Note to the reader: Hi. My name is Angie, better known as Tasty Little Pop Tart to my readers. The condo in this story will be easily recognizable to a select few. Maybe more, depending upon my actual readership. It appeared in my short story Apparition, though with a different cast of characters.
This story is similar, in that Matthew has a weekend alone with a sex toy and his mom's lingerie. It is totally different in that Matthew doesn't make it through the night as a boy. He gets high and starts to hallucinate, and the story veers in a totally different direction, with plenty weirdness of it's own. Hope you enjoy it.
Power Failure is stand-alone story, but could also be Part 1 of a longer tale if enough people wanted to read a Part 2. Please write if you'd like to see it continue. The story, then:
Matthew celebrated his 16th birthday in a unique and exciting way: he got wasted, hallucinated Godzilla and his mom (not together, silly), blacked out, experimented with a sex toy, got drunk, and oh, yeah, became a girl.
There were actually three sex toys to choose from. Two were huge: the John Holmes, 12" long with a 10" long insertable shaft, a whopping 2-1/2" thick. (He measured it in fascination and the thing was--OMG!--8" around!)
The slightly less humongous Super Ballsy Cock measured 9" with 7" available to engorge someone's rectum, slightly thinner at 1-3/4" thick. This one was more believable at 5-1-2" circumference.
The third dildo was little brother, 7-1/2" long, with a 6" long shaft. This was more a 16-year-old's speed, he reasoned. He never bothered to measure it though, intent on adventure beyond reason.
He came upon them purely by accident. He and David were skateboarding and David ran him into a pair of plastic trashcans. One went over and Matthew spotted the trio of dildos in a bag. Of course, his jaw dropped and his eyes bugged out. He quickly scooped everything back inside and set the trashcan on its feet. He came back after dark and retrieved the bag, his heart banging against his ribcage. He stashed the loot inside his backpack to get it inside the house.
It was two days before he dared dig them out of his closet for inspection and cleaning. He was flabbergasted by John Holmes's sheer size. He was twice as flabbergasted by his bonus find: inside a sturdy Ziploc bag were four smaller sandwich bags, each containing a gram of weed. It was prime stuff too, from the looks of it. No stems, and no seeds. It had been carefully sifted and it made Matthew a bit on the paranoid side. About more than being queer.
Matthew was borderline. He didn't like boys, girls scared him to death, and he feared sucking a cock. Having a cock up his ass was a dream best never come true. He didn't expect to have it done by a fat dildo on his 16th birthday, that's for sure. What a birthday present.
Matthew was tiny. He stood 5'3" tall and weighed an amazing 119 lbs. His sister claimed he'd make a really cute girl. He thought so too, and yearned to wear his sister's clothes. He didn't dare. She was a year and a half older and a lot bigger than him. And she took karate.
Matthew had blue eyes and blonde hair that he wore long. He'd worn braces since he was 12. Come September he'd be a junior in school, but the following year he'd start school a badass senior. As badass as Matthew could ever be. His biggest embarrassment was his minuscule penis, barely 4-1/2" long when massively erect. Oddly, it got most erect watching videos of girls sucking cock and getting their asses boned. He wasn't quite as queer as he worried. His testicles were as embarrassingly small as his cock, though. He hated gym.
Matthew lived in a three-bedroom, luxury condo. Kaylee had the second bedroom and Matthew was ensconced in the smallest, up front, overlooking the main parking lot. Even the smallest bedroom was huge though, measuring 15' x 18' with its own bath.
The condo had balconies front and back. The rear balcony was the larger of the two, with access from his parent's and Kaylee's bedroom. Main entry was via the condo's rear den, however, situated between the two bedrooms for privacy.
The front balcony you accessed through patio doors in the living room. It stopped short of Mathew's bedroom, unfortunately. The front balcony was fine, but he really loved the one out back. It looked over a huge expanse of grounds, the connector road, and faced the 7799 building on a slant, affording more privacy. There were four big condos in the development, three of them twenty stories tall, his own, included.
Out of the bag, the dildos looked clean, but Matthew was taking no chances. Odds were the smaller dudes were veterans of some young girl's heinie, or maybe that of a boy. Maybe even John Holmes, who knew. It scared the pee out of him.
His problem was opportunity. After school? Possible, but he hated the idea of mounting himself during the daytime. He wanted darkness for that, and a whole beautiful night. Fat chance that would ever happen. Then something miraculous occurred.
"Matthew," his mom said two days before his birthday. This was a Wednesday evening, and she stood in his doorway still dressed in her work clothes. He raised an eyebrow and popped loose one of his earbuds.
"Your dad and I are running Kaylee up to Penn State on Friday for a look at the campus. She's been accepted there this fall and wants to compare it to Albany. We'll be home by seven o'clock or so. Can you fend for yourself until then?"
Kaylee had graduated in early May, and this was late May. Matthew had a couple weeks left of school. He said fine, he'd hang around after school and maybe order a pizza for dinner.
"We'll celebrate Saturday, as planned," Mom said. "I'll leave you thirty dollars to cover the pizza and anything else you want to get for yourself. I can't see us being any later than eight o'clock. You'll be okay?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" he wondered.
"I don't like leaving you on your birthday. You don't turn sixteen every day, you know."
He laughed. "It's eighteen I'm looking forward to, Mom. That'll mean something. Friday's just another day older than fifteen. Can I smoke, drink, and get high?"
"Try it and see what happens. I'll have Kaylee take you over her knee."
He laughed again. "Kaylee's the one who needs a good spanking. Can I watch?"
Mom rolled her eyes. "I can't believe she'll be in college next year. Who am I going to yell at? Oh, yeah ... you," she said, grinning.
He got the lion's share of her wrath anyway. Maybe he'd bottle and sell it.
Friday came and Matthew went to school and Mom, Dad, and Kaylee went to Pennsylvania. Mom updated him every three hours or so via text, which Matthew eventually answered. You ain't supposed to be texting in school. The fist hint something was up came just after he stepped off the school bus around 3:15 p.m.
Are you feeling okay? Mom texted.
Kaylee said three of her friends came down sick with a stomach bug since last night. She's afraid she might have it too. Hypochondriac. Dad and I feel fine, but keep an eye on yourself, Matthew. About to head to grandma's for a visit. Will still be home before eight. Happy b-day again! You have a BIG KISS coming when I get home. Don't lock yourself in your room.
EWWWW! he wrote back. Not the dreaded BIG KISS!
Behave yourself. No one over the house. Kaylee says hi.
Tell Kaylee she can get me that way tonight for my birthday.
Don't push your luck, bucko.
Matthew thought little of the exchange, more interested in what video games he might score tomorrow for his birthday ... a day late. He really hoped for the new Playstation 3. That would be so badass! He wanted Medal of Honor, and the new Halo. If he had to choose, Halo, because that was the better game. He never expected the birthday present he got.
Home, he immediately went to his closet and hauled out the loot. He could not admire these things enough. OMG, did he love the sight of that 12" long monster cock. Imagine 10" up your behind. 7" would completely fill his rectum and stretch his anus to an absurd diameter the size of an apple, he thought. He never found out.
Mom texted at 4:45 p.m.: Your sister is sick. Not throwing up sick, but more than just hypochondriac sick. She went to lay down with one of your grandmother's hot water bottles. Are you okay?
Just fine, he wrote. Hope to stay that way too. Tell her she's dead if she ruins my birthday!
I'll kill her if she ruins your b-day! We may be later than 8 pm. Order your pizza and enjoy yourself. No one over. Sorry, not fair on your b-day, but oh well.
Yea yea. Story of my life. Tell Kaylee feel better.
Will text you when we leave, she wrote. Behave.
He behaved, though he thoroughly scrubbed the dildos with hot soapy water in the kitchen sink, and then boiled them in a kettle for good measure. He wasn't sure about doing that, but the dildos didn't seem to mind. It certainly put his mind at ease, knowing they were completely sanitized.
Was the stuff in the bags really weed, he wondered? What had possessed someone to chuck out four grams of weed? The dildos were probably a clue (or maybe the other way around, he thought), but regardless, he had enough to roll twelve joints. What would he do with twelve joints of weed with no one to smoke it with?
Why couldn't he be popular? David was pretty much his only close friend. He got along better with girls than with boys, but he couldn't hang around girls. He should invite David over to try out this weed.
Smoke in the house ... right. That was gonna happen.
He turned off the burner, leaned against the counter, and thought about David. He was more than just a friend. To Matthew, anyway.
He'd begun to silently crush on the new boy the first day of 8th grade. David transferred from Echo Lake Middle School in Vermont, and had a hilarious New England accent that everyone mimicked. Matthew befriended him Monday morning in homeroom, then showed the new kid around school the rest of the day. By Wednesday, he was hopelessly smitten. David sensed it and backed away when it became obvious to anyone with an eye how smitten Matthew was. Rumors abounded and had never ceased about him.
Despite the rocky start, and against the odds, the relationship strengthened and flourished. David was seen as the beneficent friend, putting up with poor confused effeminate Matthew. It didn't hurt that David was hot stuff, and therefore, one of the coolest kids in school.
They spent most of their free time together, skateboarding on good days, beating the hell out of video game controllers on the ones that weren't; getting in trouble whenever excitement overcame common sense. That happened a lot, especially during the summer when the days were long and parents were scarce. It was a tossup which set liked whose friend best.
He dug out his phone and idly thumbed the lock screen. He should send David a text; tell him there was some possibility of being alone tonight. What difference would it make, though? Often as one or the other spent the night, as common as it was to spend the afternoon together in one or the other's bedroom, nothing had ever happened between them. It wouldn't either, unless Matthew made a move. Which would end the friendship quicker than a punch in the mouth, he guessed.
Disgruntled, he put the dildos away, having no desire to be perverted in the daylight. He hated putting away the weed, wondering when he'd get the chance to use either. This was so fucked up, he thought.
Just before six, he ordered a large pepperoni pizza and a salad from Papa Johns. What was it with him and salads, he wondered? Maybe it was the Ranch dressing. Maybe it was just being queer.
He also ordered a six-pack of Diet Cokes, because there wasn't enough Diet Coke in the house. Mom hadn't stocked up. Bad Mom, he thought. Maybe he'd suffer her a good bare-bottom spanking for his birthday present. Wouldn't that be fun? He watched TV while he waited on the pizza.
Things turned really great for Matthew and really shitty for the rest of the family at 7 o'clock. Mom texted: Your sister is down for the count. She is so sick. Right now, she's in the upstairs bathroom, hugging the toilet. Your dad is nauseous, but I think that's just sympathetic reaction on his part. I certainly hope so. I don't want both of them throwing up. We only have two bathrooms here. How are you?
Matthew wrote back: Absolutely fine. Eating pepperoni pizza. Don't tell Kaylee or Dad that. Poor Kaylee. What are you going to do?
Probably stay here the night. Are you okay with that?
Matthew leapt to his feet and fist-pumped the air over his head, jumping up and down like a maniac. OMG! OMG! He'd be alone tonight?
Fine as wine, he typed back. Can I drink some?
You are so pushing you're luck, mister. Do not go out of the condo and no friends over. I mean that. You are to disappear into the woodwork. Pray that no one realizes that you are home alone.
This is so bad. But with Kaylee hugging the toilet I don't see any other way. I am so sorry, Matthew. What a miserable birthday for you.
This was his best birthday ever! Not only could he get busy with his three effing playtoys (OMG!), but once it got late enough, he could smoke weed out on the balcony and get high. It was blowing like crazy out there! The smoke would just whip away in the wind. Yes! Yes-yes-yes!
I'm fine, he wrote. I have the whole night to tear up the world on Medal of Honor and Halo. (A hint that he expected the new versions tomorrow. Was it possible that wouldn't happen until Sunday now? Don't even let yourself hope that, he thought wildly.) How late can I stay up?
No later than midnight. One o'clock at the latest. Close the blinds and stay away from the windows. Do not go out on the balconies. This is such a bad idea. I should have brought you along.
Mom, I'm fine. I'll be fine. I promise to be a good boy. I'll even stay out of your underwear drawer tonight, okay?
Nice. Now I have something new to worry about. I'll text you later, Birthday Boy. Enjoy your pizza.
He set the phone down with trembling fingers. No effing way. This couldn't be real. He pinched his cheek and then slapped it hard. He didn't wake up. He had the condo to himself tonight, all effing night long?
He looked at the den window, blinking, then to his left, at the wall between the den and his bedroom. A strange shiver ran down his spine.
He'd never been alone with David all night long, not alone. It made no difference in the present circumstances, anyway ... really, in any circumstances at all. Their friendship was anchored on the promise of Matthew never admitting his desires, much less acting on them. Asking him over would be a blatant violation of that trust.
How would David even get here if he did ask? Neither had their license yet. Skateboard over? David wouldn't chance lying if he knew Matthew was alone. It was too late to tell him now anyway; stick to the plan, he thought. He looked back at the den wall. He was no longer so enthused.
What would he use for lubricant, anyway? Vegetable oil, he wondered? Butter? Where was the KY when you really needed it, he thought. In his Mom's bedroom, probably. He laughed, grossed by the thought.
What if he found naked pictures of her on her laptop? OMG, that made him shiver uncomfortably. Oddly, the thought of his sister naked on her laptop never crossed his mind.
A bigger problem came to mind. How would he smoke the weed with no papers? He wasn't sure where to even buy them. Plus, he was restricted to the condo, so running out to buy any was verboten. This was a real problem.
Could he borrow a pipe from David? He might have one, but that brought up the trust issue. He turned and looked down the length of the condo, speculatively.
Kaylee's room was off limits at any time, night, or day, home or not. He'd no more invade her privacy than stick his head in the gaping jaws of a shark. Sharks were less deadly than older sisters.
So that left what? Google, of course!
He grabbed his phone and keyed in the search phrase "what to use in place of papers to smoke pot." According to Marijuana.com, the first choice among paper-challenged potheads--by a large margin--was Bible paper.
Bible paper? Never would he have thought of that.
The second choice was paper receipts. He had read that, seen it on TV, or heard about in school. The more intriguing alternate was a paper straw-wrapper; a number of potheads swore by those. Problem was, he was no less challenged on McDonald's straws than he was Zigzag papers. Bible paper it was, then.
It took him ten frustrating minutes to locate the one he owned. It turned up on the shelf next to the box where he'd secreted the dildos and weed, so how stupid was that? The paper was super thin; a perfect match for the job. He was wary of using paper with print on it though--who knew what burning ink would do to his lungs--but two blank pages at the back remedied that problem. He carefully tore one free and fingered it affectionately. This would work great. Talk about your Holy Rollers! The quip made him laugh.
Out came the bag of phallic impersonators. Out of the bag came the Ziplock bag of weed. Out of that came one of the four sandwich bags containing a gram. How many joints would he smoke tonight, he wondered.
Like any 16-year-old (if only for a day), Matthew was strictly a novice with rolling joints. The truth was, he had never done it before. David could, but was far from an expert himself. The four or five times they'd smoked pot together, the joints were too big or too small, or just fell apart. That's why David advocated a pipe. Matthew didn't think he had one yet.
A practice roll was in order, he thought. He went to the kitchen and sat down at the breakfast table with a pair of scissors. He Googled paper size and carefully cut his first specimen 2-1/2" long by 1-3/8" wide per the size on the website. He then fumbled out a joints-worth of weed onto the paper and fiddled with it for a full minute before getting the feel.
Sealing the joint was the tricky part. This always stymied David. Matthew found it no easier. Not being pressed for time helped, and half an hour later, he was rolling joints like a pro. If sacrificing the full sheet of paper in the try was acceptable. Tearing loose the second page, he expertly rolled four slender joints.
Matthew was one of the fortunate and knew it. His mom and dad were both vice presidents; Mom at an advertising agency downtown, and Dad with a national farm equipment manufacturer. Business was booming for them both. Matthew was pretty sure both parents brought home in excess of $200K per year, and was pretty sure Mom brought home more than Dad. That hadn't always been the case, but advertising was the business to be in nowadays. She excelled at it. She excelled in everything she did.
Matthew dwelt on this often, what a successful mom he had. It wasn't just that. She was such a looker. It freaked him out that he was 16, and Maggie was only 37. That was only a year older than his absolutely favorite older actress, Rachel Leigh Cook.
David wanted to fuck her. He'd said as much, much to Matthew's chagrin. Said it a number of times, laughing at Matthew's embarrassment. Matthew affected a thing for his sister, Anna, who was actually pretty hot for a 9th grader. He'd never said anything about David's mom, but who in his right mind would?
It was after 8 pm. He was becoming increasingly antsy, wanting the daylight outside to fade the eff away. He checked his iPhone to see what time sunset was today: 8:38 p.m., the weather app said. Which meant it wouldn't be dark until after nine.
He ground his teeth in frustration. When would his mom call again, he wondered. Text. Whatever. Time was going effing backwards.
He'd started The Bourne Identity two nights ago and had forgotten what a boss movie it was. Matt Damon kicked ass. Franka Potente absolutely rocked. She was a killer babe, even with small tits. Matthew liked her small tits. He'd never seen a live pair in his life, but thought you couldn't go wrong with small tits. He wished he had a pair himself.
That was it in a nutshell, maybe: not so much queer, as gender challenged. He got along better with girls, no doubt about that. They accepted him more readily than boys, but he was still a boy, with gobs of testosterone coursing through his bloodstream. That turned him off guys, theoretically, but his feminine side wanted to fuck. To be fucked. What a hopeless situation.
He grabbed his Kindle and flopped down on the den couch. The den had the biggest window in the condo, but no direct access to the front balcony. You had to cross into the adjoining living room to do that. Oddly, the den in the rear, situated between his parent's and Kaylee's bedroom, did. It was a strange setup, he thought, but worked well enough.
The condo was twice as long as wide. Access was via elevator, through an entryway, and into the front doors at the exact midpoint of the condo. A second entrance was at the end of his bedroom hallway, giving into a service corridor. Stairs on the right lead up and down, and the electrical/mechanical/storage area (EMA) was on the left. A second door in the EMA room led back into the entryway. This was Matthew's private playroom/castle growing up. He'd spent his entire life in the condo.
Titanic had its famous Broadway, a corridor running the entire length of the ship. The condo had one also, though only Matthew cared about the feature. You could walk a straight line down Broadway from den to den, Matthew liked to think, though it was actually from the den in back to the living room in front. Regardless, it was a straight shot, one end to the other, balcony rail to balcony rail, if you wanted. Matthew dug that feature; Kaylee rolled her eyes about it.
He finished The Bourne Identity around 9:15 p.m. It was full dark by then, but his mom hadn't texted. He was doing nothing until she did. The last thing he wanted was a surprise arrival of the family at the front door, sick or otherwise. His planned activity might not go over too well with Mom and Dad. So he waited. And thought about David. At 9:45 p.m., Mom called.
"What a nightmare," she sighed.
"Dad, too?" he guessed.
"About an hour ago," she confirmed doggedly. "He's in the guest bedroom with a metal pail. I mean, a real metal pail, Matthew. Complete with handle and all."
"Kaylee's still on the bathroom floor upstairs. Just as well ... her bedroom is down on the first floor and I don't want her throwing up in the bathroom the rest of us have to use."
"How about you?"
"Fine, for now. My baby?"
Matthew laughed. "AOK. No symptoms yet. Let me rephrase that..."
She laughed tiredly. "You call. I mean that Matthew. You can't be alone if it hits you like it did Kaylee and your dad. I'll come home to stay with you. Mom and Dad can take care of your dad and Kaylee. If I get dick though..." She laughed hoarsely. "I did not just say that." She burst out laughing, which only embarrassed Matthew more.
"Wait a minute," she said, getting her laughter under control. "I want to talk to you in private. I'm going outside."
Matthew held his breath until she came back on the line thirty seconds later. "I want an honest answer, Matthew."
Oh, God, he thought. She knows. "About what?"
"About you and David. And those things in your closet. Did he give them to you?"
He collapsed into the chair. Looking out the den window with a hand to his forehead, he stuttered: "Wh-what things?"
"Do you really want to go there, Matthew?"
He choked, trying to swallow. "Um ... I found them, okay? And that's the God's honest truth!" he croaked. "I didn't--"
"I suppose you found the pot along with them?"
He groaned, loud enough for her to hear, he was certain. "It was in the same bag," he said miserably.
She was silent a moment. "You haven't smoked any of it yet?"
"No," he admitted. "How much trouble am I in?"
Another long pause. "That depends. On what you and David are up to there. I specifically told you no company tonight, Matthew."
He sat up, confused. "I am alone."
"After I told you no company."
Blinking, he looked around the den. "What?"
"Tell me about the phone call I got today from David's mom."
He gulped, the sound like something breaking in his throat. "What phone call?"
"I won't allow it. You're too young, Matthew."
"Too young for what?" he croaked.
"To get married. To be starting a family at sixteen. I know you want to have David's baby, Matthew, but-"
"What!" he shouted.
His ringing cell phone jarred him awake. He was on the den couch, the phone clutched in his left hand, right arm dangling free. It was 9:55 p.m. It had been a dream. He was asleep.
"Hello?" he said hoarsely. He struggled upright and dropped his feet to the floor.
"Please don't tell me you have it too!" his mother pleaded.
"No-no!" he blurted. "I'm fine. Just asleep on the couch, Mom."
She laughed harshly at that. "Lucky you."
"That bad, huh?" He was beginning to come out of it now. Awakening after a nap always threw him off.
"Dad's even sicker than Kaylee is. He's claimed the downstairs bathroom. Mom and I have to go upstairs to use you sister's sickroom, while Dad uses your father's. Such an ideal situation." She sighed. "How are you doing?"
Matthew gave her a rundown on his dinner and date activities. That made her laugh. He hated how depressed she sounded. He was still a little rattled from the dream, but that was wisping away like smoke on a breeze.
"I can't believe how sick they both are. I don't know what I'll do if you get sick too. Or if I do," she said peevishly. "Don't get sick, Matthew."
"Roger that. I feel absolutely fine though, so don't worry about me. Tell Kaylee and Dad I love them. It's a lie, but you know..." That made them both laugh.
"I'll call if anything changes. Hopefully we'll come home tomorrow afternoon." She paused a moment. "Will you be okay if we don't?"
Matthew wanted to jump up and down again. "Yes!" he mouthed silently. He grabbed his crotch and did a victory dance. Then he sighed dramatically. "I guess so. Am I grounded tomorrow too?"
"We'll talk about that tomorrow. I can't deal with any more issues tonight. You call me if you feel anything at all. That'll give me an hour or so to figure out what to do."
In other words, until he started to throw up, Matthew thought.
If the worst happened and he got this thing too, he was on his own, he realized. That idea scared him.
"I'll call if I feel anything, Mom. And listen ... I'm sorry this is happening to you. You deserve better." Better than me, anyway, he thought sourly.
"Matthew ... that's so not you," she said, laughing. "Anyway, I'm going to bed. I'll talk to you in the morning, okay?"
"Love you," Matthew said.
"Not my Matthew, either," she said, laughing again. It was good to hear her laugh, Matthew thought. Given the circumstances. "And Matthew ... stay out of my underwear drawer."
It was 10:10 pm. He was home free. The condo was his all night long and it was dark!
He did a victory jig, not caring if the blinds were open and anyone saw. It was all he could do not to strip naked there in front of the window and dance.
Weed. Weed came first, he thought. He tore through the door and up the hall to his bedroom, skidding into the doorway, laughing giddily. He was alone and free to fuck himself with all three dildos. Three impatient dildos, clamoring for his asshole. First, the weed though.
He grabbed the big bag, pried it open, and retrieved the baggie containing the four rolled joints. Time to sample his handy work now. Bag in hand, he dashed down his hallway to Broadway and through the condo to the second den. Only then did he stop. What would he light up with, he wondered. He had no lighter or matches!
"Oh, man!" he complained. Not to worry, though. A dozen or more books were in the kitchen cabinet containing the emergency lighting supplies. He went back and grabbed a pack, then skedaddled back to the den and opened the balcony door.
It was surprisingly cool outside. Downright chilly, in fact. The wind blowing all day from the northwest hadn't let up. He might need a sweatshirt, or something, he thought. Maybe change out of these shorts. Killed any notion of relaxing out here in his mom's skivvies, he thought.
Laughing, he turned his back to the breeze, hunched his shoulders, and lit up.
The balcony ran the width of the condo, a divider sectioning off his parent's portion. On his mom's side were two chaise lounges and a square table. On this side was a round patio table surrounding by four chairs, another pair of chaise lounges, a grill, and a small refrigerator for cold drinks. He opened it and grabbed a Diet Coke and cracked it open, wishing it was beer, a cold Heineken, but he wasn't ready to start drinking yet. Not when Mom would know exactly what he'd taken. They were occasional drinkers only, and kept two six-packs on hand for guests. The six-packs were full, sitting on the kitchen refrigerator's shelf.
He took a second lungful of smoke. This was Class-A weed, smooth as silk, with a kick like a quarter horse. He could feel the THC kicking in already. He eyed the smoldering tip appreciatively, not knowing the cannabis was laced with Salvia Divinorum, an up and coming hallucinogen from Honduras. Nor something else, a derivative chemical with no name, something never found in Grade-A weed, or anything else meant for human consumption. A compound with unique abilities, one of which drastically altered DNA.
7799 was catty-corner to his own building, the near edge 50 yards away. Windows, patio doors, whatnot could be easily seen, but not straight on, as was the case with 7797 out front. Line of sight there was a voyeur's wet dream. He'd commandeered his dad's binoculars just for that purpose. He was sure his dad knew exactly where they were, and it probably amused him greatly knowing Matthew used them. It would seriously irritate his mom if she knew. Matthew didn't think she did. He kept the binoculars well hidden in his closet.
He pulled out a chair and sat down. It was really chilly out here tonight, he thought, shivering. He bet the temperature was no more than fifty degrees, low for the end of May. He needed that sweater, yeah. Damned if he'd go in and get it though, or put on long pants. He took another hit.
This was so effing fucked. The entire night alone, and no David to share it with. He eyed the chair opposite, imagining David slouched there as usual, dark hair in his eyes, sharing this excellent weed. Holding aloft the joint, he gazed at it blinking-he was starting to feel the THC now-and rubbed himself through the front of his shorts, telling himself it was adjusting things from sitting down. It surprised him how he responded to the touch.
'Too young to get married, ' Mom had said. The idea sent a shiver down his spine like a bolt of lightning. Marry David? Have his baby at sixteen? What an incredible idea, he thought, laughing quietly. Imagine being pregnant, bloated with child, dressed in maternity clothes like Kara Wilder at school. He imagined David making him that way, balling him on his hands and knees on his bed.
He sat up with a start. This weed was making him seriously effing spacey. Weed always did him that way, though not usually so fast and with such a kick to the groin. He was astounded how fast the THC was getting around inside. This was seriously strong shit!
The joint was a third gone. How many hits had he had, he wondered. No more than three, he thought. Putting the joint to his lips, he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs to capacity. He coughed sharply, but not like with David's cheap weed. That was like smoke from a burning truck tire; it made his voice raspy like an old man's. He spoke aloud now, reciting the alphabet. His voice sounded smooth as silk, just like the weed.
In no time, the joint was gone, burned down to a pitiful roach. He popped it into his mouth and swallowed it. Nothing going to waste with this excellent weed, he thought. He stretched out in the chair, propping his feet on the two adjacent chairs, sighing contentedly. His first handmade-joint, gone round the mountain, as they say. He had four effing grams of the stuff! David would just shit!
He dug out his iPhone and checked the lock-screen: 10:35 p.m. The night was so young, and he was so high. Not on his way to getting there, but certifiably high already. What an incredible rush from this stuff! Half what David normally rolled into his joints, too. Awesome! No less awesome was the incredible boner he had.
He stared at his crotch, mystified. It felt 40" long. No boner had every felt that long before. When he popped it loose of his shorts, however, it was the same old, embarrassing little prick.
Your cock is out of your pants, he told himself. He wagged it, laughing giddily. The laugh degenerated into a giggle as he imagined David sitting across from him, rolling his eyes, and shaking his head. He'd never witnessed David hard, but his flaccid penis was longer than Matthew's pitiful erection stiff. He wanted to grab that sucker now and stroke it till he came. He wanted to yank his shorts off and do a seductive, stripper routine atop the round table.
He sat up, alarmed how excited he was. He jammed himself away, looking everywhere at once. You aren't invisible, you know, only semi-concealed by the shadows, he told himself. Low-level illumination is not lack of illumination, Matthew ... you can be seen. Time to go inside.
The soda had not quenched his thirst, not by a long shit. It seemed to have doubled it. Longingly, he eyed the two sixes of Heineken on the refrigerator shelf. He loved Heineken; the first beer he'd ever tasted and still his favorite. His mom wouldn't miss just one, he thought covetously. Screw it if she did. It wasn't his fault he was home all alone. A boy couldn't be expected to not break a single rule, could he?
Grinning, he reached in and stole a bottle from the nearer pack. So nice and cold, he thought. Twisting off the cap, he took a sip and then a good long swig, sighing contentedly. It was so good. He chugged half the bottle and then wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
"And Matthew ... stay out of my underwear drawer," she had warned teasingly. He laughed, thinking he should call her back and tell her how much he loved her lacy purple panties and bra. Considering she had any, which we was pretty sure she did.
He looked over his shoulder across Broadway at his mom's bedroom door. It was half obscured by the corner of his sister's bedroom. He was so effing horny. He still had this bodacious effing hard-on in his pants to deal with. Hard-on of the century, David might call it ... if David were around to witness its sweetness. Not that he wanted him to. Better David unzip his own pants and removed himself prior to slipping it in Matthew's mouth.
He wondered, not for the first time, how big David was erect. Bigger than you, Matthew, he thought. But then again, who wasn't. Oh well, life sucks, and then you die.
It was 10:50 p.m., and high time to get busy with his dildos. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. What he wanted even more, though, was another lungful of noxious smoke. A single joint just wasn't enough.
This time he took the baggie with him, dropping it on the table before backing into the corner to light joint number two. He shielded the match from the wind; if anything, it was blowing harder than before, and even colder now, sweater-weather for sure. Before filling his lungs even once, he was shivering uncontrollably. This was so crazy.
He blew out, watched the smoke whip away on the cold breeze. "Jesus! I'm gonna turn into an effing statue!" He gripped himself tightly, shifting foot to foot. There was nothing to smell, anyway, so that was good.
He started, realizing the breeze had swept his baggie with the two remaining reefers off the table onto the seat of the chair closet the railing. He stumbled around the table and snatched it just as the wind grabbed it again, stuffing it into his front pocket. Boy, was he effing lucky. The wind would have carried it off to who knows where.
He retreated to his corner, and eventually, the THC in his bloodstream insulated him against the cold; his shivering subsided. He pulled out a chair, and sat down. It was 11:05 p.m.
"David, oh David, where art though, David?" His voice sounded forlorn. "Why aren't you in there fucking me and making me pregnant?" he wondered.
"That's a very good question," his mother said from across the table. "Why aren't you in there fucking yourself, Matthew?"
Startled, Matthew grabbed the chair arms and sat bolt upright, staring at the underwear-clad woman in shock. It was indeed his mother, and she wore the lacy purple panties and bra he had thought about earlier. She seemed comfortable in the cold; hands clasped loosely in her lap, devoid of the gooseflesh that peppered Matthew's upper body. "Mom?" he croaked.
She laughed gaily. "Who else would I be? Groucho Marx?" Her smile was radiant.
Matthew blinked rapidly, shaking his head. She didn't go away. Sighing, she looked out over the landscape. "I've always loved it out here," she said. "None of the hustle and bustle out front."
The reefer was making him hallucinate! OMG! What was in this stuff?
She looked at him questioningly. "Are you being a good boy, Michael?"
He knew weed was sometimes laced with LSD and other substances, and none of them good. Please don't let it be PCP, he prayed. He'd heard such bad stuff about PCP. LSD? Almost as bad, he thought. Knowing this didn't make the mostly naked woman across the table disappear.
"Is being a good boy even in your nature?" Mom asked sweetly.
What if she didn't go away? What if she decided to rat him out to his father?
He shook his head violently. No thoughts like that, he told himself gruffly. That's almost as bad as hallucinating.
"Are you a hallucination?" he queried.
Mom laughed heartily. "That's a question I've never been asked before. Do I look like a hallucination?"
Pretty much, Matthew had to admit.
How could she sit there so comfortably in her bra and panties? He shook his head again. Cut that out, Matthew--she wasn't sitting there in anything at all.
This of course, made him hallucinate her nude. He grimaced and flinched away, gritting his teeth as she laughed.
"Look, Matthew. You know you want to look."
"I've seen enough already," he countered gruffly. "Please go away." He listened to her shift in her chair.