My Mom Loves it Big
Chapter 1: Happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday reached its climax, and “Unnecessary” Uncle Harold yelled out, to “Have at it, Rogan! Blow those gosh darned candles out!” No shit, Uncle; I was just thinking of eating them.
I sucked in a lungful of air.
Looking around at the decorations, you would think that I was the most typical kid in the world. Colorful streamers lined the walls, balloons reached for the sky, a banner with my favorite comic book hero “The Unfathomable Blob” proclaimed that yes, it was my indeed tenth birthday, and that it promised to be a “super gooper” one.
You would be totally right, by the way. I was as typical a kid as they came. In most ways. I spent my time drawing superheroes, reading comic books, and thumbing my GameNation controller. That year, I was hoping for Last Legend XV and Jarhead Elite: Desert Edition, and any comics featuring my favorite blobby, shape-shifting antihero. I was part of the local juniors’ soccer team as well, and as much as I hated it, it had given me a wicked shin scar to wear for the rest of my life. Ask any parent at my party that day, and they would tell you I was the most ordinary kid in the world. Their little treasures, however, were budding major leaguers, or the next Mylie Cyrus. But Rogan Woods? Nah, that kid was just... there. Solid B student. Average coordination with a ball. Might have been caught eating a beetle once in Kindergarten.
What they’d also tell you is that I also had a very special mom. Well, the dads would tell you that. The moms would use another descriptor beginning with ‘s’.
In fact, just as I was about to follow my uncle’s astute advice regarding the candles, I caught Shawn O’Malley’s dear old daddy giving my mom’s ass a squeeze. Given the thinness of her flowery dress, and the fact that she hadn’t worn a pair of panties since her early-twenties, I suspected Mr. O’Malley was copping a decent handful. Mrs. O’Malley, on the other hand, was busy wiping Shawn’s bloody nose. Nothing had happened to him; his nose just spontaneously erupted in blood-rivers at times. Yes, gross.
Old man O’Malley muttered a secret in my mom’s ear, which made her snigger and grind her hip against his. Her teeth, hidden behind two very full lips, shone white and brilliant.
I suddenly felt like I was about to pass out.
My mom flicked her dark hair back and stole a glance at me while Mr. O’Malley helped himself to another handful of flesh. Mom’s eyes said it all; “I’m horny as hell right now.”
Uncle Harold suddenly hollered, “Hurry up, sport. Why don’t cha wish for better aim with a soccer ball?” before being scolded by Aunt Loretta.
Call it a wasted wish, but what I wanted was already coming to me that night anyway. It came every birthday (and Easter, Christmas, and sometimes on Sundays if I was lucky). No amount of bribery in the world could have gotten me to tell my friends what I had wished for. In fact, this little wish was what made me not so typical after all.
I wished for my favorite thing in the world.
Whoosh! Out went those candles, and up went the round of applause.
And up went my dick at the thought that that night, I was going to have sex with my mom.
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