All of us ended up waking up at about the same time, and went about trying to disentangle ourselves from one another. Unlike the night before, when everyone had been horny and out of their minds with lust, the morning was a much more sober affair–no one wanted to look anyone else in the eye, and Mikey couldn’t even glance at me, he just sat on the floor, head in his hands, mumbling something to himself. I wanted to tell him it was going to be alright, that we would get past it, but how could I tell him something like that? Decades of sobriety down the drain, just like that. I’d just fucked my own grandson–how in the hell could I ever get him to trust me again? How could I ever trust myself around him again? I didn’t know what to do, but I accepted a hand from the twin’s father, who helped me up, patted me on the shoulder, and he said “Welcome to the family, I’m sorry to say…” And then he walked into the bathroom, lighting a cigar along the way, and I heard him talking to himself cursing, and then he let off a thunderous belch, followed by a wet fart. “Hot damn, I’d been hoping that shit wasn’t gonna get any worse, fuck…”
The twins were next to each other, and I wasn’t sure whether it was the daylight, or just the fact that I’d never gotten a good look at them before, but the two of them seemed different than before. Bigger, more muscular, hairier. They didn’t look much like their father, now that I had light and time to notice. They lit cigarettes, and shared a few smoky kisses, but it wasn’t…lust. They just seemed to be searching for some small comfort with one another. All I knew was that I had to get out of there. The smoke was stifling, the air heavy. I went over and grabbed Mikey by the arm, and told him we needed to go home.
He told me he couldn’t. I asked why, and he said that he was home. Thinking back, what he actually said was, “We’re home,” but I didn’t notice, I wasn’t listening. All I could think of doing was regaining control. He kept insisting he stay, that he shouldn’t leave anymore, that he deserved this, that if he left it would just get worse. I hauled him up–he was heavier, and I was exhausted, but he didn’t fight me as I forced him back into his clothes, dragged him out of the trailer and into the sun. It felt so good, in the light, but it also…hurt somehow. We got in the truck, and he was sobbing at this point, muttering how sorry he was over and over. My hands were shaking; I needed a drink something fierce. I drove off, pulling into a gas station where I bought a bottle of liquor, and it was only when I got in my truck again that I realized how natural that had felt, how instinctual, and I resolved to pour the bottle out once we got home.
Mikey had gone quiet, but he was still crying. I told him everything was going to be ok, and he shouted back, “Everything is not ok! Don’t you know what happened last night? Why couldn’t you have just left me alone? Why the fuck did you have to show up? I…I didn’t want that, I can’t believe what I did…”
I tried to tell him it was me, but he stopped responding. I drove home, and the both of us went into my trailer. I went to pour the bottle out in the sink, only to discover a third of it was missing. I could…taste alcohol in my mouth, on my breath…and something else too. I looked down, and found a thick cigar smoldering between my fingers. Mikey was sitting in a chair, head in one hand, cigarette in the other. The bottle was at my lips again–I realized I had been drinking and smoking ever since I left the gas station, and I hadn’t even noticed it. I recoiled from the bottle, and left the cigar on the counter–Mikey saw my terror, and shook his head. He told me I couldn’t fight it. That it had me now, that there wasn’t anything any of us could do. He wasn’t crying anymore, but I could feel the weight dragging him down, dragging us both down, and at that moment…all I wanted was for him to be happy, was…was for him to feel good again, like before.
I hadn’t actually managed to put down either the cigar, or the bottle. I walked over, got down, and we kissed again, sharing smoke and booze until the bottle was empty. Over and over I told myself that this was wrong, that I shouldn’t be doing this, not with a man, not with my grandson. He started begging me to fuck him, telling me he was a slutty pig, that his hole was aching for a big cock like mine. I…I was so hard. The room was filled with smoke, it was like a dream. I slipped into him again, and I felt so alive, so heavy, so filthy, so…good. It was so good, being inside him again, I never wanted to be anywhere else. Words were pouring out of my mouth, words I never could have imagined saying in a million years, telling him what a naughty boy he was, how he was going to have to learn to keep grandpa happy from now on with both his holes, whenever I wanted it. I licked his sweaty body, he tasted so…so young and sweet. I filled him up over and over again, every shot just made me want to fuck more. It was evening before we finally managed to take a break for food. I wasn’t really hungry, but we needed to eat, I thought. While we snacked, I looked at myself in the mirror, at my sagging gut, my suddenly all white beard, my bloodshot eyes and red nose. I hadn’t looked like that before, but it also seemed…right.
The food tasted rotten, even though it wasn’t, and we didn’t eat much. The hunger was still there, the darkness clawing at my guts. Mikey told me we should go back, that we’d been away too long. He was pale and shivering, sweating. I knew he was right. We got back in the truck and drove back to Dale and Rick’s, with a quick stop for more booze and smokes. We got there, and Dale opened the door. He told us to make ourselves at home, and we haven’t left since.
Bracken's Corner 