ole got named that when they asked his retarded mother what they should name him, and she said, "Hole!" He grew up with his grandma and he wasn't two when he started sharing the job of caring for Mom. Grandma always regretted giving in that one time to her daughter's word, but it was the only word she'd say, and Grandma figured it might be nice that once in a while she call her boy by name.

As Hole grew and matured, his mother did the exact reverse so Hole grew up not remembering that his mother had ever said his name.

When he was eleven, and changing his mother's diapers, she took advantage of the freedom and reached her right hand down between her legs. At first, she used her whole hand and rubbed the entire vaginal area with it, in a circular motion. Gradually she narrowed the focus and the fingers until she was circling her bright red, freshly baby wiped clitoris with her long middle finger, while her index and ring finger spread her lips wide. The fat of her thighs shook.

Hole sat back on his heels, toes pointed out, legs folded in half. He had his hands resting on his thighs with his fingers pointed outward and leaning weight on them, and his jaw hung open and his own Toughskins were tight in the crotch and he watched his mother masturbate.

She had her fat legs stuck up straight toward the ceiling, maybe not knowing why all the freedom, but reveling in it. She giggled in a high pitched screechy sort of way, and she let her legs fall to the sides, but without bending them until her inflexibility kept them up. Hole wanted to go away or change her, but didn't until she was done.

Hole went back to his room and sweated and then sweated some more and he laid across the comforter on his bed, and looked at the ceiling and didn't know what to do. He didn't know what happened or what was wrong with his penis, but it hurt like crazy. He unsnapped himself and unzipped. He was wearing Underroos with Spider-man on them. They were too small and he only wore them on days when there was no gym at school, but they gave him comfort. They held no comfort now. He whipped them down, and the way he sprung free felt great.

He rubbed himself just like he saw his mom do. It was enough to squirt heavy first-time jizm on his belly and embarrass him against himself. He used the Underroos to clean himself up, and then he threw them in the trash.

The next day in school he approached red-haired Molly the bad girl who would pull down her pants sometimes for a cigarette if you had it and a quarter if you didn't.

On one side of the school was the playground and on the other side was an alley, closed in by the Baptist church, and Hole and Molly went there because Hole had flashed a silver dollar, twirling it in his fingers like a professional magician. School on one side and church on the other made anything done in the alley especially naughty.

Hole twirled his dollar and pointed his eyes at Molly's stretch pants. She caught the hint and whisked them below her knees, smiling, hand on hips.

Hole bent down for a close look. At first, the absence of hair frightened him, but them he figured the why of it, and dropped onto his heels and just looked.

"Can I pull them back up now?" asked Molly, not used to the staring and maybe not liking it either.

Hole pulled three more dollars out of his pocket. He never looked away, for a second. "Rub your thingy with your hand until it feels good," he said.

It took Molly a few minutes to accept and then a few more to get it right, but she did. When she did; Hole took himself out of his pants and discovered that for him, up and down and firm felt way better than the round-a-round method of his Mom.

Thirty years later Hole bought a hooker with age and fat thighs. He wrote out careful instructions on a hundred-dollar bill, and then he wrapped it in another hundred-dollar bill.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Never mind my name. I didn't pay for names," he said.

[END]

© David Bulley 2002