Degenerate

by Havok, Rayne

  “He restored three vintage cars; those titles will be transferred over to you, and the contents of a safe deposit box he held at the bank here in town.”

  I know the one he’s talking about– it being the only bank in town, I assume it’s where everyone has to do their banking business. “What’s in that?” I ask.

  “The contents are not labeled– I have no idea.” He hands me a key along with the paper he’d been reading and reiterating to me. I look it over and see that he has missed nothing.

  “Is that everything, then?”

  “Yes it is. Thank you for coming on such short notice. I know it must be a hard time for you. Your father was a great man. I’m sure you know that though.”

  “I do, absolutely. Thank you for staying late to see me tonight. I appreciate your time.”

  “Not a problem at all, it was nice to finally meet you, your father had nothing but kind words when speaking of you.”

  “I’m sure that’s true, he never spoke of the bad things about anyone. Thanks again.” I fold the paper, sticking it into my back pocket and leave before he can rope me into one of those ‘remembering the good old times’ conversations.

  It’s too late to go to the bank tonight, I’ll have to make that trip tomorrow. I head in the direction of my old house. Something I’d never thought I’d do again, unless of course my father died… but only then.

  I’m surprised the house is dark when I pull up, my mother never kept late hours but I had assumed she’d wait for me to get here. I don’t ring the bell, I grab the key I know to be under the fake rock in the flower bed by the door and head inside.

  It looks as it always has– like my drunk mother decorated, nothing really going together or fitting in the space it was intended for. I never did like the look of this place. It has great potential, being an old farmhouse style layout, long and brick, with a wraparound patio area around the entirety of the bottom story- the brick whitewashed and beautiful but when you walk inside it’s a huge contradiction.

  Since it’s mine now, I have a quick thought of gutting the whole thing and starting over. I could really turn this into something great. But I have my fucking mother to worry about now. Where the fuck would I put her? I don’t know what my father may have done to ensure she would be ok without him, nor do I care really, other than how it will affect me. Which is an awful thing to say about the woman who gave me life, but I can assure you if she were your mother you’d have the same thoughts. This is one fucked up woman to grow up with.

  I look around the rest of the bottom floor before heading up to my old room, no sign of my mother anywhere. I walk past their– her– bedroom but the door is closed and I don’t really think I’m ready to see her yet, so I let her be. I catch myself actually tiptoeing past the door; I must really be dreading the sight of her.

  I push the door closed quietly and flip the light on; throwing my bag on the bed, I look around. It all looks as I last left it. It feels like I’m 16 again, which is the last time I’d done anything in here to spruce it up. The half- naked pictures of women I’d jacked off to hung on the walls next to more trophies than I ever had room for.

  I’d always been into sports, learning early on that the girls always wanted the boys that played. And I wanted the girls. I liked to play, don’t get me wrong, but the incentives were better than the actual sport. I was good at most things I put my mind to, sports came easy, then the girls came even easier.

  I flip on the TV just for background noise. I text Cammie, letting her know I made it. Then I call her a few minutes later when I don’t get a response. “Cam… where the fuck are you? I could use a little comfort right now, my fucking dad just died. What the fuck are you doing that’s more important than that?” I leave those words as a message on her voicemail and fling my phone onto the bed.

  I get undressed and slip into the covers; my parents have always kept the thermostat a tad too cold in this house.

  I fall asleep quickly, still not having caught up on my sleep with this whole ordeal.

  Chapter Five

  I wake early, it’s still dark out, but the birds tell me it’s morning, I haven’t been woken by nature sounds in a long time. It’s actually nice. I’ve finally replenished my missing sleep, I can feel it in my bones. The weariness is gone and my brain is able to focus despite the dreams of younger me being home, the times I try hard not to remember, the times my mother was not a mother, but the devil.

  The urge to pee is what finally has me up and out of bed. I relieve myself and plop back onto the mattress, arms tucked behind my head I let my mind wander to the girl at the motel. Fuck, she was cute. Maybe I’ll stay there on the way back. Maybe get into that tight little ass next time, she had enjoyed my finger in there, little ass slut.

  Her perfect tits come to mind and make me hard again. I’m not usually a chest man, but those were perfect, and they had bounced like mad while she had ridden my dick. I tug my cock a few times before I stop myself. Although I’d love nothing more than to leave a nut stain right across the sheets I don’t give into that urge, instead I wrap my hand around my cock unmoving until I feel it softening. Focusing my thoughts on the impending errands I need to get done today– starting with the bank, I need to get over there and get the contents of my father’s box. I should do that before my mother wakes so I don’t have to see her first thing this morning.

  I dress quickly and sneak past her still- closed door.

  Relief floods when she is not downstairs. I leave quickly, climbing into the car and heading for the bank, I’m curious to see what my father had kept in there, I knew nothing of a safe deposit box, I didn’t even know my father to be the type to keep one.

  The town, overall, looks as I remember, old and a little run down, full of mom and pop shops run by the town’s residences, the two stop lights are still functioning and no more have been added. I guess the population hasn’t grown enough to warrant an additional one. If I’m being honest, I don’t remember a time I actually used the stop lights as they were intended, more like a stop sign, just double check no one – or police, are coming and just drive on through. Anyone around here knows that to be how they work, people even stop at the green lights to make sure the person with the red light did not have the right of way.

  I pull into the empty bank parking lot, for having the business of the entire town, it’s not as busy as everyone might assume.

  I reach for my cell and call Cammie, she’s really pissing me off now, why the fuck won’t she answer? I call four times before giving up and texting her that she needs to get ahold of me. Bitch. I toss the phone into the passenger seat and head for the entrance of the bank.

  Andrea, who I went to school with, is the teller that calls me over. “Hey,” she says in a too- chipper voice. The girl always had a crush on me, like, in a way that creeped me out and never let me fuck and use her. I kept far away from her, her chubby body helped with the task. She looks better now, trimmed down, but her face is still that of the girl that I recall watching my every move and asking me to every dance that the school held. Overtly throwing herself at me at every party we found ourselves at together.

  “Hey, Andrea,” I say and a shock crosses her face, maybe she was expecting me not to recall her name, but one does not simply forget their stalkers names– or faces.

  “Oh, my god, you look so good, Tyler… I mean you have always looked so good, but now you’re a man.”

  Oh my fuck, some things never change.

  “Thanks,” I say with a small smile so as not to piss her off and make her go crazy stalker on me. I don’t add anything about how she looks.

  She asks what brought me in and I’m assuming she knows about my father because it’s a small town and everyone knows your business, sometimes even before the person the news is about knows. I’ve found out plenty of things about me and my family through the grapevine rather than actual facts from the sources.

  “Just here to collect my father’s safe deposit box’s cont
ents. Could you help me out with that?” I say it a little nicer than I need to, in case it’s a hassle or too much work, she may be able to expedite the process.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss, I always remember you two having such good times together.” The look of pity on her face makes me want to hit her. I shake that from my mind and the fact that she was not an invited witness to any happy times with my father. You think she’d want to hide the fact that she stalked me, but instead she uses that information to recall ‘memories’ of me.

  “I’m fine, thanks for saying that.” What the fuck does a person say when people are apologizing for things they’ve had no part in? Whatever. “Think you could help me out with that box?” I hold the key up to help her focus… maybe she likes shiny things.

  “Oh, sure, follow me.”

  I do, and as we reach the rows of boxes, she grabs for my arm and waits until I look at her before she speaks. “You want to get a drink or something?” She attempts a flirty smile, but it looks like a sneer and it’s not flattering, luckily I have an excuse this time and it is air tight.

  “I’m just not ready to be social right now, you know, losing my dad sure did a number on me. Thanks for the offer though, maybe another time.” I wink at her, I don’t know why. I can pretty much hear the rush of wet flood her panties. I almost laugh. The whimper that escapes her does finally make me laugh. I don’t mask it. I don’t wonder if I’ve hurt her feelings– I just want his over with,

  She hands me a metal box without another word and won’t make eye contact again, the submissive thing works for her. I could do some things to this Andrea– and not nice things, well, not for her. I hold back that laugh, unlike what you might think, I’m not usually a dick.

  “Thanks,” I say, taking the box from her and setting it on the table. I open it with more eager curiosity than a Christmas present. It looks like a shit ton of paper work mostly, there is some jewelry and trinkets in here that look like they’ve meant something along the way. I don’t remember them all. Most are my grandmother’s things, I remember her wearing many of the pieces.

  The rewritable CD that I see is confusing more than anything so far. I don’t think of my dad as much of a tech guy. Not even techy enough to make a disk, I’ll have to check out his efforts. I think maybe he’s converted photos to disk. It might be interesting to look back at some of those times, even if they are not fond memories.

  I take the paperwork out and dump the rest of the contents onto the table then load up my pockets with what will fit. Andrea must think I look foolish–mostly because I do. I should have brought something to carry this shit, but I hadn’t thought about the fact that my father would be sentimental or a mild hoarder.

  I thank Andrea for her help, not waiting for a response and head for my car, emptying the contents of my pockets into the seat next to me. I’ll take them into the house when I get back.

  I check my phone, no response from Cammie. I think about texting her something mean– more mean than I’ve already been to her. Maybe breaking it off, but I don’t, instead, I head back home, stopping first for a breakfast sandwich that I eat in the driveway before going in. Whether my mother has cooked something is not of my concern, she has always been an awful cook in the kitchen. I’d have passed on her concoction either way.

  I go inside finally, taking a deep breath to ready myself for seeing her; she will definitely be up now, although when I don’t see her downstairs I get a little excited to put off this reunion for a while longer. I decide to check through the rest of the house, calling to her, although I’m not eager to see her, the trepidation is killing me, better to get it over with rather than dwelling on it, I suppose.

  “Mom,” I call throughout the upper level. I knock on her bedroom door when I reach it, turning the handle when she does not answer.

  The room is dark; the shades are drawn. I can’t see the bed clear enough to say one way or the other if she is tucked inside, so I go forward. It’s empty. She must have gone out. Relief floods, along with something else I can’t name right now– something close to regret, even though she was an awful, selfish, whore of a woman she is still my mother and maybe a little comfort from her right now would be nice. She has never been type to hug the sadness away, leaning more toward the ‘oh, fuck he’s crying again, I better avoid him’ side. It might be nice to see if there has been a change in the way she might handle such things now that I am older.

  I sit on the end of the bed. The room is so fucking flowery and feminine; my father never put much effort into fighting for what he wanted. ‘Just let your mother have her way, it’s just easier,’– that was his motto. It made me so angry to hear; knowing my mother took full advantage of that frame of thought– took full advantage of most things in this fucking house. I get angry with her all over again. She is such an awful woman.

  I’m angry at my father for letting her win all of the time, it taking away my own choices in most matters. Forcing me to sit by and let her do whatever she wanted, not backing me up and helping me stand up to her.

  My life would have been far better if she were not involved and now I wish it was her being buried in a few days. I’m angry at her for not letting my father live a single day without her and her demanding ways.

  I leave the room and slam the door shut behind me, rattling the walls.

  Fucking bitch.

  My anger rearing its ugly head, anger I’d somehow tricked myself into thinking was behind me.

  I have to be here through the day of the funeral, I’m not going to miss that just to avoid my mother. I think four more days of this sneaking around will not be too hard to handle knowing there is an end to it.

  I’ll just let her stay in the house until she meets her own fate and then sell it. Then we won’t have to have that awkward talk about where she might live or how she would afford it. I don’t even want to talk about the fact that my father has left me everything.

  He had inherited this house from his family and my mother must not have gotten on the deed if he can hand it over to me outright without her permission. It’s actually a shame that the house would leave the family. I may keep it after all, not to live in, but to pass down if I have children. I almost laugh at the thought of me fathering a kid, it’s not likely, but who can say what the future holds.

  I’m only 25, I can’t know what will come down the line in a few years. I’m guessing nothing too much further with Cammie if she can’t even be bothered to call me now. But, there is a world of women out there that may love to come when I call. The thought excites me, having some submissive girl begging me to tell her what to do and fucking her silly.

  Fuck.

  That would be perfect; I think I may end it with Cammie after all. She would never be that. She practically makes me work for her pussy and it’s often times not worth the effort.

  I only had to lay a fast food meal in front of the motel girl, Kelly, and she road my cock like a fiend and nothing was awkward with her, little effort for massive reward. I like that.

  I go about unpacking my bag, getting a little more settled in, I wonder where my mother had run off to this morning. She hadn’t left a note telling me what she may be up to. I know she didn’t have a meeting with that attorney. Maybe the grocery store?

  I call Cammie one more time, “We need to talk, I feel like we need to have a good heart to heart and this avoiding me shit has gone too far. Call me. Now!” I leave on her voicemail.

  My phone buzzes before I put it down. A text. “We have nothing more to talk about.”

  What the fuck? Women and their fucking mind trips. “What are you talking about?” I hit send.

  “You have some really big balls to think I’d want anything to do with you after what you did.”

  Well, I know she has no idea what I do. She has no idea about the women I fuck behind her back or the things I love to do to them. “Where’s this coming from?” I feign innocence.

  “Are you fucking serious?” She never swears, not
so much as a ‘damn’, so I know something must really be bothering her.

  “I don’t have any idea what could have gotten your panties in a bunch. Please remind me of this awful thing I’ve done.”

  “Goodbye.”

  I hit call and wait for her to answer, she sends me to voicemail instead. “You fucking call me, or you’ll regret it.” I don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t, but this fucking mind fuck has got to stop, I will have the upper hand. “You have until tomorrow to have a normal conversation with me.” I hit end angrily.

  Nothing comes from her end, but I don’t really expect it right away, she will wait until the deadline before responding. I know her well. I tuck the phone in my pocket and head for the kitchen. I need another cup of coffee. Then I’ll get my hands on that disk, see what my dad thought important enough to save.

  The coffee is dark and delicious; I take it up to my room and put the unlabeled disk into my laptop, as the images flood the screen I realized it was not meant for me.

  My father is ass naked, leaning over the table in what looks like the basement, pushing buttons on his recording device and setting the frame up. As soon as he steps away from view, I see my mother equally naked. It sends shivers across my body. I’ve seen her in this exact way countless times– spread eagle and waiting. I can almost hear her voice now, ‘such a good boy, come love your mother.’ That old familiar feeling of dread hits me in the pit of my stomach. For some reason I continue to watch. That is how fucked up she’s made me.

  He walks over to her and starts to fuck her. She doesn’t move, much like a dead fish, just lets him fuck her. She is soundless as well, which as I recall is unlike her. She was always very vocal with me when she made me fuck her.

  He goes at her vigorously; I’ve never seen them together like this. I know most kids wouldn’t, but in my house, with a whore of a mother like I had, you’d think she would have liked having me catch her being fucked– try and make me jealous or some shit. The mind games I’ve encountered my whole life started with her. But I avoided a closed door like the plague, not wanting any more of her than I was forced in to.