Chapter 2

“This Denver omelet might not be traditional, but damn if it ain’t delicious!” Uncle Travis complimented my mother, his sister-in-law, on the breakfast.

“Yeah, it’s pretty terrific! That’s my wife for you! Everything that she makes is great! Clearly, though, my sister’s no slouch, either!” Dad managed to praise Mom and Aunt Sylvia in one breath.

“Indeed, my missus is awesome, ain’t she?” Uncle Travis beamed with pride at his wife.

“Well said, Uncle T,” I grimaced a little as I continued to sit gingerly due to that dick he stuck up my butt that morning.

Aunt Sylvia and Pamela both gave me a knowing wink, even as Uncle Travis chuckled in response to that whole situation. What was really going on, anyway? Something was up that even now I didn’t understand, but what was it? I was extremely nervous and suspicious by now. This was just too fucking weird, wasn’t it? Was the chalice the cause of this whole situation or something else? It had to be the chalice, right, because my family had never behaved like this before, had it? Only the chalice was different. It was the variable, the X factor, to use the algebraic analogy here.

For whatever reason, the chalice caused at least three of my kith and kin to pursue me in a sexually aggressive manner, nor did it take away my memory or theirs of what occurred. Nor were they ashamed at all about the fact that they had all initiated intercourse with one of their one flesh and blood. If anything, they took special delight in that fact. The next question was, of course, whether this effect was limited to them or would it affect others as well?

Before I could think any more about that issue, I noticed that Mom’s face flushed a little and she stared at me in a fashion that I had never seen or at least noticed in the past. What the hell? Mom, too? What was really going on here? Dad, at least, seemed unaffected by the chalice, for the moment, anyway. Did this thing have a crescendo effect, escalating gradually like an infection that spread from person to person? Or was something else up that I never factored in at all.

To be fair, Mom was hardly tough on the eyes, even now. At forty years of life, Gina Clarissa Antonino, my mother was nothing to sneeze at, if a considerable contrast to my shorter, bustier aunt. Mom was a bit on the slender side, had smaller, but still perky breasts, and was certainly taller than Aunt Sylvia. She was also a little lighter in complexion, whereas Aunt Sylvia was more of the stereotypical swarthy tone of southern Italy. Not that any of them had been back to the Old Country for more than an occasional visit, of course.

Mom began playing footsie with me, while Dad just chortled as he watched us, clearly aware of what transpired. What the actual Hell? Were my parents playing some brand new game or was this something that I never noticed in the past? Dad wasn’t oblivious, so why wasn’t he jealous or outraged, as one might expect from the traditional male of the Italian Catholic variety? There was something very strange in the air, no doubt of that, but we all put it away to enjoy the Denver omelet and not give too much away to the kids, including my ten year old baby sister Christina.

That raised another question ... why didn’t my parents have more kids than two, not to mention Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Travis, who also had only two? Pamela’s kid brother Henry, clearly named after someone with more of a WASPy origin, was only eight himself. Did they break the Church’s teachings on birth control or was something else happening here? It was clear that both men were still intimate with their wives, after all. They weren’t gay, right?

I put such things from my mind until after breakfast and the traditional opening of the Christmas presents by the four brats: Henry, Christina, twelve-year old Lauren (Dad’s bastard daughter who was often dropped off by his mother), and nine-year old Justin (Aunt Sylvia’s baby by her late, Canadian husband Drew Radford). Justin was dropped off at their place for the holidays by his grandparents, who got him for alternating holidays every year.

This was usually the same for Lauren with Dad and his ex-mistress Jeanette Devereaux (the paramour who almost broke up my parents’ marriage). This year was rare for both of them being present at once. No, I didn’t ask why. For the record, Mom usually winked at Dad’s trysts, at least from what I could tell, but things had gotten a little more heated with Jeanette for reasons that were never very clear. Maybe it was because Jeanette and Mom had been close girlfriends prior to that liaison, and had treated her like a little sister.

Finally, of course, the festivities broke up, despite the vicarious excitement of watching happy kids open their Christmas gifts and receive their stockings from the fireplace. My bladder was a bit full as I drank a bit more coffee than usual that morning. I rushed to the john for a moment, in such a rush that I didn’t notice that something was amiss. That was when I saw in the mirror that Dad pulled Aunt Sylvia back into the master bedroom and closed the door.