Chapter 4: Jackie Malloy

Nothing much happened between us for a few days, then Tuesday night Mom and I managed to get together again. It was evening and the three of us were just puttering around in the living room. Sue was working on homework while watching television, Mom was doing something or other in the kitchen, and I was reading on the couch, not really paying attention to the TV. At nine Mom came out and told Sue it was time to go to bed, and though she grumbled, she left and went upstairs.

The rule in the house was that as you got older, you could stay up later. At fourteen you could stay up till 9:00, at fifteen, 10:00, and by sixteen and older, 11:00. This was on school days; on weekends and holidays, you could stay up until whenever you wanted. Sue hated this, complaining that I could stay up later, but we ignored her, and Mom was tough.

About ten-thirty or so, Mom finished what she was doing in the kitchen and came out into the living room. She was wearing a long velour robe, cinched tight about her waist, which covered her from neck to toes. Sitting down next to me, she asked what I was reading.

Placing my finger between the pages, I flipped the cover shut and showed her. “The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, by Gibbon,” I said. I flipped it open again.

Mom seemed impressed. Crossing her legs so that a knee showed, she said, “Wow! That’s pretty big. I’ve never read it. Any good?” She re-crossed her legs and this time a few inches of thigh were exposed.

“Um, yeah, actually it is. I don’t know just how accurate he is, I mean, the forward says that a lot of what he writes is disputed, but it’s just so well written. I mean it’s just beautiful prose.” I gave her a wry smile. I didn’t want to sound like some intellectual, but the writing is really just that, beautiful prose, not simply a history book. In some ways, it reminds me of Shakespeare, which I had just been exposed to in English class. I glanced over and gave a shy smile.

What I saw made me put my bookmark back in and set the book aside. Mom had shifted her legs once again, and most of her great legs were exposed. In addition, the belt of her robe had loosened, and more than a bit of cleavage could be seen. Things looked like they might get interesting, and all apologies to the pursuit of history, man does not live by books alone. But I was surprised by Mom’s next comment.

She gave me a sad and distant look. “You’re so much like your father, and so different, too.”

Huh? “My father! What’s he got to do with me?”

“Oh, just thinking. You look so much like him.” Mom gently touched my cheek, then lightly ran a finger across my mustache. “You are the spitting image of him, even to the mustache.”

I must have looked like I would staring at a cobra in the living room. “Christ on a crutch! I’m going to shave the damned thing off!” I told her.

“No, honey, leave it alone. It looks good.” Smiling, she said, “Besides, your daddy was a most attractive man. He was tall and strong and handsome, just like his son turned out. It’s not your fault you look like him. You’d have to change more than the way you shave to change that.” Then she grinned and patted my zipper briefly. “You’ve got something else in common with him too, honey.”

My eyes widened but I didn’t pursue the subject. “But I am different, right? I mean, I swear to God I don’t want to turn out like that bastard.”

She gently shook her head ‘No.’ Pointing at my book on the end table, she said, “The only things I ever saw him read were Guns and Ammo and Car and Driver. He liked stuff with large pictures and small words.”

“So how did you ever end up with a loser like him?” I asked. Mom got a pained look and I apologized.

“No, it’s all right, it was just a very painful time then. I guess I wanted somebody sort of dangerous, a bad boy. Your grandparents both warned me, but no, I knew I was smarter.” She went on for a few minutes more, describing him. Then she looked at me curiously. “Paul, you wouldn’t know your father from Adam. Why are you so angry about him?”

“That’s just it, Mom, I don’t know my father from Adam. If I knew he was walking down the street, I’d cross over just to stay away. How could any man just walk away from his wife and kids? And how could any red-blooded man walk away from you?” I said the last after looking Mom up and down. Her robe had loosened enough so that by now I could see that she wore nothing underneath it, although her crotch and most of her breasts were still hidden.

Mom blushed. “Enough about him. You’re the man in my life tonight.”

Oh, ho! “Really? What about Sue?” I asked, putting my arm around her shoulders as she snuggled against me.

Mom responded by unzipping my pants and undoing my belt. Pushing them down, she exposed my hardening cock, and wrapped a hand around it. “I checked on her before I came in, and she’s asleep. If we’re quiet, she’ll never know.” She began to slowly stroke me.

For my part, I reached over and undid her belt, then spread her robe apart. As she lounged back into me in glorious nudity, I reached out and with both hands, one around her shoulders and moving down, began to slowly rub her already stiff nipples. Mom murmured contentedly and closed her eyes blissfully, as we masturbated each other slowly.

After a few minutes like this, I tried moving Mom into a position where I could finger her clit, but we both ended up on the floor. I was about to make a comment, but she put a finger to my lips and whispered, “Ssshhh.” Standing, she spread a comforter out in front of the television, then reclined on it. I crawled down beside her and she slowly undressed me, slipping her robe off as she went. Then as she finished pulling my pants and shorts off, she licked my legs up to my thighs, then took me in her mouth.

“Oh, that’s it. Suck me, Mom. Do me, make me cum,” I whispered. My mother began to go to town on my dick. Maybe she had thought of this as simply foreplay, but I wanted more, and she wanted to take care of me. She shifted position slightly, swinging her body around so that her pussy gaped pinkly at me. Reaching over, I placed a hand on her cunt and began to rub her crotch. In response, she spread her thighs, propping one upwards, and I began to vigorously finger her clit and probe her cunt. She really liked this, because in no time at all, I could hear her start moaning around my cock as she deep throated me.

Then she surprised me. Pulling her mouth away from my cock to my immediate protest, she stuck her middle finger in her mouth. Pulling it wetly out, she promptly took me in deep again while sticking her now-lubricated digit on my asshole. Then she slowly but firmly pressed it through my anal sphincter and began to massage my ass from the inside. Oh, my God! Collapsing backwards, I gave up all thought of Mom’s cunt as my balls exploded. My hips went into overdrive, face-fucking her upwards as I whimpered in orgasm.

Mom sucked down every iota of jism. Then, after wiping her finger on her robe, she crawled up next to me and lay down beside me. She hugged me as my breathing returned to normal, then whispered, “I never did that for your father.”

I snorted. “Yeah? Well, did he eat pussy?”

Grinning, Mom said, “No.”

Pushing Mom down on her back, I handed her my shirt. “Yeah, well, bite down on this, because otherwise you’ll wake the neighbors.” I lay down between her legs and put every lesson every woman had ever taught me about cuntsucking to use. Mom’s clit was promisingly inviting as he peeked from between her bare cunt lips. I licked, I nibbled, I kissed, I slurped, I probed into her with my tongue, but most importantly, I sucked that little ruby red gem. Mom was thrashing beneath me, but I never let up. At one point, I glanced up between her breasts to see her frenziedly screaming into the shirt sleeve tucked into her mouth. Mom was getting off almost nonstop by the time I delivered the coup de grace. Sticking the right middle finger into her cunt to wet it, I slowly inserted it full length into her asshole, then began high speed clit licking. She damn near took off like a rocket, thrashing her legs about madly, so much so that I thought she was having a seizure. Worried, I removed my finger and lifted my cum-soaked face and knelt. “Are you all right?”

Mom had a dazed look as she focused on me and spat out my ruined shirt. “Sweet Jesus, honey, where the hell did you learn that?” she asked. “You are tremendous! I haven’t cum like that in a long, long time.” I grinned but didn’t answer. Mom rolled over and knelt, presenting her rear to me. “Now, stick that thing in my pussy and fuck me.”

A good boy always obeys his mother. Kneeling, I took my cock in my left hand, and as my right steadied her, guided it between her thighs. As soon as the head had entered the slippery channel, Mom lunged back and buried me with a groan. Looking back over her shoulder, she whispered, “Fuck me hard and fuck me fast!” then grabbed my shirt and stuck it in her mouth again. I began to pump feverishly into her cunt as she moaned and squealed into the remains of my shirt. Jesus but did she have a hot and tight slit! And juicy! Long before my balls tightened and let loose a torrent, her juice was running down both our thighs. Finally, I cut loose with a loud groan and collapsed on top of her back. Mom fell to the floor also, and I followed, to lay atop her, my hips pounding into her backside, my dick spasming out a major load.

Afterwards, we were both totally wiped out. I had to laugh when Mom told me it was past my bedtime.

By now I had a few bucks, and most importantly, a car. I didn’t have to rely on my dates driving me around. It seemed rather strange at first.

While I was still in the hospital, but before I had come around, the insurance companies started getting involved big time. There was health insurance (mine through the school and Mom’s from work), car insurance (Larry’s and the truck’s), and even some life insurance. I remember commenting on it to Mom once that everybody was suing everybody else. Fortunately, nobody had a clue how to sue me, since I just happened to be along for the ride, but I had no doubt this problem would soon be fixed. Certainly, the lawyers involved seemed to find that my survival was a major inconvenience in the path to truly lucrative settlements. I simply wanted it to all go away.

Nobody was more surprised than I was to find a lawyer knocking on the door one night with a check in hand. He was in the position of being selected by several of the insurers of negotiating an inclusive settlement by me and Mom. He had the most insulting manner of being both suppliant and condescending at the same time.

Finally, I had to use The Power to get this ass out of the house. {Go to the bathroom.}I thought to Mom. After she excused herself, I turned to the lawyer. {How much can we get? Bottom line.}The figure he was mentioning promptly increased from $10,000 to $25,000. When Mom came downstairs, we signed the papers and sent this clown on his merry way.

Mom refused to take a penny, and I found myself with 25K in cash (no taxes, either!)

So, I bought a car. I had been taking driver’s ed classes in school (a special dispensation for handicapped students put me to the head of the line) so I was ready. Mom drove me to three different car lots, where I used the same technique. Think Mom into the can, then use The Power on the salesman. {Best used car. Best price.}By the end of the day, I followed Mom home in a cream puff three-year-old Taurus for less than ten grand, even after taxes, plates, and an unbelievably high insurance cost.

Later, when talking to Mom about the rest of the money she suggested I put it in the stock market. She was hoping I would use it for college. Stocks, of course, would be much too risky, so she suggested mutual funds. That evening, her most recent boyfriend, a stockbroker, came by to try and sign me up.

He seemed nice enough, but I felt like locking my wallet up anyway. Instead, I used The Power to get information out of him. He explained how the market worked, and how I would do better by mutual funds than by investing in blue chips, and even better yet, by investing in some growth stocks like high-tech companies. Then he mentioned, almost as an aside, that real money could be made with stock options.

“What are options?” I asked.

He answered and I was truly handed the keys to the candy store, or more literally, the bank vault. Here’s how it all works.

Suppose you invest $5,000 in Acme Widget Company’s stock, 100 shares at $50 apiece. Now say that the stock rises to $60. You’ve made $1,000, a nice piece of change. But stock options are like betting not on the stock itself, but on the change in the stock price; you don’t own Acme Widget stock at all. If those stock options cost $2, and you invest the full $5,000, and then the stock climbs to $60, you have hit the mother lode. You don’t make $1,000, no, you have quintupled your money, to $25,000, because the options are now worth $10. Do this a few times in a row, and you are talking some truly impressive loot.

Mind you, this all has a high degree of risk. If you own the stock itself and Acme Widget drops to $40, you still have $4,000 worth of stock. The options, however, are now worth bupkus, and you are out the whole 5K. This is not for the faint of heart.

Things can get even more complicated. You can sell stock short, which gambles that the stock will decline. Put options will do the same thing by way of options. You can even borrow money from the brokerage to buy even more shares or options. This is called buying on margin, and if Acme Widget tanks you are really up shit creek. The upside is great though. The trick is being able to read the future and know which way a stock is headed. Call it right and you retire to Easy Street.

But how do you call it right? Even with The Power I can’t see the future. I can’t really read minds. I certainly can’t make a stock move up or down. Yet there exists a class of people who can read the future of a stock, and their pronouncements have been known to move the market. This class of people, who are paid fantastic sums of money by their brokerage houses for their abilities, are known as stock analysts. They do nothing but live and breathe specific industries and even specific companies, often knowing more about what will happen than the people at the companies involved. All I had to do was have some of these people let me know which way the Acme Widgets of the world were going to move.

Mind you, this did not all come together in my mind at once. I parked the cash in a mutual fund for a couple of weeks while I read a few issues of Fortune and Business Week. Then I pounced.

One limit to The Power is that I must be in normal communication with somebody to use it. I mean, if I’ve never met you, I can’t just think something and make you do it. However, if I can get you on the phone, it creates a wavelength that I can transmit over. I had discovered this by accident when I dialed a wrong number once. After apologizing, I gave it a shot, and had a most bizarre conversation with the woman on the other end. I made her admit that she was home alone with her husband and had her put him on the phone as well. It turned out they had a speakerphone, so they could put the phone down to talk to me. This proved handy, since while I was talking to them, I had them undress and engage in anal sex with each other. I think they enjoyed it, but heaven knows I did! Anyway, once I get somebody on the line, I have a hook into them.

Mom’s broker led me to his boss, who led me to a regional manager, who led me to a New York VP. All I wanted to talk to were a few chosen high-tech stock analysts. The VP put me on the phone to several, and I was home free. I used The Power to have them call me with their best bets and parlayed that leftover cash northward.

Is this legal? Ethical? I’m still not sure. Certainly, I hurt no one, and the overall stock market is too big for any shenanigans of mine to affect it. Is this insider trading? Maybe, but don’t be so sure, the legal precedents are not at all clear. I was never too worried, since I could always use The Power to send any inquisitive SEC types packing. I tried not to get crazy and kept my “winnings” small and diverse.

It wasn’t risk free. I learned the benefits of diversification after losing almost everything when a corporate acquisition bombed at the last minute. But overall, you can’t argue with the results. By the end of the school year, I had well over $100,000 in the brokerage account, and that was after expenses. By Christmas of my senior year, it was a half-million-plus, again after some hefty expenses, and I had split my funds into two piles, a “safe” pile that I let sit in blue chips, and a “risky” pile that I bought options with. The “safe” money I used as my bank account. The “risky” money made me a multimillionaire by the time I graduated from college.

It was a month later that a small family crisis erupted. Sue had been dating on a regular basis by now, but had been playing the field, usually a different guy each time. She was simply having the normal fun of a teenager with a little freedom, not wanting to get tied down, and a little scared of going too far anyway. Mom approved of not hooking up with a steady boyfriend right away. For her part, Sue didn’t have any problems finding guys interested in taking her to the movies. It’s not like there’s an overwhelming abundance of pretty and petite red-headed cheerleaders with big tits.

It seemed as if she was starting to get sweet on one particular fellow, though, a senior several years older than her. He was on the football team and had his own car, a new Mercury, and an unsavory reputation, but you can’t tell women these things. Sue was intent on getting hurt, and I dreaded to think of Mom’s history repeating itself.

So, one Friday night in mid-January, I found myself home alone, since both the women in the household were out on dates. Then the phone rang about eleven or so.

“Is this the home of Sue Harron?” asked a gruff baritone.

“Yes, but she’s out now,” I responded innocently.

“Can I speak to her parents, please.?”

“Mom’s not home now. Who is this?” I asked. What was going on?

The voice didn’t respond directly. “When will your parents be home?”

By now I was beginning to get alarmed. {Talk to me!}”Who is this?”

“I’m Sergeant McEvoy of the Atlanta police department, 14^th precinct. When will Mr. or Mrs. Harron be home?”

Thoroughly worried, I took charge. “There is no Mr. Harron. I’m Paul Harron, Sue’s brother. Our mother is out right now. Is Sue all right? Is she hurt?”

Thankfully, he said, “No, she’s fine. We’ve picked her up and we need your mother to come down and take her home.”

“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” I said, hanging up so he couldn’t ask again about Mom. The phone started ringing again almost immediately, but I ignored it. Grabbing my jacket, wallet, and cane, I hustled out to my car and went down to the police station.

The station was fairly quiet, and I was able to walk right up to the glass partition. A bored patrolman wanted to know who I was. “I’m Paul Harron. You have my sister here and I want to take her home.” {Let me in!}The patrolman buzzed me through the door, and I entered, looking around for my sister.