Chapter 89: Shannon Trudeau, the Question...

Carole Landry came up with the term son-fucker, and Kate liked it. She told Eulalie, “It’s like in the old days when the words cocksucker and cunt were shocking.”

Eulalie said, “And now they’re just everyday words — teachers and students, mothers and children.”

“Yeah — people get used to anything.”

“I like it — son-fucker. It’s actually quite clever. And more accurate than motherfucker. Because it’s more the moms doing their young boys than the other way around.”

No one in town had heard of son-fucker, and then suddenly it was on everyone’s lips.

Shannon Trudeau ran a human interest story on the front page of the Chronicle. For decorum’s sake, she ran it below the fold:

“How many SFs are there in Sausalito?”

For the uninitiated, she ran a sidebar explanation:

“The term SF — as any student could tell you — does not refer to that City by The Bay. It is an apt description of loving mothers who are especially close to their sons.”

She also interviewed Kate Broussard on Shannon Says.

“Kate, it’s a tricky number to try to quantify. But give me, give Sausalito, your best estimate of how many local mothers are actually fucking their sons.”

“I get that question all the time, Shannon. So first of all, I’m not counting my own girls — the Elite Eight and the Dirty Dozen.”

“Been there, done that. But what about the Calendar Girls?”

“Good question — I don’t count them either because they’re semipros. It’s true that they didn’t get paid to pose for the calendar because it was a charity program. But they became so sexually active that I don’t want to inflate the number of ordinary housewives who are son-fuckers.”

“Very admirable, Kate — stay on the conservative side. But, just out of curiosity, how many of your 12 Calendar Girls have given into temptation and fucked their sons?”

“Seven of them, Shannon. Five are still on the verge.”

“Kate, everyone in town knows the names of those plucky 12 girls. Care to name the seven son-fuckers?”

“Rather than do that, let’s just wait until the other five do the right thing.”

“Good thinking — then the whole town will know. Moving on — and back to my original question — how many son-fuckers do we have here in town?”

“Again, it’s difficult to pin down, but it’s more than you would imagine. The problem is that some of them — for understandable reasons — are keeping things private.”

“Unlike down in the Cajun Bayous.”

“Exactly. Sinéad has live sex shows there almost every day.”

“Son-fuckers?”

“Absolutely — and proud of it. Last I heard there were 38 who are doing the right thing.”

“That still leaves the vast majority not doing the right thing.”

“In the short term, yes. But son-fucking is trending steadily up.”

“That’s encouraging.”

“It is. Now mothers down there have been jacking their boys off for generations. And the number of handjob-mommies has increased exponentially during the heat wave.”

“Because nobody wears clothes down there. But what about blowjobs — are they on the rise too?”

“Even more than handjobs, Shannon. And it’s easy to understand why. The little boys are watching their lucky friends fuck their mommies all the time. And those other bayou mothers are conscientious — they realize that just jerking the kids off doesn’t cut it anymore.”

“And blowjobs are the natural next step. It would be almost mean not to suck your kids off when so many mothers are out there doing the right thing — son-fucking.”

“Sausalito can take a lesson from the Cajun Bayous. I believe every mother should take her boys down to the Bayou Bar at least once.”

“To catch a live show. Absolutely. But, Kate, speaking of live shows...”

“Nice segue, Shannon. Yes, I will be featuring a live son-fucking show one day soon. I have two local moms — regular housewives, not strippers — who will be performing on stage.”

“Don’t tease us, Kate — name names.”

“In due time, in due time. But here’s a hint — the first stage-mommy — her first name begins with the first letter of one of the two people on WZYD right now.”

That set the town buzzing — an S or a K.

Kitty Arceneaux punched her fist in the air, ‘Yes!”