Everyday presents new and cunning surprises. Whether they are great, or horrendously horrible, it does not matter; they shall happen, they shall occur, and they shall find you. In retrospect, that is my view of my life. My youth. The conglomeration of a past of building climaxes and dissolving tragedies. They're wonderful, though. Good or bad, I am still alive, and I am more than living; I am burning.
In school, I am known as a fervent lover, absolutely gorgeous, and most of all, a male slut that women can not resist. I am one, and yet I bind them all. But then, of course, to some like my mother, or my sister, or my father, I am simply Jake. Jacob. Jacques. Whichever you prefer, as long as you feel it's syllables soothe your slaver dripping tongue.
Right now, I am shrugging on some clothes after my annual dose of sex. My neighbor is very resourceful, and thusly, like any man with fine taste would gladly do, I ask her over for a few sprites.
I took the stairs then, calmly meandering down until I reached the base. Perhaps, I guess, this'd be a good time to tell you about myself. I'm an oversexed, 18 year old male with a build on the verge of covering magazines, and able to inspire many more women with choruses of awing and gaping mouths. I'm popular, I'm athletic, I'm gorgeous, and I am more than sophisticated. I can play anyone. Any thing. Any person that decides they would like to step up to my challenge; my game; my irresistible charm.
Enough about me. Lets move on to something almost as intriguing.
And at that moment, my mother passed, and I hissed in accordance. There is one thing I must admit; one weakness in my armor--that is my mother. She isn't exactly top-of-the-line meat, but there is something about her. Perhaps the fact that a mother, of all perverse things, is more forbidden than anything, and unthinkable. Perhaps it is the sheer idea of not being able to have her. It is something that has been sleeping inside me for far too long. The way her rump sways lackadaisically, and every thing she does to make this house better than it actually is with a clean, nonchalant smile to her thick, opulent lips--in the end, it drives me more than nuts.
And yes, you may think me mad, but I do not care. No, not at all; and at this very glorious moment, I followed in her wake; in the billowing of her blouse; in the soaking of that lilac perfume that made a perfect trajectory behind her. Everything about her screamed...
She turned around instinctively and jumped. "Oh! Hi, Jake, I didn't realize you were home."
I smiled a simple smile, one that was unreadable, and yet readable in every angle, "I've been home for a while, mom."
The hallway was rather large and I soon met her side, calmly walking beside her.
"I've been sunbathing all morning. Can't you tell?"
I looked at her arms, assessing through whatever boredom that pounces into my brain, and nodded.
"Oh well. What are you up to for today?"
I had forgot it was still morning, and as we entered the kitchen, my plan slowly began to mold thoroughly into my head. Boy, did it ever; I was afraid it'd seep out my nose, or my ears, or worst of all... My dick.
"I don't know. What do you propose?" I added in a little sexy tone to that one.
"I'm not sure. Can I get you anything?"
And that is another reason why mothers are so glamorous and sexy. They are slaves, capable to get you almost anything at your whim; for the exception of the bitch mothers, which I do not have fortunately.
