Tommy woke with a start.
He was an early riser and usually woke up before his alarm clock went off (those bulls' balls weren't going to drain themselves) but that wasn't what jolted him out of slumber now. The boy was in their bed again. "Boy" was pushing it. He was almost 18 for shit's sake. The days of nestling in between mommy and daddy because he'd "had a nightmare" had sailed a decade ago and yet here he was. Again. It was happening almost every month now.
Tommy gingerly raised himself onto one elbow and looked at his son. In a few months, he would be legally eligible to die for his country. Yet there he was snuggled up next to his nearly 50 year old mother looking like a literal overgrown baby. Tommy couldn't help feeling a wave of revulsion wash over him; revulsion for his son but also for his wife for almost encouraging this stuff for years. But he also felt disgust at himself for not standing up to her. Well that was going to change, by gum.
"Judith" he hissed.
No response except for a squeak of a fart from the overgrown baby. Tommy could have sworn he saw the little turd grin in his sleep.
"Judith" again, louder this time.
Her eyes both fully opened at once. Tommy was reminded of a nature documentary he'd seen about predators and their subterfuge tactics. Which one was it that pretended to be asleep. He couldn't remember now. The familiar drip of cold fear hit the base of his stomach.
"What is it" she answered, not even really a question.
"Look, we need to talk about this. This isn't natural. He's almost eigh..."
"I'll stop you right there, sweetie. This isn't a conversation that is going to happen. Our son is a brilliant, sensitive, creative, unique individual. The usual rules do not apply. If you're too stupid to see that, I'm sorry I can't help you. Now is that clear?"
"Yes, dear."
"I can't hear you."
"I said yes, dear."
Just then, the creature rolled onto his back, yawned, opened his eyes and looked up at them both.
"Good morning, mother. Morning, dad. Mother, can I have pancakes for breakfast?"
"Of course, Patrick, my handsome genius. Short stack or tall?"
"Mother..."
"Only joking!"
She leapt out of bed and rushed down to the kitchen. Patrick lay back with his hands behind his head. He grinned at his father who now stood near the door to the bathroom. Tommy was horrified but not surprised to see that his son was sporting an erection under the sheets. His sheets. He turned away in disgust.
*
An hour and change later, Patrick and his brother Kyle pulled into the parking lot of Pioneer-Westfield High. The school itself was the kind of building that would've made the Cold War going Hot worth it. Just an ugly, depressing, grey block that screamed "nuke me." It blended in perfectly with its surroundings and most of the people going in and out of it.
"Oh, little brother, don't forget to be out at 3 p.m. sharp. If you want a ride back that is. Travis and I are at a critical juncture in our current build and must attend to it post-haste."
"Whatever, shithead," Kyle replied, "I've got baseball practice. Steve's dad will drop me home. Don't talk to me inside, ok?"
"I'm telling Mom."
Patrick went in and down the hall to his locker. Only ten minutes until first period but still enough time for one or more of the Philistines to find him. Johnny Wildes and his 3 pitbulls - Brian, Clint and Preston. They made his life a living hell. Name-calling (Fagtrick was their favourite - unimaginative swine), pranks, beatings. It wouldn't matter in the big picture though. They were doomed to lives of menial inconsequence and failure. Unemployment, alcoholism, debt. Whereas he was destined for greatness. The only thing to worry about was which greatness it would be. A celebrated novelist and intellectual talking head, regaling the upper echelons of Manhattanite high society with witty observations and drily humorous anecdotes? Or perhaps successful screenwriter and producer, rubbing elbows with George and Steven during the day before returning to his Malibu beachfront pad and model girlfriend in the evening.
His flight of fancy was brought to an abrupt end by someone roughly slamming his head into his locker.
"Dreaming of man ass or Star Trek again, Fagtrick? Which one was it?" Johnny Wildes demanded. Goatish laughter followed from Clint and Bri.
Pat looked at his feet and said nothing.
"See you at recess, faggot."
Patrick sat down in his first class, math (yuck, so useless and boring. What did a future literary national treasure like him need with math?)
The only saving grace was She sat next him.
Michelle Winter, his crush since Grammar School. One day he'd talk to her. (Maybe today?) He looked over at her. Velvet brown hair, ocean blue eyes shrouded by doe-like lashes, pink lips, always a half smile on them. And her body...
He should just say something. Anything. "Hey Michelle" would be a good start...but what then?
No, he thought, She'll come to me. One of these days, she'll come to me.
*
Meanwhile, about six hundred miles away in the town of Pleasantville, OH, it had been a very different morning for another young man, though an average one by his standards.
He'd woken up (in his own bed) after a restful night filled with the sort of sexually-charged dreams normal for a lad his age. He leapt out of bed, beat one out in the shower, got dressed in his uniform (Levis, white T, letterman jacket, work boots) and went charging down the stairs to the kitchen. He saw his mother, still in her robe, fixing coffee and went over to kiss her lovingly on the side of her head.
"Morning mama"
"Morning honey, can I make you something? Hotcakes? Eggs? Sausage? Anything."
"I don't want to put you to any trouble, Mama. I can just have some cereal and toast."
"Nonsense. Growing boy like you. Imma fix you some eggs."
"OK, mama."
Just then his father walked in, a mountain of a man.
"I'll take 6 eggs" he said, playfully slapping his wife's buttocks and kissing her neck. She giggled, suddenly a blushing co-ed again.
"Hey Jonny"
"Hi Dad"
"You ready for the big game tomorrow?"
"You know it."
An hour later, Jon pulled his truck into the parking lot of Fairfield Union High. As soon as he got out he was pounced on by a blonde ball of frenzied energy.
"Oh my God, Johnny. I can't wait until after school. I need it now. I need to see it and touch it at least."
"Stacey, relax. I'll figure something out. Wait in my truck."
He walked over to a group of nerdier guys. They tensed up but relaxed when they saw it was him and not another member of the football team. He was pretty chilled with everybody off the football field. A ten inch cock will do that for you.
"Hey Michael, we've got American History first period today, right?"
"Right, Jon, in about 15 minutes."
"Cool, thanks."
As luck would have it he saw Mr Bryant, his history teacher, pull up just then in his old Chevelle.
"Hey Mr B, I'm really sorry but would it be possible to be like 20 minutes late for class. I've got an urgent personal matter that needs my full focus."
"No problem-o, Johnny. Go Falcons!"
"Yeah, right."
Back to his truck, the pringles can already growing in excitement at the prospect of Stacey's perky little tits and hot, tight, wet snatch. He'd bang her now and then twice again after school. The after-school special was a standard but it always nice to get a workout in the morning when the opportunity presented itself. Life was sweet. He fished in his pocket and was relieved to find six condoms. Magnums, naturally.
It had been pretty embarrassing but his old man had slipped him a box of 500 a couple of months ago. "Look," his pop had said, "all I know is you're my son and the apple don't fall far from the tree so these are the ones for you. And there are enough bastards in this world so peel one of these on before putting it in whichever cheerleader you're banging right now. There's plenty of time for fatherhood but we Snyder men do things responsibly, you hear me?"
"Yes, Sir" he had said.
