Sal’s Sons
[Pictured: Top left – Jack. Top Right – Sal. Bottom – Sal’s twin sons.]
“It’s odd, I didn’t even know he was moving out.”
“Well, sometimes people just need a change, right?” The older man who’d introduced himself as Sal, when Jack had approached down the hall. They were standing outside the apartment across from his, while Sal’s twin sons tromped up and down the stairs, hauling boxes and furniture, dressed in identical jean shorts and white wife beaters. Neither of them had said anything, and Sal hadn’t offered him their names. Every time they passed them, Jack couldn’t help but notice that they moved at a very careful tandem. Once, he saw one twin about to drop a box, and the twin walking in front of him swooped around and helped steady him. They could be acrobats, Jack thought idly, Well, they could be acrobats if they weren’t so fucking fat.
Sal was short and plump and his glasses seemed perpetually ready to slip from his too short nose. Jack towered over him awkwardly. No fan of small talk, Sal had him conversationally cornered into details about how long he’d spent looking for an apartment with enough room for him and his sons, how he worked from home while they went to college nearby. Jack eventually managed to slip away with the excuse that he had an early morning the next day, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He could already tell he would have to do his best to avoid running into Sal if he could help it.
Over the next few weeks, however, their encounters seemed predestined. Either coming home from work or the gym, or when he was leaving with a date for the movies, he would invariably run into Sal outside the apartment or on the stairs, and the old man would forcibly engage him in conversation. It was so boring that Jack rarely remembered what the man was saying for long afterwards, but he managed to speak rapidly enough that Jack’s chances to slip away without insulting the man were few and far between. Before long, Jack would just say hi and keep walking, Sal sometimes pursuing him with his thoughts on the dinner his sons had cooked the night before, and other times just shout at him as he walked away about how he was disappointed that the apartment pool was going to be out of service until mid-summer.
Sal never seemed perturbed by this disinterest, and Jack assumed he was lonely. Three weeks later, he realized he still had no idea what the twins’ names were. He hadn’t even seen them nearly as often as Sal, and he assumed they spent much of their time at the college and away from their dad–he couldn’t blame them really, the guy was a bore even if he meant well. The worst encounter came one day when, somehow, Jack locked himself out of his apartment without his keys or his cell phone. Luckily, Sal was home to call a locksmith, but unluckily, he had to spend an hour waiting for the man to arrive in Sal’s apartment.
That something strange was going on between Sal and his son’s was dreadfully obvious, or rather, that there seemed to be something very strange going on between his sons. The twins never spoke, and Sal rarely acknowledged their existence, even as they bustled about, serving them coffee and some leftover cake. The twins moved fluidly, finishing each other’s actions, stopping and starting in perfect symmetry. Sal treated all of this as perfectly normal, and the few times Jack, attempted to engage them in the conversation, Sal interjected. “They’re very shy and don’t like speaking if they can help it, but I can answer that for you…” The locksmith finally arrived and Jack resolved to never go over there again if he could help it.
After that, jack was caught up in a wave of problems that drove any concern about Sal and his son’s to the side. Missing clothing. Items found in places where he would have never put them. He asked the landlord to change the locks on his apartment, afraid that someone had gotten his keys and copied them somehow, but without any real evidence, the lazy owners did nothing. Even if Jack was uninterested in him, Sal was omnipresent, talking at him every day in the hallways and stairwells. Laundry day was the worst, when Sal would corner him in the building’s basement for the entirely of both cycles. It was on one such day that Jack, trying to be polite, accidentally accepted an offer for an afternoon snack in Sal’s apartment. It was another awkward hour with the mysterious twins serving them coffee too sweet and creamy, and he idly wondered how Sal could speak at such a clip for so long about everything so trite. He finally escaped, returned to his apartment, and two hours later was shivering with a fever of one hundred and five, his stomach vomited empty.
Unable to sleep because of his body burning from the inside, he could only manage intermittent dreams of varying lucidity. He thought, once or twice, of calling work but the thought of first finding and then using his phone filled him with such nausea he abandoned the idea. He hallucinated that he wasn’t alone, that he was surrounded by strange beings pinning him down, ripping away his covers and examining him. Aliens? Spirits? He entered a period of weightlessness, a sensation that he was hovering through the air on a pillar of wind, a cloud, a couch. He became aware of voices in his head, or perhaps one voice and an immediate echo. The burning subsided into a perpetual, full body ache stuttered with spasms and cramps. He screamed, not as often as before. He was aware that they sounded only in his head, or perhaps he simply couldn’t hear his own voice any longer.
He woke to the sunshine on his body and it didn’t burn. He was human again, but not unchanged. He felt heavier, weaker. The voices that had been dampened by sickness hadn’t disappeared but had only gained clarity. His mind felt thick and undone. The voices told him to get up from the bed. He didn’t believe that he had the strength, and found himself caught between the echoing voices and his failure of a body. He spent hours rising, first rolling to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs over (such heavy, thick legs) and pushing himself up to sitting. It felt like there was no room in his head for any thoughts of his own. Looking up, he saw a mirrored closet door, and the sight of himself–fat, short, hairy, the spitting image of one of Sal’s sons, could not raise any reaction in him because he had no room to consider it in comparison to anything else. He was no longer certain he’d ever looked different. He was no longer sure what different might mean. He had to stand up. He had to stand up and go out into the living room.
His body was recovering, but his mind continued to dissolve. His past and history was melting down and the voices reclaimed their space. He finally stood on shaky legs, adjusting naturally to the heavy gut in front of him, and slid his his feet out of the bedroom and down the hall of Sal’s apartment, father’s apartment, his apartment, to where his two brothers sat on the couch. Having fulfilled his task, his mind went quiet, allowing Jack a moment to surge back, far weaker than he should have been, he’d lost so much of himself already.
His words, he had no words for anything any longer. Before he could even mutter, the voices commanded him to never speak or else father will punish us, and his lips sealed themselves forever. Father is out, he learned. Father wants us to train today, and tonight we must be ready. His brothers began masturbating each other on the sofa, and the pleasure surged into Jack’s mind, overwhelming him once more. His own cock was as hard as theirs, and he stroked it in rhythm for a few minutes until his brother’s stood up and approached him. In a circle, they jerked each other off, their pleasures uniting as one for the sake of their father, and Jack receded further until he merged entirely into the triplet mind.
That evening, Sal returned to find his three sons patiently waiting for his return. As one, they undressed him, and he led them into his bedroom. They served him for hours, each taking their turn nursing at their father’s small cock, abusing and degrading themselves and each other for his amusement, their biological nature able to anticipate their sire’s needs and desires before he could even voice them. The youngest of them was, by now, indistinguishable from the other two in both body and mind. After his final climax, one son’s tongue buried deep in his father’s ass, while Sal sucked another’s cock and the third sucked his father, they disentangled.
“Time for dinner boys,” Sal said, “And while you’re cooking, I’ll start looking for another genetic match. I’ve always wanted to have quadruplets.”
Bracken's Corner 