The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Enslavement of Theresa Simpson

(or: Bastard Made Mom a Sex Slave!)

Chapter 1b, part 3, What Did You Do to Mom?!

mc mf md in

Paul always had the prettiest mom at school.

See, though, that can sometimes be a problem ...

* * *

Legalese: Contains adult material. Anyone under age 18 must leave now. Anyone that might be offended by sexy or sexually explicit material or strong language must leave now. The activities in this story may be unrealistic, unethical and/or illegal, and they ignore the reality of sexually transmitted diseases—this is fiction, do not try any of this at home. All characters are over age 18, proof of age on file.

* * *

Author’s note: This is the novelization of the LIVE! graphic novel (“LIVE!” in the sense that little blue buttons use JavaScript logic to transition the images and narrative for you) chapter of the same name, available soon for free at www.fuguetales.com/main/TheresaSimpson.html . There’s a free preview there as well, and you can view them online there or download them for offline viewing (it’s all just JavaScript and images).

This work is Fugue’s tribute to the 1980s cult author Russ Martin, whose ladies were mind controlled by demonic obsession.

Just to manage expectations of readers: this novelization fills in a few additional details, but does not add significant new plot beyond the LIVE! graphic novel at this time.

I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Terri’s eyes opened at 6:00 on the clock. “Time to get up,” she whispered, “and get pretty for Daddy.”

I think I stirred slightly, but fell back asleep until 9:30. Hey, it had been a long day yesterday, and the day before as well.

* * *

And besides ... I needed all my wits about me this morning.

I sat up. Time to walk a very delicate—not to mention dangerous—gauntlet.

I was going to ... try talking to Brad, and see if I could reason with him. Or ... deal with him. Something—anything—that he would accept, to free Mom and Dad.

The weight of three lives was weighing on my shoulders. I did not know what I would say—and I had no idea what he would say, what he would want—but I had to try.

I allowed myself a nervous sigh, and then ... well, I’ve never been one to hide under the covers instead of getting up and doing, once I’ve decided to do something.

So ... here goes ...

* * *

I found the two of them in the den, Mom and Brad.

At first, my mind wouldn’t fit together what they were—doing—

Mom, standing in front of a seated Brad, looked up at me.

And she blushed profoundly, gnawing her bottom lip like she meant to tear it.

Then she furrowed her brow and continued determinedly, meeting my gaze.

As I walked around to them ... my mind ... stopped forcibly rejecting ... what was—

She was stroking him, OKAY?! She had her wholesome hand ... wrapped around his ... damned swollen dick.

And she was ... sliding it up and down ... to jerk him off ...

“Whatcha doin’, snookums,” he asked her.

“I’m, uhm ... stroking you, Daddy, while I ... stare into the eyes of my ... son.”

How many times has that been uttered over the lifetime of our species? I’m betting not many ...

Brad chuckled. “And what is HE doing?”

“He is ... watching me just HUMILIATE myself by stroking the cock of one of my students, like some desperately needy SLUT of a teacher,” she droned out, eyes locked to mine.

“Well, say good morning to him, punkin!”

“Good ... morning, sir.”

“Uhm ... good morning, Mom.”

“’Snookums,’ sweetie,” she corrected me, “It’s ‘snookums’ or ‘Terri.’”

“Or ‘Fucktoy.’ Or ‘sexpet,’” Brad added, “Or even just ‘goddam filthy SLUT!’

“Though you DO have to include the exclamation point if you use that last one.”

Mom was still just ... gazing at me ... gazing at her ... as she stroked a dick’s dick ...

Mom forwarded Brad’s statement, in case I needed it, I suppose, “Uh, Mr. Simpson ... you are also welcome to call me ‘Fucktoy’ or ‘Sexpet’ or ‘Goddam filthy slut.’

“AND, I would assume, any of the various combinations of those.”

“There you go, MORON,” Brad gave a disgusted sigh, “Did I say ANYTHING about ‘various combinations?’ Hmm?”

“There I go,” Mom started automatically, “thinking with my OVER-EXCITED TWAT again. I’m such a FUGGINIDIIOT.

“I swear, I couldn’t think my way out of a paper bag without your help, Daddy. Or Paul’s.

“Just IGNORE whatever I say. I’m SUCH an idiot.”

I took the opportunity to see if we could use more natural speech. “Uhm, if I can ask ... ‘Mr. Simpson, sir’ gets tiresome when that’s all that snookums calls me. Makes me sound like a drill sergeant.

“Would it be okay if Fucktoy sometimes called me ‘darling’ or ‘sweetie’ too?”

“Hey, hey, DUMB SHIT,” Brad grabbed the forearm Mom was using to stroke him. “Enough.”

“Sorry, Daddy,” she submissively took place slightly behind him and to his left. Touching him—always the couple fingers touching him. For security, I guessed.

Brad spoke magnanimously, “Sure, Paul. I think she’s learned her lesson.”

You could give Brad anything to say, and he’d find a way to say it that made you want to smack him. But I kept myself behaved. “Thank you.”

“In fact, I think she’s learned her place enough that I’m even okay with her calling you ‘Paul’ occasionally again.”

“Again, thank you.”

He turned his head to Mom. “And yeah, we haven’t talked about that yet. How DID you like being spanked by your own son last night, punkin?

“THAT sure couldn’t have done much for your self-esteem.

“A grown, independent woman that has to bend over and take a spanking from her own son.”

“It was ... UTTERLY HUMILIATING, Daddy,” she answered. “My own son ... spanking my naawwwty ass!

“I felt like a little girl or something, that had wet herself and needed to be punished.

“I could have just curled up and died in shame!”

“Did it ... turn you on a little bit too?” Brad prompted

Mom’s eyes widened, then she fidgeted a little. “Mr. Simpson’s right here, Daddy. Do I have to ans—”

Brad’s voice dropped to his no-nonsense tone. “Did. It. Turn you on?”

Wincing a little, Mom ... nodded. “Nng-hngg. Yeah ...”

She dropped her eyes and whispered, “I’m a whore ...”

“Yeah, you really ARE, aren’t you?” Brad agreed. “Hey, why don’t you go run me a hot bath. And be sure to get the temperature just exactly perfect.”

“Of course, Daddy. What—ehr—temp—”

“You’ll know it when it’s there.”

Mom looked worried that she’d get the temperature wrong, but nodded. “Yes, Daddy ...” And she hurried back up the hall.

Brad turned to me.

Okay, time to barter. For respect, for dominance, for lives ... for Mom and Dad.

“So, Paul, what do you think of your mom’s NEW PUSS?”

“Her—new ... shaving down there?”

“Yeah.”

“I, uh ... wasn’t real familiar with her ‘puss’ from before ...

“But, uhm ... it seems nice. Hygienic.”

Brad grinned widely. “Yeah, she was all FUZZY and FERAL down there when I first found her.

I civilized her.

“Can you believe she had NEVER shaved before? Not once.

“Yeah, when I found her, the underbrush was just rampant and overgrown from a LIFETIME of NEVER TRYING to look pretty for her man.

“At first, I thought I’d let her keep most of it. Y’know, just trim-the-twat. Have her make sure she’s well-groomed for me, but let her keep a little bit of her self-respect.

“But then I decided ... what the fuck. Let’s just shave off all of her adulthood.

I’M making all the adult decisions for her, she might as well just have a hairless puss.“

He’d started with the arrogance card. I nodded. “I see.” Neutral until I knew which way I needed to pivot.

Actually, I knew then that there’d be no deal today. Bragging over what he had the ability to do was too important to him this morning. I’d try to deal if an opening presented itself, but I didn’t think it would.

So that meant today was about reconnaissance—spotting areas of weakness.

I needed more clues about what he was doing and how he was doing it. He had terrible power—Mom and Dad were witness to that. But it had to work according to some rules. I needed to figure out how it worked, and ... well ... fix things ...

Bite your tongue, Paul, I told myself, and navigate through this. For all our sakes ...

“Well, it looks ... clean. Healthy—”

“It looks POWERLESS,” he cut me off, “is what it looks.

“Like she’d summon AALLLL her power, ALL her resistance, to make her MIGHTIEST little stand against—” his hands gestured upwards, up, building up, then he just jerked them back down, “And Daddy would just DICK SLAP her back on her SUBMISSIVE LITTLE BUTT.”

“And she would just TAKE IT.

“Docilely.

“Submissively.

“Tamely.

“She really is just an OBEDIENT LITTLE BITCH.”

I was seeing a lot of crowing—a desperate amount of crowing. He NEEDED to think he was more powerful than everyone else around him.

The trouble was, at the moment, he was. Until I figured the “how” and the rules of whatever trick he was using to dominate Mom and Dad ... until I figured that out, he WAS more powerful than anyone else around.

Mom came back into the den before I had to speak. “The bathwater is JUST EXACTLY PERFECT now, Daddy!” she enthused. I was sure she had fretted to get it what she thought was exactly that, for “Daddy.”

However, “Daddy” barked at her, “No it’s NOT. Check it AGAIN.”

Her bubble burst—you could almost see her enthusiasm splash out all over the carpet, leaving her deflated and discouraged. “I’m sorry Daddy,” she gave a tiny whisper and slunk back to the bathroom.

Brad looked back to me. So, we could finish staking out areas on this unseen “battlefield.” And I had to deal with actually BEING powerless for the time being ...

“So, you, uhm,” I tried a different direction, “own Mom’s ‘puss’ now. Her pussy belongs—”

“I own MOM,” he boldly corrected me.

“I own her pussy.

“I own her precious little mouth and tongue.

“I own her booty and her asshole.

“I own what’s left of her desperate little mind.

“I own MOM.”

I held myself still. Rigidly so. Otherwise I’d kill him with my bare hands. And I didn’t know yet what would happen if I did that.

For the moment, he ... DID own ... Mom.

I would change that.

At some point, I would change that. But, for the moment, he ... owned Mom.

Okay, toss out a first small volley ...

“Any—any way to convince you to ... free her?”

Brad gave me the astonished look that I would even ask that.

I stumbled forward to see where it might go. “She’s a GOOD PERSON.

“And she inspires other people to be better. She’s a teacher and has a good influence on others.

“You would earn a MASSIVE AMOUNT of good karma if I could convince you to ... free her.

“Any ... possible chance you might be persuaded?”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, “and give up the free, begging pussy from your mom every day for the rest of my life?

“You’re on the weak end of this hand, kid.

“You mom’s desperate, needy little twat IS all the aces.

“And I’M holding it.“

At the moment ... that was the truth.

Also ... I would make him SCREAM NON-STOP for a day, for mistreating her this way, before this was all over ...

But ... for now, I had to deal with how things were. They’d change, but they hadn’t changed yet. “And Dad?” I asked.

“Little Artie Renfield?” Brad chuckled. “Naw, I’ve always wanted a sycophant. CAN’T give HIM up.”

Okay ...

“And me? Are you going to turn me into Dad? Give me my own closet? Or the crawlspace under the house?”

“Someday. Probably. Yeah.

“But until then ...

“Until then, your mom gets to relive her humiliations in front of you, ALL OVER AGAIN.

“Which is pretty nifty. I tear her down in her own eyes. And then I get to tear her down ALL OVER AGAIN in the eyes of her kid!

“Twice the fun!

“I think it bothers her MORE that I’m dirtying her in YOUR eyes than in HER OWN.

“She REALLY didn’t want you to see her like this.

“All desperate ...

“And needy ...

“And BROKEN ...

“And HUMILIATED like this.

“It really MATTERS to her what her kid thinks of her.

“EVER MORE than what Little Dickless-Artie does.

“Go figure.”

And there it was. He wanted pain.

That was it. He hurt. I don’t think Mom made him feel this. His own mother, maybe ... hurt him. And he wanted to make her hurt back. And for some reason he couldn’t. But my mom would do.

He was all about pain and humiliation. That’s what his world revolved around now.

So, he made Mom’s and Dad’s worlds revolve around him. And inflicted pain and humiliation.

“We’ve filmed a couple short videos”, Brad continued, “I’ll introduce you to those later—but we even have one for snookums’ parents, where she explains her new ENSLAVED WHORING SLUT lifestyle, and why she CHOSE to become said slut.

“THAT home movie oughtta go over well at parties that the old fogies throw. Especially since she did it NEKKID!

“Y’know I may still send that to them, so they can know how far she’s fallen, and she can know just how DISAPPOINTED IN HER they are.”

He paused, and I had no idea where he was taking this.

“So yeah, we’re trying to ease you into this, kid, to DRAG OUT HER HUMILIATION as long as possible!

“But ... as long as she entertains me, you two stay on.”

Mom burst back into the den then, “NOW, the bathwater is JUST EXACTLY RIGHT, Daddy!” she enthused.

“You’re wrong, Fucktoy. Check it again.”

Crushed, Mom slunk off again.

He was ... bartering for Mom’s extended pain.

I was useful to him ... because I could double the length of time that Mom was humiliated—once in her own eyes, and a second time in my eyes. He thought he was easily working a deal so that he could drag out her degradation.

I ... also wanted to drag out the time before he turned me into another Little Artie. Because, given enough time ... I would flip this. And free Mom and Dad. And, of course, make Brad squeal just a little bit in pain, for what he tried to do to Mom. And Dad.

It was a race, then ...

... whether I could figure out how to flip this before ...

... he wrung the last bit of extra pain and humiliation that he could from Mom shaming herself in front of me.

“Now, you DO know better,” Brad laid his hand out further, “than to try to steal her away, right?”

“I—yeah—”

His face lit up, enjoying, with his explanation. “Because if you take her away, she’ll KILL YOU to get back here.

“And then I will TORMENT THE HELL out of my sexpet for YEARS ... reminding her EVERY DAY of her life that ...

“... SHE killed YOU, her SON, for ME.

“You think her life is unbearable hell NOW?

“Throw in the murder of her own kid. For ME, the biggest prick in her life.” A nasty chuckle slithered out of him.

“Hey, I might even have her defile your lifeless body some. Y’know—just for shits and grins.”

He gloated a minute, then continued. “AND if you somehow kill me ... well, she will end her MISERABLE LOVELESS life.” He shrugged. “Right after she executes YOU and arranges for your corpse to be found in a humiliating pose.”

He clasped his hands together. “Sol there’s really NO DEFYING ME. Hmm?”

After the show of the strength of his cards, he returned to what he’s seeking out of this. “Now, I WOULD like to leave you with your will for now, since I think I cheated part of her humiliation fun with Little Artie by turning him into an ass puppet too soon.

“BUT ... if you get to be too much trouble, we simply flush your will down the toilet, and you can rim Little Artie, while Terri humiliates herself in front of her PARENTS.”

Ah, that was the reason for the mention of the video for grandma and grandpa earlier. If I’m too much trouble, he snuffs my will, and uses THEM to continue Terri’s humiliation instead of me.

“Hmm! I just had a good idea! I gotta remember that: While her Dad JERKS OFF, spraying spunk ALL OVER HER, mini-bukkake-style, in lusty appreciation of his SLUTTY-ASSED daughter!”

The grin slid down off his face, and he just stared at me a minute. “Do we understand each other?” he asked finally.

He wanted convincing submission. That I’d last long enough without being too much trouble that he could drag out Terri’s humiliation.

One of these days, I would END HIM.

But until then ... I could fake submission.

“Yes,” I said quietly, “I don’t like it but—”

“What was that?” he demanded. “Louder.”

Salt in the wound I let him make. I’d make him scream an extra hour for that someday. “We understand each other,” I said with more volume. “YOU hold ALL THE CARDS, Brad.

“I DON’T like how Mom’s being treated, but ... there’s nothing I can do about it. You hold all the cards here.”

“I do,” he grinned, pleased. “I truly, truly do.”

We’d stared at each other, letting this settle—my acknowledgment that Brad held all the cards for the time being—when Mom dejectedly stepped back into the den. “I think I might? Maybe? have the water—”

Brad cut her off. “Oh, you can’t do ANYTHING RIGHT, STUPID LITTLE FUCKTOY!”

“I triiiied,” Mom whined quietly.

Brad pursed his lips and sighed, temper short, “Just go let the stupid water out and change into your costume, IDIOT.”

“I’m—sorry- Daddy ...” Mom whined.

“Just go. And do what I said.”

“Yes—yes, Daddy ...” She walked back to the bathroom miserably ...

Brad, meanwhile, turned back to me. “Hey, see ya in ten minutes, Paul, buddy!

“Me, snookums and you are gonna have a cigar-smoking party!

“We’ll watch your mom smoke a stogey!” And ... he walked off, cheerful.

I sat there a second, tired from the confrontation and from trying to wring clues from so little knowledge.

My tired little brain just latched onto, “But ... Mom doesn’t smoke ...?”

* * *

I came back out to the den to find Terri in ... well, it actually WAS a cute little outfit. She had on a black strapless leotard with dark gray sheer stockings, cute little white buttoned cuffs at her wrists, a cute little bow tie (no shirt, just the collar and tie, and the cuffs), and a pair of playboy-type bunny ears on perched on her head.

“Hi snookums.

“Wow, you’re, uhm ... CUTE as a bunny!

“Actually that ... IS a sexy little outfit.”

“This ... from my son,” she muttered with pursed lips, “who thinks I’m ... ‘cute’ ... as a ... sexy ‘bunny’ ...

“But ... I have a bad feeling about all this ...

“Daddy told me this morning not to urinate ...”

“So, you’re—” I began.

“OH, yeah!” Terri answered right over me, “I gotta PEE!

“I don’t know where he’s going with this, but—”

“No! No! No! No! IDIOT!” Brad came into the den. “What did you think? That you were supposed to get all bundled up?!

“Go take off the bodysuit and the tights. Geez.”

“Yes, Daddy ...” she said sheepishly as she walked out of the room.

“Jesus!” Brad rolled his eyes. “What was she thinking?!

“Hey, Paul, I think you’ll enjoy this trust exercise we’re getting ready to try

“I know I will.“

“Okay, Daddy,” Mom wandered back into the room, “I’m more nekkid.” She was, indeed, wearing just the bow tie and collar, the cuffs at her wrists, and the bunny ears. Tits and pussy bared.

“And I kinda ... gotta use the bathroom,” she whined. “If I could maybe just run up the hall to—”

“Nope, let’s get through this trust—and TEAM-BRAD building—exercise first. You sit over here in this chair, snookums,” Brad guided her into the big chair, and she cooed as he touched her, positioning her in the chair, “This leg here. Yeah, and that leg there.” He stepped back and admired his posing handiwork.

Mom was less impressed with the pose. “Daddy! Daddy! I’m just ... SPREAD WIDE OPEN here posed like this!” He had one of her legs to one side of the chair, and the other leg hooked over the other arm of the chair, to just ... spread crotch wide ... Mom had her palms held over twat, to cover it.

Brad cleared his throat.

Mom hesitantly, reluctantly ... pulled her hands back from puss.

Breathing anxiously, she complained, “Daddy! Mr. Simpson—Mr. Simpson SHOULD NOT BE HERE! Not with me—spread WIDE OPEN like this!” She turned her head to me and whispered harshly, “You should not BE here, Mr. Simpson! Not with me ... SPREAD ... like this!”

“Paul is exactly where he’s SUPPOSED to be,” Brad spoke over her. “And if he leaves, I’ll take it out on your ASS!

A little softer, “We’re learning to trust each other, the three of us.

“That’s why we call it a ‘trust. building. exercise.’ Hmm?”

We stood, and sat, there a minute, Mom twitching to clasp her hands over her bared genitals, me unsure with all the sticky shame in the air, and Paul happy enough to whistle a tune. Finally, he beamed, “Now isn’t this wonderful? The three of us, all just trusting and open?”

“If I were any MORE open,” Terri muttered, “than I am right now, I’d be inside out ...”

“Here ya go,” Brad chuckled as he handed her a lit cigar.

Mom just looked at it. “But ... I don’t—smoke?”

“You do now,” Brad informed her.

With a big gulp, Mom ... took the cigar.

“G’head, puff up,” Brad encouraged.

With a whimper, Mom ... brought the stogie to her lip.

And ... puffed.

Everything was okay ... for three seconds. Then she broke out in a hacking cough.

Engghh ... partway through, I actually watched a tiny squirt of pee squeezed out of her as she gave a particularly strong cough.

“Oh crap! Oh crap!” Mom sputtered between coughs, “Some pee slipped out! Cough! Cough! Cough!”

She damped down her cough and looked pleadingly at Brad. “I really, REALLY have to PEE, Daddy!”

“Nope. Not yet.”

“Daddy?! I just ... LEAKED! I REALLY need to go!”

“Nope.”

“But—”

“Oh, go ahead and cross your legs. Do your little pee-fidget dance. But you HOLD IT, snookums.” He stuck his hand out at her, “Here, give me the cigar before you get urine on it.”

Then he turned to me. “Paul, I’m going to go get something to drink from the kitchen. Can I bring you some sort of liquid refreshment?”

“No—No, I’m good.”

Terri just whimpered as he walked into the kitchen.

And ... ran some water in the sink.

And ... kept on running water in the sink.

Mom fidgeted and whimpered.

And ... he still had water running ...

She gave a bigger whimper.

OH, come on! Now it sounded like he was pouring water from one pitcher to another and back!

“I won’t tell,” I whispered to snookums, “if you run to the—”

“You KNOW I can’t DOOO that, Mr. Simpson.” She gnawed on her knuckle as she squirmed in agony. The woman REALLY had to pee!

Brad came back in with a glass of water ... which he proceeded to glug. Mom’s bladder had to be spasming with each glug. Just let her go pee, asshole!

“Daaaaaaddy?” she whimpered.

“Yeah,” Brad allowed, “go ahead, go pee. BUT you have to take Paul, and you have to be hugging on to him.

“While you pee.”

Terri sprang up and grabbed my hand on the pass-by, pulling me along behind her, “Sweetie! Come on! Come on! Come on! Please! Now!” I scrambled to keep up with her, and she didn’t even break stride.

Honestly, I think she might have physically hauled my body into the bathroom with her if she’d had to.

She dragged me to the toilet, sat, wrapped her arms around my pelvis, and—

I could hear a cupful of water splash into the bowl. And then more cupfuls flow right after it.

“OHGAAWWWWWDYESSSSSS!” she brayed, shivering violently.

“Ohgaawwwwwd! Oh FUCK!” she was clutching onto my hips and quivering.

“Oh, thank you! Oh, thank you! Oh, thank you! My bladder THANKS you, baby!” She actually had gooseflesh on her arms, and her eyes looked about ready to roll back in her head.

All the while, liquid just GUSHED into the bowl.

“Ohgaawwwd! Ohgaawwwd! OhgaawwwdYEAAHHHH!” Another big shiver galloped through her. “OOOAAAWWWNNGGGAAAWWWD!”

“Oh, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” she exhaled as the flow slowed into the bowl, and her shivers seemed to be subsiding a little.

Finally, she just pressed her forehead to my lower abdomen and breathed heavily. I ... almost wondered if I should offer her a cigarette ...

“Wow.” That was all I could say at first. She was still just breathing, in recovery. “That was ... quite the pee shiver ...”

“Ohmotherofgod, that was,” she sighed, and her voice went throaty, “GOOOOOD!”

“THANK YOU, DARLING!” she looked up at me, all smiles now. “Thank you SOOO fucking much! OHGOD, thank you!”

Brad’s voice called from the other room. “Hurry up, snookums. I’m gonna fuck you silly now!”

“YESSSS!” she grinned and called back, “COMING, Daddy! I’m ALREADY JUICING UP, baby! I’ll be RIGHT THERE!”

She stood, naked, and turned to me. “THANK YOU for that PEE, darling! GOD, that was AWESOME!” She was so caught up in the moment of bladder-relief that she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me on the lips.

Finally, she leaned back from the kiss, her arms still wrapped around my neck. “Daddy wants to fuck, so I gotta go.”

Then her face went dead serious. “Leave here, Paul.

“I am LOATHESOME. Look at me, trotting out to spread for a STUDENT to DICK me silly.

“I am just LOATHESOME.

“So, loathe me. Stop lingering here to watch me shame and humiliate myself.

“Loathe me. Leave here.

“Now.

“Before it is too late.”

I know she was trying to protect me, the same as I was trying to protect her. She wanted to keep me from risking my life and sanity to save hers. But I’m sorry—she was important too. The fact that she could care beyond herself made her WORTH SAVING TOO if there was any way possible.

“Okay,” she said, impatient with my silent thinking, “well then ... I am going to go SPREAD WIDE and WHORE for COCK, buried to the hilt deep down inside my TWAT, swallowed deep down inside my throat, maybe even poked up my tender little ass.

“And I am going to sing, loudly and whorishly, eventually trailing off into nonsensical gasps and screams as I get just FUCKING DICKED into SLUTTY SUBMISSION.

“Well ... you enjoy my LITTLE CONCERT, son.

“When you get disgusted enough, leave.

“Just leave.

“You don’t even have to say goodbye.

“And I will sing a song of happiness when you do that.

“Please ... do it ...

“Just leave ...

“Soon ...”

We just looked in each other’s eyes a few seconds. I know she was saying goodbye to me—forever—in her mind ...

Then she called out, “Coming Daddy! Ohgod, baby, I’m getting all JUICY, just THINKING about you!”

Then back to me, “Goodbye, Paul, I hope ... forever ...”

She ... walked away then. To go whore.

I ... stood there.

Decision point: do I stay ... or do I go.

I took a deep breath.

Okay, yeah, I knew what I was going to decide, but I waded through the rationality anyway.

The smart thing was to leave. I’ve already said that Mom is smarter than I am. And I suspect stronger-willed too. If she couldn’t fight this ... then what the hell did I think I could do?

As she pointed out, it was better that one of the three of us survive than that we all fall to this little bastard. And that “one” of us would just happen to be me.

If I stayed, I would only get myself trapped. And broken. And miserable beyond misery. I’d only add more to Terri’s pain when she saw ME demeaned, broken, pathetic.

The ONLY smart thing to do here was to leave.

To abandon her. Cut losses. Leave her behind.

I should take the gift she’s giving—that she’s pushing—total forgiveness, just go. Just leave, don’t get trapped, continue with my life. Her life would be slightly more tolerable if she knew I was out there, away from all this, unbroken by it.

It was the only smart thing to do.

So, I should go.

It was all very logical and reasonable.

Yeah, well ... no.

Just ... no.

I’m VERY VERY SORRY, you rational arguments, but ... no.

I am NOT LEAVING her.

I was well-behaved as a kid. I never got too stubborn about anything. But I was going to get stubborn about this.

I had a whole fucking lifetime of unused stubbornness that I was going to spend ... on THIS.

Not leaving her, not happening!

The little shit MAY turn me into something as pathetic as Dad is now. I REALLY, REALLY hope NOT. But ... yet, it may happen.

I’m still not going to leave her.

Certainly not after her courage of trying to send me off on my own safe way!

So, heaven and angels, listen. I am going to do what I can to help her. I’m not leaving her, not like this.

And if you are worth your weight ... heaven and angels ... then lend me a hand!

And if not, then to hell with you! Because I am going to find some way to make this better!

Amen.