the door.

"Go away," said the high-pitched voice.

The high-pitched voice belonged to none other than Gretchen.

"It's me," I said, "Mike."

More noises emerged from behind the door. I started to get worried.

"Is everything okay?" I asked.

"Just a minute," said Gretchen.

"Sure," I said, "Have you seen Greta?"

"I'm here," said Greta.

"Good," I said, "Did you get the pictures?"

"Yes, I did," said Greta.

After another minute, the door opened. Gretchen stood there breathless. She wore an oversized t-shirt and possibly some panties, but I was not sure. Then, I was unceremoniously dragged into the apartment and the door shut behind me. Greta was behind the door. They two lovely and gorgeous women both had oversized t-shirts. It was very easy to see through the thin fabric, but I tried not to stare. I was not sure what was going on, but I had the feeling I had interrupted something. Immediately, I tried to excuse myself.

"Is your mother here?" I asked Gretchen, "Do you want me to come back when you have the pictures uploaded?"

"Mom is not here," said Gretchen.

Elaine had gone to work and only Greta was there with Gretchen. Earlier in the day, Greta had taken photographs of all of my father's sports cars. Days ago, the bank had seized my father's house, but surprisingly, the contents had not been removed yet. Instead, the bank had placed a chain and a lock on the front gate to the house. A "no-trespassing" sign was posted over the gate to keep people away.

With the help of a ladder, Greta was able to jump the concrete block fence and enter my father's garage. Unbeknownst to the bank, Greta still had a key to my father's house. In less than an hour, Greta had snapped photographs of all my father's sport's cars.

Personally, I didn't know how Greta or Gretchen would interact with each other. They both had the same father, but that was no guarantee that they would work together. When I arrived at Elaine's apartment, Greta and Gretchen were sitting in front of a computer. Earlier in the day, Greta had pilfered a laptop from my father's office. They were both sitting in front of the stolen laptop. Greta had connected her camera connected to the computer to download all the photographs of my father's sports cars. The laptop was connected to the Internet and Gretchen was posting pictures of the automobiles.

"How are we doing?" I asked.

"We are doing fine," said Gretchen, "We have just uploaded the photographs."

Several of the photographs flashed across the screen. I nodded my approval.

"Those are some nice photographs," I said.

"Thank you," said Gretchen.

"Did you have trouble getting into the garage?" I asked.

"The alarm system was active," Gretchen said.

"How did you get past the alarm?" I asked.

"I still have the remote control to the garage," said Greta.

"Did the bank ever ask for the garage remote control?" I said.

"No," said Greta, "I found it strange they that did not ask for the remote."

"Did my father have remote garage controllers on every car?" I asked.

"That is probably why they did not ask for my garage remote control," said Greta.

"Do you think my father had list of all of his sports cars?" I asked.

"I did not find a list inside the house," asked Gretchen.

"Maybe it is in the computer," I said.

"I will have to check into that," said Gretchen.

"My dad keeps spreadsheets of all of his financial information," I said, "It makes sense that he has a spreadsheet with all of the information on each automobile."

"Why would anyone do that?" asked Gretchen.

"My father took better care of his sports cars than he did his children," I said, "I am sure he kept records of when service was done to all of his automobiles."

Greta rolled her eyes. She seemed to agree with me.

"That is absolutely true," said Greta, "Your father cared more about those stupid sports cars than he did his own wife."

Gretchen and I looked at each other. We noticed that Greta was still referring to Mr. Michael Skinner, senior, as her husband. It was assumed that Greta knew that her ex-husband was actually her father. The thought that my father actually married his own daughter made me sick inside. Not only did it make me sick, this gave me one more reason to hate my father. I had lusted after Greta, and the thought of Greta having sex with my father made my stomach churn.

I looked at Greta and Gretchen. They were so similar in size and shape. Both were blonde with perky breasts and a lean body. Both had blue eyes and a cute nose. The only difference was their hair style. Greta had braided pigtails which made her look younger. They were both sitting in chairs facing the laptop computer in their oversized t-shirts.

"I don't know why," I said, "My father was wrong in treating you so poorly."

Greta's mouth was open, but no words emerged. She seemed surprised at my comment. Vividly, I remembered our last encounter. Greta was so upset when I told her the news about her real father. She was so mad and I felt so guilty about breaking the news to her. In a way, Greta wanted to blame someone and I was conveniently present. Still, I was not willing to detest Greta completely. None of us would have ever imagined the personal devastation that my father had doled out. My father's senseless actions had permanent ramifications that reached back almost twenty years.

"I didn't know you felt that way," said Greta.

"You deserve better," I said.

Greta could not believe my words.

"I can't believe you just said that," said Greta, "I was so angry with you when you told me the truth."

"We were all angry," I said.

"There is no reason you need to be so nice to me after how I treated you last time," said Greta.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"You were angry and I was angry," I said, "Everyone was mad that day."

I looked over at Gretchen. The young girl was looking at my face and Greta's face. She was trying to figure out what was happening.

"Relax, Gretchen," I said, "I am not trying to take Greta away from you."

At that, Gretchen's face blushed. She stumbled for something to say. Greta rolled her eyes and looked at Gretchen.

"I guess Junior is not as dumb as he looks," said Greta.

"How did you know?" asked Gretchen.

"You two are almost naked," I said.

Greta laughed. Gretchen frowned. The young girl did not understand what was so funny.

"What is so funny?" asked Gretchen.

"Mike has seen me naked before," said Greta.

"What?" Gretchen asked.

"She sleeps in the nude," I said.

"So do you," said Greta.

I looked at Gretchen.
"Greta was my stepmother," I said, "She had to take care of me after my accident."

"What accident?" Gretchen asked.

"My penis was shredded by a defective athletic supporter," I said, "That is why the Acme Athletic Company was trying to give me a million-dollar check."

"That is why the company wants him to endorse their products," said Greta, "The company lost a lot of customers after Mike got hurt."

"Does that mean Mike has no penis?" asked Gretchen.

"No," said Greta, "Mike has a penis."

"So what is the problem?" asked Gretchen.

"The doctor created a larger penis," said Greta.

Greta's jaw dropped.

"How big are we talking about?" Gretchen asked.

"Ten inches long and two inches wide," announced Greta.

"Holy crap," said Gretchen.

"Mike could not sleep with me because I was his stepmother," said Greta.

Gretchen nodded.

"That sounds right," said Gretchen.

"Mike started sleeping with my mother instead," said Greta.

"Didn't he know that your mother and his mother are one and the same?" asked Gretchen.

"No," I said, "I didn't have a clue."

"Mike could not get enough of my mom," Gretchen said with pure delight, "He was having sex with her all day long."

I blushed.

"I was not having sex with her all day long," I said, "We talked a lot, too."

"You two were always naked," said Greta.

"Do you like older women?" asked Gretchen.

Once more, I blushed. I tried to defend myself, but nothing came out of my mouth.

"Mike had been having sex with my mom," said Gretchen.

Greta turned to me. She was frowning.

"Have you no shame?" asked Greta, "Do you have to sleep with every middle-aged woman you comes across your path?"

"That was how they met," said Gretchen.

"How did they meet?" Greta asked.

"Mike was having a one-night stand with my mom," said Gretchen.

"You really are a pig," said Greta.

At that, I stood up and headed for the door. I decided that my business here was finished.

"Where are you going, Mike?" asked Gretchen, "My mom is at work."

Greta started laughing.

"What is so funny?" I asked.

"Did you want to know where my mother is staying?" asked Greta.

"Where is your mother staying?" I asked.

Greta turned to Gretchen.

"I told you he has been dying to have sex with my mother again," said Greta.

"Are you going to let him do that?" asked Gretchen, "Mike is her own son."

"I don't think you understand," said Greta, "My mother talks about Mike in her sleep."

Gretchen frowned.

"Is she really in love with her own son?" asked Gretchen.

"My mom touches herself when she dreams about him," said Greta.

"I guess if your son has a ten inch penis," said Gretchen, "You would not care if he is your son or not."

"Are you saying you want to see it?" asked Greta.

"I don't know," said Gretchen, "I have never had sex with a man before."

That was when I decided it was time for me to leave. I looked at Greta and Gretchen. They looked like twins. Still, Gretchen was sitting very close to Greta. In fact, Gretchen looked like she wanted to smother Greta with her entire body. Surprisingly, Greta was very relaxed. I sensed that they had slipped on those threadbare t-shirts in hurry because their clothes were strewn all over the bedroom.

"I think you need to clean up that bedroom before your mom gets back," I said.

"Who are you kidding?" said Gretchen, "Don't you know what she does for a living?"

"What do you know about that?" I asked.

"Have you seen her underwear collection?" asked Gretchen.

"What underwear collection?" Greta asked.

"Let me show you," Gretchen said.

Gretchen took Greta by the hand and they ran into Elaine's bedroom. I rolled my eyes and shook my head. I had the feeling Elaine would not appreciate the two girls going through her lingerie.

"Girls," I said, "I don't think that is a good idea."

Moments later, Greta came out of the bedroom in a skimpy thong and a strapless bra. She put her back on the wall and waited for me to say something. My jaw dropped and I struggled for something to say. I had dreamed of seeing Greta in lingerie, but I had never thought my dream would come true.

"What are you doing?" asked Gretchen.

The young girl poked her head out of the doorway. The t-shirt was gone and her arms were crossed over her exposed breast.

"I am teasing my brother," said Greta.

Gretchen giggled. I groaned. My throbbing member was trying to break free of my pants.

"Oh my God," said Gretchen, "He is getting a boner."

"This is not funny," I said, "This really hurts."

I was bent over, because the pain was incredible. My mangled penis was seriously trying to push through my pants. I felt the blood rushing out of my head and down to my crotch. Triumphantly, Greta stood over me in her sexy lingerie.

"I have one question for you," said Greta.

"I am so sorry," I said, "I never meant to have sex with your mom."

"She is your mom, too," said Greta.

"Can you ever forgive me?" I asked.

"I don't know," said Greta.

At that, I felt someone behind me. Unceremoniously, someone pulled down my jeans. My mangled member thrust forward like a spear in clear view of everyone. Gretchen came around from behind me. Her jaw dropped.

"Oh my God," said Gretchen, "That is absolutely huge."

I blushed. Gretchen was completely naked in front of me. Without warning, my penis started to twitch like a flagpole in the wind.

"How did your mom fit that into her vagina?" asked Gretchen.

Greta had her hands on her hips. I stood there embarrassed with a huge erection in everyone's view.

"Do you see why my mom dreams about that penis?" asked Greta.

"Did he hurt your mom?" asked Gretchen.

"My mom was always tired afterwards," said Greta, "She would sleep for hours and then go back into Mike's room."

"Did you ever try to put that into your vagina?" asked Gretchen.

"No," said Greta, "His father was never that big."

"So how did your mother do it?" Gretchen asked.

"I don't know," said Greta, "But it is bigger than your dildo."

"No," said Gretchen, "It is the same size."

"You are absolutely wrong," said Greta.

At that, the young girl went into her own bedroom and fetched a six-inch plastic dildo. Gretchen placed the dildo right next to my penis.

"Holy crap," said Gretchen, "His penis really is bigger."

"I knew I was right," said Greta.

"It is not that much bigger," Gretchen said, "I can probably put that in my vagina."

"No way," said Greta, "You have never had sex with a man."

"What does that have to do with anything?" asked Gretchen.

"I am the one that can put that in my vagina," said Greta, "Because I have been married before."

"How many times did you have sex with his dad?" asked Gretchen.

"What does that have to do with anything?" asked Greta.

"It will never fit inside your vagina," said Gretchen.

Gretchen waved her white plastic dildo from side to side and sat smugly on her chair. On the other hand, Greta had her hands on her hips. Her lips seemed to tremble. I had seen that look of rage on her face before. Once more, I decided to excuse myself.

I pulled my jeans up and started heading for the door. Greta's hand suddenly shot out in front of me.

"Where do you think you are going, son?" Greta asked.

"I think it is time for me to leave," I said.

Gretchen giggled. The young girl thought she had won the argument. She gloated and wagged her finger at Greta.

"Don't go," Greta pleaded.

"Should I call you mom or sister?" I asked.

"Just call me Greta," she said.

"Which one is it going to be?" I asked, "Should I call you my sister?"

Greta stood up and placed her body between me and the door. I sighed. I was getting tired of their girlish games.

"Look," said Greta, "You can just forget that I am your sister."

"Does that mean I have to call you my mother?" I asked.

"No," said Greta, "The judge said it was not even a valid marriage."

"Look," I said, "I just came here to see if Gretchen had posted the advertisements for the new apartments."

At that, Gretchen turned to the computer. Within seconds, the young girl brought up the online advertisements for my father's apartment complexes. There were pictures of happy people enjoying the pool at one of my father's apartment complexes.

"Where did you get these pictures?" I asked.

"That is me," said Greta, pointing to a woman in a two-piece bathing suit.

"Is that really you?" I asked.

"Don't you like it?" Greta asked.

Greta looked at me. I had a disappointed look on my face.

"You don't look happy," asked Greta.

I thanked Gretchen profusely. Then, I started to get up and leave. Greta immediately jumped up and stood in front of the door.

"What is going on with you?" asked Greta, "Don't you like me in a bathing suit?"

"I love you in a bathing suit," I said, "I love you in almost anything."

"So what is the matter with you?" asked Greta.

"First of all," I said, "I can't have anything to do with you because you were my stepmother."

Greta put her arms around my neck and drew closer. I could smell her musky scent on my nostrils. Even her sweat was driving me crazy. What had they been doing before I had arrived?

"According to the judge," said Greta, "I was never really married to your dad."

"Second of all," I said, "I can't have anything to do with you because you are really my sister."

Greta sighed. She knew that I was right. By law, I was not supposed to be having sex with my stepmother. That led me to her mother, Betty. By law, I was not supposed to be having sex with my biological mother. That led me to Elaine, who was my nanny. The only one left was Gretchen. I tried to explain this all to Greta.

"That leaves Gretchen," I said, "And she's not even eighteen."

"Who said I was not eighteen?" asked Gretchen.

"You are still in high school," I said.

"I got held back," said Gretchen, "I am the oldest one at my school."

Greta saw that I was looking at Gretchen. Immediately, she turned my head and pressed her lips onto mine. My eyes grew wide. I didn't know what was happening. Gretchen whistled.

"You can't do this," said Gretchen.

"Who says I can't?" asked Greta.

"You are not supposed to be sleeping with your own brother," said Gretchen.

"Mike has already had sex with my own mother," said Greta.

"Mike is your brother," said Gretchen.

"Mike is your brother, too," said Greta.

"Mike is my half-brother," said Gretchen.

"Mike only had sex with my mother because he said my mother looked like me," said Greta.

Gretchen's jaw dropped. The revelation had me blushing. My secret had just been revealed. I covered my face in shame. I suddenly felt so guilty. Greta was right. One mistake led to another mistake. I was embarrassed beyond belief. I turned and walked to the bedroom. I sat down on the edge of the bed and put my hands over my face. I had never felt so ashamed in all of my life.

"I told you," said Greta.

"I thought I had problems," said Gretchen.

"I am so sorry," I said, "Can you forgive me?"

I heard the girls come into the bedroom. With a lot of giggling, Greta and Gretchen picked up their clothes that had been strewn all over the floor. When they finished, Greta sat on my lap. To my surprise, Greta was completely naked. My jaw dropped and my heart almost skipped a beat. To make matters worse, Gretchen was naked, too. Gretchen stood in front of me with her hands on her hips. Her one eyebrow was raised suspiciously. With her legs spread apart, Gretchen threw her hip to one side so I could see more of her hairless crotch. Looking down, Greta had her perky breasts only inches away from my lips. I swallowed hard. Was this a test? Was I being tempted? I froze.

"I know you love me," said Greta.

"I do," I said, "But I can't have you."

At that, Greta pressed her lips onto mine. I felt like she was yearning for something that only I could give. I loved her soft lips and I returned the affection. When she broke off the kiss, Greta whispered to me.

"My marriage certificate says I was married to a Michael Skinner," said Greta.

"Did it say Michael Skinner, senior, or Michael Skinner, junior?" I asked.

Greta shrugged her shoulders. At that, Gretchen playfully pushed me in the shoulders.

"Greta never had sex with your old man," said Gretchen.

"Is that true?" I asked.

Greta nodded her head.

"We both got drunk," said Greta, "We didn't have sex."

"I don't understand," I said, "There has to be some kind of mistake."

"I am quite sure," said Greta.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"I still had my clothes on," said Greta, "Your father never came back to the room."

"That is awful," I said.

"That is why I have a favor to ask from you," said Greta.

At that, Gretchen poked an elbow at Greta. They whispered at each other for a moment or two.

"Actually," said Greta, "I have two favors to ask from you."

"What do you want?" I asked.

"I want you to be Michael Skinner," said Greta.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, "I am Michael Skinner."

"No," said Greta, "I want you to be the Michael Skinner that married me."

"Are you serious?" I asked, "Isn't someone going to find out that you and I are brother and sister?"

"I won't tell," Gretchen said.

"But you have to do her a big favor," said Greta.

"What would that be?" I asked.

The next ten minutes were a blur. I was helped out of my clothes and told to lie down in the middle of the bed. Greta immediately straddled my erect penis and Gretchen spread her legs over my face.

"I don't have a condom so you have to let me pull out when I get too close," I said.

"Greta says that you are good at licking," said Gretchen.

"You have to promise me that you won't tell your mother," I said.

"You are just one naughty boy," said Gretchen, "You want to have sex with your poor sisters."

Greta's fingers were tugging on the skin around the entrance to her vagina. She seemed to be in pain as the head of my penis disappeared inside. Gretchen was holding onto Greta by the breasts. It seemed like an eternity before more of my throbbing penis was able to enter her vagina.

"That's it, baby," said Gretchen, "Give your husband what he wants."

"Oh my God," said Greta, "I didn't think it would hurt so much."

To my surprise, there was a tiny bit of blooding coming out of her vagina. Gretchen was watching with eager eyes.

"Are you a virgin?" I asked.

Greta didn't say anything. Her eyes were closed. She nodded breathlessly.

"Why didn't you say you were a virgin?" I said, "Why don't we stop?"

Before I could say another word, Gretchen smothered my mouth with her crotch. She started grinding on my face as my tongue danced across her clitoris. I could tell she was starting to enjoy herself by the way her body shivered each time I touched something sensitive.

"Eat me," said Gretchen, "I want my brother to eat me."

I took both hands and spread her legs wider apart. This made Gretchen giggle.

"You are one naughty brother," said Gretchen, "You like looking at your sister's vagina."

I could not say anything. My tongue was stuck inside her vagina, but I did not mind. I was tasting forbidden fruit. Her lithe body was convulsing and trembling with each movement of my tongue. Needless to say, my penis was throbbing uncontrollably. I could feel a wet sensation coat the outside of my penis. I could feel more of my penis sliding into my beloved Greta. Should I pretend to be her husband? Was it wrong to take your sister's virginity?

"Greta was right," said Gretchen, "You really do have a talented tongue."

I would have loved to reply to her, but I could barely breathe. My nose was being crushed by her lovely posterior and I was inhaling vapors from her rear orifice. Still, I could have cared less. My giant hands squeezed each half of her delicious rump. This elicited a happy squeak from my curious half-sister.

Gretchen's tiny body shivered each time I turned my tongue. Soon, the young girl was bouncing up and down on my extended tongue like a bull rider. All I could see was Gretchen's perfectly shaped rear end, but I did not complain. I would have liked to see what Greta was doing. I could feel the walls to her vagina squeezing my entire penis like a vise. Each time Greta moved, I wondered if my former stepmother was going to pull off my manhood at the base. Her legs straddled my crotch and I felt her soft skin on my lap.

"Breathe, Greta, breathe," said Gretchen.

"Oh my God," said Greta, "I don't know why I did this."

"Are you okay?" asked Gretchen.

"No," said Greta.

"Are you in pain?" asked Gretchen.

"Yes," said Greta.

"Do you need me to help you?" asked Gretchen.

"No," said Greta, "I think I can handle this."

"Why didn't you say you were a virgin?" asked Gretchen.

"I did say I was a virgin," said Greta.

"Is that why you didn't want to use my dildo?" asked Gretchen.

"Maybe I should I have used that first," said Greta.

"How did you get everything in there?" asked Gretchen.

"I don't know," said Greta.

At that, Gretchen climbed off of my face. She was leaning forward to give Greta a reassuring hug. The young girl's posterior was still above me, but now I could see Greta. My entire manhood had disappeared inside of her. She was trembling.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

Gretchen climbed off of me completely and let Greta fall forward into my arms. To my surprise, Greta's beautiful face was smiling. Our lips met. No doubt, she tasted Gretchen's love juice on my face. This made her even happier.

"You taste like Gretchen," said Greta.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"I can't believe I squeezed everything inside," said Greta.

"You are very tight," I said.

"No one believes me when I said I was a virgin," said Greta.

"Why did it have to be me?" I asked, "Are you in pain?"

"Yes," gasped Greta.

"Did you want me to stop?" I asked.

"No way," said Greta, "I know now why our mom kept having sex with you."

"How can I refuse two beautiful women?" I asked.

Greta rested her head under my chin. I looked over at the young girl next to Greta. Lazily, Gretchen was lying next to me and playing poking me on the shoulder.

"This is my husband," said Greta.

"I am next," said Gretchen.

"Sorry," said Greta, "He is stuck inside me."

"Are you kidding me?" asked Gretchen.

"No," said Greta, "I can barely feel my legs."

"Are you serious?" I asked.

Greta had a giant smile on her face. She nodded her head.

"Come on, Greta," said Gretchen, "It is my turn now."

"Okay, okay," I said.

I put my hands on each half of her posterior. Greta giggled as I squeezed her tight rump. With all my strength, I lifted Greta up. To my surprise, my penis felt like it was being pulled at the base. I groaned. The pain was incredible. Greta started to breathe faster.

"Don't go so fast," said Greta.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"I am getting goose bumps," said Greta.

Gretchen's eyes grew big. She was wondering what really happening down between Greta's crotch.

"What are you going to do now?" asked Gretchen.

"I have an idea," I said.

I felt the urge to ejaculate and I really didn't want Greta to get pregnant. We had not even talked about children or raising a family. Thus, I grabbed Greta around her tiny waist and flipped her over so that Greta was now on her back. I was above and started to pull out. Gretchen immediately seized the opportunity to kiss Greta on the lips. I had never seen two women kissing and it was getting me excited. In the back of my mind, I knew it was time to withdraw my manhood before I did ejaculate.

Carefully, I started to pull out. I could see her blood mixed with vaginal juices all over my manhood. There was a collection of liquids dripping between her legs. The sheets underneath were starting to get stained.
The girls were now rubbing their breasts and kissing each other with wild abandon. They had completely forgotten that I was there. When I finally had all of my manhood out of her vagina, I went to the bathroom. I flipped on the light and walked to the toilet. As soon my erection hovered over the toilet, I ejaculated. Streams of gooey white cream shot forth. I groaned. I could feel the liquids progressing through my testicles and out through the shaft.

When I finished ejaculating, I leaned over the toilet and tried to catch my breath. My penis was starting to droop and a few more drops of sperm escaped into the toilet. I quickly cleaned off the toilet and flushed the evidence away.

When I returned to the bedroom, I was greeted to a rare sight. Gretchen was between Greta's legs. The young girl was furiously licking her crotch like an ice cream cone. There was red blood smeared across her face, but Gretchen did not seem to care.

Suddenly, Greta cried out. She threw her head backwards. Her body trembled and she convulsed a few times. To the young girl's surprise, Gretchen was briefly sprayed in the face from Greta's reddened crotch. The entrance to her vagina looked like a cave that had just been excavated. There was still a little blood dripping out and it made its way to Gretchen's chin.

"Did you just spray me?" asked Gretchen.

Greta was trying to catch her breath. She looked at Gretchen's face and started laughing hysterically.

"Why didn't you tell me you could squirt?" asked Gretchen.

"How was I supposed to know?" asked Greta.

"I think it went down my throat," said Gretchen.

We all started laughing together. I didn't know whether or not Greta was glad that I had no ejaculated inside her. She motioned for me to sit next to her.

"You are my husband now," said Greta, "You can come inside me if you want."

"I probably need to give you an engagement ring first," I said.

"You probably need to get wedding bands, too," said Gretchen.

I nodded. Gretchen was right. Even though I had never been married before, I had a feeling most married people had wedding bands. His father had a wedding band on his ring finger, but that wedding disappeared each time he got divorced.

I was just about to tell Gretchen that she was correct when I saw the girls whispering to each other. Greta was smiling broadly. She sighed and fell back on the bed. Her legs were still spread apart and one could clearly see the entrance to her vagina. The reddened skin had been stretched apart and Greta let the air cool off her vagina without the hint of modesty.

"Go ahead, girl," said Greta, "I am too tired."

Before I could protest, Gretchen stood up and ran around behind me. Playfully, the young girl pushed me onto the bed. Clumsily, I landed face first on the mattress next to Greta. There was a satisfied look on Greta's face.

"Kiss me," said Greta.

I leaned over and met her luscious lips. My penis immediately reacted. I felt like I was having another erection. To my chagrin, I felt someone straddle my mangled manhood. I tried to break off the kiss with Greta, but there was no way Greta was letting me go. Both of her hands had reached over keep his face focused on Greta.

Gretchen started to breathe in short bursts. My penis was getting squeezed mightily. I suddenly realized that Greta was letting me have sex with Gretchen.

"Oh no," I said.

"It is okay," said Greta.

"I thought you said that you and I were supposed to be married," I said, "I don't understand what is going on."

I turned to see the young girl trying to squeeze my mangled manhood into her vagina. Her legs were shivering as my penis disappeared between her legs little by little.

"Holy crap," cried Gretchen, "I don't see how you did it."

"It is so wide," said Greta.

"Do you want me to stop?" I asked.

Gretchen shook her head with her eyes closed. I looked at Greta. She saw the look of worry in her eyes.

"Don't tell me you are going to come again?" asked Greta.

"Maybe," I said.

"Can you hold it?" asked Greta.

I shook my head. Without warning, Gretchen let her full weight push my manhood all the way inside her. I groaned. I closed my eyes. I was trembling because Gretchen's vaginal walls were squeezing my penis with enormous pressure. It was even tighter than Greta's vagina.

"Here it comes," said Gretchen.

Before I knew it, Gretchen's whole body was shaking. Greta's eyes grew big.

"Oh my God," said Greta, "Are you having an orgasm?"

Greta sat up and kissed Gretchen. The two of them smooched like old lovers. Greta's hands were all over Gretchen's breasts and posterior. To my dismay, their love was getting me more excited.

Finally, I lifted Gretchen off my lap by grabbing her buttocks. I felt the walls of her vagina tug at the base of my penis. I groaned because I felt like my manhood was going to be ripped away. With one mighty tug, I freed my penis. Gretchen and Greta came crashing down on my chest. I felt sticky liquid drip across my belly and I had the feeling it came out of Gretchen's vagina. In fact, I lifted the two girls off my body and set them aside. When I did, I saw that my penis was covered in blood.

Greta's eyes grew big when she saw my penis covered with blood. She was surprised.

"Oh my God," said Greta, "Are you a virgin, too?"

Gretchen's eyes were still shut. The young girl was shivering from the after effects of her orgasm. Weakly, Gretchen nodded her head.

"What about your dildo?" Greta asked.

"I could never put it inside," said Gretchen.

"Didn't you know it was going to hurt?" asked Greta.

Gretchen's eyes finally opened. She looked down at her gaping hole between her legs. There was blood all over the place. The young girl smiled at her older half-sister. Gretchen blushed.

"You were just playing along just so you could have sex with Mike, too," said Greta.

"I'm sorry," said Gretchen, "But I wanted to have sex with him, too."

"Why?" asked Greta.

"He saved my life," said Gretchen, "The least I could do was let him take my virginity."

"He saved my life, too," said Greta.

"Did he really save your life?" asked Gretchen.

"I got bit by a snake in the crotch," said Greta.

Gretchen did not believe Greta. The young girl turned to me. I nodded.

"She did get bitten by a snake in the crotch," I said, "I had to suck out the poison."

"Do you like your stepmother's crotch?" asked Gretchen teasingly.

I blushed.

"Yes," I said.

"Did Greta have an orgasm?" asked Gretchen.

Greta was surprised to hear Gretchen's question.

"Gretchen," said Greta, "That is none of your business."

"If we are going to be lovers," said Gretchen, "You are going to tell me everything that happens in your sex life."

Greta rolled her eyes.

"What is going on here?" I asked.

"Greta can't decide," said Gretchen.

"What does she have to decide?" I asked.

"Greta can't decide if she wants to be my lover," said Gretchen.

"Are you thinking of being a lesbian?" I asked.

"Maybe," said Greta.

"Greta can't decide if she wants to be your wife," said Gretchen.

"Do you love me?" I asked.

"Of course I love you," said Greta.

"Greta can't decide if she wants to be your stepmother," said Gretchen.

"Do you really want to be married to my dad?" I asked.

"I don't want to be married to your dad," said Greta, "I just want to be your stepmother."

"Why do you want to be his stepmother?" asked Gretchen.

"It was fun," said Greta.

"I don't understand," said Gretchen.

"I think Mike really enjoyed seeing his naked stepmother," said Greta.

I blushed. I felt so ashamed. Surprised, Gretchen turned to look at me.

"Do you find that exciting?" asked Gretchen.

"It drove Mike crazy seeing his stepmother naked," said Greta.

"Is that why you love having sex with my mom?" asked Gretchen.

I blushed again. I knew my face was completely red.

"I told you," said Greta, "This mom and son thing gets him so excited."

The girls both started to giggle. I groaned. My penis started to ejaculate. Streams of white goo shot out of the tip. My eyes rolled back as my thoughts went back to Bettie. Just the thought of her lean and lithe body riding on top of my penis made me have an erection. I started breathing fast as more and more semen escaped from my penis.

"Oh my God," said Gretchen, "His penis looks so much bigger."

"I can't believe he is having another orgasm," said Greta.

"We need to be careful," said Gretchen, "Because I am not on birth control."

"I am not birth control either," said Greta.

"You still haven't made a decision," said Gretchen.

Greta rolled her eyes at Gretchen.

"Can we talk about this tomorrow?" asked Greta.

At that Greta leaned over and kissed Gretchen. Their hands were all over each other as my penis emptied itself of all my semen. I fell back onto the bed and watched the two girls making love.

The next day, I was awakened by Greta. Her face had lost all color. There was fear in her eyes. She handed me her phone. There was a text message from my father.

"Tell Junior to come to Freedom Park at midnight tonight by himself or you will never see your mother again," said the text message.

"Is my father still in jail?" I asked.

"I thought so, too," said Greta, "But this is his phone."

Gretchen plopped her beautiful body next to me. She also had her phone.

"Who are you talking to?" asked Greta.

"My mom is on the phone," said Gretchen.

"What does she want?" asked Greta.

Suddenly, Gretchen's face lost all color, too. Her eyes grew big.

"My mom says she is watching the news," said Gretchen, "Something happened at the jail."

We all looked at each other. Without another word, we went to the living room where the only television set was located. Gretchen took the remote control and punched the appropriate buttons. Immediately, we started watching the television news footage. There was a fire at the local jail. One could see fire pouring out of the windows and smoke escaping into the night sky. The police were all escorting the remaining prisoners from the jail.

"Authorities have their suspicions about the origin of the fire," said the television reporter, "Sources say that the fire suppression system was deliberately sabotaged."

"Are you thinking what I am thinking?" asked Greta.

"I have a feeling my dad had something to do with this," I said.

"Do you think our dad would do something so terrible just to escape from the jail?" asked Greta.

"It is not the first time my father had burned down a building," I said.

The girls looked at me with complete surprise. I sighed. This was not something I wanted to ever reveal to anyone.

"My dad had me pour gasoline all around a house once," I said.

"How could you?" asked Greta.

"I got tired of my dad beating the crap out of me," I said, "So I did what he asked me to do."

"You could have gone to jail," said Greta.

"I would have been safer in jail," I said.

"Why did you do it?" asked Gretchen.

"My dad was having trouble paying the mortgage on this rental house," I said, "We were having trouble getting the house rented."

"What was wrong with the house?" Gretchen asked.

"A former tenant turned out to be a drug dealer," I said, "Everyone who lived in the house after that got sick."

"What happened after that?" Gretchen asked.

"The insurance company paid 80%," I said, "But it was enough to buy another rental house in another part of town."

There was awkward silence. Everyone looked back at the television screen. There were police and fire-fighters everywhere. They were all scrambling to get the prisoners out and the get the blaze under control.

"What do we do now?" asked Gretchen.

"Greta," I said, "I need for you to contact the police."

"What should I say?" asked Greta.

"Tell them the truth," I said, "Tell them that you just received a text message from our dad."

"Should I tell them that our dad set the jail on fire?" asked Greta.

"We don't know that for sure," I said, "But we do know that he surrendered that phone to the police."

"One cellular phone is missing and the owner of that phone is using it," said Gretchen, "The police will be looking for our dad soon."

"That means we don't have much time," I said.

"Do you think he will kill my mother?" asked Greta.

"I don't know," I said, "I sure hope not."

"What are you going to do?" asked Greta.

"I guess I better show up at Freedom Park," I said.

"Should I show the police the text message?" asked Greta.

"I don't think we have much of a choice," I said.

"What if this is a trap?" asked Gretchen.

"I don't think I have much of a choice," I said, "I assume my dad wants something."

"Maybe he needs money to get out of town," asked Greta.

"He probably used a lot of money to escape from jail," said Gretchen.

"Or he wants you dead," said Greta.

I swallowed hard. Greta was right. My father probably had all the money he needed to stage the arson, plan the escape, and leave the city. There was only one thing left for my father to do.

"She is right," said Gretchen, "Most people would head straight to Mexico."

"Why would anyone stay in the city?" said Greta, "Doesn't he know that they will probably start looking for him as soon as they round up all the people in jail?"

"I know what I have to do," I said.

"What are you going to do?" asked Greta.

"I will ask my dad to let Mom go," I said.

"He won't let my mom go," said Greta.

"It is worth a try," I said, "He is probably blaming all of this on me."

"Why would he do that?" asked Gretchen.

"My father blames everyone else," I said, "I have never known him to blame himself for anything."

"I hate those kinds of people," said Gretchen.

"I do, too," I said, "My dad is blaming me for all of this."

"That is stupid," said Gretchen, "You had nothing to do with him being put in jail."

"Our dad should never have taken your money," said Greta.

"Our dad should have gotten a divorce before getting remarried," said Gretchen.

"I agree," I asked, "But I don't want him hurting Mom."

That night, I went to Freedom Park. I had to leave Stan's bicycle across the street. The gates were already closed. Across the street, the apartment complex was quiet and I locked up my bicycle there. Most people had already gone to bed, but there were still a few people awake judging from the glow of their television sets from their windows.

As I walked across the quiet street, I looked everywhere for my father. I wanted to know what he had in mind for me. Perhaps, my father just needed something from his safe. Maybe he would have me break into the old house to get his passport. Surely, my father did not want me dead. On the other hand, my father could have picked a different time to meet me. People picked the midnight hour to do dastardly deeds. This caused the hair on the back of my head to tingle. My senses were on full alert. What am I doing here? If Betty was not in jeopardy, I would have declined the invitation. I would have ignored the text message.

I made my way into the park. I took the main path into the heart of the park. There was a central fountain in the middle of the park and that was where I stopped. I heard the gentle gurgle of the water being sprayed into the air. Only a single lamppost illuminated the area, so there were plenty of places for people to hide in the shadows.

After ten minutes of standing there, I sat down on the low wall surrounding the fountain. The silence was punctuated by a few scattered car horns and police sirens in the distance. I waited patiently, but I felt tired after a while. My heart was beating too fast and it was draining me of my energy.

"Hello?" I asked, "Is anyone out there?"

There was no answer. I waited so more. Not too far away, I thought I heard a noise.

"Is that you, dad?" I asked, "I came here like you asked."

At that moment, I felt something dig into my neck. The pain was incredible. I froze. My hands went to my neck. There was a metallic cylinder lodged in my neck. With great pain, I pulled out a dart. This was no ordinary dart. The pointed end was a syringe. I could feel a small hole where the dart had penetrated my neck. This hole seemed to burn. The dart had liquid inside and the unknown fluid had just entered my blood stream.

Quickly, I started feeling weak. I fell to my knees. My eyes could barely stay open. I tried to leave, but my body was quickly shutting down. Was that a tranquilizer?

On my knees, I saw my father walk up towards me. I was now face-to-face with his giant belly.

"Is that you, Dad?" I asked.

My father was not alone. He pointed at some people who surrounded him.

"Quick," said my father, "Put him in the trunk of the car."

I struggled to say something. Had I been poisoned? Is my father going to dump my body into a shallow grave somewhere? Why is he really going to put me in the trunk of his car? I wondered.

I felt a few arms pick me up and drag me through the park. I was too weak to resist. I started to drool as I lost control of my facial muscles.

"I am very disappointed in you, junior," said my father, "I can't believe you would turn on me after everything I have done for you."

Eventually, I lost consciousness as I was stuffed into the back of a large sedan. I awoke an hour later where I was unceremoniously dumped in the middle of some lonely street. I looked around at throng of men coming at me with baseball bats. Before I could protest, they started kicking me and clubbing until I finally lost consciousness again.

I awoke hours and hours later. My arms were high over my head and tied tightly with large diameter rope. Daylight streamed through the high windows of a former industrial complex. The metal structure spanning the space was rusted and birds had made their homes there. I guessed that it was probably high noon judging from the strength of the sunlight outside. I looked down. My legs were dangling down and my ankles were wrapped tightly with the same large diameter rope.

I felt a trickle of blood from my forehead. With a splitting headache, I vaguely remembered my father's friends beating me over the head with a baseball bat. My face did not fare much better because my cheekbones were hurting. One of my eyelids refused to open. I managed to open the eyelid with a great deal of pain. Down below, I saw bruises all over my torso. I had the feeling people had been kicking my lifeless body and all of my bones ached. I felt another trickle of blood oozing from the corner of my lips as I scanned the room.

To add insult to injury, I was completely naked. My clothes were nowhere to be found. There was one person in front of me. He was smoking a cigar in his most expensive suit. I recognized that suit. It was the suit that my father used when he wanted to intimidate. My father used that suit to keep people from suing him and win negotiations. I sighed. I had the feeling I was not going to win this negotiation, much less live to tell the tale.

"How do you feel, Junior?" my father asked.

"Not too good," I said.

My head seemed to shake uncontrollably as a spoke. I could only guess what that the poison was not completely out my system. I felt like throwing up, but only blood seemed to trickle out of my mouth.

"I know what you are going to do," my father said.

"What am I going to do?" I asked.

"You are going to beg me to let your mother go," my father said.

"Please don't hurt her," I said.

My father took his time answering my question. I had the feeling that my father had already done harm to my mother. Lazily, the cigar smoke curled up into the air. I coughed because the smoke wandered into my nostrils. My father smiled. He seemed to enjoy my pain.

"Smoking is bad for you," my father said.

I nodded.
"Double-crossing me is also bad for you," my father said.

Again, I nodded. There was nothing else I could do.

"Why didn't you sign those papers like a good boy?" my father asked.

"I didn't want to do those public service messages," I said.

"Why didn't you want to be on national television?" my father asked.

"I don't want to be famous," I said, "I just want to be left alone."

"Do you know why I took the money?" my father asked.

"Why did you take the money?" I asked.

"Because you owe me," my father said.

I had heard that phrase from my father all my life. I thought of all the times I worked for him for free. I carried wood studs, scrap metal, gasoline, dirt, rocks, pool chemicals, paper, computers, broken glass, and packages for him. When I was ten, I decided to protest. I didn't want to carry any more things for him. I wanted to be paid like the rest of his employees. That was when I received the beating of a lifetime. When everything was said and done, I had welts up and down my back. My buttocks were bleeding so much that it hurt to wear pants. I was afraid of my father for years after that. Since then, I came when he called. I decided not to question him anymore. I decided it was quicker and less painful to carry out his menial tasks with speed and accuracy than to carry on a conversation.

Ten years later, that phrase from my father made my blood boil. I bit my lip and looked at my father with equal coldness. I hid the emotions on my face, because my father wanted a reaction from me. Instead, I just nodded in mock agreement. I knew I was not going to win a war of words with my father. My father expected complete obedience and I knew it. There was no use in arguing anyway. I had never won an argument with him anyway.

"That's right," said my father, "Don't you ever forget it."

One of my father's employees appeared beside him. From the automatic pistol in the man's jacket, I guessed that this was one of my father's bodyguards. They seemed to hover around my father like buzzards looking for easy prey. These hired gorillas were the other reasons why I stopped arguing with my father. I had the sneaking suspicion that any overt rebellion against my father would end with my quick death from a bullet.

My father turned to the hired gorilla.

"Go get my wife, Betty," said my father.

The man with the gun nodded his head and left the room. Silently, I breathed a sigh of relief. At least Betty was alive. Like me, Betty was probably abducted late at night. I wondered if my father even cared that kidnapping was going to be added to his list of criminal offenses. My father had already added arson to his repertoire of crime in his bid to escape the justice system.

"I want your mother to see you die," said my father.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked, "Haven't I done everything you wanted me to do?"

"You should have turned over that check to me," yelled my father.

"You already have the money from the check," I said, "What more to you want?"

"I want you to suffer," said my father, "I want people to realize that no one double-crosses Michael Skinner and lives to tell the tale."

"Just send me somewhere far away," I pleaded.

"No," said my father, "I am the one who will be going somewhere far away."

"Are you going to shoot me?" I asked.

"No," said my father, "That would be too quick."

I waited for my father to answer.

"No," said my father, "I want something slow and painful."

At that, one of my father's employees wheeled a cart from one corner of the room. There was a car battery and two jumper cables on the cart. I swallowed hard. I had heard of soldiers being electrocuted with car batteries during an interrogation. Soldiers would have jumper cables attached to their testicles. Their private parts were literally cooked in order to obtain their military secrets.

With one good eye, I continued to scan the giant room. I was hoping against hope that there was a way out of this situation. I spotted only one visible exit. Above me, the ropes were secured to a single open-web roof joist. The joist was covered in rust. In fact, most of the steel frame in the building was covered in rust. Then, my mind recalled a warehouse that my father owned. My father used to dump a tenant's possessions into that warehouse. I remembered the graffiti on the walls and all the rust-covered metal. I wondered if this was the same warehouse. If that was true, this building was probably under surveillance by the police. If and when the police discover that my father was missing from jail, the police would probably send a squad car to investigate this same warehouse. Unbeknownst to my father, I had already divulged the location of this warehouse to the bankruptcy lawyer and law enforcement.

My father was looking over the cart with great interest. He grabbed the jumper cables and attached them to the car battery. With great enthusiasm, my father briefly touched the black jumper clamp with the red jumper cable clamp. Sparks cascaded down from where the two clamps had briefly joined. The metal cart was so close to my toes that I felt the sparks on my exposed feet. I jumped when the sparks touched my skin.

"Do you have any final words, son?" asked my father.

"No," I said.

"I know you want to say something," said my father.

"Not really," I said.

"So are you going to die like a coward?" asked my father.

"Are you going to kill my mother?" I asked.

My father shrugged his shoulders.

"Maybe," said my father.

"Are you going to kill me like this?" I asked, "Isn't that cowardly?"

"Not really," said my father, "You have gotten too big and too strong for me."

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

"I heard about what you did to Tom," said my father.

"How did you know about Tom?" I asked.

"I heard you gunned down his friends and beat the pulp out of Tom," said my father.

I stayed silent. My curiosity was getting the best of me. I had to focus on getting out of harm's way first.

"Greta had no idea you just killed her biological father," said my father.

"That is not true," I said.

"I don't care if you don't believe it," said my father, "Tom gave me a lot of money so he could turn your mom into a hooker."

"Why in the world would you let Tom do that to Mom?" I asked.

"Tom told me that a lot of powerful people wanted to sleep with your mother," said my father.

"How much money did Tom give you?" I asked.

"Tom gave me enough money to start my real estate empire," said my father.

I shook my head. I felt sick inside.

"With your mom out of the way," said my father, "I was free to marry your babysitter."

"But you never got divorced," I said.

"Your mother never signed the divorce papers," said my father.

"And you married Elaine anyway," I said.

"That is none of your business," said my father, "You would have done the same thing."

My father held a separate jumper cable clip in each hand. There was a filthy smirk on this face. At the moment, I realized that my father may have performed this interrogation technique more than once before. My father seemed to relish his moment of triumph.

"The father shall rise again," declared my father.

At that, the hired gorilla appeared. Strangely enough, the man was holding a few articles of women's clothes.

"Where's Betty?" asked my father, "What the hell is this?"

"Your wife is gone," said the man, "This is all I found."

My father's eyes grew big. Carefully, he set the jumper cable clips gently on the metal cart. Afterwards, my father picked up the clothes and threw them in the man's face.

"Why are you such an incompetent asshole?" said my father, "Where is Betty?"

The man turned around and starting running towards the door.

"How hard is it to find a naked woman?" yelled my father, "Don't you come back until you find her."

My father turned around and looked up at me. He picked up a jumper cable clip in each hand. He seemed to relish his position of power.

"Now where were we?" my father asked, "Where do you want to be electrocuted first?"

"Just make it quick," I said.

"No, my son," said my father, "You are going to die a slow and painful death."

"I just can't believe you would kill Mom," I said.

"I have killed many people in my life," said my father, "You have already killed people, too."

"What?" I asked.

"I am not stupid," said my father, "You already killed two of my guys."

"Sorry, I forgot," I said, "Those where the guys that tried to kidnap Mom."

"How in the world did you kill two guys with ballpoint pens?" asked my father.

"It is not my fault that they gave me the two ballpoint pens," I said.

"That is why you are tied up," said my father, "I can't take any chances with you."

"I guess you taught me well," I said.

I glared at my father. My father glared back at me. We stared at each other like two gunfighters in the middle of wild Western town. Silently, I waited for him to make the first move.

Then, my father started to lower the two jumper cable clips. His hands were moving towards my mangled manhood. There was a maniacal look on my father's face. I had the feeling he was enjoying every minute of danger until my ultimate destruction.

With a mighty push, I pulled by feet up. My abdomen was still sore from people kicking me in the stomach, but I focused the force of my legs on my father's face. The bottoms of my foot slammed onto his chest. My father was caught by surprise. He stood there stunned. He was not expecting any resistance.

"Nothing is going stop me from killing you," roared my father.

Once more, I focused my energies on lifting my legs in a mighty kick. By this time, my whole body was starting to swing back and forth. Silently, I groaned. Fortunately, adrenaline started to flow through my veins. I was not about to die without a fight.

"What do you think you can do?" asked my father, "What are you going to do being all tied up?"

I tried to figure out where my legs were going to be as my body swung back and forth. With little effort, my father gingerly stepped away at the last minute.

"That's my boy," said my father, "Fight like a man."

"Do you want a fight?" I asked, "Why don't you cut me down so we can fight one on one?"

"Not a chance," said my father.

"I guess you are a coward," I said.

"Who are you calling a coward?" asked my father, "Who got all of this? Who put together this real estate empire?"

"You sold Mom to a crook," I hissed.

"What is that to you?" asked my father, "What do you care once you inherit everything?"

"Don't lie to me," I said, "I am not even in your will."

My father paused. He did not expected to hear my last comment.

"That is not true," said my father.

"I am not that stupid," I said, "I listened to your conversations with my stepmom."

"Would I lie to you?" asked my father.

"Yes," I said.

At that, one of my father's employees came into the room. The man's face had lost all of its color.

"Boss," said the employee, "The cops are here."

"That's impossible," said my father.

"What do we do?" asked the employee.

"How did they know?" asked my father.

At that, my father turned to me. i knew about this warehouse, because my father had asked me to drop off items here before. His angry face sneered at me.

"Why did you tell the cops about this place?" asked my father.

"I didn't tell the cops anything," I said, "But the bankruptcy judge asked me about this place."

"How can you do this to me?" asked my father, "What kind of son are you?"

"Who said I was your son?" I asked, "How can I be your son if I am not in your will?"

"You are a complete embarrassment to me," said my father.

"Are you serious?" I asked, "Am I the one who ended up in jail?"

"I am in jail because of you," said my father, "The cops are here because of you."

"What kind of father are you?" I asked, "Do you ever take any responsibility for what you do?"

"Oh I see," said my father, "Now you think you are smarter than me because you went to school."

"What are you going to do now?" I asked, "Are you going to run away from your problems again?"

"I don't run away from my problems," said my father.

"Didn't you abandon Mom?" I asked.

"Your mother went to work as a hooker," said my father.

"Did you take the money and run?" I asked.

There was an awkward pause. My father tried to think of something to say, but nothing came from his lips. He knew he was not winning the war of words with his own son.

"Why don't you do what you do best?" I asked.

"What is that?" asked my father.

"Run away from your problems," I said.

"I don't run away from my problems," said my father.

"I was trying to put a deal together so the apartments get sold at a higher price," I said, "Hopefully there would be something left for everyone."

My father looked at me quizzically. He was not sure if I was telling the truth.

"I don't believe you," said my father.

"Ask Stan," I said, "We are all trying to keep our jobs for as long as we can."

"Why would you do this for me?" asked my father.

I sighed. It did not matter what I did for my father. Nothing was ever good enough for him. He stood there with the two jumper cable clips. I knew what was going to happen next. My father was going to electrocute me to death and no one would ever know what I did for him.

"I think it is time for you to leave," I said.

I could tell that my father was trying to decide. He was looking at the jumper cable clips. That meant he was deciding whether or not to kill me before he made his escape.

"You have always left me behind to clean up your mess," I said, "You better go now before the police get here."

My father's employee nodded his head. Even his employee did want to be there when the police stormed the building. Carefully, my father set the jumper cable clips down next to the car battery. The employee gave my father soft nudge and they ran off to the far corner of the room. I could not see the door, but I did hear the sounds of a door opening and closing. Only then did I breathe a sigh of relief.

Outside, there were sounds of police sirens. I hung there waiting for someone to arrive. In the back of my mind, I wondered if my father would return to finish me off. My body was swinging back and forth very slowly now. As the adrenaline wore off, I started to feel weaker. Once more, I started to feel the pains of having been brutally beaten. I looked down at the many bruised on my torso. A little bit of dried blood slid out of my mouth. I coughed and some dried blood slid out of my nose. I tried to open both of my eyes in an effort to see anything out of the high windows, but I remembered that one eye had difficulty opening. In fact, pain emanated from that eye socket.

Thirty minutes later, the door opened and several policemen burst into the room with their pistols drawn. They stopped and stared at me hanging there by my arms.

"What happened to you?" asked one of the police.

This was a tall brunette policewoman with a high caliber pistol aimed directly at my head. I swallowed hard. I was not sure if I was going to be included as someone aiding and abetting a known felon.

"Did you catch my dad?" I asked.

The policewoman paused. I could tell she was trying to assess my true identity. Hopefully, the police had been briefed on my father's appearance. If I was mistaken for my father, there was a good chance that I would be shot on sight.

"Are you Mike Skinner, junior?" asked the policewoman.

Her fellow police officers waited for my response. Even though there was no way I could have been carrying a weapon, all of the police officers had their guns drawn.

"Yes," I said.

"Which way did he go?" asked the policewoman.

I turned my head in the direction of the second door behind me. The policewoman pointed to the second door and her fellow officers immediately continued the pursuit. Putting her weapon back into her holster, the policewoman looked around the room. There was a ladder in a far corner and she brought it back.

"I am Officer Brave," said the policewoman, "Do you mind telling me what you are doing here?"

"My dad didn't like me cooperating with the judge," I said.

Officer Brave was a middle-aged brunette. Even though I thought she was beautiful, I was not looking at her in a sexual way. In fact, my body was trembling slightly from the constant pain. I could tell that Officer Brave was trying to assess my need for medical attention. Finally, she pressed the button on her remote microphone that was strapped to her shoulder.

"Officer Brave here," said the policewoman, "Request medical assistance inside the building."

There was a short pause. I could hear the faint voice of someone responding to Officer Brave.

"The room has been secured," said the policewoman, "Officer Daniels and Officer Charles have gone to the rear of the building."

I waited for Officer Brave to finish her conversation. She watched as more dried blood fell to the floor. Looking down, I saw a tiny pool of blood on the floor. I had not noticed the blood on the floor before. As she looked over to the steel cart with its battery and jumper cables, Officer Brave seemed very concerned that I may have been electrocuted. I shook my head.

"My dad was ready to use those jumper cables," I said, "I am really glad you guys showed up when you did."

"You are quite welcome," said Officer Brave.

"Thank you," I said.

"What did they do to you?" said Officer Brave.

"Everyone had a baseball bat except for me," I said.

"You don't look so good," said Officer Brave.

"Did you find my mother?" I asked.

"Your mother is safe," said Officer Brave.

"Thank you," I said.

"Do you have any broken bones?" asked Officer Brave.

"I don't know for sure," I said, "Everything hurts."

"Hang in there," said Officer Brave, "Help is on the way."

"I appreciate that," I said.

"Why was your mother naked?" asked Officer Brave.

"She was going to be next," I said, "My dad was going to kill her, too."

Officer Brave swallowed hard. She suddenly came to the full realization of my father's evil plans. After I said that, my head fell forward and I lost consciousness. I could hear the emergency medical personnel yelling and screaming all around. My strength had finally left me. I went into a deep sleep.

When I awoke, I was in a hospital room. Once again, my arms were in a cast. Unfortunately, I could feel casts on my legs as well. My chest was bandaged and so was my head. One eye was covered and I could feel the bandages over that eye as well. I felt pain in every corner of my body except for my crotch. Still, there was a catheter attached to my manhood and I really did not like it there.

I knew there was a blanket over me, but I was essential naked with bandages and casts. I sighed.

"I hate hospitals," I said.

To my surprise, I had a visitor. I saw the vengeful eyes of my father. Michael Skinner, senior, was hovering over me with a large knife in his hand. I felt a sudden chill come over me. I tried to find the button to call for help, but I found nothing. There was a heart monitor above me. As I started to panic, the heart monitor started to beep faster and faster.

"Wake up, son," said my father.

Calmly, my father stood over me. He waved the giant knife over my body in an attempt to find the best place to stab me and end my life.

"Did you think you could get away from me?" said my father.

"Dad," I said, "You don't have to do this."

"Why not?" asked my father.

"There is no guarantee that I will ever leave this hospital bed," I said.

My father shrugged his shoulders.

"I didn't think you would make it out of surgery the last time you were in the hospital," said my father.

"You never visited me in the hospital," I said, "How would you know?"
"I have my sources," said my father.

"You win," I said, "Why do you have to kill me?"

The statement caused my father to pause. He did not expect that I was admitting defeat.

"Did you just say that I won?" asked my father.

"Yes," I said, "What more can I say?"

"I like that," said my father.

The central theme in my father's life was winning. My father always had to have the last word. He always had to have the biggest house, the biggest car, and the most money. It did not matter who got hurt or trampled or killed. It was always about my father. No one else really mattered, especially not me.

"After I die," I said, "You will be running from the law forever and your fortune will be sold to the highest bidder."

I looked at my father's face. He suddenly realized the truth that I had just presented him.

"How much are they going to sell my real estate?" my father asked.

"Not enough," I said.

"There has to be something left after the mortgages are paid," my father said.

"Right now," I said, "We will only get fifty cents of every dollar we owe."

"That is not enough," said my father.

"Exactly," I said, "We won't be able to pay off the mortgages."

My father was disappointed.

"There won't be anything left for you or anyone else," I said.

My father didn't like what he was hearing. He paced around the room in an attempt to clear his mind.

"Is that why you made a deal with the Acme Athletic Company?" asked my father.

"I have six months to get all the late rent payments," I said, "I think I can get the vacancy rate down to 1% or 2%."

"I like that," said my father.

"I learned it from you," I said.

My father nodded. However, he still looked at me suspiciously.

"What is in it for you?" asked my father.

"If the Acme Athletic Company gets their money," I said, "I might get that endorsement check back."

"I see," said my father, "This is all about getting your check."

"Exactly," I said, "The Acme Athletic Company wants their money back from the bankruptcy judge."

"I don't know why I am not included in any of the bankruptcy negotiations," said my father.

"I didn't expect that you would cash my check and take the money," I said, "No one expected that."

"Would you have turned over the money to me?" asked my father.

"I would have given you a fair price for the apartment complexes," I said.

"I don't believe you," said my father.

"I am the maintenance man," I said, "I know exactly what the apartment complexes are worth."

My father shrugged his shoulders. He could not dispute my claim. I was the one who saw all the maintenance problems and how it would affect the resale value of the apartment complexes.

"Let me get this straight," said my father, "You were not going to spend all that money."

"No," I said, "I wanted to buy the apartment complexes from you."

"How do I know that?" asked my father.

It was my turn to shrug my shoulders. I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

"Everything I know is property management," I said.

"Would you have bought an apartment complex from someone else?" asked my father.

"I thought about your apartment complexes first," I said, "I know more about your apartment complexes."

"So you want to be in real estate like your old man?" asked my father.

"I have learned from the best," I said, "But I never thought it would turn out like this."

My father stood there with the knife. I could only guess at what was going through his mind. I knew he wanted to kill me, but my father needed someone to take care of his apartment complexes. Those apartment complexes were the source of his wealth. I was sure he did not like the bankruptcy judge asking for a quick sale. Still, the Acme Athletic Company needed their money right away. A quick sale would only garner a fraction of the real estate value. There would not be anything left for my father when he finally got out of prison.

"I will let you live," said my father finally.

At that, my father slammed the point of the knife onto the hospital bed. To my dismay, my father drove the point of the knife to a location between my legs. If I had not been paying attention, my father would have driven the knife into either one of my legs. I laid there breathless. My father glared at me in his most intimidating face. I started to sweat. My blood pressure shot up to dangerous levels. The heart monitor started beeping uncontrollably. I was starting to breathe faster.

"If you cross me," my father hissed, "I will hunt you down and kill you."

"Okay, okay," I said breathlessly.

My father laughed. He seemed to enjoying bullying me. He loved to see his son cower before him like a whipped dog.

Finally, my father turned around started to leave.

"I know the police are watching this place," my father said, "But they are never going to catch me."

My father made a grand gesture. He was mocking me and all the police that were stationed in around the hospital. I swallowed hard. Did my father have all those police officers killed?

"Did you come here just to kill me?" I asked.

My father didn't answer my question. In fact, he was completely ignoring me, because he was putting on his disguise. It was like watching a vintage spy thriller. From a bag on the opposite corner of the room, my father was pulling out a fake mustache and pasting it under his nose. He was also pulling out and putting on fake glasses with oversized lenses. I wanted to laugh because my father resembled a high school student on the first day of drama class. He was not fooling anyone, but I was not about to tell him that. I bit my tongue.

"Do what I ask you to do," command my father, "Or I will be back to kill you."

At that moment, my father's eyes grew large. He froze. Someone stepped out of the adjoining bathroom. It was Betty and she was dressed in a nurse's outfit. Her determined face glared at my father. Her hand was extended and almost touching my father's back. I saw the pain in my father's face and realized that Betty had stabbed my father in the back. I saw a few drops of blood hit the floor behind him.

"You won't ever come back," said Betty.

"You tricked me," gasped my father.

My father glared at me. I guess my father thought I had planned this.

"You leave my son alone," said Betty.

"Damn you, Betty," roared my father.

With a grimace, my father tried to walk away, but I could see Betty turning the knife. My father trembled as Betty used both hands to turn the knife. From his facial expressions, the knife was causing excruciating pain.

"I am going to kill you," roared my father.

"Not if I kill you first," said Elaine.

Dressed in a nurse's outfit, Elaine emerged from the adjoining bathroom and walked between me and my father. She had a large knife in her right hand. With a mighty swing, Elaine drove the knife deep into my father's gut. My father groaned as the knife sliced its way deep inside him.

"That is for leaving me and my daughter," said Elaine.

"Why?" asked my father to Elaine.

"Did you know what I kind of jobs I had to do?" asked Elaine.

"Of course not," said Betty, "He never paid for child support."

"Or alimony," said Elaine.

To make matters worse for my father, Gretchen came out of the adjoining bathroom with her own knife. Dressed in a matching nurse's outfit, Gretchen came around and stood with Elaine.

"No more running around on Mom," said Gretchen.

With two women cheering her on, Gretchen plunged her knife into my father's thigh. My father screamed. To my father's dismay, the young girl turned the blade a few times before pulling it back out. There was large gash on his thigh and bright red blood started to soak his trousers. Still, Elaine and Betty held their knives steady as my father writhed in pain. Gretchen watched for a moment. She held her crimson-stained knife ready for another thrust.

"You won't be putting any more hands on other women," said Gretchen.

Once more, Gretchen thrust her knife forward. My father felt the blade slice through his left wrist. He screamed.

"Stop," cried my father, "I am dying here."

"You are not dying yet," said Betty.

"We want you to feel our pain," said Elaine.

By this time, Gretchen had calmly made her way to the opposite side. Without warning, Gretchen sliced up my father's right wrist.

"No one messes around with my Mom," said Gretchen.

At that, Betty and Elaine pulled out their knives. My father stood there in a daze. I could see the gash in his midsection and the trail of blood to the floor. He held his useless hands forward in an effort to elicit sympathy from anyone. Betty, Elaine, and Gretchen backed away from my father and stood next to my hospital bed. Gretchen saw the knife stuck between my legs and picked it up.

"I don't think he will need this anymore," said Gretchen.

"Thank you," I said.

"Anytime," said Gretchen.

Betty came and put her hand on my face. Immediately I smiled.

"What did he do to you?" asked Betty.

"I am so glad you are alive," I said.

"I ran as soon as I had a chance," said Betty.

"Someone had your clothes," I said.

"That is all they every got," said Betty triumphantly.

Elaine and Gretchen giggled.

"Some guys are just stupid like that," said Elaine.

"You said it, mom," said Gretchen.

"Call me a doctor," cried my father.

By this time, my father's wounds were bleeding more profusely. He was literally standing in a pool of his own blood. His bewildered face did nothing to stir any sympathy amongst the women near me.

"Did he just ask for a doctor in a hospital?" asked Elaine.

Betty rolled her beautiful eyes.

"You are such a baby," said Betty, "Be a man and go get your own doctor."

"I am so disappointed," said Gretchen.

"What did you expect?" asked Elaine.

"Sorry dad," I said, "I would call for help but you cut the cord."

Betty picked up the button to call the nurse's station. Elaine and Gretchen shook their heads.

"Why did he do that?" asked Gretchen.

"He wanted your brother to die," said Elaine.

"Did you see the size of that knife?" asked Betty.

Gretchen showed everyone the knife that my father had so rudely threw down between my legs. It was a large black knife with a serrated edge on one side. It was a knife used by hunters. I looked at the knife with great fear. My father could have easily cut me to pieces, especially if I was unconscious.

"I can't believe he wanted to kill his own son," said Betty.

"I can't believe you want to kill me," said my father.

"We don't want to kill you," said Betty, "But she does."

My father whirled around. Behind him, Greta came from the adjoining bathroom. To my father's dismay, Greta also had a knife. She held the knife close to her nurse's uniform. Greta did not want my father to grab the knife from her hands.

"Help me," said my father.

"You are such a bastard," hissed Greta.

"No," said my father.

"You were going to leave me high and dry like you did everyone else," said Greta.

My father shook his head.

"No, honey," said my father, "I would never do anything like that to you."

"It is a little late for all of that, honey," said Greta.

"Please don't kill me," said my father.

"Give me one good reason why I should not kill you right here and right now," said Greta.

"You can have everything," said my father, "I will sign the divorce papers."

"The judge says our marriage was invalid," said Greta.

"No," said my father, "That can't be true."

"But you knew that all along," said Greta, "You never divorced my mom."

"I can change all that," said my father, "Just tell me what to do."

There was desperation in my father's voice. I looked over at Betty and I saw her nod. Greta saw the signal and lunged with her knife. With one swift stroke, Greta drove her knife deep into my father's crotch. My father bent forward in pain.

I looked at Elaine and Gretchen. There was no sympathy on their faces. Betty seemed to be enjoying her daughter's treatment of my father.

"You are such a bastard," said Greta, "You knew I was your daughter and you still wanted to get into my pants."

"You are such a sick bastard," said Betty.

"He even had plans to get into my own daughter's pants," said Elaine.

"That is why he had that guy from my high school follow me around all the time," said Gretchen.

"He deserves to die," said Betty.

"I agree," said Elaine.

"This ends today," said Greta.

Greta pulled out her knife with one motion. By this time, my father was trembling. The pool of blood underneath him was growing larger by the moment. Even if my father could stumble down the hall to get a doctor, my father would have already lost a great deal of blood.

I looked at Greta's face. There was so much anger on her face. She had probably suppressed all of that emotion in the hope of winning a divorce settlement. However, all of Greta's plans turned to dust when she discovered that my father had never divorced his previous wives. In addition to that, Greta was outraged when she discovered the identity of her real father. Forever and ever, Greta would have to explain to people how she accidently married her own father.

"Don't kill me," said my father, "Please don't take my life."

"You wanted to take my virginity," said Greta, "You are going to die for that."

"Do it," said Betty.

With a wide sweeping motion, Greta slashed my father's neck. Automatically, his hands came up to his neck in a vain effort to keep the blood from escaping. All the women watched without sympathy as my father struggled to breathe. He fell on his knees and gasped for air. None of the women moved a muscle to give him any assistance. Within minutes, my father was motionless and face down in a pool of his own blood.

Then something extraordinary happened. Greta opened the door and motioned for someone to come into the room. Two men in white uniforms rolled a gurney into the room. Without a word, the two men picked up my father's lifeless body. Without sympathy, the two men plopped my father's body onto the gurney. Minutes later, the gurney was being wheeled away.

Betty, Elaine, Gretchen, and Greta took the knives and placed them into a box. Greta disappeared out of the room and returned with a cleaning cart. Gretchen dropped the box into the cleaning cart's trash receptacle. Betty took a bottle of bleach in the cart and dumped it onto the floor. Everyone grabbed a broom and started scrubbing the floor.

In less than a half hour, there was no sign of blood on the floor. The brooms and bleach were returned to the cleaning cart.

Before leaving, Betty came to speak to me.

"I love you, son," said Betty.

"Thank you for saving my life," I said.

"You know I would do anything for you," said Betty.

"Will I ever see you again?" I asked.

Betty kissed me on the lips.

"I will find you," said Betty, "I lost you once before and that will never happen again."

"I love you, mom," I said.

Before I could say anything else, the women were gone. The room was quiet. I drifted back to sleep as the adrenaline wore off. I felt safe for the first time in my life.

Months later, I stumbled into Stan's office. I waited for a husband and wife to leave Stan's office. After rising up from his desk, Stan was happily thanking the two for paying their rent on time. After they all shook hands, the husband and wife left. Stan came to see me.

"Mike," said Stan, "I am so glad to see you alive."

We shook hands.

"I am really glad to see you," I said, "Sorry it took me a little longer to get out of the hospital."

"Have a seat," said Stan, "You can tell me all about it."

I sat down as Stan went back around to his seat. The big man carefully sat back down. I could tell from his slow movements that Stan had been busy.

"I was scared that your dad was going to hunt you down," said Stan.

"My dad did visit me at the hospital," I said.

Stan's face lost all of its color. The thought of encountering my father evoked a great deal of fear from Stan.

"He did not kill me," I said.

Stan breathed a sigh of relief.

"That is good," said Stan, "There have been so many rumors about your dad hiring people to take you out."

"When I told my dad about our plans," I said, "He decided not to kill me."

"How did he get into the hospital?" asked Stan, "Why was I not allowed to see you?"

"I don't know," I said, "I had no control over that."

"I heard that your dad's friends broke nearly all the bones in your body," said Stan.

"I don't remember how many bones they broke," I said, "I was hurting for a long time."

"How do you feel now?" asked Stan.

"I still have a lot of pain in my arms and legs," I said.

"I am glad you are still alive," said Stan.

"Thanks, Stan," I said.

"Do you want to hear about the apartment complexes?" asked Stan, "Do you want some good news for your father?"

"If it were not for the apartment complexes," I said, "I have a feeling my father would have killed me already."

"Your father will have to kill you some other day," said Stan, "We have collected almost all of the rent payments that are late."

"Great job, Stan," I said.

"Thank you," said Stan, "I think your plan actually worked."

"It is not exactly legal," I said.

"Right," said Stan, "You are not supposed to intimidate your tenants into paying their rent on time."

"I don't feel right about bringing in those two guys to collect the rent," I said, "But we were desperate."

Stan shrugged his shoulders.

"Sorry," said Stan, "I don't have much sympathy for people who take advantage of the bankruptcy courts."

"I understand," I said, "The tenants were not paying the rent because they think the bankruptcy court is going to sell their apartments to the lowest bidder."

"Not anymore," said Stan, "We have a lot of buyers ready to pay top dollar for these apartment complexes."

"That is great," I said.

"I don't know the identity of the winning bidder," said Stan, "But the bankruptcy judge is happy that the banks will get all of their mortgage money."

"Do we know if any cash is left after the sale?" I said.

"We will find out soon enough," said Stan.

"I hope the Acme Athletic Company will be happy with the results," I said.

"Speaking of the Acme Athletic Company," said Stan, "You are scheduled to do that public service message soon."

"I am ready," I said, "I even memorized my lines."

"Good," said Stan, "You can get your check soon."

"I hope so," I said.

"What are you going to do with your money?" asked Stan.

"I probably need to hire bodyguards," I said.

Stan chuckled.

"With your father on the loose," said Stan, "I would not be surprised if you hired an entire army."

"My dad was waving a knife in front of my face," I said, "I was not too happy about that."

Stan's eyes grew big. He was not too happy that my father had threatened me. Stan could not disguise his fear concerning my father's warning. The big man swallowed hard and touched his neck. Like me, there was a chill running down his spine, too.

"Did he stab you or cut you?" asked Stan.

"No," I said, "But that was his plan until I told him my plan."

"Does he know about the deal you made with Acme Athletic Company?" asked Stan.

"Yes," I said.

"Was he concerned that you would get that money from the Acme Athletic Company?" asked Stan.

"No," I said, "My dad was more concerned about paying off the mortgages on the apartment complexes."

"Your father wants to know if there would be anything left when he got out of prison," said Stan.

"You are correct," I said.

Stan rolled his eyes. My father was not concerned about anyone except for himself, and we were not surprised about this fact.

"You need to be careful," said Stan, "Your father is still on the loose."

I nodded my head. I did not want to tell him about what happened at the hospital. Maybe it was all a dream. My father's body was never found by the police. I guess Betty's criminal contacts were good at disposing bodies. On the other hand, my father was not very nice to people. Betty could have turned my father over to other people who wanted him dead. Whatever the case, I did not want Stan involved. The less he knew, the better he was.
"With friends like you," I said, "I know I will always be safe."

"Thanks, Mike," said Stan.

"With your help," I said, "We can make this work."

"I am just following your plan," said Stan.

"Don't worry," I said, "I will make sure you have a job after all of this."

"Thanks again, Mike," said Stan.

Stan arose and gave me a big bear hug. I thanked Stan profusely and promised him that I would take care of all the details regarding the apartment complexes. I knew I had a lot of work ahead of me to arrange the sale. There was no guarantee that the buyers would not change their minds, but with Stan's careful management, I was confident that we had some excellent properties for a fair price.

Almost four years later, I was sitting in an auditorium in my red and gold cap and gown. All of the graduating students including myself were seated on the wooden floor surrounded by family and friends on the bleachers all around. This was also the basketball arena for the community college. The bright lights above seemed to cover all of the graduates with a warm glow, but I didn't need the lights to have my own warm glow. This graduation ceremony was the culmination of years of sweat and tears. I had given up my nights and weekends to earn my finance degree. When I was not in the classroom, I was working with Stan to sell all of the apartment complexes.

The last apartment complex was sold six months ago. Stan and I had been struggling to keep the apartment complex fully leased. The local economy took a dive when a local manufacturing conglomerate closed its doors and shipped the jobs overseas. Suddenly, the number of potential renters in the city dropped. Stan and I had to use incentives to bring in new renters to replace the ones who had moved away. I even had to go to the bank to borrow money to increase the advertising budget. I quickly learned that most banks were not receptive to this type of lending. In the end, I had to use my nest egg as collateral. Fortunately, the new television advertisements worked. The apartment complex was fully rented and an out-of-town real estate investment trust swooped in to buy the property.

During this time, Stan took his real estate licensing exam and passed. I quickly made him my real estate agent. Soon, Stan was reaping handsome commissions from the sale of my father's apartment complexes. Besides, Stan was the only one qualified to sell the apartment complexes, because he worked there. I was very happy with Stan's performance, and Stan was subsequently hired by a major commercial real estate brokerage firm. Even though I would have loved to keep Stan on my staff, I wanted Stan to accelerate his career. If anyone deserved to succeed, it was Stan. Unlike my father, Stan had been a loyal friend and mentor. I wished him the best.

As I walked across the stage and accepted the diploma, I looked over the crowds to see if my family was nearby. Instead, I saw Stan. Clean-shaven and meticulously trimmed, he was dressed in a brand-new suit for his new job. When he saw me, Stan signaled me to join him.

When I caught up with him, Stan took me outside. There was a limousine parked at the curb. A chauffeur opened the door and waited until I came.

"Aren't you coming with me?" I asked.

Stan gave me a wink.

"They are waiting for you," Stan said, "They are not waiting for me."

"Why didn't they come to the graduation?" I asked.

"Betty, Elaine, Greta, and Gretchen could come here," said Stan.

"Why in world could they not come?" I asked.

"They said they were all naked," said Stan.

My eyes grew big. This was not something I had expected.

"So how much money did you give them after you made that commercial?" asked Stan.

My jaw dropped. I had no idea what to say to Stan. I had been very generous with Betty, Elaine, Greta, and Gretchen. Without them, my father would have hunted me down like an animal. I owed them my life, so I felt obligated to give each of them a bighearted portion of what I received from the Acme Athletic Company.

Stan laughed. He had no idea what happened between me and the girls. He probably thought it was a joke. My reaction gave him a chuckle.

"I hope you are rested up," said Stan.

The big man shut the door and waved goodbye. The chauffeur changed gears and sped away. What did the girls have in store for me?