A Breed Apart

He woke up, clutching a pisshorn, to pings from his phone. Rubbing his glans against the coarseness of endsheet, he scrolled mentally through his go-to bitches in slideshow - Adrienne Grassick, the Sociology tutor; Galina, the Russian milf from Insomnia; Sue, his mum's golf and drinking buddy...Someday, they would notice him. He

would

fucking make them take him seriously...

He took his phone from beneath the pillow and found an aggregator site.

Mature rough...8406 results...

You want to get fucked like that Adrienne? You want a fucking toxic man? I'll choke you the fuck out on it, make you lick my hole. You never fucking came like that, did you Sue, you smug cunt...

What the fuck...?

Cheating Wife Suck Like Pro...

Three minutes and forty-six seconds...POV of a heavy, short haired brunette, her face blurred, working a massive cock...A scar between her thumb and forefinger that he'd known his whole life...

Mum...? What the FUCK...?

*

They came back lit from golf with Ryan and Sue in tow. He listened at the door of his room to their inane and clamourous gaiety. The blender growled as Dad fixed cocktails. Mum put on some of that Latino jazz shit she was into...

How can she sit there and laugh? Laugh with that mouth...? How many guys have watched her sucking dick in a hotel room like some tweaker whore? My mum is a whore...My dad is married to a whore...Everything I took for granted is a lie...

He watched the clip again.

Like Pro...

Downstairs, she was slagging Ryan about mid-life crises, the snark in her mid-Atlantic tones counterpoint to the on-screen fall and rise of her head.

Who the fuck is he? I'll fucking kill him...Where did she learn to do it like that? Another accomplishment...Fuck's sake, how long is her tongue...?

She sucked up the drool that dripped from the balls. Looking straight at him, through the smear of mask...The meat of her thumb teasing the pisshole, a hand cradling the back of her head in ominous solicitude...

'...and this from a man who thought perimenopause was a drag act?'

They all laughed.

Her lipstick smeared blood upon the shaft of the cock...

There had to be a longer version somewhere. He went below the line in search of a link but found only dyslexic bots and perverts extolling her artistry.

Her mouth slipping down from his balls to his arsehole...

He let it come. He had no other choice. He failed to trap it, felt the hot muck ooze into the fabric of his crotch, striving in vain after antitoxic visions of Adrienne, Galina and Sue. All of it had been

her

all along. It was kind of a relief to admit it.

Cum warm down his leg as he e-mailed the link to her. Sent without a text or a subject in the body...

*

She didn't flinch. It wasn't her style. She wasn't off with him at dinner nor when she drove him to the bus stop the following morning. She was dressed for the office, a blue trouser suit, a winedark blouse. Her nails, newly done on Saturday, caught the sun upon the wheel.

'I put the Leap money into your Paypal...So handy that app. What lectures have you?'

'Double Irish History.'

'Where are ye at?'

'Eighteenth Century. Legislative independence.'

'Sounds dry.'

'It is a bit...'

She rejected a call on the hands-free.

Private number. He'd

want to see her after a weekend apart. Northbound on the M50, hard as a brick at the thought of her...

'I got the thing you sent me.' She drank from her Bodum. 'Why would you send me something like that, Rob?'

'Who is he?'

'It's not how we reared you.'

'Mum, stop it...'

'Some kind of creep...'

'STOP...'

'Don't raise your voice...Are you proud of yourself? What are you now, a boy detective?'

'I mean it, I'll send it to Dad right now...'

'Oh for f...Who do you think was filming...? You mean, you thought...' She laughed, looking cock-eyed at him. 'He promised me he wouldn't upload it but he couldn't stop himself sharing it with someone who did. Male menopause...You have it all ahead of you...Go on then, send it...You really want to have this talk, with

him?'

'You're lying...'

'Rob - put your phone away - Rob, I'm truly sorry you had to see that.' She reached across for his hand. 'But there's nothing here to be ashamed of. We're all adults, including you. We should act accordingly...'

The smell of her was suddenly coercive. Hot perfume, garlic chives of ovulation...She had a way of negating every possible objection until one couldn't but concede to her.

'We need to talk about this.' She withdrew her hand to indicate as they approached the bus stop. 'Are you free for lunch? How about The Crayville at one? Text me...'

Cotton mouthed, blue balled, he watched her drive away.

What the fuck just happened? Is she serious? I mean, fucking

lunch...?

*

The lobby of The Crayville was dim, baleful. Suited up bitches and bastards looked through him from above the rims of outsize coffee cups. Nor did he miss the shade emanating from the Brazilian pit viper on reception...

She'd been talking to a couple as he came in, a grey-haired bloke he recognized from golf and a much younger blonde. They'd all watched him as he'd passed...

'Murty Garrigan over there.' She kissed him on the cheek; parked herself with no little bustle. 'Small world. Do you know Lou?'

'Who?'

'No? His daughter. He took her on at the firm. Fierce bright girl altogether. Did you see what soup is on?'

'I'm not hungry.'

'Suit yourself...'

She glossed her lips and ordered a wrap and a red tea. They contemplated their phones in leaden silence.

'Well...' She smiled. 'How are you?'

'How do you think?'

'Silly question. This is awkward for me too, you know.'

'I'd say it is.'

'You have to talk to me, Rob. Less of the sauce.'

'Why meet

here?

Is this where you made it?'

She put down her phone. Its screen caught the light, dazzled him...

'Two years ago. You were in Magaluf after the Leaving. Bloody hot that summer, remember? Dad and me...Well, we weren't in a good place?'

'When are you ever?'

'What did I tell you?'

She pouted, full Alecto. 'We're having a conversation, like adults...But you

were

right about... I lied...I'm sorry.'

'I

knew

it wasn't him...I don't...I can't even look at you.'

'

He

did it first. And yes, I know that doesn't make it okay...'

'Why should I believe a fucking word you say now?'

'Rob, don't curse...I want to come clean with you. I want us to thrash this thing out.'

'Who is he?'

'It doesn't matter...It matters that you understand why...I love your Daddy, I always have. I've never wanted to be with anyone else. But when he...He hid it well but not well enough...I just

knew,

I knew by him...

She

was the same age as you are now, you know? You can't imagine how that made me feel...A beautiful boy like you will never know what that feels like...'

They flushed simultaneously. Lou Garrigan laughed at something her father said to her. He flashed upon her on her knees, Murty fucking like a boss from behind...

'And so I found my own beautiful boy...I was so hurt lovey, so scared of indifference...I just wanted to see that

thing

in a good man's eyes when he looks at you, you know?...To feel that closeness, that significance...Weaponise it, punish Daddy. He would notice me. Take me seriously...'

He lay his phone next to hers on the table, the blowjob video playing on mute. She turned it face down before anyone could see.

'Why won't you look at it, Mum?'

'You've been looking at it...' It seemed to strike her as novel. 'How many times, Rob?'

'What difference does it make?'

'How does it make you feel? Be honest...'

'You really have to ask me that?'

'I need to hear you say it...' She put her hand over his as he went to pick up his phone. 'Tell Mummy...'

'I...I don't want to think of you that way...I pretend it's someone else...Then I see this...' He touched her scar. 'I delete it but I retrieve it...Delete it and retrieve it...I hate that I keep doing it...'

'Do you hate me?'

Her eyes were swollen black in anticipation. He squeezed her hand until she gasped.

'I want to...I tell myself that I do...It's easier than...Because I can't stop...It's all I can think about...'

'Oh Rob...Oh my poor baby...I never meant...I don't want you to be upset...Not my beautiful boy...Tell me...Tell Mummy what she can do to make it better...'

'I'm sick...I'm evil...'

'

No you're not

...Don't say that...Rob, look at me, you have

nothing

to feel bad about, do you hear me? You've done nothing wrong...It's normal what you're...Baby, it's perfectly natural...'

'Natural...?'

'Yes, natural...Mummy loves you and you love her, don't you? Hmm...? And Mummy's seen you looking...She's noticed her panties and tights going missing from the washbasket...She's heard your bed creaking at night, washed your sheets...Smelled that

smell...

You can't hide the truth from Mummy...Mummy knows...Mummy knows what her baby boy wants...'

She slid a keycard across the table.

'Room 202...It's the same room imagine, isn't that odd? You go up first. I have to make a call...'

*

He looked out at the traffic on the dual carriageway below, thinking,

There's still time...If I go now, I can still make the Sociology tutorial...

He thought about Adrienne Grassick, her hippy scarves and thigh boots, her smudging tattoos and buzzcut blonde hair, but he couldn't picture her face. She had another's face now. Another voice, saying,

According to Durkheim's, frankly, REDUCTIVE, and phalloCENTRIC binary, primitive woman has a dual nature, both sacred and profane...Sacred in her capacity to bear children and perpetuate the bloodline of the clan; yet profane in her spilling of said sacred blood via menstruation...

'You look a picture standing there...'

He hadn't heard her come in. Her back was against the door, her hands behind her as if cuffed. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, restless, undulant as troubled waters.

'Come here...'

He shook his head even as he was drifting towards her, thinking to himself,

There's still time...There's still time...

Even as he was enveloped in the heat-haze of personal space, inches from her mouth...

Whore...

He had barely said the word before her thumb was on his bottom lip.

So soft...You have your Nana's mouth...You're none of him, baby...All mine...

Her breath at his ear was dead heat, prelude to monsoon. She moved snake-like against him, gentle, insistent, sighing as her thigh found the hardness at his crotch.

Mummy used to touch herself, thinking how she'd be your first...Oh baby, I've done such bad things...

He took her by the throat, the archness in her distress enraging him.

Outwitted...It's just how she wants it...

He grabbed her between the legs, watching the madness blooming in her eyes. If he was sick and evil, what was she? What generations of depravity were their pedigree...?

Her hand felt for his cock, applying an equivalent pressure to that upon her throat.

Don't come...Don't let her down...Not again...Not ever again...

Her lips brushed his, prospecting for a taste of his resolve.

Oh, look at you baby...

Her breath vinegar, spoiled meat.

Look at my baby boy...

He fell upon her mouth, his spit-drenched novice's frenzy contained by a veteran's guile. She was

smiling...

It was somehow more obscene than her fat, extended tongue, the gratified catching in the pit of her throat.

Are you too big a boy now to kiss Mummy in front of your friends...?

Her wet lips at his cheek used to disgust him. The wound was deeper than she'd let on...

I hurt you...

Yes...

You wanted me to...

You could be such a cold boy...You could be so hateful...

She lay her palms flat against his chest; teased a nipple through his t-shirt.

You're burning up... It's okay lovey, look at me...We can stop if you don't want to...Tell me if you want to...

Her face looked soiled, greasy in the poor light. He took it in both hands, gratified by the uncertainty creasing her forehead, his cock pulsing as he ran his thumbs across her sticky lips.

And the brute ye reared...

He covered her mouth with his hand.

Where did ye go wrong...?

He opened her blouse with his free hand, surprised by an untypical dexterity, revealing a grubby mauve bra that spilled overhanging flesh. She was wearing, whether in endearment or insult, the gold chain he'd got her one Christmas, glinting in the twilight. Her breasts were slack, weatherbeaten, corroded with stretch marks like limestone under acid rain. He pulled one free of its cup, twisting the shattered nipple with spit-dripping fingers.

You did that to me...I never knew if you were fed or not...You were such a savage pup...I loved your mouth, your hunger...We were this perfect thing, sweetheart, this unity, this necessity...Life itself...

He fell to his knees, running his mouth down her stomach to the scar beneath her navel. She touched his scalp, delicate as in that first touch to his quaking fontanelle.

Did I get you off...? Get you as wet...?

How do I taste...? You'll tell me...

She'd soaked through her thong. Thick, dark fur within, shot with grey, a rewilding that he knew was for his benefit alone, familiar of the beast she'd divined in him, her own emanation...He pulled aside the slimy facing, sensing the unease of ultimate defiance, a hesitancy to drop the final veil. They'd told her it was shameful. He'd wondered at her falling for it...

Spread it...

And you...

You giving orders...

...like a good boy...

She seemed more taken by his lack of underwear. Her ring finger sat awkwardly upon her clit.

Pace yourself...The state you made of me, look...

He watched her hands, the sureness that had dressed his childhood wounds. He moved his face closer to them...

Is it like you thought...? I listened to you that night, you and that German girl...I listened to you fuck...

He felt himself too close, checked himself.

Pace yourself...

She always knew what to say. She knew him so well...

And you listened...You listened to Mummy...I wanted you to hear us, baby...It got me off...It's so bad, I'm so bad...

The shifting pitch of her breathing was supplemented obscenely with maternal pride...Blind with the honey of her, he bit through fur towards meat and blood; persevered in spite of the flayed raw tendons of his mandible and tongue. She kept her fingers there, working with him, advisory of the marks to be hit. Altogether indulgent of the fuck movie stylings of a tyro's game...

I heard you fuck her, Bobby...I heard you make her come...

He watched her body imprint upon the door, fade-out as she arched away in spasm. He failed to contain her, black hole density bearing down upon him as they hit the floor. He let himself suffocate in the bodylock of her vitality, awestruck as captured prey. She was bigger than him in every sense. She might have smothered him upon a whim at any stage...

Show Mummy how you fucked her...? Stay like that...Stay...

Climax frittering out, she shimmied back blindly, infallibly, carpet already burning his thighs as she worked him in. He grappled with her arse, spiralling out of his depth, but her kiss reassured him.

We're Roughans, sweetheart...

She'd said it to him on his Confirmation day...

We're a breed apart...

Hips posting to the trot like she'd learned as a girl, her face a study in the uses of discomfort. Even the sting could be transmuted to gold. He knew he couldn't last although her eyes told him otherwise.

You said you wouldn't disappoint me again...

She was hardened against pleas for forgiveness, impassive save for the occasional wiping of meal from his mouth. It would be nothing she hadn't heard before...

She locked her fingers amongst his, an adjunct of her whole body's grasping. He inhaled the salt and paste of her jaw, stung by her withholding of her mouth.

Wait...I know you can...Slow...Oh it's so...

He couldn't see beyond her. She was everywhere, everything, the seam of reality straining against the burgeoning of her pleasure. He had no choice but to be invested, to feel her quivering make his bones hum; to lend his urgency to the cause of a greater good...They regained their former unity, made bittersweet by its transience and imminent loss...

I'm going to lose her...

The bodyshot nearly threw him off his stride but he rode out the horror of it, redoubling his effort in a blood frenzy of denial. He held her, quick and warm, streaming childhood memories of her, palliatives of old glamour and terror, of drive and presence. He'd wanted for nothing. She'd never let him forget...

She picked up on the ghost note of his collapse; raised her hips, kneaded him out like marla...She slipped backwards, lay her cheek against his spastic flank, one hand gentle about his taint, a fascinated child watching a fly's struggle unto death. Her breath was as hot as the come that oozed and pooled upon his belly...No orgasm was without a supplement of shame but in her presence it was effaced, pure pleasure alone, the ruddiness of a weaned and favoured cub. He slipped into her mouth as if in a prophecy fulfilled...

Frame for frame.

The correspondence was spectral, even down to the configuration of her scar, the refracted, dazzling light of her diamonds. He wanted to break away in horror but it just kept happening...

It's not how we reared you...

And so I found my own beautiful boy...

It matters that you understand why...

He couldn't pass it up. He took up his pinging phone; cut short to camera...