Turner Hanes sat silent under the fronds of a fern as he watched the group of men climb back into their cars. The sun setting over the hill behind him, he remained hidden as unnecessary revving accompanied the starting of engines, and headlights were turned on before the three vehicles slowly departed the parking area. When the sound of the convoy was lost to him and the daylight began to fail, Turner crept from the security of the hide and walked down into the campground proper to investigate what remained from the gathering.
*
Laney Hanes sifted through the box of documents both legal and sentimental until she found the newspaper article. Dated twelve years earlier, she focused first upon the accompanying photograph, unconsciously stroking her finger across the cheek of her then seven-year-old son as he stood proudly at her hip.
'Going it Alone, Together' the article read. 'Recently widowed, Californian woman Laney Hanes (36) says goodbye to the day-to-day as she begins her new life of self-sufficiency.'
When last she'd looked at the newspaper article she couldn't remember. Years before most likely and memories of those early days came flooding back. The excitement; the hardships; the triumphs of living independently off the grid. Funnily enough, despite the idea being her late husband's, with some enthusiasm on her behalf, it was Turner that had taken to the life with fervor. Home-schooled, he'd grown from an admittedly awkward boy into a strong dependable man, the spitting image of his father whom he'd unfortunately lost at so tender an age.
But it was then, as she searched the uncertain eyes of her boy looking back from the yellowing, faded newspaper, she knew the decision that had to be made.
*
Turner frowned at the empty beer bottles littering the area, questioning how the men hadn't seen the multiple trash cans in the immediate vicinity of the picnic tables. But his focus was quickly diverted by a brightly colored magazine sitting upon a bench exactly where the men had gathered, straight away realizing its unique quality.
Glossy, and with the title 'Guzzlers' in large lettering sitting above a photo of a woman barely clothed, Turner lifted the weighty edition into his hands and still frowning (only now with curiosity) thumbed open the pages. What greeted him took his breath, and immediately blushing, he looked up and around the vacated campsite to be sure he wasn't observed, just as quickly looking back.
"What is this!?" Turner flicked through the pages, resting on a double-page spread of a naked woman, several men around her with their penises out, hard, as his would often get. As 'it' began to get, as he examined her closer; even in the diminishing light her body coated with what Turner assumed was the men's sperm. Why are they doing it on her? He questioned as he eagerly turned the pages to see more. More women. All shapes and sizes. All naked. Some making love to other women, he noted, mystified, only realizing then how erect his penis had become and wishing he was back home in the security of his bedroom.
The thought broke the spell he'd been placed under by the magazine and appreciating how far from home he was, he folded shut the tome and tucked it flat down the front of his cargo pants, secured safely by his tightly pulled belt just as the disappearing sun indicated the late hour.
"Mom's gonna kill me!" He sighed as he headed back into the darkened forest.
*
To his surprise, Laney didn't even mention the time when Turner arrived back at the house. It wasn't unknown for him to be out exploring the woods until late evening but lately, Turner had noticed a difference in his mother, a moodiness that he expected would've been exacerbated by his overdue return and he'd feared the worst. So, when he entered and found her remarkably chipper, he was understandably confused, delaying his intrigue until he'd safely hidden the magazine in his room.
The smell of roast chicken filled the small cabin and understanding what that entailed, Turner rejoined his mother as she served up the meal in the kitchen.
"Who is it?" Turner looked at the well-cooked bird, the scent given off overriding any sentimentality he should've felt for the deceased animal.
"Lucy," Laney grimaced, expecting her son to be more upset by the culling of one of their pets.
"Ok," Turner nodded. "Well, she did peck at me once!" He smiled to indicate his appreciation for what his mother had done while he was away. For them to kill one of the hens for a meal was a rarity, their value far greater in the eggs they produced. That she had done the deed herself, and prepared the carcass for cooking, squeamish as she was, meant there was a reason for the elaborate meal and Turner didn't wait to find out why. "Soo, what's the occasion?" He questioned.
" 'Occasion'?" Laney frowned as she loaded Turner's plate with potatoes, carrots, and beans.
"Yeah, we usually only do this on birthdays and Christmas and stuff," he noted.
"Well, no occasion," Laney smiled. "Just wanted to cook something special for a change."
Turner, or more importantly, his stomach, was more than happy with her explanation, but he looked at her skeptically as they walked to the table with the plates. Already prepared for bed, possibly as she'd waited for him to get home, she wore a white oversized t-shirt and little more, the line of her underwear visible through the material across her buttocks, the curve of her breasts and pronounced nipples equally as obvious behind the thinning cotton. He immediately thought of some of the photos in the magazine and was relieved when he reached the table, hiding his growing erection from his mother's potential sight.
"Well..." Laney paused. "There is something I wanted to talk with you about."
"Ah, I knew it," Turner smiled, piling chicken breast into his mouth. The thought of this caused him to glance over at his mother's, her nipples rigid in response to the relative cool inside the cabin, domineering his vision. "What is it?"
