You've made me a loner.
Now that I am without you,
I've only a boner.
—"Henrietta," Julian Pigg, 1919
The weird stuff:
I'll say everything up front and get the weird stuff out in the open.
First off, my mom and dad are spies. Yes, spies.
Also, they are crazy, at least, in my opinion.
They aren't crazy and just imagine themselves to be spies—they are real spies who would probably be certifiable if not for their legal immunity from such things.
To be fair, it's not really the height of insanity to believe Joseph Stalin is a space-man masquerading as an earthling, and it's not the 'nuttiest thing ever' when my dad claims himself to be the reincarnation of John Wilkes Booth, the man who assassinated Lincoln; lots of people believe in reincarnation.
What crosses over the crazy-line is the garden faeries. That's right—my mom (who excels in science, by the way) believes in garden faeries—very popular with the unwashed masses in the Middle Ages. I laugh with her about that, but not in a seriously mocking way. And although my dad isn't wholly convinced, he says he may have seen them once or twice himself.
My parents have many eccentricities, odd habits and behaviors, and they sometimes surprise me with new ones.
I know a couple of teens my age who practically hate their parents. I can't even fathom such a thing. Do I love my mom and dad in spite of their craziness... or because of it? I'm not sure, but I do love them dearly, absolutely and without conditions.
After they had me, they stayed mostly in the states and they weren't that far from home. That's when I was a young tyke. But after the war heated up, they were overseas longer and more frequently.
Who do they spy for? ...both the United States and Britain, both Roosevelt and Churchill, both the OSS, and some other clandestine agency that doesn't have a name. They are the best at what they do. Well, I'm biased, obviously, so I'll just say—they are among the best.
My dad speaks four languages, fluently. My mom speaks six. My dad assassinated a British reporter who was spying for the SS. My mom hasn't killed anyone.
Neither of them looks like a spy. My dad looks more like a refugee from Poland... a little too thin, buzz-cut, and always appears to need a shave. He's strong but he doesn't have bulging muscle—he has the well-defined kind of muscle you can clearly see moving under the skin.
But now the craziest thing of all, or some might think so anyway. I'll just come out with it:
Me and my mom and dad have had a sexual relationship since before I can remember—a ménage à trois, as the French call it, a threesome, a trio... a trinity.
We are together now only a few times a year, when they are home. I actually live with my grandma, whom I also love (not in a sexual way). She raised me.
If you were to count up the hours, days, weeks and months I've spent with my mom and dad, the total would be shamefully small.
In spite of that, we have a routine, me and my parents. It doesn't seem like we could have routines, as seldom as we see each other, but we really do. When they are home, it's usually quite late on a Friday night by the time I get to their house.
Saturday is when we lay in bed, at least half the day—all morning and most of the afternoon, naked and carefree, listening to Abbot and Costello on the radio or to anything that's comedy. We do other things too, of course; we sometimes go out for ice cream, or when the fair is in town, we go, and we ride the rides and try all the games. But mostly, we stay at home. And mostly in the bedroom, each of us unwilling to share the other two with the rest of the world. Time is short, and precious. We play board games, we tease each other (a lot!) and wrestle around—we read to each other, we laugh, we joke, and we gab. And in between those things... we hug, we kiss, we cuddle, we suck, we fuck.
I know it is.
Parents are the real Creators.
They created me.
Mom plus dad equals God—and baby makes three.
I sometimes wonder if my mom and dad are as sexual with each other the rest of the time as they seem—or if it only kicks into high gear when they come home, just because I'm in bed with them (assuming I'm as irresistible as they playfully claim).
A while back, I joked that they secretly have other children to visit, in Moscow, and maybe another in London. I was just trying to be funny but they both hugged me and assured me I was their only child. They also reminded me that they themselves weren't always together; sometimes they had to go weeks, even months apart.
I don't remember the very first time I fucked my mom, or sucked on my dad, or any of those things we do. But one of my early memories has always stuck in my head because it seemed hilarious at the time; both me and my dad were sucking on my mom's dainty little-girl tits, as he called them—at the same time—him sucking on one nipple and me on the other. I laughed and so did my dad.
"Boys, boys," my mom scolded.
She's small, my mom—five-foot-two (like the song), short dark hair, and small tits, for a girl anyway.
At some point after that, the same day possibly, still in bed, listening to the audience laugh on the radio, people talking in big words and jokes I didn't understand but laughing at the sound effects or whenever someone talked in a silly voice—my dad gave me a Christmas sock with candies and a tiny cast-iron cowboy and horse. I lay between my mom and dad, down by their legs, holding the sock. They talked, they kissed, my mom held and played with my dad's wiener as they talked and giggled. But after a minute, she started pumping it with her hand. It was inches from my head. I was used to that though... my dad's big wiener.
She finally slid down the bed, her head next to mine, and slipped her mouth around the swelled tip. But she didn't go in and out as usual; she mostly just kissed it and sucked on the end. I watched her lips, fascinated. She smiled at me and caressed my face with her other hand as she sucked on him. I was still wondering why she wasn't pumping it in and out the way you were supposed to. So I grabbed onto my dad's long pole with my hand, and started pumping it for my mom. I'd pumped my dad's wiener before, but this was a little different, because I was helping my mom.
I looked up at my dad to see if he liked the way I was doing it. He had the usual dreamy look on his face as he watched me and my mom.
After a minute, she held onto the pole herself and then slipped and tickled the wet tip over my face and my lips. It leaked a wet trail. I could tell she wanted me to take a turn. I let the slippery tip slide into my mouth. She slowly pumped and massaged the pole and played with my dad's balls. He still watched us with that funny look on his face. Whenever I saw that look, I knew I was on the right track. I worked my lips over the round knob until the entire thing was in my mouth. His body moved around a little, and his breathing was more noticeable. My mom leaned closer and kissed my face as I sucked. I finally let it go from my mouth. She kissed me gently on the lips, soft little kisses. It was a party of three—me, my mom, and my dad's wiener. She sucked on it some more and I pumped it for her. It wasn't long before my dad sighed and groaned quietly, his body tensing. He stopped moving, even stopped breathing and I could tell my mom was drinking his juice. I still pumped it a little for her and after a moment, she let it slip from her mouth, the white juice still dripping off the end. She moved the tip over my lips so I opened wide then slid my mouth over the wet knob and sucked on it.
I knew the juice came from his balls because he'd explain it to me, and I'm pretty sure this wasn't the first time I tasted it—I don't remember being surprised or put-off by it. But I do remember wondering why he never ran out.
He pulled me up to his side and held me while he gently kissed my mom and me—back and forth.
. . .
After hearing the wicked ol' witch was dead (Hitler) and the war was over, I wondered if my mom and dad would be taking an extended vacation, maybe stay put for a while, at home, with me, the third member of the Trinity.
Nope, it wasn't to be. The USA was now occupying (and dismantling) imperialist Japan and replacing it with the new-improved Westernized version—Roosevelt style—whether Japan liked it or not.
My mom told me the silly code names they had to use for the project... Operation Blacklist, Operation Baker-Sixty, Operation Invent-Funny-Code-Names.
The Occupation was the price of trying to conquer all of Asia and beyond (not to mention they got atomic bombs dropped on their heads) and my parents were invited to the party. For my mom, it was the price of speaking fluent Japanese.
As for me, I'll remain my grandma's kid. I may never actually live with my parents, and that's probably a good thing.
They are gone months at a time, and they come home for two or three weeks... a month at most, and I still only spend the weekends with them when they are home, not the weekdays (my grandma's terms are non-negotiable—she's my legal guardian, not them) and then they are off again. The last time was the longest; they hadn't been home in more than a year.
I've heard "familiarity breeds contempt," and on the same theme, "absence makes the heart grow fonder." This makes sense to me. Maybe it's why boys aren't sexually attracted to their sisters... evolution's way of discouraging inbreeding. They grow up together, in close quarters, spending years under the same roof, subjected to each other's whining and stinky bathroom smells, squabbling a hundred times, a thousand times. I've heard that even though husbands and wives may love each other until the day they die, their initial infatuation with each other fades pretty quick. I've sometimes wondered if maybe even married couples aren't supposed to get tired of each other so they can find more mates with which to procreate. Go forth and multiply... even more!
But I don't know any of that from experience. Everything I know is from books. I read a lot and I'm intelligent, like my parents, and have the grades to prove it, but I'm still only fifteen and not an expert on marriage, or much else for that matter.
But if it is true about a couple's sexual attraction fading away, my mom and dad seem to be the exception. They are constantly sexual with each other, and with me. But like I said, they are crazy... so there's that.
Nine or ten:
When I was a tyke, it seems I just played along with whatever they did—participating—family activities (for an unusual family). But when I reached nine or ten, I sometimes experienced that lust which would later grow to be so powerful.
One time, we lay in bed as they both examined a couple of my school textbooks, approving of most parts, but occasionally commenting "Hmm, they could have phrased that better," or "Why didn't they don't put more detail into the map of Africa?" I just thought it was funny that three naked people were flipping through and critiquing the very books I used in school every day.
Then something my dad said made my ears perk up—and my wiener—something about his "sexy little boy should be the one teaching geography," and he lightly pinched my butt. This revved me up, I'm not sure why—maybe because he called me "his sexy boy." I laughed and grabbed onto him, and started humping against him playfully. This of course got to him, instantly; seeing me cranked up, acting lusty and sexual, made him predictably excited. It's a good thing I didn't live with them; I would be able to get anything I wanted from my dad, just by rubbing against him or humping on his leg. He pulled me to him and held me, pressed tight, going from floppy to hard in mere seconds, pushing and sliding his big pole between our pressed-together bodies, and sliding up my belly. I had always got a thrill doing things that made him and my mom excited, and I liked being the object of their lust. But this felt different... I was beside myself. I pulled away then crawled farther up the bed until my erection was in his face and started humping and pushing against him. I heard my mom giggle, apparently watching. He wrapped his arms around me and I felt my boner slip into his warm mouth. I humped even faster and harder. A minute later I held the back of his head as my erection twitched and jumped in his mouth.
After that, my body felt like rubber for a few minutes.
That wasn't the end though. It was still early, with plenty of Saturday left. A fun thing about that age—where my dad usually came twice, I was usually able to do it three times on a Saturday. An hour after I had recuperated, my mom absently massaged my floppy wiener as we listened to Red Skelton, cracking up at his silly character voices. I understood most of the jokes by then.
My wiener didn't stay floppy for long though. I gradually moved closer to her and a few minutes later I was climbing between her legs and up her body, humping and grinding against her crotch. As usual, she reached down and manipulated my boner until it was inside her. At nine or ten, it was still too small, but my mom had a way of squeezing me with her muscles that made it work. A minute later I was sucking on her titty as I fucked her. She rubbed the back of my head and I loved it, all of it.
Sometimes, even when I hadn't seen them in a long time, or maybe it was because I hadn't seen them in a long time, I would think about us three, the Trinity, our weird relationship—trying to make sense of everything as I grew older. Sometimes, depending on my mood, I concluded: 'We shouldn't do that stuff anymore.' The sex, I meant.
I knew they would never intentionally desert me, nor I them; and I admit I would've rather had a weird relationship with them than none at all. Still, I sometimes wondered how it would feel to have a normal family.
On the playground and other places, it wasn't uncommon to hear the words "mother-fucker." It was just insults kids said to each other. But I sometimes felt a pang of anger, and sometimes I felt guilt. I knew doing that stuff with your own mom and dad was weird, and icky, and wrong. I imagined a scenario where people had found out, and I was run out of town (or maybe locked away in the loony bin?)
My grandma didn't know about the sex, but she did know my mom and dad were pretty crazy. And, of course, she knew about their double life and how dangerous it was, and by extension, the possible danger for those they were close to.
But, as always, when they came home, my doubts and apprehensions melted away—I couldn't wait for our Saturday.
The first one to ever taste my sperm, other than me, had been my mom. They had also made a big deal about the patch of straggly little hairs that had begun to grow above my wiener. My mom actually called it cute. I'm not sure if I rolled my eyes, but I probably did. I had actually measured my boner—four and one quarter inches—a couple of weeks earlier, just so I could tell my mom (okay, I admit it... so she would fawn over me, which I pretended not to like).
As usual, I had a bath and slept in the big bed with them late Friday night. The next morning, there was orange juice on the nightstand, little cakes, and mints; at some point, my dad would invariably make coffee.
I'd told my mom, "I have sperm now."—if you could call it that. It looked like water. She of course wanted to know every detail, and she wanted to jack me off and see it squirt (as moms do).
She leaned over me and slowly stroked my boner, commenting about how it was more and more lately shaped like a banana, slightly curved up. Also, it seemed even harder than in times past, if that was possible. I pushed it down and sprung it. She laughed then continued stroking me.
My dad lay with his back against the headboard, his feet crossed, watching us. "I remember when mine was springy like that."
I nodded toward his dick. "Yours is too heavy to be springy. Yours kinda... bounces."
He pushed down on his partially hard dick and let it go. It flopped to one side and rest on his leg. I laughed.
My mom's soft hand continued to slide up and down, up and down.
"Do you know what works even better?" I asked.
"Um," she looked around, playing dumb, "I don't know. What?"
"Suck on it," I answered with a big grin.
"I don't think that would help," she said, rolling her eyes.
"Yes it would."
"I don't think it would." She teased.
"Yes it would," I still grinned, batting my eyes.
She laughed then lowered her head down, closer, slowly, still teasing me. She held and moved her hand over my sack, gently kissed one ball, then the other.
"A little higher..."
She chuckled and gave the pole a kiss.
She finally got up to the very tip and gave it a little kiss.
I opened my mouth to an "O" shape. "See? Like this," I tried to say.
She finally slipped her mouth over the knob and closed her lips around it and sucked a little. Then her lips slid further down the pole, up and down. Her tongue felt warm and good. Then she slid down further still, until her lips pressed against my groin, just for a second.
"Can you go down that far on dad's?" She laughed with my boner still in her mouth.
"No," my dad said, still watching, "but almost."
She let go and started pumping me with her hand again.
Although it felt great when I came, just like always, it wasn't a spectacular display. One little squirt... and it was over. But it went far, like a tiny squirt gun, making a small spatter of what looked like water on my chest. Still, she made a big deal about it and fawned over me. She massaged my balls with her warm hand then slid her mouth back over my wet wiener and gently sucked on it.
"How does it taste?"
"Sort of tangy," she finally answered.
Fourteen almost drove me insane. I missed my parents more than ever.
I went through some crazy changes—growing taller of course, and growing even more hair—as if the initial puberty hair at twelve and thirteen hadn't been enough. On top of that, the upsetting mood swings were hard to deal with.
The most intense thing of all though, was feeling like a cat in heat. My genitals grew more and my balls in particular went through a growth spurt, becoming swelled and sensitive; I could barely stand to touch them, yet they ached for attention constantly. I got erections for any reason, and no reason, and sometimes I ached to fuck anything with a hole (but I didn't—nor did I have sexual contact other than casual messing around with a friend a couple of times). Saying I masturbated a lot during that year, would be a gross understatement.
I mimicked my mom and dad in some ways. Like them, I expressed intense emotion. But when it came to hurt or pain, I didn't show it. I was stoic. But that didn't help me with the sexual turmoil of being fourteen.
Some of this stuff you can talk about with friends, but not all of it... you can't mention any of the queer stuff to a buddy, obviously. Nor can you mention an attraction to a girl that's not close to your age (unless it's Miss Swets, the gorgeous librarian... every boy is allowed and even expected to drool at the mention of her name). I could have confided these things to my mom and dad. There was no shame or secrets between us. But they were on the other side of the world and I hadn't seen them in a long time. As far as my secrets and my sexual troubles, I was on my own.
They had been absent for over a year—fourteen months—the longest I had ever gone without seeing my parents. Although I had school and friends who kept me busy, I was always aware two-thirds of me was missing. They had made overseas calls, of course, from military bases and embassies, and I got lots of the usual letters and post cards from various places, usually in Europe, handled by an American consulate then rerouted to me.
When I finally saw my parents again, they looked exactly the same. I on the other hand, had grown four inches and had a much deeper voice; and this time when my mom saw me, tears welled in her eyes for a few seconds. My dad smiled and joked, but I knew he wouldn't allow himself to do otherwise.
I was fifteen now and they were in their mid-thirties.
Over the last year, I had begun to assess our crazy relationship yet again, more determined than ever to change things between us. In fact, by the time I saw them again, I'd firmly made up my mind—we would not take up where we left off. We would not resume the sex. I decided we will just hug, like other families did, and I would kiss them on the cheek... but as far as sleeping in the same bed, I would make an excuse to sleep in the spare room, on my own. We would spend Saturday together, just talking, playing board games... maybe go out and see a matinée, like a normal family.
And on Friday night, at their house, that's just what I did.
After my bath, I got dressed again instead of what we usually did on on Friday nights—sleep naked and snuggled together.
I stood inside their bedroom door, putting on my best I-don't-feel-well face. "Do you guys mind if I sleep in the spare bed tonight?"
I knew they minded, and that they loved nothing more than having me in the middle of them, naked and cuddly. But as I expected, they hid their disappointment. They both lied for a living and knew how to pretend, on the spot.
"No... that's fine," my dad answered, "anything wrong?"
"Just feeling kind of icky, a bug going around. I don't want you guys to get it."
From my mom: "Aw, sweetie, do you want something... some warm broth? I can make some."
"Naw, I think I'll just get some sleep."
"Alright then," my mom added. "Take a couple of aspirin from the bathroom cabinet if you need it. Get some rest. I'll check in on you in a while."
"Nigh-nigh you guys, love you."
"Love you too," they both answered.
As I lay in the dark spare room—technically my room, even though I'd never slept in it, not even once—I felt guilty for lying. But more than that, I felt embarrassed. They knew I was lying and I knew their reaction was a put-on.
It's official—the Trinity has split.
. . .
I woke up extra early. It was quiet. They were still asleep, I assumed. I lay in the bed for another half-hour, staring at the ceiling, practicing a normal conversation in my head. I would suggest we go to the little diner downtown, for breakfast.
The familiar click-buzz from the radio interrupted my thoughts, then the music drifted in from their bedroom. I got completely dressed again. On the way to their room, I grabbed the bowl of mint candies from the kitchen.
I saw through the thin crack in their door, they both lay on the bed, but their eyes were open. My dad was wearing underwear, and my mom wore a slip. They didn't talk or laugh, just lay, apparently listening to the radio, or at least pretended to.
My mom still looked twenty-one. My dad looked twenty-five or six, tops. But lying there like that, expressionless and quiet, they seemed old. I stood outside their bedroom door for what seemed like forever, missing them, even though they were right on the other side of the door.
I finally went back to the spare room and took off all my clothes.
I returned to their bedroom, entered and stood naked, holding the bowl of mints. I nodded at my dad's underwear. "You guys going somewhere?"
They sat up. My dad looked down at himself. "Oh... these? No, I was about to get dressed and go after some coffee... then your mom remembered we still had some.
Ah, the subtle art of pretense...
In this case, all three of us were guilty. It didn't matter though.
My mom smiled—beamed actually. I set the bowl on the night-stand then did a leap-flip-bounce into the bed between my beloved parents.
"Whoa," my dad responded to the unhealthy thump from the bed. I was obviously too big to be bouncing on the bed these days. My mom, always torn between missing her little boy—and rewarding me each time I grew an inch taller—giggled with delight on seeing her fifteen year-old boy with his teenager-sized body.
We tussled and tickled each other... an hour of joking and gabbing with cuddles and lots of little kisses. We talked about school, about my friends, about the stupid war, and about my mom's weird hair cut (she explained about having to wear a wig every day for the last few months).
My mom had already pulled off her slip. My dad still wore his underwear, his hand propped under his head as we gabbed. I looked down at the lump in his underwear and wondered how my boner compared to his, now that I was fifteen. "Why do you still have these on?" I finally asked him, pulling on the elastic.
He gave me a suspicious look, his finger rubbing under his chin. "Hm, I have a feeling..." he looked down at my recently-grown parts which were quite a bit bigger than last time we were together.
"He wants to compare wieners," My mom cut in, speaking to my dad as if I wasn't there.
I laughed, embarrassed, and my dad nodded, his suspicion confirmed. "How do you know I want to compare?" I lightly elbowed my mom.
"I have E S P," she answered.
"She can read your thoughts," my dad answered.
"Ahh..." I responded. "Well, that explains some things."
"No, really, she can," my dad reiterated.
I didn't know if they were joking or if they really believed my mom could read minds—when it came to my parents, either case was just as likely. I knew thoughts didn't travel through the air like radio waves. But I didn't bother to argue. Instead, I teased my mom, "It's funny you still say wiener instead of dick, or cock or one of those."
"Sounds too vulgar," she answered, wrinkling her nose, "unless you're in the throes of passion."
I grinned at her. "Yeah but, I am vulgar."
She touched my face. "...but always at the appropriate times."
I quickly took a tour in my mind, my current life, school, friends, my favorite pastimes... was I actually vulgar? My conclusion: No... I was affectionate to the point of vulgarity, blurring the line between love and lust, but only with my mom and dad. I didn't act this way anywhere else in my life. I had a duel identity, like them.
My dad pulled off his underwear, turned onto his side, and faced me. "Okay, let's see then."
It finally clicked in my head what he was doing. I turned onto my side, facing him. The tips of our dicks touched. "Wait," my dad said, "it's not all the way hard yet."
I grasped his dick and slowly stroked it. "Yes it is... you just wanted me to do this."
I could already tell that his was still bigger than mine, but I wasn't ready to concede.
"Wait," I said, "let's do it this way," I got up on my knees in the bed. "...up here," I said to my dad. He got up on his knees, facing me. But now, on my knees in the bed, he was taller than me. So I grabbed the big cushion from the end of the bed then repositioned myself on top of it. Now I was the same height as my dad.
He scooted even closer to me and I did the same. Our boners were now sandwiched together, mine on top of his. His was not only longer, but also bigger around, and his swelled knob was also bigger than mine. 'How I was able to fit that knob into my mouth when I was little' I wondered.
He wrapped his hand around both our dicks. His fingers couldn't quite reach around us both.
My mom leaned around me, trying to see.
"He's still bigger," I beat her to the punchline.
"Well, a little," she consoled, "not by much though."
"You see? This is why I still get to be in charge," My dad proclaimed. He let go of me and lay down on the bed again.
I kicked the cushion out of the way and surprised him by lying on top of him.
"OOF!" he responded, exaggerating. He was thin, but I was smaller and weighed a lot less.
I grabbed his wrists and held them over his head. He laughed.
"Don't exaggerate, I'm not that heavy." I said, teasing. I moved and gyrated on top of him, sliding my boner up and down his groin and his belly.
He laughed again. His erection was warm, almost hot, sliding next to mine.
"You're so much bigger now," he said, obviously enjoying the rub. I thought he meant my dick. "Fifteen," he said, "a lot taller, grown up... deep voice, fuzz on your chin..."
"It looks good, huh," I bragged.
He just stared at me for a moment. "I'm sorry," he finally said so seriously it worried me a little. "I'm sorry we were gone so long." His expression changed even more... to sorrow and maybe shame.
I felt my chest grow warm and achy, reminding me how much I loved him. "I know," I answered, still grinning, still moving my boner against him.
The way he was looking into my eyes, I had a feeling that if he were able to shed tears, he would have shed a couple right then.
I lay my face down into his neck and let him rub the back of my head. I remembered how much I enjoyed him holding me. I kissed his cheek, his neck, then gave him several soft little kisses on his lips. I knew the two people he loved most in this world were my mom... and me.
Then I grabbed his wrists again, pushed them down, grinned at him and said, "Want me to suck your wiener?"
"HAH!" he laughed loud. I heard my mom laugh too.
He answered, "Why? ...do you want to suck my wiener?"
"If you'll suck mine next time," I bartered.
He sighed, rolling his eyes, teasing me, looking annoyed, "Well..."
I slid off him. He immediately grasped me under my arms—demonstrating to me how strong he still was by sliding me all the way up until I was propped against the headboard. I wasn't sure what he was doing until he climbed over me, up on his knees, his heavy balls hanging above my chest, his big dick in front of my face.
I heard my mom say, "I thought you were too old to say wiener."
I snorted and shook my head then looked up at my dad. Finally, I said, "Okay, I'm ready," and opened my mouth wide like I was at the dentist.
He laughed again, shaking his head in disbelief. His boner...cock... whatever... looked as big and fat as ever, especially from this angle.
I quickly maneuvered my hand up under his balls and lightly grabbed them. That got to him instantly and he slid his big knob into my mouth. I closed my lips around it and sucked on it, massaging it with my tongue, making my mouth wet. I moved my head forward and my lips went down his pole. In and out, up and down his pole, until it was wet and slippery. Finally, I slid down as far as I could, until it was almost against the back of my throat. This made him react and he reached down and pet my face.
I jumped a little when I felt my mom's hand slide up my leg then wrap around my boner; I couldn't see her. She stroked it up and down, saying for the umteenth time, "I can't believe how much my boy's grown." It didn't bother me that she repeated it. In fact, the attention felt good... being fussed over.
I slid my hand under my dad's balls again. He breathed heavier and put his hands on the sides of my head, starting to move his hips as I sucked him. His cock slid deep into my mouth. He would have been extremely gentle, like in times past, if he'd thought that's what I'd wanted, but as usual, he assessed my moods accurately.
Even though I'd grown a lot, he was still big and I wasn't as talented at sucking as my mom was. So I wrapped my hand around his pole so he could hump against me with as much enthusiasm as wanted without choking me. And that's just what he did, going faster, hunched over me, holding my head in his arms, fucking me—now just his swelled knob pumped in and out of my mouth as his long pole slid in my hand.
My mom still stoked my erection, slowly. It felt delicious.
Much sooner than I'd expected, my dad loosened his grip on me. "Last chance, my boy," he warned, panting, meaning he was about to blow and I should move out of the way if I so desired. I stayed put. It wasn't that his juice was especially tasty one way or the other, but the act of doing it was fun. It wasn't called the climax for nothing.
With my other hand, I rubbed his bouncing balls. He shuttered and jerked, his cock swelling. Then my mouth was flooded with his warm juice.
If my mom had been moving her hand any faster, I'd have shot right then.
I slowly pumped my dad's pole with my hand as the big knob spasmed in my mouth.
I swallowed the mouthful of warm juice.
I felt my mom let go of me and I in turn let my dad's wiener fall from my mouth. As an afterthought, I grabbed it again and gave the tip a little kiss... then I let him go.
He moved off me, breathing noticeably, but not extremely so; he was in good shape, my dad. He bent over me and hugged me. I hugged him in return, holding him tight around the middle. He gave me a sweet little kiss on the lips then let himself fall to the bed.
I reached over him to the nightstand, took a big drink of apple juice, then crawled on the bed over to my mom. I grinned as I slowly moved toward her, my boner hanging under me, hard as wood. She looked at me innocently, teasing me with her expression, as if to ask... what's come over my boy?
I stopped short, still grinning at her, "Mom..."
She kept up the ruse, putting her hand on her chest... who, me?
Finally she responded, "Yes, my sweet boy, what is it?"
I sat back on my heels, pushing my boner down hard with my hands, grimacing, like a kid who can't hold it anymore. Me and my mom played, we even wrestled, but I wasn't aggressive in the same way I was with my dad. Not that she couldn't overpower me if she'd wanted... she definitely could. But she had a gentler nature, my mom.
She finally gave in, smiled and held out her arms to me. I crawled on top of her as she hugged me. This time, I held my boner in my own hand, and manipulated it until it was inside her. As I pushed deep, she moaned a little—first time that had happened, for me anyway. Soon she was rubbing her hands over my butt as I fucked her.
I knew it was going to be over pretty fast, judging from the way I felt. I gave her little kisses on the lips. She wrapped her arms around my neck so I gave her a longer tender kiss.
I felt a touch on my back. My dad slid his hand down my back and over my butt as he watched me fuck my mom... the second person of the Trinity. I felt his other hand slide in between my chest and hers as he massaged her little-girl titty.
I leaned my head over to the side and gave my dad a tender kiss on the lips.
All too son, I felt it coming. I held her hips as I thrust deep and hard. A moment later, I jerked and shuttered... and I came. My mom held me tight as my boner throbbed hard inside her.
. . .
An hour later, we were lying on the big braided rug on the bedroom floor circled around the Parcheesi board. My dad was a comical sight whenever he lay on his belly to move his pieces around the board, his feet in the air, looking a like a ten year-old. My mom and me snickered.
"What?" he looked back at us, shrugging. I think he was doing it on purpose, but I wasn't sure.
"So, when will you be done in Japan?"
"We still don't have all the specifics yet." My dad shook his head and clicked his tongue, meaning 'that idiot MacArthur!' ...or something like that.
"Well, when do you think you'll be able to come home for a visit?"
He sat up, his arms around his knees. "Not sure yet."
There was a long silence.
Finally my mom added, "We're still trying to find out, we haven't got any solid answers yet."
I said, "but it won't be a whole year again... will it?"
My dad said nothing.
"I doubt it sweetie." My mom reassured me.
more awkward silence.
She added, "As soon as we know more, we'll call grandma's or write you, or pass on the information somehow, just like always.
"Last year was terrible," I added. "I really needed you guys." I was trying to get more reassurance from them.
My dad stretched, instantly becoming jolly again. "I'm sure it won't be very long. Three months maybe... then we'll be home to visit. I'll tell that prick MacArthur to his face if I have to... we're going home to visit our kid, and if you don't like it, fuck you, ol' man!" My dad chuckled and reached his hand over and touched my leg, then added "Your turn." He meant it was my roll of the dice.
My mom kept a pleasant face, but was quiet.
I rolled the dice and moved my pieces on the board. The click-click-click noise was annoying for some reason.
When I was done, I stared at the board and said, "I don't believe you."
They didn't answer. I looked up at my dad. "You're good at lying to other people, but not to me." I wasn't just joking. I was serious and they knew it.
My dad looked undecided, then just shook his head, apparently lost for words, having no convincing lie left. I wanted the truth. But more than that, I wanted to be reassured they weren't going to be gone another year—that I wouldn't be sixteen or seventeen the next time I saw them.
"So..." I continued. "I take that to mean you wont be back for another year." My voice was quivering a little but I couldn't help it.
"Oh... it'll be longer this time then? Two years? Five?" No matter how hard I tried to remain emotionless, I couldn't. I felt my eyes and nose tingle. I fought it back. Too late though, I couldn't stop. It was mostly a one-way conversation. Neither of them seemed able or willing to explain. "Okay, I see how it is," I added, in a disgusted tone.
"I don't know what to tell you," my dad finally said, quietly, not looking at me.
I thought about all the times over the last year I had wrestled with this in my mind... about us three, about our crazy relationship, about how little I saw them. I was unable to decide which feeling was stronger—feeling proud of them or feeling abandoned? Which won out in the end? ... love, pride, shame?
I calmed myself as much as possible and continued, still angry, but speaking dryly, stoically. "I almost gave up on you guys... a bunch of times." A tear escaped and ran down my cheek, making me even angrier. I quickly wiped it away. "But in the end, I didn't. I never gave up on you."
My mom reached her hand toward me but I scooted back, out of her reach.
"Now... not only are you guys leaving me for another year... or longer... you're lying about it to my face."
"Your dad is trying to protect you." My mom finally said.
He shot her a look—an expression of anger I'd rarely seen from him.
I stared at them both, back and forth. "What do you mean?"
He looked down at the board, still saying nothing. Then he suddenly flipped it with his arm, in a flash, sending it sliding across the floor and the Parcheesi pieces flying in all directions. I quickly scooted back even farther, staring in disbelief, unsure what to say or do. I'd never seen my dad lose his temper, not like this. My mom never flinched though. Not a bit. She was the most fearless person I knew. She looked at my dad with a loving but sorrowful face.
"Protect me from what?" I finally said?
"I can't... " he started to say.
But my mom interrupted him. "Some people from Romania."
My dad glared at her, just for a second, then looked down at the floor again.
"Who?" I asked.
She explained the events to me about a fascist group in Romania called the Iron Guard. My dad and another operative played a behind-the-scenes role in their downfall. The leaders of the Iron Guard escaped to Germany, and when that went bad, they relocated somewhere else; no one knew for sure where. Overall though, it had been a successful operation.
But no so fast—the Iron Guard wasn't dead, it turned out... just laying low. They had political aims in Europe, and already had some politicians in place—politicians secretly loyal to them—and my dad was supposed to find out who those politicians were.
Then it got worse. One of his contacts in Britain—an old friend, so my dad thought—turned out to be a traitor. But he was discovered too late; my dad had already passed along secret information to a man who sold it to the highest bidder... in this case, the Iron Guard. Part of that information included the names of several American operatives working in Europe. From there, it wouldn't be hard for interested parties to find, not only the operatives, but information about the operative's families... addresses of parents, wives... children. (Me?) It was a game of chess, where blackmail was the strategy and real lives were at risk, and my dad just lost his knight. Not only had he given their new fascist enemies an edge, and not only was he now himself an inch away from being charged with a serious crime—but he had accidentally put many lives at risk, including his own family's.
Then was the longest silence of all.
Finally I said, "And you didn't plan to tell me about this?" I instantly regretted the question. Of course he didn't want to tell me; who could blame him?
—By the way son, I ruined my life and put a lot of other lives at risk... including yours... so keep an eye out for dangerous-looking Romanians while we're gone. See you in a year or two... or twenty!
I didn't wait for an answer. "Was this the reason you were gone so long this last time?"
My mom nodded.
A depressing thought suddenly occurred to me. "So, was Japan a lie?"
"No!" my mom quickly assured me. "I'm going to Japan, but... your dad's not. He's going back to Europe, to..." She apparently didn't want to elaborate.
"I have a lot to do," my dad added, quietly."
My mom stood up. "I'm making some coffee while you boys talk." Her shapely white butt disappeared through the doorway.
My dad looked around at the strewn Parcheesi pieces. "I'm sorry about that."
I scooted closer to him again. "You're not really going to prison... are you?"
"No," he answered. "Probably not... I don't think so anyway." He examined my expression, maybe wondering if I was now suspicious of everything he said. He added, "I can't see the future, and I can't read thoughts like your mom can..."
I sighed and I tried not to roll my eyes.
"...but I don't think they'll hold me responsible in the end. My so-called friend had a lot of people fooled, not just me."
I looked at him with pity... all the strife he had ahead of him. I tried to say something optimistic. "If they didn't trust you anymore, they would have replaced you already, right? Or put you behind a desk?"
"Probably." He finally smiled a little. Then he informed me (in the cruelest tease ever) "If some military-types show up and force you and your grandma to relocate, to a new town, with new identities... then you'll know things didn't go as I'd hoped."
I felt my eyes grow big and the hair on my neck tingle. The thought was mindboggling. "That really might happen?"
"Naw, probably not." He said. "But nothing would surprise me anymore."
More staring at the floor, more silence
"Still, either way," I said, "you're going to be gone a long time, aren't you... like last time... or even longer."
He opened his mouth, then closed it. No answer. I felt more tears coming on and I got angry, not with him, by with myself.
He scooted close to me and put his arms around me, held me and kissed my face. "Let's hope not," he finally answered. Then he added, "But do you know what's more important to me than being with you?"
I shook my head.
"Protecting you... doing everything I can to keep you safe."
I wiped my face with my arm. "God, I'm such a baby."
"You're our baby, so it's okay."
Once again, I rolled my eyes, "That's just stupid." I laughed.
He chuckled. "Well, it's true." He leaned close to my face and kissed my tears, on one eye, then the other, then gave me sweet little kisses on my lips.
I laughed a little and teased, "Do it the way you kiss mom."
He smiled at me with a quizzical look. "Really?"
He put his hand softly under my chin and kissed me, long and tender, his lips moving and sliding against mine. He held me even tighter, moving his hand slowly up and down my chest. We were locked in a passionate kiss. I felt his tongue slide over mine. I pushed against it with my own and closed my arms tight around his body. Then we slowed with a few more little parting kisses.
We finally let go of each other and I again sat cross-legged on the rug, staring at him. "That's what you and mom do? ...touch tongues?" I wiped my mouth with my arm, teasing him.
"Sometimes," he said, smiling.
But then, like earlier, his smile faded and he said it again, for the second time today—third time if you count the Parcheesi board—he said, "I'm sorry."
I guess I understood better now why he was saying it. He was saying sorry for all the times I'd felt abandoned. And for the times I'd felt almost driven to the point of giving up on him and my mom.
"I know." I felt my eyes and nose tingle with emotion and I concentrated hard on controlling it.
"If I'm not your favorite dad anymore, I'll understand."
I considered that for a moment. "Naw, you still are... and you're still my favorite spy."
"I thought I was your favorite spy," my mom said, carrying a cup of coffee and a plate of little cupcakes. She set them on the night stand then headed back through the door again.
"You're tied!" I called back to her. Was she purposely giving me and my dad time alone? She really didn't need to. We weren't a duet... we were a trio. But even if that was what she was doing, I had faith that her intentions were good when it concerned me.
My dad lay back down on the rug, his head propped up by his hand, staring at me. I still sat cross-legged on the floor, in front of him.
"I know what you have to do now." I said.
"Suck my wiener."
He clenched his eyes and chuckled, and I wondered if he was thinking 'my kid is even crazier than me.'
He pushed himself up off the rug and crawled closer to me, winked at me, then lowered his head into my lap, his forehead and hair gently sliding over all my parts, tickling me.
He held onto my legs and uncrossed them until they stretched out on the floor in front of me. He slid his face and chin over my dick, over my balls. The stubble on his face was deceiving—it looked stiff and prickly, but wasn't. Instead it was fuzzy... even soft. His head was hovering over my lap; I couldn't see his face very well but I felt his lips move and slide. I tingled at the feel of his warm breath on my skin.
His lips then focused on my knob and he softly kissed and sucked on it. He was being so gentle, I wondered if something was wrong.
It occurred to me then—yeah, there was something wrong—I'd been wounded. He hadn't meant to hurt me, but he had. I got the impression his lips weren't on me just for fun or to give me a thrill... he was consoling me. I didn't really know for sure if that was his intention (I wasn't a mind-reader like my mom, apparently) but that's what it felt like.
So... I pet his face as he consoled me.
"I can't leave you boys alone for five minutes..." I heard from somewhere behind me.
My dad made a little chuckle-noise but didn't stop. My mom set the other two cups of coffee onto the night stand, then disappeared again. I couldn't see her, but I felt her legs brush against my back. I looked straight up, tilting my head back and there she was, standing over me from behind, looking down at me and my dad. She leaned down and gave me a sweet little upside-down kiss on the lips, then she sat on the floor next to me and watched my dad console me.
But he soon let go and sat up. I started to get up to get my cake and coffee.
"Not done yet," he grinned. "Lean back a little more."
I relaxed and leaned back, propped up on my elbows. He held my hard pole in his hand, looking at it. Then he moved his hand down to my groin, over my hair, massaging me. He pressed down firmly on my groin, making my boner stand straight up, swelled and huge.
I grinned. "Big, huh?"
He nodded, smiling.
He wrapped his hand around the pole and slowly slid it up and down, again and again.
"I already came a little while ago," I reminded him, "so this might take a while."
"That's alright," he answered and kept jacking me slowly.
I looked at my mom. "Won't the coffee get cold?"
She shrugged. "We can heat it up again."
"Do you want me to stop?" my dad asked, smiling, still jacking me.
"Course not," I grinned.
With his other hand, he reached over to my mom, took her hand, and moved it to my balls. She immediately cupped and massaging them, moving and fondling. Her fingers slid up over my groin. She pushed down like my dad had done, making my erection longer and swelled-up as my dad moved his hand slowly up and down. I rarely moaned, not out load anyway; it sounded silly. But this time I had to make an effort not to. It was the combination of her pushing on my groin and balls—and his hand sliding up and down my pole.
I made a mental note for the next time I jacked off alone, which of course was ninety-nine point nine-nine percent of the time.
I reached up for a moment and put my hand on hers, as she moved and rubbed over me, but I quickly let go and leaned back again, out of my dad's way. She pressed down on me again, makeing my erection swell and throb, then massaged more—each time she did that I felt a surge of lust.
My pelvis had a mind of its own now, as so often happened when we were together, and I tried to hump up into my dad's grip.
"Feels good, huh?" he asked me.
"Yeah," I answered, breathing quicker now, "best jack I ever felt... that's no lie."
I wondered why I'd never figured this out myself after years of consistant teenage masturbation.
His hand sped up.
Clear liquid leaked from the tip, preparing the way. I had assumed my balls were empty, from earlier...now I wasn't so sure.
My mom pushed down again and a moan tried to escape my lips but I stopped it, making some other undecipherable sound instead. My mouth hung slack. "Dad... " I asked-pleaded, "suck it a little more?"
He winked at me then leaned over and slid his mouth over my swelled knob. The feeling overwhelmed me. My body humped up, trying to fuck... anything. My mom pressed her hand against my groin and I felt the knob swell huge. Without planning to, I put my hand on my dad's head and humped up. Half of my throbbing cock disappeared into his mouth. He didn't pull away. My mom continued to kneed my balls and my groin. I held both my hands on my dad's head and fucked his mouth, watching much of my new-improved boner disappear into him, again and again.
"ohh," I tried to stop the moan, but couldn't. He let my erection go from his mouth which felt like a cruel torture for a second. My mom pressed down on my groin but didn't let up, my huge boner pointing at the ceiling—my face felt beet red—I watched the oversized head swell and throb like it was going to pop—then it all let loose. White liquid spurt out and splattered down onto my belly." I made a grunting noise but couldn't help it.
"Whoa!" my dad exclaimed. My mom giggled. Another spurt... it splattered down on my mom's hand.
Then one more smaller spurt which landed on my dick again and ran down. The rest blubbered out and flowed down my pole, pooling on my groin and hair. My mom continued rubbing my soaked balls and sliding her hand through the puddle of pearly liquid on my groin and my belly.
I panted, grinning at my dad, and teased, "You didn't get to taste it."
"Well, I wanted to watch you do... that," he nodded at my wet dick which was still drooling juice out of the tip.
"Yeah, I wasn't expecting that!" I exclaimed.
He leaned over my dick again. It was already beginning to shrink. I held the wet pole up for him with my fingers. He slipped his mouth over the drippy knob and gently sucked on it. I squeezed my pole and milked it a little. A few moments later, he let go and sat back up, smacking his lips.
"How's it taste?" I asked him.
"Same as last time I tasted it," he teased. Then he added, "It tastes kind of like... you."
I grinned and sat up.
My mom gave me a little kiss on the lips then my dad did the same.
I stood up. My entire groin, my wiener and balls, plus my belly... was wet and smeared. A little more leaked out and a long strand hung suspended from the tip of what had been a rock-hard boner moments earlier. I rubbed my hand over it and smeared it on my leg.
My Dad lightly smacked my butt, then nodded at the cake and coffee "Don't you want to wash up first?"
My mom answered in my place, before I could even open my mouth, "No, he plans to let it dry on him... he likes looking at it"
My mouth hung open. "How did you..." I looked at my mom, then my dad, amazed.
"Told you," he said, smiling.
I laughed. "She just knows me too well, is all... she knows how vulgar I am... nothing spooky about that."
My dad just shrugged.
We ate cake and drank lukewarm coffee.
After that, we lay in bed, the three of us, the Trinity, cuddling and laughing as we listened to Fred Allen on the radio.
. . .
We were together for one more Saturday, which probably wasn't a good decision considering all that was going on in Europe. But they stayed one more week anyway, then they left.
I don't know if I'll see them in a few months, or a year, or even longer, or if my dad will end up in prison—or if next time I see my mom, she'll be alone, without my dad.
Maybe someday a big Romanian guy will show up at my house to kidnap me, or kill me. But probably not.
Or maybe some government people will show up and whisk me and my grandma away, to start a new life somewhere else. Probably not though.
Or what if the next time I see them, they are in their fifties and I'm a thirty year-old chubby guy with a balding head? Will we still spend our Saturdays together? I can't even imagine it! But I suspect if I were to ask my mom that question, she would say, 'I'll love you just the same, even when you're old, fat, and bald.' ...or something like that.
I miss them already, and will no doubt continue to miss them. But I don't feel devastated or abandoned now. Not like I did. Maybe because of the way they had consoled me—the third member of the Trinity.