Chapter 2

We hear Father open the door to the garage. Mom grimaces and she staggers to her feet. Avoiding my happy gaze, she draws the flaps of her blouse over her titties. I pull on my pants.

“Hi, Sweetheart.” Dad rounds the corner. He cocks his head at the sight of Mom in a rumpled dress and me zipping up. Without saying anything he dumps his sling bag on the table and sighs. “Tough day at work.” He puts a smile on his face and asks, “Tough day at home?”

“Roland raped me, Virgil.” Mom pouts.

Dad’s eyes widen. “Just now?”

“I’m still dribbling.” I admit to my father while hauling my tired bones to stand up, with help from a chair.

“Fiddlesticks, Roland! Why do you sound so happy about it?” Dad admonishes. Mom steps behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I told him it was wrong, but did he listen?”

“It felt great, Dad!”

He grumbles. “It’s not fair. My mother would get really upset when I offered to rape her. Got my hide tanned when my father found out.”

I shrug. “I didn’t offer to rape Mom, I just did it.”

Mom mentions to Dad, “Perhaps if you were more forward at work, you’d be an executive by now.”

“You don’t know what it’s like at my office. My boss...” He changes gears. “Maybe I should tan your hide, Roland.”

“Maybe, but will you?” I call his bluff.

Dad actually unbuckles his belt. His throat makes brave noises. I smirk, daring him, but I can’t remember seeing him this angry.

“Oh, please, Virgil, not now.” Mom intervenes. “You’re probably hungry. Never punish a child out of anger.”

“If I don’t punish him now, it’ll lose its impact.”

“Where did you read that? In some ‘tough love’ Christian literature?” Mom cuts through Dad’s bluster. “The right moment was before our son ejaculated in my vagina.”

“You mean he might have got you pregnant?”

“It’s not like I could convince Roland to rape with a condom! Would it even BE rape if I counseled him to use one?” Mom goes to get a sweater. “We’re eating out.”

Dad’s anger burns out. “Maybe I should start raping you.” He looks down and shakes his head. “Sorry, Love.”

“Hey, I get it, Dad. I messed up. Raping Mom was wrong, but that’s on me. Don’t let my bad karma trip you up.”

“Did you ask your mother’s forgiveness?”

“Nah,” I frown. “What’s the point? I’m probably gonna do it again. I don’t want to be a hypocrite!”

So, dinner is a thing. Mom vetoes my vote to eat at the outlandish, Italian, family style restaurant - as punishment. She lets Dad take us to his favorite, quiche bistro. They share an olive and artichoke pie. I eat a whole one stuffed with bacon, ham, sausage, and mushrooms.

Afterwards, back at home, I try to study. I tend to let homework pile up. I manage to put an hour into the effort, but my dick is bugging me. No, I don’t find homework arousing. My dick finds everything arousing! “Damnit.” I go to the living room. The TV is on, but Mom and Dad aren’t around.

Some talking head says America needs to identify pedophiles in infancy and give them to incarcerated, adult pedophiles. “The benefits are two-fold. One, more pedophiles will want to go to prison, and baby pedophiles will learn a powerful lesson not to follow their sick instincts.

I stab the off button and march down the hall to my parents bedroom. I don’t have to put my ear to the door, but they’re not loud.

“A handjob? I want more than that tonight.” Dad sounds testy.

“Watch your temper with me, Virgil. Who do you think had the worse day?”

“If you had to get raped, I could have done it for you!” He growls.

Mom snorts loudly. “It’s not like I had a choice. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Virgil.”

“Our son raped you!”

“I know that! I was there. You weren’t. You don’t see me begging him to do it again.”

For some reason, that feels like my cue. I open their door and walk in. Mom is sitting on her side of their bed. Dad stands next to her with his pants unclasped. He hasn’t pulled down the zipper yet. “I don’t like it when you two fight.” I complain.

“See?” Mother sighs at Father. “Virgil, you’re the cause of our family’s dysfunction. How can a child learn moral behavior when his parents are fighting?”

“But, Rose (that’s my mother’s name), I want to do my duty as a father and husband. I’m only asking for you to do yours.”

“Fuck, Dad, have some empathy for Mom. Maybe that’s why I raped her this afternoon - to show her that you only care about yourself.”

She glares up at him. Her face clearly expresses, “If you had any idea what I’ve been through...”

“Rose, I love you!” Dad relents. “I’ll support you however you think best.”

“Is that good enough for you, Mom?” Maybe now they’ll stop bickering.

“I’m not sure.” She studies her husband. “I love you, Virgil, but maybe Roland is right about your empathy. You don’t lack it, but I think you might be a little slow to feel it.”

“I’m sorry.” Dad hangs his head. He gives me a subtle wave of his hand, dismissing me. As if I would go.

“I got this, Mom.” Stepping between them, I frown at Dad. “Mom, do you let him cornhole you?”

“Roland!” Dad blurts, anger returning.

“That’s not any of your business.” Mom answers a little too quickly.

“It’s not, Mom. But if you do, then you got some serious lube in the room, right?”

“Don’t answer him, Rose.” Dad takes a step back from me. His unfastened pants shift lower.

“You worry too much, Dear.” Mom shakes her head. “I won’t shame you in front of our son. Unlike someone here, I do empathize with you.” Mom points at the bottom drawer of her dresser.

A grin pops across my face, and I stride to the drawer. “Vaseline?” I pull out the yellowish tub and frown. “This is last century lube!”

“Wh-what are you going to - do - with that?” Dad sounds worried.

“I think I need to rape you, Dad.”

“Why the hells would you want to do that?”

“I don’t want to.” I sit beside Mom, continuing to shake my head at the jar’s ancient design. It’s dusty and looks little used. “And I’m not gay. If I was, I would have said so years ago.”

“T-two things, uh...” Dad pretends to be confident. “Rape is wrong.”

“What’s the other thing?”

“Over my, um, dead body.” He steps away until his back is against their bathroom door. He clutches his pants but fumbles when he tries to refasten them.

I turn to Mom and shrug. “He’s bigger and stronger than me.”

“Not by much.” Mom scans my fourteen year old frame. “But I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.” She puts a hand on my lap, and sighs up at Dad.

He looks relieved.

I notice that Mom’s index finger seems to be pointing at the headboard. A wooden baseball bat stands against it, ready to be used for home defense - in case stranger rapists invade our home.

“He probably has a concussion!” Mom worries over Dad’s limp form. She helps me get him onto the bed, but I pull down his pants and roll him onto his belly. She didn’t really worry until he failed to stir from all that jostling.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’ve never hit anyone before, with a baseball bat.”

“At least his head’s not bleeding.” Mom rocks Dad’s shoulder. “Honey?”

I’m tying his hands behind his back when he groans. “Huh? Nnggghhh, my head!” He’s super groggy.

I finish knotting the necktie around his wrists and test it. “Hey, I’m sorry about whacking your head, Dad, but I had to improvise. Don’t move, all right?”

“Y-you hit me! OHH!” He struggles with the bond securing his arms. “You hit me with a baseball bat!” He groans louder.

“Ohh, I’m sorry too, Sweetie!” Mom begins to cry. “This is my fault! I got caught up in Roland’s mood. Honestly, if anyone deserves a rape lesson, it’s him. I should have helped you knock out our son.” She covers her wet face with her hands. “But he’s our boy, Honey. I just couldn’t!” She sobs!

“I-I- ooohh. I guess I’m not in a position to fight him off, but that doesn’t mean I’ll just let him rape me.” Dad cranks his neck, trying to loosen the complaining muscles. “If you untie me, Roland, we can discuss this like adults. I respect that you’re trying to learn your boundaries in modern society.”

“Nah, Dad, I’d worry that you didn’t learn your lesson, and you would trouble Mom again.” Now that his pants and cotton briefs are down around his knees, I begin to unfasten my pants. My cock isn’t very hard. I hope it’ll do the job.

“What about your empathy for me?” He isn’t the dullest brick. “You said you didn’t want to be a hypocrite.”

“Oh, I have lots of empathy for you, Dad, and I really am sorry I had to knock you out.” I open the jar of Vaseline. It smells worse than the odor wafting from my father’s bung.

“If Mother hadn’t distracted me, I could have avoided your swing to my skull.” He declares, to bolster his confidence. “We could be talking this out. Adults resolve things that way. Violence only causes more problems!” He reasons.

“I’m not an adult.” I shrug.

“Don’t you want to become an adult fit for mainstream society?” Mom asks unexpectedly.

“Maybe someday, but I got to figure out too much stuff, first.”

“How is raping my ass going to help you figure anything out?” Dad’s voice loses its earlier strength.

“Maybe that’s something I need to figure out.” I grab two fat pillows and stuff them under Dad’s belly button, raising his hind end up until he’s on his knees. “Anyway, I’m doing this for your own good.”