King: Cocksure

Chapter VI

Initiations

This novel include graphic sex scenes, some involving minors, rape and forced sex. It is purely a fantasy and is not depicting real people or events. It is intended as a satire and is meant to be both funny and stimulating. The stories have a political slant as you will see. I hope you enjoy them. New chapters will be published as they are finished.

(Mffffffffff)

So if I am a sex addict, how did I get this way and do I need help?

The answer to those questions lies deep in my subconscious and history. I was a runt of a boy when I was young and did not get my real growth spurt until my mid to late teens. One part of my body began developing much earlier, however, and foreshadowed my adult size. Actually, I spent much of my childhood ashamed of the size of my cock. On a man my size (6’7”), it looms large, but on a young boy of 13, it was an overwhelming appendage I desperately wanted to do without.

Undressing in gym class was a nightmare. The other boys would tease me mercilessly. I was known by various names, but the one that seemed to hang on me like a dog dollar was simply, Pud. A couple years later, I would thank god other kids gave me that name. It was word-of-mouth advertising I couldn’t get any other way since you can just drop your drawers and show girls the size of your cock when you are in high school. Then when girls heard me called by my nickname, they’d ask other guys why. Curiosity encouraged them to do more personal research.

Girls my own age were not, however, the first to discover my talent. My sisters and their friends were. Both Tisha and Brenda were older than me and were fantasizing about boys long before I was thinking seriously about girls. Tisha’s friend Penelope was the first to take exceptional notice.

“Did you see that Tisha?” I heard Penelope say one day after I emerged from the bathroom.

“What?” Tisha asked.

“Your brother just came out of the bathroom wearing just his shorts and he had a boner,” Penelope said.

It was one of those morning woodies all boys frequently wake up with. I was embarrassed as hell. Laying in my bed in the room next to my sisters’ bedroom, I could hear everything that was said, even when my sisters and their friends were curled up masturbating in bed. For them to notice the deformity I tried so desperately to keep hidden meant I would have no refuge even at home any more.

“My brother gets boners all the time,” Tisha said. She was 15 and really hated my guts at that stage of her life. I was surprised she ever noticed me at all. She seemed to spend most of her life beating the crap out of me.

“No, I mean it was gi-normous,” Penelope said with a sense of awe. “Huge!”

Oh Christ, I thought, now I’ll get teased even by upper class girls.

“So,” Tisha said. “he’s my little brother. I mean how big can it be?”

Penelope must have made some gesture to indicate length and girth.

“No way,” Tisha said.

I heard rustling and foot steps. Suddenly both were standing above me while I stayed in bed protected under the covers trying to pretend to be asleep.

“Hey shit bump, Penelope says you’ve got something you’ve been hiding from us,” Tisha said. “Let’s see it.”

I closed my eyes harder and tried to hide deeper under the covers. She took her balled up fist and hit me hard on the arm.

“Oww!” I cried and rolled over.

Tisha pulled the covers back to look at my groin area. I had shorts on and my woodie had receded.

“It doesn’t look so big,” Tisha said. It was difficult for her to compliment me under any circumstances.

“When I saw it, it was hard,” Penelope said.

“Make it hard,” Tisha instructed me. She hit me again hard in the arm.

“That’s not going to make him,” Penelope said. “Here, let me help him.”

She reached down under my shorts and began massaging. I protested, but when someone grabs your dong as expertly as Penelope did, hiding the evidence is not an option. Both girls seemed astounded when the swelling started.

“Isn’t that something?” Penelope said, standing back to admire her handiwork.

Tisha seemed almost panicked.

“Close the bedroom door,” she told Penelope.

“Why?” Penelope asked. We were alone in the house but it was summer and the downstairs was open. Someone could come in on us any time.

“Well, I don’t want Brenda to see,” she said. “Or mom and dad might come back any minute and might find us doing this to him.”

Penelope pushed the door closed but she still had a puzzled look on her face. Tisha sat down on the side of my bed thinking deeply. She looked like she’d just discovered a gold mine and in her mind, she had. You have to understand that this was a time before young girls could openly express their sensuality. There was no place for them to go and buy sexual toys or practice love-making techniques openly. She felt that quite literally she and Penelope had discovered their own sex toy that could have all for themselves.

“If Brenda finds out about this, she’ll take it for herself,” Tisha said. It wasn’t that Brenda would take me away. She was afraid Brenda would take ‘It’. Brenda was 17 and an in-family rival. Pretty and popular, Brenda was the darling of mom and dad and a thorn in Tisha’s side. Tisha was goth before goth was popular. She had spiked red and black hair, a beautiful face and body, but liked to keep it hidden under exotic makeup and black clothing.

“It’s so beautiful,” Penelope said, looking down at me like I was the parasite attached to it.

“I never imagined,” Tisha said. “I mean, he’s just a fuckin’ dork.”

“He’s cute,” Penelope said. “Little but he has a lot of muscles for his size. I mean, I noticed that before today, but this is like discovering a whole new world.”

“For us and for…other girls in our class,” Tisha said. “I mean we can rent it out. This is one thing Brenda is not going to take from us.”

“Do we have to share?” Penelope said, disappointed. “I mean. Look at it. It’s just so smooth and…beautiful.”

“We can have it whenever,” Tisha said, “as long as we don’t tell Brenda or my parents, but if we also, rent it, we won’t ever have to worry about money. I can quit my job at Prestone Pizza and get concert tickets whenever we want.”

I imagine you’re wondering why I never raised my voice in protest, tried to fight back. The way these tycoons were talking, it would have been irrelevant, kind of like McDonald’s cows protesting being turned into hamburger patties. Besides, Penelope had returned to her handiwork and that I had to admit felt pretty, goddamn, motherfucking good.

“Holy shit,” Penelope said when a stream of white liquid caught her smack in the middle of her cute little pixie face.

“Christ, Penelope, you popped him,” Tisha said, “like a damn white head.”

‘No, boys do that when we do this to them,” Penelope said, wiping her face with one hand. “But I have never seen this much goo shoot so far so hard. I mean it’s like a super squirter.”

“Penelope, we’ve hit the mother load.”

So began my career as a male prostitute for the sophomore girls at Beaverhead High in Plimpton, Oregon.

After class the next day, 10 girls showed up to view what Tisha and Penelope must have billed as one of the world’s seven wonders.

“Jesus, Tish, you weren’t kidding,” Britney, a honey-skinned black girl, told her. “Have you put it in your pussy?”

“No, Penelope did and I sucked on it but I don’t want to take any chances I’ll have Mongol children,” Tisha said. “I looked it up and if brothers and sisters have kids, they look like they come from north of China.”

“The brothers and sisters look like Mongols?” Britney said.

“No, you dip, the kids do,” Tisha said.

Penelope had her lips around my cock sucking greedily, but stopped for a minute to add her three cents.

“I think it’s beautiful,” she said. “I mean, none of the boys our age have penises this big. This is like having your own toy you can play with any time you want.”

The subject of these discussions laid back and enjoyed the attention. I was afraid if I spoke I’d step out of the dream I’d fallen into. Here standing above me inspecting my privates were several of the hottest girls in the sophomore class, including Penelope and my sister. The other boys by age spoke of these girls in near worshipful tones, the fulfillment of their dreams. And my deformity had attracted their attention to me. For the first time in my life, I’d begun to think of my deformity as something other than an ugly growth to keep hidden.

Lori Jenkins was a junior varsity cheerleader, a freckled strawberry blonde, with long gangly legs and a radiant smile. She was the girl who most haunted my personal dreams. Now, out of nowhere, she was pulling her panties down and asking Penelope if it was okay to take a ride on my appendage. Lori had always been nicer to me than most older girls which probably was the reason I liked her so. Penelope agreed to hold the hilt steady while Lori settled down on it. Just before taking the plunge, Lori looked down on me and said, “You don’t mind do you?”

Well, what was I going to say? I nodded that it was okay and Lori dropped down to swallow my penis whole with her tight little pussy. The problem was that poor, little skinny Lori was in way over her head swimming in these waters.

“Oh mygoodness,” Lori shrieked. “I think I broke something.”

“We’re not liable and you still have to pay,” Tisha explained.

“No, I mean, I think something really broke inside me,” she said. “It feels like its way up inside my chest.”

Lori was the girl friend of Matty Carlylse, one of the biggest, toughest football players on the junior varsity squad. It was known that Lori’s mother had put her on birth control pills at an early age because Matty was such a horn dog and she was afraid Lori might come home with a bun in the oven. So I knew that she and Matty must have been doing it and he was near twice my physical size. But I was the one who “broke” his girl friend inside. That seemed only right to me since Matty was one of my biggest tormenters, but suddenly, I didn’t like my odds of surviving another day.

“Get up slowly, Lori,” Penelope said. She was still steadying my cock for Lori and had a good fist-size length of the shaft she was preventing from going in. “I think you’re bleeding,” she added.

Lori raised herself, inch by excruciating inch, and when the girls looked down, they saw Penelope’s fist was covered in blood.

“Jesus I’m going to die,” Lori squealed. She hopped off the bed, still trailing blood, and ran down stairs and out the front door. She wore only a skirt and never bothered reacquiring her panties.

“Not even Matty Carlylse could do that to her,” Penelope said, examining her blood-covered hand, “In fact, she’s been complaining that Matty wasn’t doing anything to satisfy her. That’s why she wanted to try first because she thought such a big one had to feel better than Matty’s…but the big one ‘broke’ her inside.”

The other girls stepped away from the bed with a look of fear and awe on their faces. Some looked like they’d seen a ghost. One by one, they made lame excuses and left, almost as fast as Lori.

“Great, just great,” Tisha said. “I finally get a can’t –miss money-making proposition and jizz nuts here ruins it.”

She hit me hard again in the arm and stalked away with a drama queen turn that Scarlett O’Hara would have found embarrassing.

Penelope went back to massaging me and when satisfied she’d inflated it to it’s maximum potential, she settled down on it with a cat-ate-the-canary smile. She never even bothered cleaning up the blood.

“I don’t like sharing anyway,” she told me, “and I like to see you pop.”

Tisha was a lousy business person. Never heard of letting a product build momentum. Instead of scaring business away, my exploits that day sealed the deal. I was, after all, the guy who broke Lori Jenkins inside.

The crowd the next night was bigger than the first, There were different girls but gradually even the girls who’d witnessed the incident the first night returned, assured that no undue damage had befallen Lori.

To some, I was a curiosity, a sexual adventure they could remember through their teen and married years. Others were real sexual freaks who wanted more than to just to say they’d ridden ‘It”. They wanted to try ‘It’ in every hole they had, slobber all over ‘It’, stare and admire ‘It’ up close and from afar. It was about this time I began to realize women can be a lot freakier than guys ever believe.

Such notoriety could not go unnoticed, however. My parents began to wonder why dozens of girls suddenly wanted to have slumber parties with Tisha and why Penelope was such a fixture at every slumber party. My sister Brenda was suddenly jealous that Tisha was getting more attention than her and wondering why Tisha mysteriously had more money and perks so effortlessly.

“She’s going to see Nirvana again this weekend,” Brenda complained to my mom one day. “How does she afford it?”

“I don’t know, sweetums,” mom told her. “She told me she and her friends have been pooling their money to buy tickets. All I know is that her friends sure are weird. Last week I saw Penelope sitting dreamily on the sofa downstairs just saying again and again, ‘It’s just so beautiful.’”

“What’s so ‘beautiful’?” Brenda said.

“’It.’” Mom answered. “Whatever ‘It’ is. I hope that poor girl isn’t becoming a Jesus freakie or whatever they call them. She says ‘Jesus’ a lot, too.”

Of course, it was only a matter of time before Matty found out, too.

“You broke my bitch inside,” Matty said to me angrily one day. “Now she won’t even let me touch her there. She says you spoiled her for life.”

He’d confronted me outside the high school while I was waiting for some of the sophomore class girls to emerge and walk me home for another slumber party.

“He’s spoiled all of us for life, Matty Carlyle.” Cindy Putnam yelled at him from behind him. “And if you ever want to get nookie again in your life, you will leave that precious little boy alone. He has gifts you can’t even begin to appreciate.”

“We mean it. Matty,” Cathy Crowe, president of the chess club, echoed. “Touch him and you won’t ever touch any of us. You will be permanently checkmated.”

At heart, Matty was a coward and a sex fiend. I think the sex fiend part saved my life that day, not his cowardly aspect. But he couldn’t resist hurling a few insults my way.

“Well okay…but he’s just a Pud,” Matty yelled. “That’s what the boys in his junior high class call him, ‘Pud’. He’s just a Big Old damn Pud. In fact, that’s all the hell he is…a goddamn son-of-a-bitch ‘Pud’ attached to a creepy little kid.”

What is it they say about no such thing as bad advertising?

“So I heard what Matty was saying out there in the high school parking lot the other day,” Mrs. Darla McDaniels, high school art teacher, asked me two days later at her house. “That’s why I invited you here today. I thought I could ah…tutor you in…ah…art and I wondered why Matty kept calling you a ‘Pud’.”

“I don’t know Miss McDaniels,” I said. “He doesn’t like me.”

“Yes, yes, I know Matty is a mean-spirited boy,” Darla said. “Just terrible, but I have heard rumors from some of the girls in my classes…just whispers you know…about why Matty doesn’t like you. These rumors I’ve heard concern a certain ‘gift’ you have and I was wondering if perchance you might allow me as teacher to examine this ‘gift’ just in the spirit of an academic exercise, you know.”

I had by now come to recognize the fidgety, prying behavior of a woman in full stampede horn-dog mode. I was no longer a dummy. By this time, at least half the sophomore girls had ridden the ‘Pud.” For the first time, an adult was approaching me and while Darla was a spunky 23-year-old conquest, the thought of trying to satisfy a woman 10 years my senior was a little intimidating.

She sat on her haunches so she could get better view of my crotch. Her trembling hand tugged at the zipper and pulled it down slowly as if she were unwrapping a Christmas present. Then she slipped it inside and pulled out my hardening manhood.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh my word.”

“I’m sorry Miss McDaniel,” I said, apologizing for losing control under her tutelage.

“I had heard…I imagined…but this…this exceeds expectations,” Miss McDaniels said with a nervous cough. “No need to say you are sorry…no need.”

“I can’t help myself,” I said.

“No, no, I understand,” she said. “I truly do. It’s just that…well, my husband has one of these…not nearly so big…you know but sometimes he likes to put it in a place inside me where it feels especially good. Has any of the sophomore girls asked you to do that for them.”

“You mean like in their mouth,” I said. “Yes.”

“Yes, in the mouth, yes, but I had in mind a different sort of place at the other end of me,” she said. She pulled up her skirt and pulled aside her panties to show me her bung. Some people ask me today why I have such a fascination with women’s asses and I always point to my first experience seeing Miss McDaniels’ butt. I’d never seen anything so ripe, so round, rosy and lovely.

Even to this day, all other butts are a pale comparison. Sophomore girls had asked me to put my dick in that hole before, but they really couldn’t accommodate me and I had no knowledge of how to force my way in and no lube. So the truth was that while I’d penetrated a couple of inches in, I had no way to push my way across the goal line. Miss McDaniel’s bung was open, pulsing and eager.

“No, I never did that,” I lied.

“Well, I’d like to see if you could put that thing of yours back there, inside of me and move it back and forth,” she said.

Thus began our long-term butt-love affair. I was still pumping that rump in my senior year in high school, only by then I had more thrusting power. When I hear people today complain about how female teachers have suddenly gone off of the rails and are fucking their students like they never did before, I laugh.

I think female teachers have been doing their male students as long as there have been female teachers. Miss McDaniels was hardly the only teacher with a taste for recapturing her lost youth. Indeed, I eventually came to the conclusion one of the main reasons women go into teaching is so they can molest their students.

It was not uncommon for Miss McDaniels to have a party for her other teacher friends where I was the party favor. And don’t get me started on the goddamn butt-fucking nuns at the Catholic school. With there not-really-there stigmata holes, they take kinky to a whole new level. I guess they like butt love so they can say that technically they are still virgins and only Jesus popped their cherries. Butterball stigmata-hole bitches, I call them.

Some months after Mrs. McDaniels discovered my ‘talent’, I heard Brenda storm in the house downstairs and stomp up the stairs and into my room. Unfortunately, Carly Brewster was riding my rod like I was a merry-go-round at the carnival at the time and Penelope and Tisha were watching while counting their money.

“Okay you little dweeb, let’s see it,” Brenda said. At 17 and a senior in high school, Brenda had long-golden-hair good looks that you knew even at her tender age would land her a role as an Enron vice president’s trophy wife some day. This day she was wearing a short plaid skirt that showed off her tan, gorgeous legs.

Carly Brewster, a pale, thin girl, timorous of people with Brenda’s social status nearly collapsed back on my cock. Brenda gave her an evil look.

“Get your ass off my brother’s dick, Brewster,” Brenda said through gritted teeth.

Carly rose up and up and up to reveal the pole she had buried in her vagina. It took awhile for the whole shaft to be revealed and by the time Carly finished, Brenda’s mouth was agape.

“That’s just…ah…I mean…when I overheard a bunch of dimwit sophomore bitches talking today,” she said, “I thought it was some crazy fantasy. But this is…real.”

“You, you sluts,” Brenda said turning her attention to Tisha and Penelope. “When were you going to tell me about this? When were you going to share? I want a cut of everything you make or I’ll tell mom about your little enterprise.”

“I’m not sharing with you, you bitch.” Tisha screamed “You’ve taken what’s mine for the last damn time.”

As usual, Penelope had the better heart and the greater business acumen.

“Look, we don’t have to split anything,” she said. “Brenda, you get all of everything paid by girls you bring in from the junior and senior classes. We’ll keep what we can get from the freshman and sophomore girls. “

“I have a lot more friends,” Brenda said. “I will monopolize all ‘It’s’ time.”

“We have been doing this a lot longer,” Tisha said. “We have a head start on word-of-mouth advertising.”

“Okay, it’s a deal then,” Brenda said. “You take the early shift and I’ll take the late shift. Junior and Senior girls can stay up later and stay out later at night. We’ll keep ‘It’ busy during the late night and early morning hours and you get the after-school shift. During joint slumber parties when everyone stays overnight, we’ll get a percentage share of all of the girls we invite who show up.”

Tisha was doubtful but Penelope extended a hand to shake on the deal. It was either that or lose ‘It’.

After the deal was concluded and Brenda was gone to drum up new business, Carly looked at Tisha and Penelope and asked if it was okay to continue.

“I really didn’t get to cum,” she said. “And I was so close…so close, please let me finish.”

“Well you’ve been sitting on it for 20 minutes extra while we argued,” Tisha said.

“Yes, and I felt so filled up inside,” Carly said. “But I think if I could just do what I was doing before for maybe another five or 10 minutes, I could get over the hill.”

“Man, give these bitches an inch…or in this case 18 inches…and they take a mile,” Tisha complained. “Okay, but hurry, because Paget Lane will be here any minute.

Carly did get to finish. And so did Paget. And Summer Merling. And Connie Herndon. And later during the late shift recruited by Brenda, 10 junior and senior girls.

After everyone had gone home, Brenda and Tisha sat in my bedroom counting their money and planning even greater business conquests.

“I think we ought to start marketing to other high schools in town,” Brenda said. “Maybe we can get the Catholic High School and Beaverton East girls.”

“Don’t tell the priests and the brothers at the Catholic school,” Tisha said. “They might have AIDs.”

“Okay, but I’m telling the nuns who teach there,” Brenda said . “Them are some kinky bitches.”

Meanwhile, Penelope massaged my now worn out and flaccid penis with a look of sadness in her eyes.

“Good bye, big beautiful fella,” she said wistfully.

“Tisha, I know ‘It’ is attached to our brother and everything but have you tried or been tempted to ride ‘It’ yourself.” Brenda said. “I mean, if I did and Dennis ever found out, I’d be toast, and we do plan to marry shortly after high school, but I might never get a chance to ride something that big ever in my life.”

“I’ve been tempted, too,” Tisha said. “But I’m afraid of Mongol children.”

“Mongol?”

“You know,” Tisha said, “what happens when brothers and sisters make babies together.”

“You mean mongoloid,” Brenda said. “Jesus, Tish, you are a dweeb. Besides, aren’t you on the pill? I am. Mom insisted when Dennis and I started dating.”

“No, mom told me if I got on the pill, I’d fuck everything long and cylindrical,” Tisha said. “I can’t find a rubber big enough to fit that monster so I’ve just played with ‘It’.”

“I’m thinking we might be able to try it ourselves,” Brenda said. “I mean, why should all our friends have so much fun while I settle for Dennis’ little mud dauber and you play finger pokey?”

“I’m thinking maybe I should get part of the money you guys are earning off of my tool,” I said suddenly. This was a thought I’d been harboring for some time, but both my sisters gave me a look that turned my blood cold.

“You are getting to fuck all the hottest girls in town, “ Brenda said. “We procure them and bring them here for you to enjoy. And this is how you repay us. Any boy in Beaverton would give a left testicle to be where you are right now.”

“Besides, I have been researching male pimps and they pay their girls next to nothing,” Tisha said. “Why should female pimps earn less than their male counterparts?”

Brenda swung those magnificent legs over me to straddle me and started to massage me down there with her butt cheeks.

“What would you do with all that money anyway, little dweeb?” she said. “This is how you get paid.”

She slipped ‘It’ inside her. By the time Mom came up to investigate the shrieks she’d heard coming from my room, all the girls were gone.

“Are you okay?” she asked me.

“Yes, I just had a night mare,” I said.

“Well, you screamed like a girl,” mom told me. “I sure hope you are okay and these girls who are coming around here all the time aren’t bothering you.”

“No, mom,” I said.

“Well, you just tell those girls to leave you alone if they pick on you,” she continued. “I mean, I’ll tell Tisha and Penelope to stop having so many slumber parties if you wish. And now Brenda is bringing a lot of her friends around. I guess I should talk to her, too.”

“Thanks, mom, you are so nice to me. But that’s not necessary.”

“Well if it gets to be too much on you, just let me know.”

I looked at her long and hard displaying that sweet smile of mine that always seems to drive women crazy.

“What’s the matter, baby,” mom said. “Do I look funny or something.”

“No, mom, you are beautiful.”

“Goodness, that was sweet,” she said. “Where did that come from? I sure wish your father felt that way.”

“No, really, you and Brenda could pass for twins,” I said. And I meant every word.

“Go to sleep, sweet boy,” she told me, turning out the light. “I will talk to you in the morning.”

Penelope was spending the night again that night and later she came in my room and dropped a twenty dollar bill on my chest.

“Don’t tell Brenda or Tish,” she told me.

I never knew if she felt bad because Tisha and Brenda were so greedy, she wanted to protect her diminishing property rights or because she really liked me.

I like to think it was the latter.

Even Tisha started to be nicer to me. After that day, the slugs on the arm diminished, but it was a few more days before she overcame her fear of Mongol kids.

“I got Mom to put me on the pill,” she told me one day when we were alone. “I guess I don’t have to worry about hemorrhoid kids anymore.”

“Mongoloid kids?” I reminded her.

“Oh yeh,” she said. “Quit being such a smart ass. Anyway, I decided I wanted to find out what all the excitement is about.”

She reached inside my pajama bottoms to withdraw my equipment and began sucking on it. This she had done many times before, but this time she slipped off her tight black jeans and climbed aboard. I don’t really know is Tisha ever had real vaginal sex before. I know she was a hardcore died-in-the-wool finger-diddling clit tickler, but I kind of think that before that day, she was empty down there. She considered men beneath her (as I now I quite literally was) and did little to encourage them to pay attention to her.

She had an absolutely fabulous body, though maybe a little too white from lack of sunlight , and a face that bordered on supermodel beautiful if she did away with the heavy make up. Her vagina was tight so stuffing all of me inside her was a chore, but eventually she settled down into a slow rocking rhythm straddling my hips that plugged me firmly into her socket. The eruption started slowly, but built to a crescendo. She wasn’t just rocking anymore. She was rolling and jumping up and down, screaming like a banshee.

“Whooooooooa!” she screamed.

Tisha was a 10 on the Richter scale, while Brenda might have been a seven. The bed springs made such a creaking noise, it was only a matter of time before someone came to investigate. Mom didn’t exactly as much throw Tisha on the ground as tackle her and throw her for a 20-yard loss. When I looked up Tisha was on the carpet still cumming and mom was berating her. Cream leaked from Tisha’s coochie like she was an overstuffed donut.

“What were you doing to that poor little boy?” mom yelled.

“Mom, he’s not ‘little’, “ Tisha said. “Look at ‘It’.

Slowly my mom’s eyes rose so she could see what she had dismounted Tisha from riding.

“Sweet Jesus,” was all she said.

After the shock had worn off, mom called a family crisis intervention. Dad wasn’t notified. He was either at work, drunk or screwing one of his bimbos around town so mom had to deal with this crisis alone as she did most crises. Tisha, Penelope and Brenda were star witnesses.

“When I first saw ‘It’ I assumed ‘It’ was some big tumor that would cost a lot of money to get amputated,” mom said. “Then I thought, your dad just doesn’t earn that kind of money. Then I realized what ‘It’ was and I thought, my god, he didn’t get that from his dad’s side of the family. It had to be my uncle Mortuse, who they say was quite the cocksman. Mortuse the moose, they called him.”

“Mom, you can’t stop us from earning money this way,” Brenda pleaded. “I’ve got appointments scheduled for later tonight.”

“So do we,” Tisha said.

“Shut up bitch,” Brenda said. “If you hadn’t been such a loudmouth whore screaming like a wounded baboon, we wouldn’t be in this fix.”

“Mom, you saw it,” Tisha said. “It’s kind of like a national treasure, like the oil reserves in Alaska, an endless supply of jizz and money that will never run out.”

“And ‘It’s’ just so beautiful,” Penelope said.

“Only unlike the Alaskan oil, we don’t have to worry about kerri-ji-boos—whatever they are—crossing the pipline,” Tisha said.

“No, just your brother melting the permafrost in some women’s coochies,” Mom said.

She turned to me.

“Baby, these girls have been exploiting you, have turned you into a male sex toy,” she said.

“Mom, I’m okay with it,” I said. “In fact, I kind of like all of the attention. All my life, I thought I was deformed, but now I discover my tool has uses and I could bring more happiness into the world using it.”

“And he does that so well, Mrs. Detmer,” Penelope said.

“Mom, you can’t believe how much money we’re making,” Tisha said.

“Well, exactly how much money?”

Penelope opened a box brimming with cash. Brenda dumped her book satchel stuffed with dozens of twenty and hundred dollar bills on the kitchen table.

“Sweet Jesus…” mom said.

“And we’ve just started marketing to the Catholic and Lutheran girls,” Brenda said.

Mom thought for a moment.

“You know, the Ladies Auxiliary of the PTA might be fertile ground, too,” she said. “We could use a new color TV.”

“And the nuns at the convent,” Brenda said. “Don’t forget them. They have to be the most frustrated women in Christendom.”

“Well, before I give my consent, I might have to try this product out to see if ‘It’ passes my personal inspection,” Mom added.

So I return to my original questions. Am I a sex addict? Do I need help? If I haven’t answered the first questions properly for you, perhaps you understand why I am if I am. And do I need help? You’re goddamn right. I can’t keep all the bitches happy all by myself now can I?