Chapter 11

My mother’s tooth brushing video was a huge hit. The custom video guy gave us fifty dollars and promised fifty more at the end of the week. “I’d tip more if I could. The Fartman song was the best. You should set your mother’s singing to music.” He wrote.

It was obvious to me that many people picked up on the fact that my mom wasn’t really writing the comments. I am not sure how they figured that out. No one came out and said it but regular fans like this guy were addressing his comments to me.

He wasn’t the guy with MSA in the wheelchair either. His handle was “EKG”. This guy who sponsored my video was named “Ink Drinker”.

I wrote back “I don’t think I could violate copyright like that,” I said. There were more than a dozen comments telling me that I was wrong and that it would be fine, and at least twice that many telling me that I would be violating some law. I loved the Internet because no one could ever seem to agree on any topic. I could have posted that Ice Cream was delicious and that would start some argument.

I was actually able to find a karaoke version of the song that I felt would work as a backing track and added it to the song. I spent a lot of time adding it to my mother’s vocals under the video before re-uploading it as a remix.

“What are you doing?” Mom hovered over my shoulder and looked at my computer.

“Working on your videos, Cuntling,” I laughed.

“Oh now, you are talking like Ron? He actually texted me,” she said.

“To apologize?”

“No, he wants his Crown Royal back,” she giggled. “Untouched!”

“He poured half of it on the floor,” I said. I asked if he was drunk.

“No, I think he wanted to dunk my head in the water, and make it seem like there was a lot of alcohol in there too and maybe burn my eyes. There wasn’t very much. He also made it seem like he was shocking me, but he really wasn’t doing much. He poured water on me, but he intentionally zapped me as much as possible away from the wet spots.”

“He zapped you right on your bald pussy!” I reminded her. I told her I saw the bruises after.

“Yeah, as I said, he tried to be merciful,” Mom said. “They’ve all healed,” she showed me her body and most of them were completed faded. “Now I have Balck on my belly though,” she tried to see the humor in that.

“Balki fan club,” I pretended to write that on her stomach and extend the writing with my finger. She didn’t get the reference.” Perfect strangers? It’s like an 80s TV show,” I explained.

“How do you even know about that?” she looked at me with amazement.

“I know a lot of random shit, and watched a lot of Nick at Nite,” I said.

“You are a genius. That was hilarious in the bathroom. Am I going to have to sing the Bartman every morning now though?”

“No, the Fartman and just the chorus, at least until I can find a dumber song,” I said.

“Okay and is this really for a month or just a week?” she asked.

I was tempted to say a month just to get her reaction. I told her it was a week. She looked relieved. I was so impressed that she’d really do it if I told her to do it.

“Can I ask you a question, and I want an honest answer, okay?” she said.

“Sure,” I gave her a wry grin.

“No, I am serious, not joking, okay? Do you think I am a bad mother?” she asked.

“What? No,” I said. “Why are you even asking that”

“Well, for one I am working with you on my porn site,” she replied immediately. “You are an adult now, and you are doing a good job. I guess, that’s not what I am asking about though,” Mom seemed reluctant to ask me.

I waited patiently for her to come up with her question.

I thought she was just trying to think of the right words. However, she choked up a little. My mom was seldom at a loss for words and usually had a quick comment to make about anything. I gave her a moment and asked her if she needed some water.

“No, thank you,” she sounded grateful. She held up a finger to give her a moment. “Do you think that I am a bad mother because,” Mom stopped herself again and started over. “I have always supported you and made all of the decisions. I do the shopping, I buy your clothes, whatever it is. Okay?”

I nodded and didn’t say anything. I could tell whatever she wanted to ask me she might even be having second thoughts about asking it.

“Do you think that I am a bad mother because I have basically turned over the decisions to you? Like do you think I am abandoning my job as Mom?”

“What?”

“Oh, come on, Jerry,” Mom patted her thigh in frustration and bounced a little. She was naked so her tit jiggled as she did. “I pawned off managing the money, scheduling my appointments, hell, I don’t even have to decide what to wear anymore. It’s been a really nice vacation from reality, but I keep feeling guilty like I am laying all the things I do NOT want to do on you, and you are being this super cool and understanding son, but maybe you are feeling pressure like I do to make the right decision? You know? Do we fix the van? Buy the steaks? Pay the light bill? What if I make the wrong decision? I hate that shit.”

I did not expect this question or her concern. I didn’t even understand it. Making mistakes was part of life.

“I don’t like to have to remember to schedule doctor’s appointments, and manage client appointments, that’s what it means to be a grown up, though Jerry. I’ve been the one in charge for so long, and I hate it because the mistakes impact you and not just me. It’s been a really nice week, but is it time for me to make grocery lists, and get online and pay the bills? Start doing my part?”

“You did your part, you earned us fifty bucks this morning and the guy is going to tip us fifty more at the end of the week,”

“Meh,” mom shrugged it off. “A hundred bucks is nice, but that was fun. The hardest part was stopping myself from laughing. Did you like my joke about my Only Fan? If you weren’t in charge of the site, I am sure I’d have just one by now.”

“Yeah, it was funny. Can you give me the passwords and the details on all the online bills? I didn’t realize you weren’t paying those.”

“You didn’t? Oh shit, I forgot to tell you,” Mom said. She was very disorganized and had everything written down in random places. The good news was that we weren’t delinquent for rent, electricity, water, or her credit cards. She gave me access to everything including the bank.

“When I was a titty dancer, I worked in a premier club in Arizona called Tiffany’s Cabaret. They had the hottest girls. The way they kept us wasn’t because we made more money there. We would have made money at any club on the strip. They kept us because they made it easy for us. The house mother washed our costumes and mended them. She brought them if we didn’t have them. They had make-up sitting out for us. They brought in food for us. They had brushes, blow dryers, tampons, whatever we needed. I didn’t have to think. I just danced and shook my ass.”

“You liked that?”

“Who wouldn’t, Jerry?”

It felt weird when my mom called me Jerry now. There were times recently my mother called me Jerry to express her disappointment with me. This wasn’t one of those times. We were having a heart-to-heart and I was learning about my mother. I didn’t know this.

“You’ve always been the strongest, bravest woman I know,” I told her.

“Oh, butter me up,” Mom dismissed my compliment and told me she was trying to be serious with me.

“I am serious, Mom,” I said. “If I got a splinter, you would pull it out no matter how much blood. If there is a spider you would kill it, no matter how big. You’ve been turning tricks to support me my entire life and I’ve SEEN what bullshit you have to put up with and you smile even when they smell like Buffalo farts,” I said.

Mom scrunched her nose, she knew I was talking about James.

“You are fearless when it comes to some of the stuff we have done,” I told her I was in awe.

She said most of it has been fun and that wasn’t what she meant. “I pushed off the responsibility of being a grown-up entirely on your shoulders. I forgot about the rent, and if I hadn’t mentioned it, it would not have gotten paid.”

“Yeah, but somehow you managed to pay it every month before this,” I said.

“Actually, no,” Mom said that she was frequently late, and we both suffer because of all the late fees and bounced check fees. “I am terrible at keeping books, and that’s why I didn’t want to handle the money. I never learned to balance a check book when I was in high school. I just kind of use the force and guess about how much money we have and then usually overspend.”

“What is balancing a checkbook?” I asked. I vaguely understood the term, but had never actually done it either.

Mom chuckled. “Debit cards made that obsolete. It used to mean adding up the checks you wrote and comparing it to the balance, but I never quite got into the habit. That’s ancient history, what I am trying to say is that I feel like a bad mother, because I feel guilty that you are doing all of the shit that I do not like to do. Do you feel abandoned? Like I abdicated my responsibilities?”

“I am twenty years old, when was I supposed to learn responsibilities and help out? I should have moved out at 18. I am an adult. I would be doing my own bills and appointments anyway, instead of mooching off of you.”

“Jerry, that’s sweet,” mom fanned her face and looked like she was choking up again. “I know you could get an IT job and move out on your own. I am probably subconsciously holding you back because I am selfish and don’t want you to leave. Please don’t say you are mooching off of me. I really wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you left.”

We both stopped talking and looked at each other.

“I don’t just mean that because you are paying the bills and managing all the boring shit, I can go back to doing that if you want me to, okay?”

“Mom ... mom?” I stopped her from talking. “Shut up, okay? I love you. I like paying the bills and all the boring shit.”

“No, you don’t,” she dismissed me, her eyes filled with tears although I think they were tears of pride.

“Mom, mom, bzzzzttt,” I playfully buzzed her with an imaginary buzzer. “I am going to let you in on a little secret, okay?”

“What?”

“I love you; I don’t want to move, and I appreciate the TRUST you have in me to let me manage the boring stuff,” I said.

“How did a cum dumpster like me raise such a wonderful son?” Mom wiped her eyes. “Okay, fuck ... wow. Well, let’s put it this way. I appreciate you saying that, but if you feel like you want me to share the responsibilities or it ever gets too much,” she started to say.

I put my finger to her lips and shushed her. “I will ask your opinion on important matters, okay?”

“I really wish you wouldn’t,” she half-laughed. “If you told me we have enough money to fix the van OR we can book a trip to Cancun, then I am on that flight, or I’ll tell you to do both. I like bright and shiny things. I think it’s adorable you think that I trust you. Trust isn’t the right word, Jerry. I believe in you. Okay? If you want my opinion, I am happy to give it, but if you throw it in the trash can then I am okay with that too.”

“What if I decide to go to Cancun instead of fixing the van?” I asked hypothetically. I wouldn’t but I wanted to see what she said.

“Yay, Cancun!” mom hopped up and down playfully in mock excitement for the trip. “Seriously though, you wouldn’t do that. You are pragmatic. Do you mind taking care of some other things?”

“What?”

“Well, I just checked the fridge, and we are out of pretty much everything. I was joking about making shopping lists. I wish I made those. I never remember what we need when we get to the store. The last time we went with Mr. Johnson, you told me what to get and that was great. Would you actually pay attention to the cupboard and the fridge and then manage when we go shopping and what we buy?”

“Wow, yeah,” I was thrilled with the suggestion.

“Hopefully you feel that way after a year, it’s not exactly exciting,” Mom shrugged. “The other thing is every day I make breakfast, lunch, and dinner and I make whatever is closest to hand. If there is turkey in the fridge, then I make turkey sandwiches.”

I nodded. I ate whatever my mom made, but she did frequently make us the same exact meal.

“If you do not mind, Sir,” my mom tried to sound formal in her request. “Would you plan the meals? You could write them down for me and leave them on the fridge or tell me or whatever.”

“Whatever I want, is what you will make?” I asked.

“Jerry, I’ve NEVER told you no before. If we, have it and you ask for chocolate brownies for dinner, I’d make it for you. Yes, I hate to ask this but any sort of planning, whether it is remembering to get the oil changed, change the air filter on the a/c, or buy another box of condoms, would you just do that?”

“I suppose you want me to wash the clothes too?” I asked

“Would you?” Mom grinned playfully. “I don’t mind housework. I know it doesn’t make sense for you to sweep or mop in a wheelchair. It would be my dream come true if I didn’t have to remember to vacuum or wash dishes, or clothes. If you would remind me to do them? If you really don’t mind washing clothes, I can teach you. You don’t have as many to wash now that I am naked most of the time, right?”

“But if I never want to pick up a dirty shirt off the floor, and I tell you to do it, you will?”

Mom frowned. “Who do you think does that for you now?” she laughed. “The deal is you are the director around the house, okay? You manage the bills, the appointments, and all the details. You tell me what to cook, and what to clean. If you decide to cook something or clean something, you just do it. Okay?”

“I’d like that,” I said.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“I just said that I would like it,” I reminded her.

“Yeah, but I do not know who would enjoy paying bills, planning meals, and making appointments,” I said.

“Who would enjoy singing fart man in the bathroom to a bunch of horny perverts?”

“Don’t knock it until you try it,” she said and in her Bart Simpson voice “Front to the back, to the side if you can, can. Fartman!”

“Mom, you are crazy,” I chuckled. We wrapped up our conversation and Mom went back to what she had been doing earlier.

I took inventory of the fridge and the cupboard and made a list on my phone of what we needed. I directed my mom on what to make for lunch. It wasn’t anything special or complicated. It was stuff she knew how to make. I took pictures of her cooking in the nude and filmed her singing the Fartman playfully as she served me lunch.

We would have to go back to the store soon, but we had an appointment coming soon. I wondered how Mom would handle going back into “Mr. Johnson” mode for the afternoon’s shopping. I decided I could probably go easy on her and still keep up appearances around Mr. Johnson that I was the boss.

I felt Mom had gone through so much with the interrogation and now she was beating herself over asking me to manage the household. She really didn’t believe that I was flattered. I had been an over-grown kid living in my mom’s house with no ambition and no plan, just wallowing in self-pity about my disability.