Propsychotic


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by Miracle Jones

“I want you to please be nice to Derix today,” Rickard Strasser tells his Stepson’s only Friend, a surly and stringy Nineteenyearold named Anders whose Mouth always hangs open so wide that you can see the Food in the Teeth of his lower Jaw, Countrybiscuits and Sugarham caught in his clear-color Braces. They are peeing next to each other in the Crackerbarrel Bathroom. Anders has thin Lips and smooth gangly Arms and always wears a giant silver Wristwatch. Big Eyes with blonde Eyelashes. Doesn’t blink enough.

“You are the only Friend who showed up for his Birthday,” Rickard continues as Anders looks sheepishly into the Urinal. “And he has had a really, really hard Year.”

“Of course,” says Anders. “He’s my Buddy, right? I understand the Challenges you must face as his legal Guardian.”

Rickard grabs this Anders kid by the Upperarm and squeezes. Anders looks at him, horrified, suddenly scared. Anders’ Securityfamiliar, a giant grey Wolf with ultramarine Eyes, raises its Head and fixes Rickard with its empty, haunted Gaze. Rickard zips up and lets Anders go.

Rickard’s own Securityfamiliar is still at the Table, taking Video of the Event. Rickard tries not to think about how sad this whole Birthday has been already. Why are they even bothering to record it? He supposes there is a small Chance that Derix’s Grandparents will want to watch the Video later. Rickard never ceases to be amazed (and depressed) by how much Agneth’s Parents dote on her dopy, impossible Kid—how patient they are, much more patient than he and Agneth could ever be.

“I’m not kidding,” says Rickard. “It’s his Birthday and I want you to be extra nice to him.”

“I promise,” says Anders. “Jesus, Mr. Strasser!”

Sad as it may be, it is not shocking that Derix doesn’t have any other Friends who would want to show up to this Birthday except for this Anders Kid. Rickard Strasser’s Stepson Derix is on so much Medication that much of the Time he is practically catatonic. When he is in a good Mood or talkative, he often just drones on about his favorite Videogames. He can stare out of the Window for Hours or fly into a Rage and beat the Walls until his Fists and Forearms are bruised and bloody. He oscillates between dim and manic in impossible-to-predict Intervals. Even though they have tried their best to treat him like a normal Kid, he is also rather spoiled. You can’t discipline a disconnected Blob of soaring Emotions that is always cycling between insane Demands and panicked Dread.

He is not actually a bad Kid, thinks Rickard. He is a sensitive Teenageboy with a busted-up Brain because the World is cruel. It is not his Fault that he responds the Way he does to Things. Rickard and Agneth buy Derix the latest Videogames, nice Clothes, whatever Snacks he wants—anything to make him happy in the rare Moments that he can actually be happy.

Rickard has to remind himself: one Thing that actually does seem to make Derix happy is this skinny blonde Twerp Anders. Anders is older than Derix by a few Years and Rickard and Agneth both suspect that Anders must be wildly unpopular if he is willing to hang out with their Son. He doesn’t seem to have any other Friends but Derix. He is just out of Highschool. Instead of going to Communitycollege, he now works at a Gamesworkshop. He is not ready for College yet, he says. He wants to be in Movies someday. Not that they are complaining, but what kind of Kid would really want to make Derix their one true Pal? It is unsettling. Anders seems basically normal, despite his unctuous Kissassery, but how could he really be normal deep down?

They are simultaneously grateful for and horrified by Anders. One Thing they never tell you about having a fucked-up Kid with a fucked-up Brain is that your fucked-up Kid is going to have fucked-up Friends and you have to be nice to these other fucked-up Weirdos unless you want your own fucked-up Weirdo to be even more alone and sad.

Like Agneth and Rickard, this Anders Kid already has his own Securityfamiliar. He got one at the proper Age, when he turned eighteen. Now it is Derix’s eighteenth Birthday, and they are celebrating at his favorite Restaurant, the Crackerbarrel.

“You sure you don’t want to go Someplace actually nice?” Agneth had asked when they were planning the Celebration. “Some Place really special?”

“Crackerbarrel is special,” Derix said blankly, challenging them.

“Well, it’s your Birthday, Kiddo,” Agneth said with grim Determination.

They had given in and done what Derix wanted, of course.

Anders and Rickard return to the Table from the Bathroom after their inspirational Chat, and now Anders is full of Goodwill and Bonhomie, no longer so transparently sullen and bored. The five unopened Presents for Derix are still stacked at one End of the wooden Table. To his Credit, Derix has waited patiently to open them, which is a small Miracle. Rickard’s Securityfamiliar slinks over to him. It is the same giant Spider he’s had since the Marriage, complete with Toxinsacs (nothing deadly, of course—just paralytic) and Rotors that make it fly after it jumps. The Mobility and slightness of the Spider makes his Life as a Buildingcontractor infinitely easier. It has all the basic Functionality of any other deadly gene-coded Machinefriend, but it can go Places that larger Securityfamiliars can’t go.

Rickard has only been Stepson to Derix for five Years now. Agneth is almost forty, and there was a Time when Rickard thought Derix would at least go into the Army or something and maybe go on to have a Life away from them. But that seems increasingly unlikely. Rickard is coming to Terms with the Idea that Derix will always be a part of their Relationship.

“Can I start opening Presents now?” Derix asks, leaning forward, his Eyes glassy.

Agneth smiles benignly.

“Yes, go ahead,” she says.

Anders cheers unconvincingly, saying “yayyyyyyy,” looking at over at Rickard to see if Rickard notices how good of a Pal he is being.

It is hard to believe that Derix and Agneth are Mother and Son. There is certainly nothing divergent about Agneth, at least superficially. She is five years older than Rickard, but she is objectively goddamn physically delicious. He knows he got her at a Discount on account of the Fact that she came with a troubled Child. Agneth is tiny, but she has lavish, prodigal, ungrudging, munificent Tits and a lopsided Smile that is always sly and makes him reliably horny whenever she flashes it at him in just that certain Way. She likes dirty Jokes and she is insatiable when it comes to food, fucking, Drugs, and Fun. She is giggly and cruel, and she is always ready to get on her Knees for him. Fucking is an Escape for her on some Level: from their Life, from its undignified Burdens. Her Skin is milky and clean, her Hair is black as a jungle Snake, and she manages to pull off red Lipstick every Day, favoring men’s Flannelshirts and Tightpants in fluorescent Colors that show off how much Assham she is smuggling. She is a freelance Graphicdesigner, so she mainly stays at Home, which is useful since Derix doesn’t ever go out and needs constant tending. Between the Two of them, they make enough Money to be slightly more than comfortable.

Derix sorts through the Presents on the Table, lifting them up and shaking them and then putting them down again. He is grinning. Rickard shoots Agneth a worried Look, but she shrugs. He is going to be disappointed…probably even devastated…but there is Nothing they can do.

Since he is turning eighteen, he will now legally be allowed to own and operate a Securityfamiliar. He is old for his grade since Agneth kept him back, but he is looking forward to the Jolt of instant Coolness that he thinks a Securityfamiliar will bring him. Rickard knows that Derix is shaking the Boxes to try and figure out which one has a Securityfamiliar in it, even though they already told him…sigh…they already told him it wasn’t happening yet…

There is a Tap on Rickard’s Shoulder and he turns to find a nervous looking Restaurantmanager looming over him. The Restaurantmanager bends down and whispers in his Ear.

“Sir, do you mind if I speak with you a Moment?” he says, urgently. “There have been some Complaints.”

Rickard stands up. The Restaurantmanager of this Crackerbarrel is a tall, wiry Man with veiny Forearms and a veiny Neck who is wearing a porkpie Hat that is clearly on his Head to hide the Fact that he is going bald. Women like bald Men, thinks Rickard. Red-faced veiny bald Men with wiry Arms are exactly what a certain Kind of Woman wants. But this Man is timid. He can’t handle all the deranging Testosterone flowing through him. He is manifesting new obnoxious Vanities. He is slender and clean-shaven but he has the tiniest hint of a Soulpatch under one pouty Lip. Another sartorial Mistake.

“Hey man, there’s no easy Way to say this,” the Restaurantmanager says, once they are out of Earshot. “Man, I’m just going to come right out and say it. We’ve had some Complaints about the Smell coming from your Table.”

“The Smell?” says Rickard. “I don’t understand.”

“Yeah, the Smell,” says the Restaurantmanager. “I mean, it’s a Teenagerthing. Happens sometimes. The thing is: your Kid smells terrible, like warm Garbage, like an old Homelessman who has been sleeping in the Sun. Teenagers, you know? You gotta teach them to use Deodorant and all that. You gotta teach them that Stuff.”

“He doesn’t like to take Showers,” mutters Rickard. “Says the Water hurts his Skin.”

“Well, just so you know, three separate Tables have complained. So we are going to go ahead and send you the Bill and we are going to need you to leave ASAP. I hate to have to do this, but there’s no easy Way around it, you know? I’m sorry, man. I really am.”

“Well, okay then,” says Rickard, shocked and embarrassed.

“Yeah man,” says the Restaurantmanager, wiping his Nose with the back of his Hand. “Thanks for being understanding.”

Rickard slowly walks back to the Table, where Derix is holding up a Sweater to his Chin and where Agneth is trying to check the Size of it, scowling at him, trying to get him to care even slightly. Rickard doesn’t smell Anything. Maybe he is just used to the way Derix smells. He takes a huge Gulp of Air and tries to smell the warm Garbage of this Homelessman in the Sun, but he doesn’t smell any Kind of special Funk. It feels like a Goof or a Prank. He glances at the People at the other Tables: a Youngcouple, an Oldcouple, three middle-aged Women out for after-work Drinks. They all scowl at him. One Middleagelady actually holds her Napkin over her Face.

“Okay guys,” says Rickard. “We better wrap this up and get out of here.”

“But what about Dessert?” says Derix. “I want some Peachcobbler. Birthdaydessert!”

“Let’s get Dessert somewhere else,” says Rickard. “Maybe Icecream?”

Derix frowns.

“Okay,” Derix says. “But I got one more Present left.”

“They want us to leave,” he says. “Looks like they’re really busy and need the Table.”

Agneth looks around the half-full Restaurant. She cocks her head inquisitively at him and he closes his Eyes slightly and shakes his Head. Don’t ask. I will tell you later.

“Okay, but there’s one Present left,” Derix says. “And I THINK I know what it is.”

“Oh honey,” says Agneth. “Please don’t get your Hopes up. You know what we said, and we meant it, you know?”

He grins at them as he tears away the Wrappingpaper. Anders helps him clear it away, grinning along with him.

As soon as the Present is totally unveiled, Derix leans back in his Chair and his Face screws up with Malice and Revulsion. It isn’t a real Securityfamiliar. It’s just a regular Dronetoy, the kind that records 3DVideos. You can poke around on the Feed with it. It remembers a few simple Commands. It reminds you to do your Homework, to walk a few Miles each day, to take your Anxietymeds and your Antidepressants.

“It’s a Toy,” he says. “It’s just a Toy. It’s Bullshit.”

“It’s a really great Facsimile,” says Rickard. “The best you can buy. It has more Functions than some real low-end Securityfamiliars, actually.”

“Honey,” says Agneth. “We talked about this. You just aren’t ready yet, you know? One more Year, like we said.”

“It’s just a Dronetoy,” he says. “You promised. You promised me.”

“We didn’t promise Anything,” says Rickard. “In fact, we promised the Opposite. We told you it wasn’t happening, Kid.”

“I thought you wanted to surprise me!” says Derix, banging the Table with a flat Hand. “I thought Something NICE was going to happen for once! You Guys really suck.” He is a Bigboy, broad in his Shoulders and round in the Middle. His Mother is not thin, but she carries her Weight in Curves that flesh out her Thighs, her Hips, her Ass, her unselfish, Keynesian, free-handed Tits. Sometimes when he looks at Derix, he tries to see Agneth in there, pressed into his Features and distorted like a Penny mauled by a Freighttrain. The Genetics of it appalls him: how he can be so attracted to one Version and so repulsed by Another?

As Rickard feels himself losing his Patience, he reminds himself that he has been unarguably better for the Boy than the Boy’s own biological Father. Just by Virtue of sticking around he is being the best Parent this Kid will ever have. Parenting is often a pass/fail Class where Attendance is 90% of the Grade.

“YOU GUYS ARE SO MEAN TO ME,” Derix says, putting his Head in his Hands. “I thought Today was going to be a nice Thing. But instead it’s a Trick. You tricked me!”

“Let’s not be so dramatic,” says Agneth.

“I’m not being dramatic,” says Derix. “You guys are being ASSHOLES.”

He turns to his only Friend, this Anders kid.

“Right? Aren’t they being Assholes? They said I was getting a Securityfamiliar, right?”

Anders looks at Rickard and then he shrugs, his Mouth gaping.

“Oh great,” says Derix. “You’re on their Side. You have your own Securityfamiliar already and I don’t! You’re on their Side!”

Derix is shouting now and the other People in the Restaurant are looking at all of them with Disgust. What is the Deal with these negligent Parents and this angry Lout who is shouting about how he didn’t get a Toy he wanted?

“Listen Kid,” says Agneth. “Next Year, okay?”

“I hate you Guys,” he says. “I hate you Guys so much.”

And then suddenly the Restaurantmanager is there again, standing at Rickard’s Elbow.

“Hey man, I already asked you politely about the Smell...and now if you’re also going to be yelling…”

“We’re leaving,” says Rickard. “We’re leaving right now.”

Rickard stands up.

“Smell?” asks Agneth. “What Smell?”

“We’ve had numerous Complaints about the Bodyodor coming from your Table,” says the Restaurantmanager. “Many different Tables. And now you’re shouting and banging your Hands!”

“We’re leaving,” says Rickard. “Everybody grab a Box.”

Anders does as he is told, but Derix begins weeping as Agneth looks at the Restaurantmanager, furious.

“What Smell are you talking about?” asks Agneth. “I don’t smell anything.”

“He’s talking about ME,” says Derix. “He’s talking about my Pants. I got excited about getting my Securityfamiliar and I put my Pants on before I was done peeing and now I smell like Pee from my Pants.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” says Rickard.

“I don’t smell anything,” says Agneth.

Derix cries louder. Rickard puts his Arm around him and steers him toward the Door as Anders follows, holding Presents in both hands. Agneth stays where she is, her Face flushed, looking very pretty but very angry. Rickard can’t help but notice with Amusement that her unstinting, eleemosynary Breasts are distracting as Hell to the Crackerbarrel Restaurantmanager. He keeps looking from her Face to her Chest as if she a basketball player that he is guarding. Her raw Sexuality easily overpowers his dwindling Authority.

“Is it the smell of Urine?” she asks him. “Is that it? Is that the Problem?”

“No ma’am,” says the manager. “There’s no nice Way to say this. It’s the Smell of Hormones. Old Sweat and Youngman Bodyodor. It’s a wretched Smell. You can’t eat with that Smell around you. It’s gone now, or subdued, so those Kids leaving the Restaurant definitely solved the Problem. I’m sorry.”

Agneth storms out, leaving the Restaurantmanager looking pissy and grim. Rickard takes out a hundred Dollars in Twenties and puts them on the Table for the Bill. He follows his Wife out of the Restaurant. She stops in the glass Chamber of multiple Doorways next to the Gumballmachine with her Knuckles pressed to her Temples.

“Nothing can ever just be easy, can it?” she asks.

“You’re a good Mom,” he tells her.

“I don’t feel like a good Mom,” she says.

Derix is already inside the Minivan, sobbing as loudly as he can, periodically kicking the Back of the Seat. The Box for his Toydrone is in the Seat next to him. Anders stands by the Car sheepishly, unsure of what he should do. His Loyalties are divided now between his Friend and the cool, fun Actualadults who are not currently weeping in Public.

Rickard slides into the Driverseat. Anders opens the Slidingdoor, overcoming the Paralysis of his Embarrassment. Where else is he going to go? He can’t just stay in the Crackerbarrel Parkinglot. Anders’ Wolf piles into the Wayback and curls up with its Head in its Paws, its glowing Eyes powering down as soon as Rickard starts the Car. Agneth’s Babypanda climbs on Top of the Car to its Hutch.

They drive Home in Silence. The only Noise is Rickard flipping the Turnsignallever up and down and the subsequent harsh clacking that lets you know the Turnsignal has been triggered. Rickard likes driving manually. He gives the Finger to all the Selfdrivingcars that he passes on the Road. He likes the Way the Herds of little Twoseaters part around him as he exceeds the safe and acceptable 45 MPH Selfdrivingcarlimit. Someday driving your own Car will be illegal, but not yet.

Rickard’s Spider perches on the Dashboard, scanning the Road and projecting the best Route. His “Blues Mix” starts to play from the Carspeakers, but he turns it off. Doesn’t seem appropriate.

They turn into their Subdivision and Derix heaves a big dramatic Sigh. Rickard flicks his Eyes over to him in the Rearviewmirror.

“How you doing, kid?”

“I’m sorry,” Derix says, his Voice cracking and his Chest heaving. “I overreacted. I don’t hate you. I’m disappointed that I didn’t get what I wanted, but I’m grateful for what I did get. I lost Control of myself. I’m sorry that I’m such a terrible Person.”

“You aren’t a terrible Person,” says Agneth. “You’re a wonderful Person. I can’t believe the Restaurantmanager of that Place, kicking us out like that. I hope he knows we’ll never be going back there ever again.”

“It was my Fault for smelling like Pee,” says Derix.

“Darling, you don’t smell like Pee,” says Agneth. “I even asked him if that was the Problem, and he said no. It was just all those stupid Customers in there. They were just a Bunch of sad Losers with nothing better to do but complain.”

“The Food was good,” says Derix. “Thanks for taking me out to eat. I know you guys don’t like that Place. I should’ve listened to you.”

They pull into their Driveway. Anders and Derix go into the House with their Heads down, like Whitecollarcriminals trying to sneak past Reporters at their Arraignment. The Shocks on the Van squeal as Anders’ giant Wolf gets out and pads into the House behind the Boys. Rickard feels a moment of deep Love for his bad-smelling, too-sensitive Stepson.

***

The Boys spend the Evening setting up Derix’s Toydrone. While the Toy doesn’t have near as many Features as a real Securityfamiliar, it’s still a robust little Machine. Derix allows himself to be excited by it. Since it won’t be keyed to his DNA, he won’t be able to take it to School with him, but he can still use it at Home. Rickard and Agneth are relieved. It’s a good Compromise.

Agneth has some design Work to do, and so she retires to their Bedroom. Rickard hangs out in the Garage, drinking Beers and playing with his electronic Drumkit, silently banging on his Pads while his Spider continuously keeps him updated with Emails from Work as it skitters along the Ceiling above him.

He bangs along to several old Black Sabbath Albums until it gets late. Just as he is getting ready to join Agneth for Bed, he feels prickles on his Neck. He gets the Unsettlingfeeling that he is being watched. He slowly looks around the Garage while folding up the thin Pads of his Drumkit and stowing them away in a Tooldrawer. He doesn’t see Anything. He pretends not to even be looking, trying to smoke out the Watcher. And then! He sees the Toydrone scamper away, moving from underneath the Car into the Laundryroom. He turns his head away so that the Toydrone can’t see him smile.

So Derix is a little Spy now. Rickard doesn’t know why anyone would want to watch him play Drums out in the hot Garage, but he is glad Derix is actually using the expensive Toydrone they bought him.

He sets the Housealarm in the Kitchen, sealing them all in for the Night. He can still feel Prickles on his Neck from the Unsettlingfeeling. He shifts his Head slightly, not enough to give away that he knows he is being stalked, but just enough that he can see the Toydrone reflected in the Ovendoor. So this is what Life will be like now.

He stops in the Hallwaybathroom and pretends to check his Hair. He spots the Toydrone waiting for him on the Landing to Derix’s Room.

He continues down the Hallway to his own Bedroom. Agneth is wearing her Designequipment, and she is painting Patterns furiously in the Air. As he moves inside the Room, Something stirs in him. Something Weird. Instead of shutting the Masterbedroom Door, he looks down the Hall—looking right at the Toydrone—and then he intentionally leaves the Door open a Crack.

He inserts his Foot in the Door and makes the Crack a little wider. An Invitation. But also, a Warning. You have been spotted. Do you dare go further?

Rickard comes up behind Agneth. She doesn’t notice him. She is busy with her painting, with making elaborate 3D Designs in the Air using broad, precise Strokes. The warm heavy Place that she occupies entices him. He can tell she is still agitated from Dinner. Her thick Shoulders are strong and inviting under her flannel Shirt. Her black Hair is in a sensible Ponytail, leaving two wispy Strands that run down her Jawline. Her tight fuchsia Pants strain as she pivots and jukes. Her alabaster Feet are planted wide so she can get maximum Torque. She makes passes with her Hands like a Sorceror trying to control a summoned Demon, whirling around in tight Circles, lost in the virtual World that her Headset creates for her.

He hears the Door behind him creak as it opens wider. He hears a soft Whir as the Toydrone moves into the Room. He catches the Shadow of the Drone moving underneath the Dresser. He walks back over to the Door and shuts it.

Now the Toydrone is trapped in here with them. His Heart pounds. What is he doing? And why is his Cock so hard against his Thigh?

If Derix wants to spy on his own Mother for his Birthday, is it really Rickard’s responsibility to stop him and chew him out? What kind of Conversation would that be? Derix, mortified and sobbing . . . and it might not even be Derix piloting the Toydrone. It could be that Twerp Anders. For Instance, Derix has taken his Meds already. He usually goes right to Sleep once he does that. Derix is never sneaky or dishonest, whereas Anders is definitely a creepy little Letch.

If Anders wants to see Agneth get ready for Bed . . . if he really wants the cheap, unsatisfying Rush of seeing a busty, full-grown Woman undress . . . a Woman that he cannot touch . . . then let this sad young Man have that gimcrack, downmarket Sin. He won’t stop him and embarrass him. It’s not his Place.

He sits down on the Bed. He opens the bedside Drawer where he keeps the James Ellroy Novel he is reading. He picks up the Book, but he stops before cracking it open. He sees the little Prescriptionbottle of Kaltkor beside Agneth’s red Vibrator. His Heart beats faster. Embezzling Derix’s Kaltkor Prescription was Agneth’s Idea. If he decides to take some Tonight, then Anything that happened would be her Fault, wouldn’t it?

She’s the one who likes him to be kored out when they fuck. It would be her Fault for thinking he is too nice all the Time.

The Drug is relatively new, part of the latest Generation of Propsychotic Schizophrenia Drugs meant to ice up the raw Sensitivity of defenseless Souls and add the Armor of Evil to agonized, flayed Minds. Derix doesn’t like taking it. He says that even though he can focus better and feels less anxious, Kaltkor makes him feel mean and angry. The Drug has the same Effect on Rickard, but he and Agneth have discovered that there is a Time and Place for mean and angry.

He dryswallows two Pills and lays down with his Arms crossed over his Chest. This has always been their Saturday night Routine. The Pill is a lit Match inside him that will start a Fire. The Fire will burn away all of his dumb good Nature. It will make him utterly dead inside for a few Hours, leaving him all smoothed out—cauterized, lean, and dangerous.

It only takes ten Minutes or so before he feels the hard Shield clamping down around his Feelings. The Tips of his Fingers tingle. New Streetlights come alive along different Avenues in his Brain. He shuts his Eyes. The Feeling is pleasant, like waking up suddenly from a deep Sleep to find that you aren’t groggy at all but are instead full of wild Energy.

The Springs creak on the Bed as Agneth sits beside him. She takes off her Goggles and puts her Hand on his Leg.

“Some Birthday, huh?” she says.

“I think it went rather well, all things considered.”

“I can’t believe that fucking Restaurant,” she says.

“Maybe now we’ll never have to go back.”

“Oh, we’ll go back,” she says. “We’ll go back and loosen all the Saltshaker Tops and flush Tampons down the Toilets till they overflow.”

“Not worth it,” he says. “My Gizzard is still throbbing from all the brown Chunks of flavorless Food.”

“Oh yeah?” she says. She moves her Hand higher up his Thigh all the way to the Fly of his Jeans and she bats her Eyes and smiles hungrily. “What else is throbbing?”

“We shouldn’t,” he says, his Eyes flicking to the Dresser where the Toydrone is watching everything, perhaps even recording them. “Not Tonight.”

“Not Tonight?” she says. “What are you talking about?”

She squeezes his Crotch, gritting her Teeth, really leaning into him.

“The Boys are upstairs,” he says.

“You’re full of Shit,” she says. “The Boys! Who cares?”

“Derix sleeps like a Junkie, yes—but the other One.”

“Oh fuck that,” she says. “I grew up listening to my Parents fuck. That’s Life. It’s healthy. You never spied on your Friends’ Parents during Sleepovers or tried to find secret Videos of them fucking or anything?”

“None of my Friend’s Moms looked like you,” he says. “They were all old and ugly or else boring and fat. And they were all religious.”

“I’m not fat?” she says, grabbing her Tits and holding them up, blinking her Eyes sweetly. “I always knew when my Parents were about to fuck because my Mom would wear Make-up to Bed.”

He doesn’t respond. She slides her Hand back to his Fly and plays with the Zipper.

The Kaltkor is kicking in. He feels numb, fun Rage—yet he still has all his Wits and Faculties. It is a very dangerous Feeling.

She tugs at his Shirt and unbuttons it while he shakes his Head, pulled forward by her Hunger. For a Moment, he even forgets they are being watched.

“You’re all kored out,” she says. “You already started.”

“Yes,” he admits.

She bends in the Middle, smiling at him while presenting her big round Ass to him. He hits it as hard as he can. She laughs.

“Bravo,” she says.

“If we are going to do this with the Boys upstairs, then I want you to be even louder than usual, you fat Pig Bitch,” he says.

“Oh yeah?” she says.

“I want you to scream like a Pig getting cut up into Meat,” he says. “I want you to be as scared and excited as a fat cut-up Pig.”

“You want me to be your little Miss Piggy?” she says.

“That’s what you are,” he says.

“Oink oink,” she says, taking off his Shirt and pushing him. His Centerofgravity is off-kilter on account of how he sits and so he falls over, his Head slamming into the Pillow. She is able to get on top of him. He grabs her Wrists with one Hand and slaps her beautiful Face until it is red on both Cheeks with his other.

“Oh God,” she says.

“Stupid piggy Sluts don’t believe in any God,” he says. “They believe in Slops and Mud and Shit.”

Rickard turns her around and spills her progressive, welfare-state Breasts out of her Shirt, grabbing them hard and twisting them. He pushes her Face down into the Mattress and grabs her Throat, twisting her around so that she is facing the Dresser. He forces her to bend her Knees so that she is entirely held upright by his Hand around her Throat. She moans pleasingly. He shoves four Fingers into her Mouth, exploring her Upper Larynx. When he pulls his Fingers out, she splatters Saliva all down her Chest.

Agenth’s gluttony for Horror and Fuckedupsexshit seems bottomless to him. It is actually a little frightening. There is Nothing he might say or do that will gross her out—no forbidden sexual Insanity or unspeakable Taboo. This total Freedom is disconcerting. All bestial Acts are welcome Offerings to the Crematorium of her Libido and so he often feels like he is being withholding no matter what he does. It’s as if he can’t quite figure out the one fucked-up Thing that she wants done to her the Most of all.

However, there’s something exciting about knowing that the Boys Upstairs might be watching. This makes him feel like he is matching her for once. Here is new Cruelty and Viciousness directed both at his utterly corrupted Slutwife and also at still-forming Minds under his Care. He is putting on a forbidden Show that she doesn’t even know about.

He slips her Panties down and moistens her Clit with her own Saliva, pulling her Head back and stuffing his Fingers in her Mouth again to wet them some more. She stares at him with wild Eyes. Blue, crazy red-rimmed Eyes. Manic little fascist Eyes.

“I am going to shatter your Asshole you dirty Pigslut,” he says, swiping Wetness from her Pussy back to her Ass and then plunging two Fingers into her giant firm Bottom. She sucks his Fingers inward with her Sphincter, tensing up, and then she lets out a heaving Sigh, clenching against him.

“Yes please,” she says.

He holds her Shoulders down on the Bed. He reaches over to the Bedsidedrawer and gets out a Squirtbottle of Lube and squeezes some onto his Dick in a little Infinitysign Sigil. He rubs it in, getting it under his Foreskin and hooking his Fingers to keep it from dripping down his Balls. Then he squirts a generous Dollop into her Buttcrack, pushing it inside her with an Indexfinger.

If Lube is going to smell so strong and unpleasant, he thinks, why can’t it smell like Butteredpopcorn or Baconfat?

She tries to hook her Legs around him (she is always testing him), but instead he maneuvers behind her and teases the pulsing Ring of her Anus with the Tip of his Cock.

“You are such a pig-faced stupid Bitch,” he says. “And you have such a curly little Tail.”

“You want me to oink for you?” she says.

“What’s that?” he says. “I can’t understand your Dumbslutpig Bleats.”

He shoves his Cock into her and smiles with Satisfaction as her Eyes crinkle with Pain. She opens her Mouth wide and no Sound comes out.

“What does the Piggy say?” he asks.

She begins oinking, breathing out hard, clearly straining against him. He has her at a sharp Angle. It must hurt very much.

“Louder,” he says. “Come on now. Loud as you can!”

He takes long Thrusts that make her Legs clench and make her draw heaving Gasps of Air. He turns her Head to face him and he watches with Satisfaction as she slowly drifts away, her Eyes losing all Focus as he pumps her more gently and more deeply. He likes to get her to that Place where she does Nothing but drool and her Eyes aren’t quite able to fully track what is happening. Once she is in that Place, he can finally let himself go. It frustrates him that he has to work so hard to push her There before he is able to find Release himself, but there are some Dynamics you just can’t fight.

He fucks her into a scrambled Froth.

But just as they are really exploring something Special together, there is a Knock at the Door.

She yelps underneath him and grabs the Blanket. As she panics, she bends his Dick in the Middle and he also shouts in Pain. He hunches over, sliding out of her, pinching himself. His Cock plops out her, purple and raw and wet.

“Shhhhhh….shhhhhhh….shhhhhhhh,” she whispers, as if he was the one doing the oinking and shouting and moaning. “Maybe he’ll go away.”

They stare at each other. It can only be one of two People at the Door.

The Knock comes again, a little more insistent this time. Rickard pulls on some Underwear and grabs a Robe from the adjoining bathroom, cinching it up around himself.

He goes to the Door and cracks it open. It is Anders. Anders steps backward. Anders has been standing too close to the Door, listening. He is wearing a T-shirt and Shorts. He looks anxious. He is sweating. His Wolf sits on its haunches behind him in the Darkness, its cold blue Eyes glowing.

“Mr. Strasser,” he says. “There’s something the Matter with Derix. I think you’d better come Upstairs. He’s freaking out.”

Rickard looks over his Shoulder at Agneth who is lying in the Bed with the Covers up to her Chin. She smiles and waves to Anders who waves back.

“What’s wrong with him?” asks Rickard.

“I’ve never seen him like This before,” says Anders.

Rickard looks back at his Wife who shrugs at him. He shuts the Door to their Room and follows Anders up the Stairs. His Spider skitters beside him just out of Reach on the Wall. Anders is tense. He keeps looking over his Shoulder to make sure Rickard is still following him. They get to Derix’s Room and Anders steps aside, gesturing to the Door. Rickard opens it.

Derix is standing in the Middle of the Room, naked, with his Hands curled into Fists at his Side. A Projection on the Wall shows Static. Derix rocks from Side to Side, moving from one Leg to the other as if he is manipulating invisible Exerciseequipment. Spittle flecks his Chin. There is a Line of Drool running from his Chin to his Nipples.

“He’s seeing Things,” says Anders. “He says there’s a Hole in the Universe and the Devil is peeking through. He says there’s a Bomb and that we are all going to blow up and die.”

Rickard takes a Step into the Room and looks around. There is a Pile of Clothes in the Corner. These Boys surely haven’t been watching Static. Rickard flips the Channelselector on the Projector. The Projection switches to Footage of Agneth sitting up in her Bed, leaning forward under the Sheets and reading a Magazine. Her altruistic Tits hang heavy in front of her. It isn’t a flattering Angle, but she still looks good.

Rickard puts his Hand on his Stepson’s Shoulder, turning him away from the Projection.

“Which one of you has been controlling the Toydrone?” asks Rickard.

“He made me do it,” says Anders. “We didn’t know you were going to…you know…and then we couldn’t get out without being seen.”

“He has Episodes like this all the time, when he is overstimulated,” says Rickard. “He’s going to burn himself out and then collapse.”

“What should I do?” asks Anders. “Should I go Home?”

Rickard sighs. His Spider crawls toward him across the Floor and then climbs the Wall. Rickard and Anders stare at each other for a good long Time.

“Tell me the Truth,” says Rickard. “Did you like what you saw? Did you enjoy watching me fuck Mrs. Strasser?”

Anders’ Mouth falls open and Rickard sees his Braces flash in the Halflight.

“No sir,” says Anders. “I mean…”

“I suppose you must have a Crush on Mrs. Strasser?” says Rickard. “I suppose you must imagine that if you could only get her Alone that she would do what you wanted?”

“No sir,” says Anders.

“Relax,” says Rickard, looking over at his Stepson. He stares into his Stepson’s vacant Eyes and then he looks back over at Anders. “I was young once. I know how it is.”

Anders shrinks against the Wall, holding his own skinny Arms. He rubs his Nose. His Wolf looks at Rickard with its Ears pinned back against its Head. Its mechanical Jaws open and shut and its synthetically-lubricated Tongue lolls.

Rickard steps over to the twerpy Kid. They size each other up in the Shadow cast by Derix in the light of the Projector. Rickard grabs Anders and makes him stand up straight. Anders crosses his Arms over his Crotch, but Rickard makes him hold his Hands out at his Sides. Standing up straight and with his Arms pinioned, his giant Erection is obvious. His Erection lifts up his Shorts to his Midthigh.

Rickard moves behind Anders so that they are both looking at the Projection of Agneth.

“You can see everything up here, can’t you?” says Rickard.

Anders nods, meekly. They silently watch Agneth reading her Magazine. She reaches up and plays with her Hair. Rickard waits for Anders to break the Silence.

“Your Wife is really hot,” Anders says, finally. “I mean that as a Compliment to you both.”

Rickard tries to imagine Anders as a fully-formed Middleagedman. What kind of Woman will ever take this skinny Kid seriously?

“Is there anything that you were specifically hoping that you’d get to see?” asks Rickard.

“What do you mean?” says Anders.

“I mean she’ll do anything for me. Anything at all.”

Anders looks stunned for a Moment. They both turn again to watch Agneth on the Projection. She stretches and then looks at the Door, bored. She gets up and walks out of the Frame and then plops back down on the Bed, sitting criss-cross-applesauce.

Derix continues to hop back and forth from one Foot to the other, humming to himself. His Eyes are glazed. His Body reeks of teenage Birthday Hormones.

“Tell me exactly what you want me to do to her,” whispers Rickard. “Tell me exactly. And then I will do it and it will be like you are doing it.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Strasser…”

“I’ll do anything you want. And she’ll do anything I say. I’ll make her suck my Dick, I’ll hit her, I’ll do it all. The Works. Any Fantasy.”

Anders looks at the Ceiling and then at the Floor. He licks his thin Lips and fiddles with his Wristwatch.

“There actually is Something,” says Anders.

“Anything,” says Rickard. “You’ll stay up here with Derix tonight and keep him company, and this’ll be how I pay you back. You won’t let him see. It’ll just be between us men. You are eighteen, right?”

“Nineteen,” he says.

“So go on then.”

“Well,” says Anders. “I was thinking. One day I want to work in Pornmovies. I think I have what it takes. Only I’m a little shy. Do you think maybe you could pretend to be me? Like, you could make a Game out of it? And I could see what she does? How she responds to the Idea of being with me?”

Rickard is thunderstruck by the Audacity of this. He appraises Anders coldly, impressed. Pornmovies?

He moves over to his stepson and turns him around so he is facing the Corner. Not good enough. He opens Derix’s Closetdoor and pushes him inside, sitting him down beneath his own hanging Clothes. It is a Walkincloset, so there is plenty of Space. He shuts the Door. Opens it. Turns on the Light. Shuts it again.

He walks back over to Anders. Anders is breathing heavy now. There are two rosy Blooms of Highcolor on his Cheekbones. His Shorts are comically tight and tented. The Hem of his Shorts are at a 45-degree Angle.

Rickard grabs the Front of Anders’s Shorts and balls them up in his Hand. Anders closes his Eyes, his Tongue practically hanging out of his wet Mouth.

“May I see?” asks Rickard. “If I am going to pretend to be you, I have to be convincing.”

Anders nods furiously.

Rickard pulls down Anders Shorts and Underwear, stretching them out and letting them fall. Anders Cock sticks out, bending upward. It is hilariously large on his attenuated, pasty Body. It glistens, pink and imposing, the size of Rickard’s own Forearm. It is as if Anders’ Cock is a ravenous Tumor that has been starving him of Nutrients. It has mushroomed in the Darkness, flourishing superabundantly in Secret.

“Jesus Christ,” says Rickard.

“I want to know what Mrs. Strasser would say if you pretended to be me,” says Anders. “I want to know if she’d like it or not. I think maybe it would help me with my Shyness.”

Rickard can’t stop staring at Ander’s massive Cock. How is Anders still conscious? It must take a few Pints of Blood to keep the thing stiff. Surely he must at least be woozy. Rickard gets down on one Knee, lifting up Anders’ Shirt to his Bellybutton. Anders’ balls have straggly, wispy Hairs. He subvocalizes the Commands and his Spider behind him starts snapping Pictures.

“You are going to make some Lady very happy some Day,” says Rickard. “Pornomovies, huh?”

“Will you do it, Mr. Strasser?”

Rickard gets to his feet.

“Alright, Kid, I’ll pretend to be you. No Promises that it’ll go how you want. We’ll see what happens.”

He points at the Closetdoor.

“When we’re done,” says Rickard. “Let him out of there and put him in his Bed.”

Anders nods. Rickard leaves the Room. As soon as he starts walking down the Stairs, the Enormity of what Anders has proposed hits him. The Kaltkor burns up most of his moral Reservations, but there are still some logistical Difficulties.

Agneth slumps down in the Bed and covers herself when he returns. When she sees that it is just him, she gets excited again and starts crawling toward him on all Fours across the Bed. She has put her Hair in Pigtails while she has been waiting.

“It was Nothing,” says Rickard. “Derix was having one of his little Episodes. I took care of it.”

“Thank you,” says Agneth. “It’s been a stressful Day for everyone.”

“Do you want to know something funny?” says Rickard, sliding back into Bed and kissing his Wife behind the ear, gently caressing her Throat with one Hand.

“What?” says Agenth.

“Get down on the fucking Floor, Pigbitch, and I’ll tell you,” says Rickard. “Piggies aren’t allowed in Bed.”

Agneth plops down by his Feet. He takes off his Robe and she begins slowly stroking his Cock.

“What happened to the Pignose I bought for you, Piggy?”

“The String broke,” she says. “Last Time.”

“You look best with your Pignose on and your Mouth bright red like a Clown,” he says.

“We’ll have to order another one,” she says.

“Make a Pignose with your Fingers, then,” he says.

She smooshes her Nose with two Fingers, looking at him lovingly. Squatting on her Haunches, she becomes a pile of Tits and Ass with a beautiful Face melting on Top, her clear blue Eyes glistening above her manually upturned Snout.

“Here’s something funny,” says Rickard. “When I went up there, that Anders Kid had a giant Boner. He was trying to hide it from me, but I could still see it.”

“Teenageboys,” says Agneth nervously.

“Suck my Cock, Pig, and don’t try to talk. Piggies don’t have a Human Voicebox. Anders is an Adult. He can vote. He can pay Taxes.”

Agneth does as she is told, licking his Balls and awkwardly fitting his Cock fully into her Mouth, still lifting her Nose. She makes a Mess on the Floor with her Slobber.

“They must have been watching Porn or something,” says Rickard. “But when I say giant Boner, I mean I could see it lifting up his Shorts. His Dick is as big as my Arm. That wispy Punk is 100% Dick.”

“Oh yeah?” says Agneth, sucking harder. Rickard can tell she is getting excited. He looks around for the Toydrone. He sees a gleam under the Nightstand and he smiles at it.

“It was so big that I bet you couldn’t even fit it in your Ass. It’s a real Pussydick. Not your garden variety Assdick, like you might expect from someone of his Age. I’ll be honest: I have an Assdick myself. But not him. You are such a Piggyslut that I bet you would come as soon as he rammed it into you.”

“I’ve seen it before,” admits Agneth. Her Chin is covered with Spittle. Her Tits and Belly glisten with her own dripping Saliva.

“Oh yeah?” he says, rubbing Spit into her Face and then pinching one of her Tits so hard she begs him to stop.

“Where?” he says.

“He’s over here all the time,” says Agneth. “He’s always getting aroused around me. I think he wants me to see it. It’s hard to fucking miss.”

“Oh yeah?” says Rickard. “Do you think he knows how much you like big nerdy Pussycock in your hungry Piggysnatch?”

“I saw him jacking off in the Upstairsbathroom once,” said Agneth. “The Door was cracked. I don’t know if he knows I was looking or not. I watched him until he was finished and then I went Downstairs and vibed myself off. What do you think about that?”

Rickard lifts her up and tosses her onto the Bed. She moans beneath him, writhing. He flips her around so that she is facing the Dresser where the Toydrone hides. She lifts up her Nose for him again, oinks oinks oinks, and he slips his Cock into her. She is so wet that he slides out almost immediately. He has to push her down further so he can get a better Angle. He fucks her hard and fast, short sharp little Strokes that pop her up off the Bed and make her squeal. He holds onto her Tits for dear life. He can feel himself about to come. He tries to slow down.

“You want that Twerp’s Animalcock inside you?” says Rickard. “He’s half your Size.”

“He’s half my Age,” says Agneth.

He grinds her Head into the Pillow, grinning now at the Toydrone under the Dresser. His own Spider climbs on top of Agneth’s purple Pandababy. The Panda lazily licks its Paw while his Spider snaps Pictures and takes Video.

“That Kid would absolutely fuck you if you asked,” he says. “A Friend for Derix and a Friend for you. If he knew what a slutty hungry Pig you are, he’d have done it already.”

“He’s got plenty of Opportunity,” says Agneth.

Now Rickard can’t stop himself. He comes, groaning, his whole Body and Soul ripping out through the hard Nugget of his Prostate. His Asscheeks shudder as he squeezes the burning Contents of his throbbing Balls into his screaming Wife.

They breathe together for awhile, saying nothing.

They lay Side by Side. Agneth tucks herself under his hairy Arm and makes soft little happy Noises. He can tell she is still tense. He can tell she hopes he is not done. Rickard rolls over, looking over at the Door to their room, half-expecting another Knock.

He gets up and walks over to the Dresser. Opens one of the Drawers.

“What’s that?” she asks. “What are you getting?”

He grins at her as he straps on an old Wristwatch from his Army Days. It is heavy. Stainless Steel.

“Mrs. Strasser, I know things have not been easy for you on Account of your Life’s travails,” he says in his nerdiest Anders voice. “But do you mind if I eat your Pussy in order to show that I understand?”

She spreads her Legs for him.

He buries his Face between her Legs. He plays with one of her Tits as he works, using the Hand with the Wristwatch on it to squeeze her nipples in rhythm. She grabs the Wristwatch as she contorts in Pleasure.

“Thank you for your Empathy, Anders,” she says. “Now take your Time. Don’t rush.”

Rickard speeds up, putting Pressure on her Clit with his Bottomlip, squeezing it, flicking it with his Tongue, burying his Face in the Meat of her.

She fondles the big Wristwatch lovingly, pressing the cold Steel between her sybaritic, tax-and-spend Breasts as she grips his Head tighter with her soft Knees. It isn’t long before she arches her Spine and screams, nearly breaking the Wristwatchband (“I’m coming!”) as she pulses in his Mouth, once, twice, ten Times, yanking on the Wristwatch over and over again like the cord of a Trainwhistle, grinding herself into his wet Chin and hungry Lips.