*All characters over 18.
---
Among the howls of the darkness were the faint creaks of furniture sliding millimeters and an occasional push against a wall or nightstand with a ghostly moan here or there. Looking at his feet parked up on the headboard, Jonas let go of his shaft, as Erik, the blond-haired lacrosse player in his third-year biotech class at college, ceased to drill his tight asshole, and dissipated towards the drafty window.
The imaginary sessions began with Erik scoring the final point in the conference-winning game, choosing to pass by the cheerleaders into the stands, kissing Jonas instead of his rumored eighteen-year-old girlfriend, kissing Jonas all over his neck, kissing Jonas on his lips in front of a hollering and clapping crowd that included Jonas' mother Lea next to him. The approval would be overwhelming, and it would cut into a fantasy that closely resembled the reality: a dark bedroom with a naked Jonas on his back on the sheets, legs up, resting against Erik's shoulders, as the athlete released the liquids of excess testosterone production in Jonas' rectal passage.
Jonas' own balls would empty onto Erik's abs, perhaps flying up to his chest or even his chin on the second or third pumps. Erik would then slide out, come down and lean cock-to-flacciding-cock as animal sex would return to romantic love, and they'd kiss, knowing that this ecstasy was going to be a permanent state of affairs. He felt his lover's fingers combing through his brown hair.
Jonas laid on his bed, his legs still raised, his anus sealed, the six inches softening to three. The creaks continued.
---
Cold blues came through the window above the sink. Lea stood over the sink with a robe that could've been described as being Japanese-reminiscent if not for it cutting off far above the knee.
"Did you hear any noises last night?" Jonas asked in German as he stared at the table mat on the glass surface.
"Like what?" Lea also replied in German, her unkempt wavy black hair constantly getting in her face. She'd resolved that getting Jonas fed and on his way to school was the key to a stress-lessening morning.
"Like, furniture moving, and stuff."
"Oh it was super-windy last night. Probably things out in the shed getting kicked about. Did you leave your window open last night?"
"Yes."
"There you go. But good. The air keeps your lungs fresh as you're sleeping, and I'm going to pick you up a dehumidifier today. We've put that off long enough. When you come back on Monday, you'll have a nice machine in the corner, and then no more noises to wake you up!"
"Okay."
"Is your Dad picking you up today, or Sonja?"
"Sonja."
"Oh, good. Good. Send my love to her. It's been some time since we talked."
"Okay."
Two plates of eggs, roasted potatoes, and toast were placed on the mats. Lea turned off the stove light and fan, and trotted barefoot to her seat, crossing her legs. Jonas couldn't help but glance through the glass of the tabletop.
Her puffy thighs, muscular calves, clean-shaven legs to her meaty hoofs with clean toenails dancing up and down. She was young enough, 38, with a perfectly average body accented by a little bit of thickness everywhere. She once picked up Jonas at school in a red dress that cut off even shorter than her robe, and hugged Jonas' childhood friends who she hadn't seen in years.
Weeks later, during the lunchtable topic of which celebrity you were whacking it to, Werner said he was imagining blowing his load on Jonas' moms healthy tits after graphically describing how they'd been bouncing like basketballs as she rode him.
Jonas didn't say anything. He didn't like confrontation, nor seemed to have gotten offended easily. And when Werner later asked in the hallway if he could begin coming over again, Jonas said yes.
"Long day ahead. Have to clean up Lora's office. She's done with the Hannelore innocence case, you know? Papers all over the floor, in stacks, all over the place, mixed with other cases. Then Franz has a presentation at three, talking about the 2001 outlook, costcutting--" Jonas had met Franz. He was a large man, also blond, with too perfect a grin, and a reputation for wandering hands. It was an audible fight between his mother and father, when terms like "sexual assault" and "convicted rapist" and "he's changed" were thrown around not long before the divorce. Jonas was too young to process any of it.
After breakfast, Lea dressed, and dropped Jonas off in the middle of the parking lot, as he requested.
---
Three came, as did a parade of vehicles through the tightening parking lot. By four, it had cleared, and finally an orange Nissan with Dad and Sonja waltzed its way in front of the 10 Km/h sign.
"How's it, Jo?" Dad turned and asked in German from the front.
"Okay."
"Good, good. Listen pal, we got called to Anderlitz this weekend." Jonas had heard about "Anderlitz" before, but didn't know what it was beyond the name of a resort town. He assumed it was a video production convention, which was the business all three of his parents were in. He didn't really know what "video production" was either. "So I'm gonna drop you off at your mom's. Sure she'll be happy to have you for the weekend."
"Well, can't I come?"
"Oh," Sonja squeaked in. Several years younger than Lea, Jonas' stepmom had bony facial features and sunken cheeks as well.
"I don't think so, mate. It's only the one bedroom this year."
"Oh, let him. He's got to--"
"We've been discussing it all week." Jakob's hand slid around the headrest into Sonja's golden hair. "But I think you're too young yet. Next year."
"Okay."
Jakob turned back towards the steering wheel and the three drove off.
--
Jonas was dropped off near the rural mailbox.
"Okay, son?"
"Okay."
He opened the lid and took out the flyers of the pizza shop in the nearest plaza eighteen minutes away. The rocks of the long road that led into the driveway were becoming more sparse than they used to be. He kicked a rare big one into the rain canal, despite being reprimanded about it before.
The house in Gutzberg, slightly out in the rural reaches of Nuremberg, was in sight. It was made of painted red wood and had a outside stairwell that went to the second-floor balcony which served his mother's bedroom.
It was a full minute down the driveway. He'd always walk looking down. His pitter-patter steps on the dirt muted on the patch of grass, and then he'd know to look up, because he'd be home.
The descending sun was halfway below the roof. He froze and tugged on the straps of his backpack when he saw his mother's face pressed against the balcony window, her cheek and the disc-like areolas of her breasts flattening against the panoramic glass. Her eyes were closed as her naked body convulsed against the pane. A figure larger than her was behind, hooking her arms behind her back, silently assaulting her as she was slightly bent over, her knees tapping the glass, begging. Her head was half-turned back. Jonas ran towards the front door.
"Uhhh, uhh, uhh, uhh." The flyer flew side-to-side to the unmopped kitchen floor, but he didn't take the backpack off. Her moans were faint.
