Ron Taylor - X-rated mother

"Then don't look," she shot back. "Go get your things. But you'd better hurry. I don't know when Mom will be back, and I sure as hell don't want her to see you."

He sidled away from her, down the hall, into his room, and she watched implacably as he went. Gerry was tall enough to play basketball, though he didn't, and she supposed that some girls would find him cute, though she didn't. He was a horse's ass. God, she thought, how did we ever wind up in the same family? Strike that. He wasn't in the family any more. He dealt himself out when he turned on Connie and rejected her out of hand. Stacy saw no need to be kind or sisterly toward him. She'd never been crazy about the asshole, and this was no time for her to start. God, let him get gone before Mom got back! If Connie was in a good mood, Gerry could get her right out of it. Stacy knew that her brother would say something foul or disgusting and cut down Connie like a hunter drops a bird.

It wasn't for his sake but for her own that she darted into her room and grabbed up a bathrobe, tossing it onto her body. Only people she liked were entitled to see her body, those and the cinema fans tasteful enough to pay admission to Hooker's Holiday. But any wino warming a back-row seat in a Times Square theater meant more to Stacy than her brother did.

When he came out of his room, carrying a boxful of trash, she was waiting for him, anger blazing on her face. The wait hadn't been good for Stacy. She had a lot of resentment toward Gerry, and she couldn't keep it from flaring up inside her. Before he left, she planned to share a few opinions with him.

"First of all," she began, "I want you to know how much you hurt your mother. When I found her that evening it scared the shit out of me. I thought she might try to kill herself. How in the name of hell could you tell your own mother she was nothing but a cheap rotten whom?" Stacy took a deep breath. She felt her tits heave inside the bathrobe, and she knew that it was gaping open at the top, but she didn't care. These were words she must speak no matter what else.

"Wait a minute," he said weakly. "I suppose you know all about this…"

"A hell of a lot more than you do! For instance, I know that she did it because someone she loves very much needed help and Mom was the only one who could give that help. If that makes her a whore, well, then…"

"Is she all you think about? What about me? How do you think I felt when I picked up that cruddy newspaper and saw my mother on the front cover? Naked! Or when I looked inside and read about what she'd done, how she was the newest thing in dirty movies? Jesus, Stace, don't you have any morals? Doesn't it make you sick to think about her doing all those filthy things in front of a camera so that everybody can see her?"

"There's nothing filthy about it," Stacy retorted. "She's a woman. She has sex impulses. Everyone does, except maybe you. I have plenty, myself, and I love Mom. I'm proud of her. In front of the camera you're talking about, she's the best actress anywhere. Not everyday can do what she does. I wish I could. But I don't have any talent." She saw him make a face.

"And as to how you felt, what does it matter? You were like I was. You had Daddy's inheritance money, and you only came home when you had to. You probably thought about her once or twice a month, unless she sent you a letter you never got around to answering. Right? To you, she was somebody living here in this apartment who always smiled when you stopped by to say hello, and you kept her in cold storage in your memory. Well, she isn't in cold storage. She's a person, a very beautiful person. I only hope I can be half the woman she is. I'm trying, by God. I'm trying!"

The words had come fast and furious, burning Stacy's throat with their impassioned ire. She had to stop for a breath, and as she did, she saw her brother's face go scarlet once again. Her body had shook and trembled as she berated him, and one of her lush, brown-nippled boobs was hanging from her robe. Such a hypocrite he was! Pretending to look away, he was still eyeing her tit like a Goddamned peeping Tom outside a bedroom window.

Stacy whipped open the robe and flaunted her nudity at him. "Get a good look," she sneered. "Or, even better, be on the watch for Hooker's Holiday at your local porno theater. I just have a small part, but they tell me I'm lookin' good, baby, lookin' good!"

His eyes bulged. "You too?" he said tightly. "You're making dirty movies too? Isn't one slut in the family enough?"

She wanted to rip his eyes out of his head. But she gazed at him implacably, up and down, and suddenly a laugh burst from her lips.

"Slut?" she taunted. "Slut? Do sluts give you erections?"

It was true, and he knew it. Stacy pointed scornfully at the front of his pants, at the hard-on which pushed them out. She laughed again. "Does it turn you on?" she wondered. "I think so." Her hand flew out, caressing the bulge of her brother's erection. She could feel the heat of him, even trough the layers of his clothing, and he was rock hard.

Stacy shook her head. "Is this what happened when you found out about Mom, too? Did you get yourself an itsy-bitsy hard-on? Bet you did, and then felt guilty about it, so you took it out on her. Huh? Well, fuck off, creep!"

He dropped his box of possessions. There was a cannon-like thump as it hit the floor, and Stacy found herself shoved up against the wall, pinned by Gerry and unable to move.

"Let go of me, you motherfucker," she panted angrily.

His first reply was to twist her wrists viciously. He pressed against her, making no effort to prevent her from feeling his stony erection, and she mewed in protest. "Don't call me a motherfucker!" he snapped.

Her body went loose where he held her to the wall, and she smiled at him. "You don't have to be so rough," she said. Her robe was still open and her bare tits shoved right against his chest. It wasn't hurting his erection. If anything he seemed to be just a bit stiffer right now. Stacy twisted her hips in a suggestive fashion, scraping her bush back and forth across the thrust-out front, of Gerry's trousers. She felt his cock quiver responsively, and her brother made a soft, choked sound, as if he were about to squirt off in his jeans. Wickedly, Stacy rubbed him again. Cum stains on his pants would be a fitting reward for Gerry.

His hands slackened their grip on her wrists. Stacy worked them free and stood looking at him. His eyes were still enlarged, his face still red. She let her hair touch his cheek, and the tremor that passed suddenly through his body was a tribute to the inspired nature of her determination.

"What do you do?" he asked softly. "In the movie, I mean."

She held her head to one side, as if she were struggling to remember. "Well," she drawled, "first I got laid doggie-style. Not what you're thinking! I mean, there was this German shepherd, and they've got him trained, and he's a real snatch-hound, see – oh, stop blushing! I'll be onscreen for maybe three minutes. I get to say a few lines, which I do terribly, and – well, it's an orgy, see, and I start licking this girl between the legs and a guy comes up and puts his thing in me, and we have kind of a threesome going. My acting is really bad, but I know how to do what I'm doing."

"What about Mom?" he asked, still in almost a whisper.

Stacy smiled benignly. "She was in it too, but how can we sell any tickets if we give away the plot? Go see it. You saw the last one, didn't you? I mean, you called her and gave her hell, but you hauled ass to see that movie. Right?"

He nodded.

"Well, this one is a lot better. If she turned you on before, she'll melt your dingus this time. Hey! Don't blush so, and don't look guilty! You should have been with me when I saw her up on screen. On second thought, maybe you shouldn't have. I got kinda physical with my date." And with her mother, too, she reminded herself.