Folie a Deux, Episode 02

"Were you worried that your father and sister might come home?" the interviewer asks.

Mike laughs. "No! I didn't even remember they existed! They could have walked in and stood next to me for a good look and I wouldn't have stopped!"

"The way I felt with him inside me, coming around his cock as he fucked me," Emily says, her voice thick with excitement. "That. That was more important, in that moment, than my marriage or motherhood or anything else in my life. The purity of what we were doing burned everything else away. It was the two of us making something perfect together and I couldn't worry about anything but getting his cum."

"I told her I was going to come inside her," Mike says, the pleasant tension obvious in how he holds his head. "She begged me to. I told her I owned her pussy, she said it was mine. I told her she was a dirty little slut for me she she howled her agreement. And then I came."

"When I realized he was coming inside me, when I knew that he was giving me what I wanted more than anything else in the world at that moment," Emily tells us, her eyes intense and her face glowing, "I screamed so loud that I know the neighbors heard it. I know they did. They probably heard it four houses down. And I knew I was screaming that loud, begging him to fill me with cum, and didn't care. God, in that moment I wanted people to hear me!"

"She started her last orgasm right when I started coming," Mike says. "She was just...wailing, screaming, moaning. Her pussy was squeezing me like a vise. I was groaning like I was dying. It was...astonishing. Seriously."

"My orgasm was different than the one he'd given me with his mouth," Emily tells us. "It was less...transcendent, I suppose, but more visceral, more immediate. With his mouth he took me out of my body and sent me spinning somewhere...else. His cock brought me into myself completely. I could feel every nerve in my body, every square inch of skin, every hair on my head as it stood on end. The other one had left me hungry for more. This one left me utterly spent. Everything I had was used up in that climax. When he collapsed on top of me, all I could do was breathe. I wasn't capable of anything else."

"Sooo...yeah," Mike says, licking his lips nervously. "I was laying there, kind of half on top of her, still holding her legs, still mostly hard inside her, having just filled my mom's pussy with my cum. There was the typical afterglow and sort of sleepiness - more than normal this time, because there had been so much tension before and it had all been released, or worked out I guess is more accurate, and I was just panting and grinning and feeling great from head to foot, all warm and tingly. And then..."

"And then?" asks the interviewer.

"And then it all came down on me. I'd just fucked my mom. Again. But this time there was no bikers, no threats, nobody forcing us to do anything. We fucked because..." He lapses into an awkward silence.

After a moment, the interviewer prods, "Because?"

"Because we wanted to. Or needed to. I don't know. It was voluntary. It was on us. Nobody else to blame this time."

"I was lost in a haze of endorphins and oxytocin," Emily says, looking much less aroused than she had before - perhaps some time has passed since the previous portion of the interview, because she looks much more composed than she did before, and her untameable hair has been pushed back into place. "I felt as though I was adrift in a warm, beautiful mist. I could feel Mike inside me, not getting very much softer, and I recall thinking how wonderful it felt to have a penis inside me that could still be hard after...ejaculation. I had my eyes closed and was simply savoring all the sensations.

"Then," she continues, "I head Mike gasp softly and felt his body go rigid. I opened my eyes and saw his face. He looked absolutely stricken, aghast. He was looking at me with utter horror, which was when what we had done truly struck me."

"How did it make you feel?" the interviewer asks.

"Physically ill."

"She put both hands on my chest and shoved me," Mike recalls. "I leaned back, and when I pulled out there was a massive...explosion out of her. It looked like a gallon of cum spilled out of her all over the sofa. We didn't have great furniture or anything, but what we had was spotless, and now there was gonna be a massive cumstain on it. For some reason that seemed really important and really awful at the time."

"I leaped up," Emily says. "I needed to get to the toilet because I was certain I was going to vomit."

"Why?"

"Shame. Self-loathing. The instant return of all the tension we'd just alleviated together, compounded by the guilt of having done this on our own. I truly felt as though I'd been beaten in my stomach with a club. I immediately stumbled because my shorts and panties were still around my legs, but I caught myself on the end table. I tried to pull my shorts up, but...unfortunately...well, that was where I made a mess."

"You know, like it wasn't bad enough that we'd just fucked," Mike says ruefully. "But then she stands up and just hurls all over the floor. It's kind of a blow to the ego when your sex partner does that, you know?"

"I don't think I could have felt worse at that moment," Emily admits. "I felt as though I were the world's worst mother, the world's worst wife, and, frankly, the world's worst person, and now I'd added to that the humiliation of befouling my own floor."

"What did you do?" asks the interviewer.

"I pulled up my underwear and shorts and, without looking at him, asked Mike to leave the house."

"The exact words were, 'Go, just go. Please,'" Mike recalls stoically. "So I pulled myself together and went for a drive, just...driving. Nowhere in particular, you know? I don't think I even knew what I was doing. I don't remember it. The first thing I remember is sucking on a strawberry milkshake as I waited at the light at St. Anthony and Johnson, over Northeast. I have no idea how I got there. I don't know if I got the shake at a drive-thru or if I went in, or whether I got a meal with it. I was just sort of...there, feeling like an asshole."

"I cleaned the place up," Emily says. "It took a considerable amount of effort, but I got the couch cushions clean...well, mostly. You could still tell there had been something there if you looked. I hoped no one would really look. I cleaned the floor, aired the place out, threw all my clothes in the washer, and took a very long, very hot shower."

"And after?" the interviewer asks.

"I had managed to pull myself together enough to start worrying about Mike," she says, "so even though I found it very awkward and humiliating, I called him. Unfortunately I heard his phone ringing in his bedroom, which speaks to his state of mind - for a teenager to leave the house without his cellphone generally takes an impending tornado. Of course that made me even more worried, in addition to the guilt and shame."

"I didn't even care where I was going," says Mike. "I just didn't want to go home. Not then. I'd felt lousy before, but how the hell was I supposed to deal with this? I just kept thinking about how much I'd needed it, and how much she'd needed it too. There was no hiding from it now. We ripped into each other like animals, and we did it on our own. How was I supposed to look at mom after that? How was I supposed to face dad?"

"When Bob came back," Eden tells us, "I was baking cookies and painting the hallway between the kitchen and the mud room."

"...at the same time?" the interviewer asks.

She smiles a bit wryly. "Yes. I began by baking cookies, but that involves too much sitting about, which just gave me time to think. We had the paint, so I washed the walls, taped it up, and began to paint the hallway."

"She was a little...oh, what's the word...manic?" Bob tells us. "There was an odd gleam in her eye, like she was sort of out of it. If it was anyone else, I'd have sworn she was on something, but Emily hasn't even smoked weed since the kids were born. I knew Mike wasn't around because his car was gone, so I asked her how it went with him."

"I'm reasonably certain I babbled at him like a madwoman," Emily says.

"She launched into a kind of rant about how well it had gone," Bob says, "but she didn't give any details and, to tell the truth, she didn't make much sense. She just threw out a bunch of adjectives - 'great, fantastic, wonderful, terrific, perfect' - but didn't really connect them into sentences. So I asked her if everything had gotten straightened out between the two of them, and she sort of...lost it."

"I was talking - raving, really," Emily relates, "and, although I don't recall what I said, I do recall that there came a point when I realized that I was simply blubbering and weeping. It was then that I collapsed against him and gave up trying to do anything but cry."

"Honestly I had no idea what had happened," Bob says with a firm shake of his head. "I mean, none at all. I didn't know what had happened originally and I didn't know what had happened that day. All I knew was that there was something bad between them that they hadn't been able to work out, and that Emily was on the edge of a breakdown because of it."

"What did you do?" asks the interviewer.

"I made her take a double dose of Xanax and put her to bed," Bob says. "And then I finished baking the cookies and waited for Mike to get home."

Back to Mike. "I didn't dare go home before I was absolutely, one-hundred-percent certain that dad was back. No way I wanted to be alone in the house with mom, no way. Just the thought of it made me queasy. So I went to a movie, hung out at a mall, tried to eat dinner and failed. I was so antsy that I couldn't focus on anything. It was like seven-thirty when I realized that, if dad did get home before me and they were there alone, she might be telling him everything."

"Did you think she would?" the interviewer inquires.

"I don't know, man!" Mike laughs. "I mean, no, probably not, but maybe. How should I know? So I raced back and got home about eight. I parked in the garage and came in through the mudroom, and I saw that the hallway was like one-tenth painted. The baseboards were taped up, there was a drop cloth on the floor, the whole bit. I thought that was...weird."

"I was waiting for him in the kitchen," Bob says seriously.

"I got like two steps in and dad was like, 'What the HELL did you do to your mother?'" Mike says, puffing his chest out to make him resemble his broader father. "And I was like, "...why, what did she say?' 'Cause I was thinking she spilled the whole thing and I needed to find someplace new to live, right?"

"Mike was evasive, which honestly just made me angrier," Bob relates. "It wasn't that I blamed him necessarily, but I'd had to drug Emily and put her to sleep, it was plain that nothing had been resolved, and the goddamned hallway needed to be painted now because it had been started. I wanted some answers. So I told him to come clean and just tell me what was going on."

"And I was like, 'Wheeeeew!'" Mike laughs. "Because if he was asking, then mom hadn't told him what had really happened. There was no way he'd be asking what had happened if he knew, he'd be demanding explanations or just throwing my shit out on the lawn. So I gave him some bullshit about me and mom fighting - and it wasn't even really bullshit because that's how it had started, but I didn't tell him what we'd been fighting about and I sure as hell didn't tell him I'd bottomed out in her pussy and shot her full of cum right after. I just said that I'd gotten out of line and said some mean stuff, but that mom had too, and we were both mad so neither one of us was willing to back down. I said I'd apologize in the morning."

"I still wanted to know what it was all about," Bob says, "but to tell you the truth I wanted it settled even more, even if I never learned the details. So I accepted Mike's...well, let's call it an explanation, even though it wasn't one, and told him I expected him to follow through with that apology."

"So then I was like, out of there," Mike says. "I went upstairs, locked myself in my bedroom, and started fucking around on Facebook, Twitter, IMing, just trying to keep myself busy enough that I didn't have to think."

"Did it work?" the interviewer asks.

"Oh fuck no," Mike says with a very definite shake of the head. "I could still smell her pussy on me. So eventually I went and took a long, hot shower, but that didn't help really. I went to bed and tried to sleep but once the lights were out and my eyes were closed it was like, bam!" Here he slams his fist into his palm for emphasis. "It was like I was right back there with her on the couch. I could see every expression, every time it changed because of what I did. I could hear her moans and her dirty words. I got so fucking horny, and the more I tried to stop thinking about it...well, don't think about an elephant, right?"

"What did you do?"

Mike smiles, but there's not much joy in it. "I beat it like I caught it stealing and came so hard I gave myself a stomach ache. Then I hated myself to sleep."

The screen goes dark. The credits roll.