Chapter 20
BILLY AND HIS EGYPTIAN MOMMY
He felt a muscle in his cheek tremble. Every fiber and sinew of his body reacted with passion. Billy stepped back, avoiding Andrea's outstretched hand and her desire to pull him closer. She wanted to enfold him, to seal him completely into herself. He must belong only to her, be her private property.
"My brother belongs to me." Billy felt as if this sign had been crudely branded onto his penis and balls. The rights of legal ownership. "This Man Belongs To Me, Andrea Hunt!" Signed, sealed, and delivered, with a notarized signature.
"Leave me alone!" Billy shrieked. He hated the sound of his voice, the dry acrid taste in his mouth and the scratching sensation at the back of his throat. It was as if he had smoked too many cigarettes. Every nerve in his body stretched taut with tension and was on the verge of snapping. "Leave me alone!" his voice screamed high and falsetto, like a girl.
"Let's fuck, Billy," Andrea whispered. "Let's fuck like we've never fucked before!"
He shook his head.
"Why not, Billy, don't you understand, can't you feel how badly I want to fuck you? How much I need to fuck you?" Andrea paused, looking directly at him like a wounded doe, with imploring eyes.
Suddenly she seemed so helpless. So lost. So confused. The ugly harridan of a moment before had become a lost maiden in the middle of the forest. Billy gritted his teeth. It was another one of her tricks, like a master thief changing disguises. Only Andrea changed moods. Her emotions were like a hurricane ... fast, furious and capable of a complete reversal of direction in less than a second. She'd done it again just now.
"Please, Billy," she sniffled. "You can't understand what it's been like for me ... horrible, horrible, horrible. You're the actor in the family, not I. I don't think I could ever go through with such a deception again."
Despite himself Billy was fascinated, the way a man might be watching a cobra dance. He knew that Andrea was lying. The first version of her date with Dick Finch had been told. Now the revised edition was about to appear. None of the facts would change. Andrea was far too clever for that. Never yet had she been caught in an absolute contradiction of verified testimony. Just the mood would shift, alter, be twisted into a new and different setting. It was like a kaleidoscope.
Reality shifted through Andrea's projection. Rooms seemed to change their dimension. Sex was shifted. Roles were reversed. She was the aggressor. He was timid, cowering, fearful-until, suddenly, the change would occur and Andrea would shrink in stature. Billy would grow, rise, like Jack mounting his beanstalk with a swollen cock.
"Down, bitch!" roared Bill as he mounted her through her upturned thighs, like a stallion riding the midnight mare. Andrea's head was buried in the sheets. Behind her Billy mounted the steed. His cock was the saddle. Her cunt a stirrup for him to ride, ride, ride. He plunged on atop the bucking bronco, out of the wilderness, into the shadows. His cock was a steel drill. His prick was powered by torrential rain. His balls were a nuclear fission plant of natural power. He exploded an endless wave of seed.
"It was a deception, Billy, that was the worst of it. You understand me, don't you, darling? I hope you understand. I did it all for you. Because I love you, Billy. I love you with my heart and my body-but mostly my body, my flesh, deep inside my skin, Billy. Please, put your hand on my breast, please, darling."
She lifted his hand by the wrist and carried it with a swoop of her arm over to her chest. His hand was enclosed in a grip of her own and carried to the fullness of her rounded teat. Andrea moaned. A tear creased the corner of yer eye. She smiled. Parting her lips as she looked at him, she said, "Touch me."
Soon the kaleidoscope would shift. A new mood was to replace the old. The stallion would disgorge from the rear. His cock had been buried to the hilt in the quiver of her cunt. Tilted pussy he had mounted from the rear. An angled slit he had reamed like a wild mustang on a western prairie. They were two animals mating in heat. The thick, sweat-drenched stench of their sex rose like smoke to the sky.
Billy remembered another midnight ride from nowhere to someplace. Andrea was driving. He was beside her. Mimosa in the back seat, asleep. All day
Billy had felt waves of sex rising from Andrea and surrounding him, tilting him forward. He pulled at his pants, feeling the stickiness of sweat in his crotch. Both of them had been irritable and itching at each other. Only Mimosa was relaxed and comfortable. Ignoring both of them, she glued her ears to a transistor radio and sang the tunes of her favorite song.
In the front seat it was hell. Billy couldn't keep his eyes away from Andrea's crotch or the folds of her dress, caught in the V. Finally, Mimosa slept. They continued to drive silently, staring at the country road unwinding in the dark ahead of them, waiting to make sure that the child was truly asleep.
The stars were brilliant and the country alive with night sounds. There were crickets and brief flickers of lightning bugs. A dog barked in the distance. Then a lane was spotted ahead in the glow of the headlights on the deserted road. Andrea swung the car off the road and rolled to a gentle stop beneath the tree shaded lane.
Four horses roamed the nearby meadow, gleaming brilliantly beneath the night sky. Billy said nothing. Andrea looked at him. He unbuttoned his fly. His cock leaped out, stiff and hard from a futile day straining at the cloth of his trousers. The muscles were throbbing. The slightest touch was an exquisite agony. His pelvis lurched, ready to grind and fling his seed to the sky. His legs were stiff and constrained as Billy and Andrea sat in the front seat there was tremendous tension between them. Mimosa was asleep in the seat behind.
"Suck?" she asked, and he nodded his agreement. Andrea's eyes held a wild look, as if a source of light were located somewhere in the recesses of her head. She glowed and gleamed like a beacon. The spotlight burst from her brow and focused down directly on his cock. His prick was illuminated like a scroll-the old testament. All ten commandments were engraved in the flesh.
Down came her face. Her mouth was melted cheese. His cock was sunk in a souffl‚. Her lips clenched his soul. Something expanded. Something sank. Tremors raced through his skin as he plunged upward. The back of his neck on the seat, his fists battered the dashboard. The light exploded, shattering everything. Then came the orgasm-death. Billy rose. He fucked, sank, gasped. Finally, he wept.
Andrea sat back in her seat, not a hair out of place. No sweat lay on her brow. Her skin was a cold and distant ivory. She was the alabaster mold of a figurine, straight from the beauty parlor, immaculate and unrumpled-except for the drops of sperm running out of the corner of her mouth.
Billy turned away. It was a sight he wished he had not seen, this vision of Andrea in a distant place she inhabited alone. Somehow she reached a cold, forbidding planet-a world of crystal and ice. Billy turned away to the night and the protective dark of the meadow. Four horses were grazing nearby.
"Deception, Bill-how dreadful a word that is. But it's true about me. Who is this man, Dick Finch? He's merely someone I could use and manipulate. I could twist his feelings around like a ball of yarn entangled on my finger. That's all. He's a man in a job that suits my purpose for you."
Billy watched her face and the look of sincerity that glowed from her eyes. She was the critic turning her weapon on herself.
More words poured out. "Deception" seemed to be the key. She was rebuking herself for having deceived Dick Finch in some cruel and heartless way. She sounded like the heroine of a soap opera, confessing her afternoon guilt to the friendly old lady upstairs. What was her purpose?
Billy noticed she no longer insisted that all that occurred between herself and Dick Finch was a drunken evening.
That a man of even limited experience would allow Andrea on the first date to pump him with booze until he was insensible was a little too ridiculous to believe. like the story of the Devil and his deal with Daniel Webster, all that Andrea's story needed was for her to produce a signed document of her purpose. Perhaps something to the effect that Dick Finch agreed forever more to do the bidding of the aforesaid somebody would be sufficient.
Now the kaleidoscope had shifted its angle. The distortion this time was from a personal angle-the scarlet confession of undefined guilt. Drunkenness had been dropped. The gist of her message was that whatever she had done, Andrea had done out of cold and calculated reasons.
"Your career, Billy, was the reason behind everything." Now, thinking about it, maybe the reason isn't good enough. However, that's what I told myself at the time.
"Dick Finch is a decent man, I presume. I'm sure he loves his mother. He has a nice little bachelor apartment-most of a house in fact, it's across the street from the women's prison. He lives there like a magazine advertisement. He's a sweet young man, and I took advantage of that in any number of ways. I knew how to melt and mold, twist and turn, shift and shape, screw and seize all the thoughts of his mind. It was a game I invented. Do I make sense?"
Billy nodded. The kaleidoscope was about to tilt. She had played out this theme, like a vein of coal in an abandoned mine. Nothing was left of value. The message behind the words had gotten through: "Whatever I did I did for you!"
Billy wondered about that. How much of anything Andrea did was for anybody but herself? Her image of Billy as a TV commercial was a perfect example. Even the way that they would have sex. The times they would do it. Always Andrea, the goddess, would beckon her brother to the shrine.
He remembered the exploration they had gone on when they were much younger, before the death of their parents and shortly after the first time that they had actually inserted parts of their bodies into one another. Those wonderful days. Billy smiled remembering fingers poking with innocent pleasure into the depths of the human cavity.
"Come!" Andrea beckoned him.
They had gone to explore the remnants of Egypt on display at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It was a mystic journey, as Andrea conceived it. The Valley of Doom where brothers and sisters were allowed to be lovers. They had wandered for hours among the artifacts of death and held hands with each other. People paused to stare at them.
"I talk too much, Billy, I want you close to me. Don't you want to be close to me? Don't you want to touch more of me? Come, Billy, put your hand into my cunt. Please, Billy, touch my cunt. I'll do anything you say, be anybody you want, as long as you fuck me with your powerful God. God, Billy that's what your cock is-God to me!" She lowered her head.
Billy admired the gesture. It was proper, decent, respectful. Now Andrea was enacting the slave, the disciple before the master. The Priestess of the temple was offering herself to the Priest. It was always roles-One impersonation or another, as long as the eventual function was fulfilled and as long as the sperm came to rest within the room of her womb. Billy grinned. The rhyme was too obvious, but he couldn't help it. He had to repeat it. Womb-Zoom Doom-Tomb. It was like a sing-song, battering back a nd forth in his head-under the moon. Billy laughed.
"What are you laughing at?"
For a moment he thought he'd tell her. Then he realized his hand was on her breast, tightly squeezed there by her palms and held in place by the grip of her hand. He had not put his hand there himself. She had reached for him.
Andrea had been pursuing him across the room. Now they were backed up by the closet. Billy glanced at his watch. Close to three. Andrea had come back at twelve. She had been persistently attempting to get him to embrace for three hours.
With single-minded devotion Andrea had been exerting every form of her power. Every electrical flicker of energy available to the resources of her body had been focused on him and on his cock. He was enveloped with memories and remembrances of sexual experiences beyond anything he could ever hope for in the future. A world of sex, a circus was opened to him. He was ringmaster to a lavish musical orgy. There were prancing girls in high-heel costumes and graceful swans in rubber suits. Towering Amazons with bulging biceps and leather barbed whips. This was the world of that circus. Billy laughed. Room-Tomb-Womb-Doom.
"Billy!. , she called, demandingly.
He shook his head. There was no way he could explain this to Andrea. Nor could he unravel the tangled skein of his thoughts and the explosion of knowledge that had suddenly shattered her grip.
"What are you laughing at?"
Womb-Tomb-he was free! Andrea no longer controlled the strings-Boom-Doom. It was simple. like a little ditty or a nursery rhyme. Something silly to play with in his mind. It was silly enough to divert him. The power of Andrea was the power of the past.
like an incredible muscle, the grip of a cunt, surging like the tide with the suction of a whirlpool enmeshed his cock in the vortex of her passion. Then nothing else existed.
"Billy!"
Billy had ceased to exist. Only Andrea's brother was alive, like the Sun God of an Egyptian cult. The source of her witchcraft and strength was the sensual field of energy generated by the incestual bond. They had worshipped themselves. Beauty in love with a mirror.
Billy wondered if his thoughts made sense. That didn't matter and he continued to laugh. He was free. Free to run away from home. Free to have his heart's desire. To the Circus! To the Circus!
"Billy," she shrieked. "If you don't answer me I'll. . . "
"What, Andrea, kill me?"