The Winner: Part Two

I clench up as Apple runs her tongue over my balls. It feels cool and tingling all at the same time. She moves down lower and lower, flicking my sack, then spreads my ass cheeks apart and goes straight for the Milk Dud. The feeling is unbelievable and I feel as erect as a California Redwood.

After tossing my salad for about three minutes, she begins moving up again, lapping at my cock like a dog before taking a deep breath and taking the whole meat missle into her mouth, and I mean all the way. My circumcized head is pushing right against the back of her throat and I can hear her doing her best to keep her gag-reflex in check. I grab her by the back of her blonde hair and press down, skewering her throat right on my cock.

When I can't take any more, I yank her head off my dick and start fingering her sopping wet pussy. "Fuck me...fuck me like a whore, Sloopy."

"Get on all fours bitch," I say. She complies and I come up and enter her from behind with such force that the bedsprings start squeal. We get an incredible rhythm going, her ass-cheeks pounding against my hips with a meaty slap. Oh-my-god, I'm gonna blow my load all over, so hard it'll be squirting out her mouth and she'll beg for more and more and...

There's a loud knock at the door. "POOPY! POOPY WAKE UP!"

Shit! Its my fucking mother. "Go away!" I yell, still pounding my Alberto VO5 lubed fist up and down against my penis. She keeps banging against the door.

"POOPY! WHERE ARE MY CIGARETTES?"

She's not going away. I let go of my dick, wipe as much lube as I can off on my filthy comforter and look through my jacket pocket for the GPC menthols I bought her last night. I find them, then rip the door open, slap them in her hand and say "Here! Now go away!" I slam the door in her face and lay back down on the bed. Now, where were we...

Before I can even get started, she starts pounding on the door again. "POOPY! COME BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!"

I jump off the bed, yank the door open and scream, "WHAT?"

"I told you I wanted menthol LIGHTS. These are regulars. Are you trying to kill me?"

I am so desperate for her to go away. "Light...regular...who fucking cares? They're gonna kill you either way."

"Light cigarettes are better for you," she says. "And I'm not gonna give you any money for these since they aren't what I wanted."

I knew she was going to find some way to screw me out of paying me for the cigarettes, so I yank the pack out of her hand and say, "Fine, don't pay me. Now go!"

My mother keeps standing there. "Well can I have them? Just because I'm not gonna pay for them doesn't mean I don't WANT them."

This is the last straw. I throw the pack overhand above her head across the hallway and into the living room where it bounces against her book shelf she has filled with these cutesy ceramic miniatures she collects. I hear them tinkle as a few of them fall out of the spots she carefully arranges for them. "There bitch. ENJOY." Then I once again slam the door in her face.

I flop back down on the bed and listen to the floorboards creak as she waddles back into the living room to retrieve her cigarettes. I wait until I hear her turn the TV back onto The 700 Club before I try to get back into my mastrubation that was so rudely interrupted. My dick has gone completely limp, and as much as I try to rewind the erotic scenario I had in my head, the moment is gone. I lay in my bed, half erect and bitter and wanting smash something.

I don't know what happened, but apparently my attraction for Apple became a full on obsession in course of just one evening. I dreamt about her and woke up in the middle of the night dry humping my pillow. And again, she was the star of this morning's mastrubation fantasy.

I've not just been having sexual dreams about her either. When I fell back asleep, I dreamt about her again, only this time we were doing completely normal things like splitting a side-item sampler at Denny's or going to the dollar-fifty movie theater. Her two kids even showed up in the dream; we took them to see Chicken Little and I bought them Lemonheads. That fucked with my head when I woke up again that morning. Something is seriously fucked in your head when you're dreaming about the stripper's children.

I guess the logical thing to do would be to go back to the strip club and see her again, but I didn't want to do that. While I wasn't doing bad on cash right now, I also didn't have enough to go blowing it on six dollar sodas every night. Not to mention that the politics of a titty bar kind of undermined the possibility of initiating some sort of real relationship with her. It was slowly dawning on me that that is what I wanted. I had been lonely for too long, too abused by the world to even think about sharing my pain with another. Oh-my-fucking-god, I realize I am in love.

After laying on my bed and thinking for half-an-hour, I decide to throw some clothes on and start my day. I don't have any clean clothes, so I just throw on some crusty old pants that has a ketchup stain on the crotch and socks I'd worn about five times that smelled like a case of limburger cheese. I don't have to work today, and figured maybe I'd should do some laundry.

My mother doesn't look at me as I step out of my room. I go to the kitchen to get some cereal. The sink is piled high with dishes and swarming with flies. I pick a bowl that was closest to the top and start washing it, until I realize there are maggots squirming inside of it. I throw up a little in my mouth, but after about two good minutes of scrubbing with scalding water, I figure it is clean enough to put food in. I dump a bunch of dry Lucky Charms in there I was going to eat by hand, since I didn't want to search through that maggot infested pile of dishes for a spoon.

I go back to the living room. The 700 Club is over and the local news is playing now. My mother ignores me, smoking one of those GPC menthols she claimed she didn't want and drinking straight whiskey. The only acknowledgement I get from her was her shifting one of her ample buttcheeks over so I'd have some room to sit on the couch. I start eating my Lucky Charms with my fingers while I watched TV. They were doing a report about a flasher near a school.

"Police need your help. If anyone saw a dark green Ford Explorer around Hamilton Elementary around two o'clock yesterday, please call..."

My mother lets out a guttural belch. "So what do you want for Christmas?"

I know perfectly well that my mother will have absolutely no money for Christmas, and if she does manage to scrape up a buck or two, she will spend it on herself, so I say "I just want your love." I hope she knows I'm being sarcastic.

"...ten teenagers were arrested yesterday, charged with the brutal gang rape of a retarded girl who went to their school. The boys, all members of the Falconcrest High School football team, claimed they didn't realize it was wrong, and had engaged in sexual activity with the girl to break their team's losing streak..."

My mother lets out another belch, filling the living room with the rank smell of her cheap whiskey and halitosis. "Maybe if you were nicer to me, I'd give you my love."

"Fuck you."

"Don't curse. Praise be."

"...local attorney, Carl Van Hertzwelder, today announced that he would be running for a seat in the US senate for the Republican party. Even though he has no experience in Washington, Van Hertzwelder has attracted some serious endorsements from conservative leaders and has already received nearly half-a-million dollars worth of donations to his campaign..."

"What'll you do if I FUCKING don't?" I hiss at her. "Sit on me? You barely even move off the couch all day!"

"That's not fair Poopy. You know I have a medical condition..."

"What, one that makes you fat and lazy?"

She starts crying. "It's not my fault. The doctor told me it's a hormone imbalance. You know I don't eat more than any other person so that's the only explanation."

"...no one has come forward yet to claim last night's lotto prize. The winning ticket, worth three million dollars, was sold last night at a Texaco station on East Harper Rd. The winning numbers were 36-28-19-7-43-18 and 12..."

"OH BULLSHIT!" I scream at her. "You eat like a fucking pig! It makes me sick! I'm ashamed to even be related to you! Not only your fucking weight...do you remember the shit you used to do to me when I was little? I hope you do because I sure do remember..."

My mother is bawling now. "I hadn't given my life to Jesus then. I can't be held responsible."

"Fuck you and fuck Jesus!" I yell. I hate people who think that "finding Jesus" gives them a blank check to be an asshole.

My mother sets her whiskey bottle down on the carpet and starts praying. "...dear father who art in Heaven, please forgive this child, he knows not what he does..."

"Fuck this," I say, throwing my bowl of Lucky Charms on the carpet. "I'm outta here."

She's still praying as I go into my room, grab my jacket and step outside. It's cold, but fuck it, it's November. I have no idea where I'm gonna go. Maybe I'll go see a movie, anything so I don't have to sit at home with that miserable waste of skin I call 'Mom'.

I go to the bus stop and look through my pockets, thinking maybe I have an old bus transfer that the driver won't scrutinize, and then I can score a free ride to town. There are so many slips of paper in my pockets that I finally just pull out the whole wad and start going through it one by one. All those old lotto tickets. What a waste of money...I should put it towards something useful...hell, save it up so I can MOVE THE FUCK OUT...every little bit helps you know...

...wait. I look at last night's lotto ticket--the Quik Pik. 36-28-19...no, this can't be. There's a newspaper box next to the bus stop. I look at the lotto numbers on the cover. 36-28-19-7-43...Bullshit. I dig fifty cents out of my pocket and actually buy a paper and set the ticket down next to the numbers and compare them side by side. 36-28-19-7-43-18 and (HOLY FUCKING SHIT!) 12.

It's true. It's finally true. For the first time in my life, I am a winner.