Sex is a Trophy your Mother Won Twice by Roscoe Kandowski Jr.

Sex is a Trophy your Mother Won Twice

by Roscoe Kandowski Jr.

The first time it happened was an accident. She claims it wasn't. Said I did it on purpose. Well I didn't do it on purpose. I was just upstairs using the bathroom and the door to her room was open. I was sixteen, anybody would sneak a peak.

I saw you on your back, Deborah. No, I saw you on your ass with your legs over your shoulders and balls thumping your asshole like a drum. I turned away and then turned back. The guy was my friend Little John. We called him Little John the way you'd call a mean guy nice, because his dick was so big. He must have seen her staring at me so he turned his head and with a flip of the wrist gave me the thumbs up and went back at it. He was nineteen. He knew Frank most of his life. While we were in high school he was back on winter break from college. He went to Cornell, studied biology. I went to the bathroom like I needed to. Perhaps Frank didn't like this side of his mother, but I liked Frank. It wasn't cool to stare.

He lived in a small house with her. His father died not too long ago in a car accident and before that worked. The way Frank tells it, he was hardly ever home. He worked long hours to support a small house, but the story was different the way the other parents in the neighborhood told it. Story was he drank. Well that wasn't so unusual. Most of our parents drank, except for mine that is, because mine were born again. I wasn't sure if Frank was hip to his mother banging his friend. When I came downstairs I learned otherwise, and after thinking about it, it was pretty obvious. Frank's mother was a whore, and Little John fucked most of our mothers, their husbands dead or alive, except mine of course because, like I said, she was born again.

Frank said, "Did you see any of it?"

"What?"

"I said did you see anything. Ya know, juicy."

"Like what?"

"Like my mother's cunt."

"No, not really, I mean ..."

"It's okay man, I've had a whirl at her too."

"What do you mean?"

"What ch'a think I mean."

He chewed gum and sat there on the couch, starting to play with himself.

I said "What the fuck are you doing, man?"

He said, "What's it look like?" Then real relaxed, "You want me to take my pants off or something?"

"No, man."

"I was just being considerate."

We watched TV for a while. Time and again I could hear Frank's mom growling like an animal, barking like a dog. Frank heard it too.

I was getting uncomfortable and had to ask Frank if any of this bothered him.

"What?"

"Does it bother you?"

"What?"

"Your ... mother, you know?"

"No, I don't."

I cut it straight. "Little John's upstairs fucking your mother."

"I know."

"What?"

He must have finished because his body gave a couple jolts. Then he said, cool, relaxed, wiping his hand on the sofa, "You've obviously never been with Little John."

It took me a while, but I thought things over a bit and watched TV and looking at a pack of his mother's cigarettes felt pretty cool. I said, "Hey Frank."

"Yeah," he asked.

"You mind if I go up there?"

"No, man, just as long as you don't mind sloppy seconds."

I thought this over too. "No, Frank, I don't mind."

"Yeah?"

I paused. "Thanks, Frank," and I went upstairs.

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Roscoe Kandowski Jr. spends much of his time staring at the walls, trying to attenuate the spiritual, mental and financial debt that seven years of higher education has provided him. He currently lives in Binghamton, New York.