HUGE X3: A MFMM Menage Stepbrother Romance

by Stephanie Brother

  The door to the dressing room opens and my mom steps through looking stunning in an off-white gown that makes her look at least five years younger. Her face beams as she walks and turns around for me. I’m off my feet in a flash, aching arches be damned, and envelop her in a hug.

  “You look amazing!” I say. “Jeff will love it.”

  She smooths her hands down the front over the beading. “Do you think so?”

  I turn her around and we look at her in the mirror. “I know so. Look how awesome you look.”

  “Time to buy it then!”

  She smiles and I kiss her cheek before she hurries into the change room to takes the dress off and comes back out with it slung over her arm. The woman assisting us suddenly appears, her wide smile revealing perfectly white teeth.

  “How was that for you?” the woman asks, smiling hopefully.

  “I’ll take it. Now we need a maid of honor dress for my daughter,” my mom says gesturing to me.

  The woman eyes me up and down, presumably assessing my size, then looks at my mother. “Desired colors?”

  “A nice pink perhaps.”

  Thankful she didn’t say red, I smile and with my arm around her shoulders squeeze one more time. I’m so happy for her. The way she glows all the time is a testament to how happy Jeff makes her. Thinking about Jeff makes me think about Cory. How is it possible to feel such a terrible sinking feeling in your stomach and a flutter in your heart at the same time?

  The clerk returns a few minutes later with an array of pink dresses draped over her arms. Short ones, long ones, in varying degrees of pinkness. The hot pink colored one snags my attention first so when she hangs them up in the dressing room my mom has just used I pull that one off the hanger first and close the door.

  “How does it look?” my mom asks.

  I slip on the satiny material, enjoying the caress of the smooth fabric along my arms. The dress hugs my body in all the right places and I can still breathe even when I do the zipper up. The clerk has an eye for sizing a customer up. Literally.

  I twirl in front of the mirror. The dress is long and pretty streamlined. There is no flare of the skirt when I turn. I can tell it will just tap my heels as I walk but not float around my ankles.

  “It’s a nice color,” I say. “What color are the bridesmaid’s dresses going to be?”

  “If we go with a hot pink for yours I was thinking a lighter pink for them. Or maybe a nice green.”

  I open the door so my mom can see the dress.

  “What do you think?”

  She smiles. “It looks lovely on you. How do you feel about it?”

  “I like it.”

  “Try on some of the others. I have her looking for blue just in case the pink doesn’t work out.”

  I retreat back into the change room and take off the dress. I put it in a pile I mentally label maybe. Next up is another long dress but this one is a lighter shade of pink. I pull that one on and turn to see how it looks from the back. It looks nice too but I’m not sure about the style. Of course, it’s my mom’s wedding so I’ll wear whatever she tells me to wear.

  “How is the next one?” she asks through the change room door.

  “It’s nice too.”

  “Come out so I can see. Your phone keeps buzzing in your purse, sweetie.”

  “Like ringing buzzing?” I ask.

  “No, just every once in a while it will buzz.”

  Notifications. Not sure what the notifications would be for since I haven’t posted to social media in a while. I decide to check the phone in a minute. First, I need to finish off the pink dresses before she changes to another color scheme.

  I come out of the dressing room again and twirl.

  “That one is nice,” she says but her brow furrows.

  “You hate it,” I say.

  “I don’t hate it. I don’t think it looks as good on you as the last one.”

  “You’re the bride. No one will be paying attention to me.”

  “Of course, they will. And I want you to be happy with the dress you’re wearing. I’m your mother. I’m not going to have you wear something hideous.”

  I grin and hurry back into the change room. We go through the rest of the dresses and so far the first one is winning.

  The clerk hangs up a bunch of blue gowns and takes the discards of the pink pile away. I try on a bunch of the blue dresses, parading in front of mom to see which one she likes best. She frowns.

  “I still like the first pink one you tried on,” she says.

  I agree but everyone knows you don’t buy the first thing you try on until you’ve exhausted every other option available. No dress will be left untried, at least not one in my size.

  “I do too but we need to be sure. Do you want me to try any other ones on before I go back to that one?”

  “A few more. She’s going to find some in yellow.”

  Because I’m waiting in the lounge area with my mom I hear the buzz of my phone this time. A couple in quick succession. Weird. I put the phone out of my mind and smile when the clerk comes back, her arms piled high with yellow dresses.

  Another clerk walks up to my mom and offers her sparkling apple juice. My mom takes a flute of juice and sits on the bench to wait for me.

  I duck into the room and try on all the dresses, coming out only for the ones that don’t look horrible. Yellow really isn’t my color. I know she won’t choose any of these ones.

  “What do you think?” I ask wearing the final yellow dress.

  “Well, I think the first one is the winner. It looks the best on you and there are so many lighter shades of the pink it will be easy to find one for the bridesmaids.”

  “Great! I do really like the first one.”

  I snag a sparkling apple juice when the clerk walks by again then dig into my purse on the bench to pull out my phone. Before I can swipe the screen the phone rings. Well, vibrates in my hand. Rachel’s name comes up on the screen.

  I hit the answer button.

  “Hey, Rach.”

  “Allyson, have you seen the pictures that are going around?”

  My heart beats faster. My hand trembles in my lap and the sinking feeling I’ve pushed aside since Cory left without saying goodbye is back, churning the juice I just drank.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, trying to sound calm. It could be something else; maybe pictures from a night out last week or a new meme of a hot actor or something. Not the pictures I’ve been dreading will be revealed.

  “It’s pictures of you and Drew,” Rachel says. She’s whispering like she doesn’t want anyone around her to hear what she’s saying.

  I suck in a deep breath, my hand still shaking. I worry the flute of the sparkling juice will fall but I manage to hold onto it. On trembling legs, I walk over to the bench and sit down. My mom has noticed my actions and walks over to me, looking so concerned it breaks my heart. I don’t want her special day to be tainted in any way.

  “Allison, what’s wrong?”

  I don’t know what to tell her. I cling on to a glimmer of hope that maybe he hasn’t sent them to everyone. Rachel’s voice on the other end begs me to tell her what’s going on.

  “Rach, I can’t really talk right now. Where did you see them?”

  “They’re all over, sweetie. Facebook, email.”

  Oh god, I want to die from shame.

  “I’ll call you back,” I say, gripping onto the phone like it’s the only thing holding me together.

  “I’m worried about you,” Rachel says.

  “I promise I’ll call you back.” I disconnect the call and sit gazing at my phone in a daze. I know my mom is looking at me, waiting for me to say something, but I can’t seem to process the words or the responses. Is now the time to lie? Should I try to protect her and hope that no one tells her? Should I wait for a better moment to confess the truth?

  “Sweetie, what’s going on?” my mom asks, placing her hand on my knee and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
I’m sure she can feel my leg trembling. My chest feels tight and I can’t seem to catch my breath. There’s no burying my head in the sand anymore. Any glimmer of hope that I was holding onto has faded to nothing.

  With the call ended, messages flash on my screen now. I flick through them, dozens of them, catching a few words from each text. I cringe at some of the comments. Things like ‘whore’ and ‘slut’ and ‘I want some of that’ make my skin crawl. All the vile suggestions come from numbers I don’t recognize. And there are a few messages from people I know, guys I know, concerned about me.

  There are a few concerned messages from girls I know too. The shock and horror in those messages and the vow to be there for me if I need them make me feel little better. But not much.

  I still haven’t looked up at my mother. I can feel her unease pouring into me and I resist the urge to look up because I don’t know what I’m going to say.

  “Allyson please tell me what’s going on. Whatever it is, I can help you.”

  Her support cracks the last of my fragile resolve to hold it together. I sag in defeat and suck in a breath, half sobbing. “I can’t tell you, mom.”

  “You can tell me anything, you know that. Whatever it is. How can I help you if you don’t tell me?”

  I take hold of her hand, gripping so tightly I know I’m probably hurting her but she squeezes back and uses her other hand to stroke my hair. It’s been so long since she did that, but it feels so good to be taken back to how things were when I was a child; a time when problems were simple and could be soothed away by some reassuring words and a hug.

  I can’t look her in the eye when I tell her, so I keep them closed. Through the whole terrible story, she keeps hold of my hand and strokes my hair. I think about how much it must be hurting her to see me like this. I know her mind will be thinking through the long-term implications because that’s what moms do.

  When I’ve finished she says, “Show me the photos.”

  I shake my head because describing them in sparse detail is one thing, but actually displaying them for her is another.

  “Show me,” she says again, this time more firmly. “How can I help you if I don’t know what exactly what we’re dealing with?”

  Tears roll down my cheeks as I fumble with the password on my phone. I tab through the worst, settling on one that’s bad but the least explicit. When I hand it to her, she doesn’t react. I watch and marvel as she takes one very deep breath and exhales. She sits up straighter. I can feel the anger seething inside her. She rests my phone on her knee and digs around in her purse. For a second, I think she’s searching for a packet of tissues but then she pulls out her phone.

  Panic slices through me when I realize who she’s going to call, but it’s too late to turn back now. I can’t untell her. She can’t unsee the picture.

  I sit and wait as she talks to Jeff, her voice getting increasingly loud. Her gaze darts around the shop when people start looking at her. I nudge her to tell her to lower her voice. She whispers as she continues filling Jeff in on the same story I just told her.

  I can’t listen to it over again so I reach out and take my phone, then stand up and pace. My phone buzzes again startling me. Almost afraid to look at the screen, I peek at it, relief and dread warring with each other when I see Cory’s name flash on the screen. I think about not answering, but that will just make things worse.

  I swipe to answer and breathe a soft ‘hello’ into the phone.

  I don’t know what I’m expecting him to say. ‘I’m sorry for walking out without saying goodbye’, or ‘I’m sorry for doing all the things we did’. I don’t expect for him to know already, but he does.

  “Allyson, I know this is hard for you but you need to come into the station.” Cory’s voice is tight and cold, the same voice he used when he was questioning me by the side of the road. He’s back to using cop voice on me and that makes me sad. I guess it shouldn’t. We had sex, that was all. Amazing, mind-blowing sex admittedly. Why then do I feel so much loss?

  Sadness aside, I know he’s right. Now that the cat’s out of the bag, I have no other choice but the prospect of facing him and Jeff, the prospect of my mom finding out all the gory details is just too horrific to bear.

  “I know I should,” I say, still clinging to the remotest possibility that all of this will just be a horrible dream that I’m moments from waking from. “I’ll think about it,” I say.

  At the police station, I sit in a chair facing Detective Jameson and I try not to fidget. I keep my gaze down on my hand, which my mom is squeezing reassuringly. Every so often she nods at what the detective is saying. I’m in such a daze that I can barely take in what is happening around me.

  I’m in a police interview room.

  I’m just a normal girl, generally law abiding except for the recent speeding incident. I don’t know how I’ve ended up here.

  The room is small, the walls close and with every new question, I feel that they are closer. Things weren’t supposed to turn out like this. I always thought of my private life and my life goals to be two separate things, but now I find them intrinsically linked. The dreams I had flash before my eyes and I have to I bite my lip to stop myself from sobbing.

  Rachel, who is standing behind me, squeezes my shoulder for support. I touch her hand in thanks and suck in a deep breath. Half of me is grateful to have the support of people who love me but their concern just makes me feel even more mortified, even more of a letdown.

  I sneak a peek at Cory. His face is blank and expressionless, his cop face. As I watch, his eyes narrow in concentration as he listens to the detective talk about revenge porn and the new legislation. This isn’t just a college prank gone too far. This will have serious repercussions, not only for me but for Drew too.

  “Please continue with your account, Allyson,” Detective Jameson says.

  He’s finished explaining the last point so I pause for a moment to gather my thoughts. I tell them the whole story about Drew, how controlling he was after we had been together for a few months, breaking up with him, and the threats after that. As I talk about the night at the party and what Drew had threatened, I can’t help but look up at Cory. I expect his mouth to be set in a serious line and his eyes to reflect nothing of what he is thinking. What I see is very different. His eyes blaze with barely contained fury and a muscle in his jaw twitches. I look away from his face, feeling so ashamed of what he knows about me and about what we did, and see his hands are balled into fists at his sides.

  The anger is practically radiating from him. I hope he’s angry at Drew and what he’s done, and not at me. I know I lied to him, but he must be able to see why.

  The detective writes down everything I say. “When did the harassing phone calls start?”

  “Shortly after I broke up with him,” I say.

  “What’s his full name, address, phone number?” Cory asks, sounding as though he’s speaking through gritted teeth.

  “We’ll get to that in a moment, Officer Carlisle. Let Allyson tell her story,” the detective says.

  I squirm in my chair under Cory’s angry gaze.

  “Do you have any of the pictures?” Cory asks.

  The detective glares at him and doesn’t respond this time. He knows that our parents are engaged so obviously he understands why Cory might be overstepping his position to try and ascertain what has happened.

  I nod and search through my phone to find the pictures. I blush when I see the first one and hesitate for a moment. Once I hand the phone over, that’s it, everything will be out of my control. Although mom and Rachel have seen them, Cory hasn’t. It’s his disapproval that I seem to fear the most, especially since we had sex. How will he feel to see me doing similar things with Drew that I did with him? Will he understand why I lied?

  I hand the phone to the detective who swipes through the photos, his face remaining neutral. Not even a spark of emotion filters through and I’m grateful for his professionalism.

  Cory mov
es to stand behind the detective, his eyes taking in every picture that flashes on the screen. He looks up at me, his eyes dark, then flicks back to the screen. I think that I see disgust in his expression. I know that everyone has a past and that there was no way Cory thought I was a virgin, but to be faced with pictures like the ones he is looking at, he must think so terribly of me.

  Slut.

  That’s how I feel.

  Dirty.

  My skin feels itchy; underneath my clothes, around my wrists, and between my legs. I have a sudden urge to clean my teeth, to try and scrub away the taste of Drew that comes rushing into my mouth.

  Unable to take any more scrutiny I stand and begin to cry. Huge sobs wrack my body as I stumble toward the door, my only thought to get out of that room so I can hide away and pretend that none of this is happening. At least in the ladies’ room Cory can’t look at me and see what I really am.

  Before I can reach the door my mom stands and pulls me into a hug. Her arms tighten around me and I settle against her shoulder, hugging her in return. Rachel stands beside my mom putting her arms around both of us. I know I must be ruining mom’s blouse. She dressed up for our big shopping day and she’s ended up in a grubby police interview room, clinging on to her even filthier daughter.

  “I know this is hard for you,” the detective says from behind me. “We’ll need to keep these pictures as evidence. And any others we encounter during our investigation.”

  “Okay,” I say. The idea of the pictures remaining at the station mortifies me but I understand why it has to be this way.

  “We need to put together a statement, then you can go home while we carry out our investigation.”

  I nod and sit back down. It seems to take forever for the detective to note down everything I’ve said. When he’s finally done I pick up my purse. It had fallen from my lap when I stood and was in a heap on the floor.

  “I can drive them home,” Cory offers.