The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Man of the House

(mc, mf, ff, inc)

Prolog

The building contained four luxury apartments, a spacious common-area foyer and a large community pool in the back. The reason you’re interested in this apartment building, located at 819 North Primrose Lane, is because of the experiment that I preformed on the residents of the four apartments. I will talk about that experiment later on so let’s take this opportunity to meet all those who live in the 819 apartments.

Apartment A: The Baptistes

Trevor was lounging on the couch in the family room watching music videos on BET. They were playing the top 100 videos of the last five years and he was happily watching ladies remove their clothes because it was “so hott in here.” “Those bitches are fine,” he thought as he soaked in their beautiful black figures. Trevor was bitter. Here he was, a strong, large (6′2″, huge muscles) black man and he has never been with a black girl. Since he started dating eight years ago when he was fifteen, he has hooked up with many white girls, a Brazilian, and two Asians. Trevor was bitter and frustrated, and his circumstances, living in this cracker-ass city, didn’t help his longing.

Later, his parents walked in as the girls on the television were “dropping it like it was hot.” Robert and Marilyn Baptiste were both physicians. Robert, who looked like an older version of his son, large and broad-chested, taught sports medicine and the nearby medical school. Marilyn was an Ob-Gyn with offices at the medical school’s affiliated hospital; the two carpooled each day to and from work. Marilyn was, to cite another song, a brickhouse; she was “thick.” At 44, she had dark, shoulder-length straight hair, ripe D-cup breasts, a smooth stomach that rolled into juicy thighs. But Trevor didn’t know this; Marilyn Baptiste was always conservatively covered in her business attire and, on many occasions, her lab coat.

“You’re not watching that trash again, are you Trev...,” Marilyn snarked at her son, “those poor girls are not objects and you know how I feel about the messages that rap sends out about our culture.” Trevor leaned his head back for a moment and, without a word back at this mother, appeased her by switching the channel to CNN. It didn’t matter so much. He would have to leave for work in an hour or so. Trevor had promised his parents that he would move out soon and his job as a bouncer did pay pretty well. As he listened to Aaron Cooper prattle on about the war, pangs of envy and disappointment ran through him-the ghetto bouncer son of successful doctors. At least his friends and co-workers didn’t know his background.

Apartment B: The Rutherfords

Johnny was bored. BORED. He was home for the summer between his sophomore and junior year of college and there was nothing to do. He was sitting at the dining room table IMing his friends on his laptop. Friends he couldn’t visit because they all lived in the state that that the university he attended was located in. Johnny didn’t live in that state; his goal to get far away from his strict, domineering parents was now presenting its downside-at least for the time being. Back during the school year, Johnny was fully enjoying his life as a Sigma Chi. Frat parties, sorority girls, banging stupid sorority girls at frat parties. Life was wonderful, until May brought him back home. The thought of college got Johnny a bit hard, so he went to bring up some pirated downloads of Girls Gone Crazy he had on his hard drive and rub one out. That plan got cut short, however, as his mother and sister poured through the door. They were coming home from their Tuesday night bible study.

“Hello dear,” Kelly Rutherford greeted, “can you do us a favor, there are some groceries in the back of the car. Can you help us carry them in?” Johnny replied with an “ok!” as he closed down his laptop and rushed out the door, heart beating fast after nearly getting caught beating off. “I’m going to go upstairs and read, mom. Thanks for taking me!” Jessica said excitedly and pecked her mother on the cheek. “Sure dear, you know how proud it makes me when I watch my children share in the word of God.” Jessica picked up her bible and skipped upstairs. Jessica was a cute kid, still in high school but planning on joining her brother at the university soon enough. She was athletic (star tennis player), had long blonde hair (since she was a star tennis player), and bright blue eyes (you know). While she had a nice tan up her muscular calves and on the top of her B-cup chest, one would be struck by severe tan lines that clearly showed that Jessica never wore less than her tennis outfits.

Kelly was already beginning to prepare dinner as Johnny returned with three brown paper bags of food. Her schedule of time was perfect as she was the perfect Christian housewife. Not pregnant mind you, and not always barefoot, but Kelly would be the first to tell anyone, “A woman’s place is in the kitchen.” Sure her neighbors could all work and say they’re good mothers, but Kelly knew that she was truly doing the Lord’s work in raising her family right. Whatever she was doing, Johnny had been unable to do his sinful duty since he arrived back home.

Kelly was not only Christian, she was Southern Baptist-a proud Arkansas belle. Her drawl was clear evidence of that, especially up here in the north. Her blonde hair was done up high, as is common in the south, and she looked much younger than the 42 years of age she was, as is common in the south. “Clean living,” she would say. And as Kelly would describe to be a test from God, two natural E-cup breasts stood firm from her chest. In the past, they have created many opportunities for promiscuity, but Kelly never wavered. Finally, after she graduated college, she married her sweetheart Craig and lost her virginity. Like a good Christian should. Her husband Craig is the CFO of a Christian book company and he’s currently on a business trip.

Kelly placed her hand on Johnny’s shoulder; he had resumed his IM conversations at the table. “I want you to come to church with us tomorrow night,” she pleaded. “Mom... do I have to?” Johnny replied. “Of course you don’t have to. I want you to want to. Jesus wants you to want to. I worry about your soul. I still can’t believe you didn’t go to church at all during school.”

“I’m sorry mom, I was doing other stuff. I was busy.” Johnny did look slightly disappointed in himself. “Pastor Dan says that you haven’t even attempted to join Campus Crusade...” Kelly continued. “Ok mom, I’ll go.”

Apartment C: The Shapiros

Andrea Shapiro hesitated before she knocked on her son’s door. She had the pleasure of reading the poor progress note Seth had received from his summer school class. “He’s failing summer school,” she thought, “he’s so smart and he’s failing summer school.” As a law professor, Andrea was not used to seeing people slack in class, well not like Seth. She went into the hall bathroom to collect her thoughts as she stood in the mirror, practicing what she was going to say. In the mirror she saw the same confident, driven woman she had always been. Even as a girl as old as Seth is now, she was driven. Study and work. Study and work. She didn’t have many friends in high school. And that’s not because she wasn’t pretty. She looked liked Sarah Silverman in her younger years and now she looks like Sarah Silverman at 41-we ca all assume that Ms. Silverman would be considered a MILF at 41. Her breasts were just as big as her neighbor Marilyn’s, which is certainly big. And her nose, while a little hawkish was always regarding as cute. “But that’s beside the point,” she thought as she stared at herself, her son won’t notice her curvy body. “He may pay attention to her threat of an all boys private school,” she mused.

Seth Shapiro didn’t have many friends in high school either. He is probably the last remaining goth kid in the district-those who would have been his friend five years ago now turned “emo.” He hated emo-kids, so fucking conformist by trying to be non-conformist. His mousey-brown hair, the same color as his mother’s was dyed pitch black and straightened from his normal fro-like state. His lips and nails also painted black. His Marilyn Manson t-shirt was relevant insofar as it Manson was playing low in his room. He was surfing the web and didn’t bother looking at Andrea when she knocked and then entered his room.

“Seth, do you even want to graduate next summer?” Andrea inquired. “What’s the point?” Seth returned.

“Because one day, when you’re through with this ‘phase’ you are going to want more out of life,” she countered.

“You think I’m going to want money?” he asked.

“I know you’re going to need some....yes.” Andrea stated.

“If money is so important, why’d you leave the firm? They were paying you better.” He was right. Andrea was a partner at the top law firm in town. She moved into teaching because she loves teaching; however, the law school couldn’t’ even come close to paying what she made practicing law. “You know why Seth. I wanted teach.”

“And I want to sit here and not be a money hound like everyone else. You, obviously should understand doing what one wants to do takes precedence over making a buck.” He flashed his mother a haughty smile. It only served to piss Andrea off.

“If you don’t pass your summer school course, I’m sending you to Brookline Academy. That’s final,” she paused then continued, “And I want you to clean yourself up, wash off that face paint and get rid of the god-damn black lights in this room! If you don’t, I will stop paying for cable and internet! I am sick of you walking around looking like some freak.” Andrea backed out of the room and closed the door with a thud.

Apartment D: The Shoemakers

Andrea Shapiro was not the only single mother in 819; no, there was Karen Shoemaker. But Karen was not like Andrea, hell, she wasn’t like any other of the mothers in the building. The other mothers always put their kids first. Karen had too much ambition for that. The other mother were beauties and naturally so. Karen was beautiful too, stunning even, but she was very fake and very augmented. Karen was also the only mother still in her 30’s. She was 36.

Karen is Asian, but she was adopted as an infant by a wealthy Caucasian California couple. She was spoiled almost immediately there after. The breast job her parents got her when she was in college provided her with perfectly spherical C-cups. Her ass was augmented by her parents too. And they paid for it all before buying you’re little baby-girl boob-jobs was commonplace. And what couldn’t be changed with a knife, Karen took care of with an obsessive workout regimen and strict diet. All together, the petite (5′4″) Asian girl had a rocking, cut body, with unreal tits and ass. Her hair changed styles with her mood. Naturally bright, she secured a high paid marketing job right out of college. The best part was, with the clients she had, she never had to give up her partying lifestyle. Her son Adam had an overnight nanny until he was 11. She would come home late if at all; Adam was a result of one her many one-night indiscretions. She loved her son, don’t misunderstand, just not as much as she loved herself. The scar from the cesarean she demanded (so that natural birth would not ruin her figure) would have been evidence of that fact had she not had it meticulously covered up through plastic surgery.

Oh Adam, so unlike his mother. While his mother was “cool” right from the point her tiny feet stepped into her preparatory nursery school class, Adam has never been so blessed socially. He isn’t that bad looking. Wirey, definitely; Adam is half-Asian, and his Asian side had definitely won out on stature. He wore glasses (his mom would too, if she were to give up her contacts) and he was really short (his mother’s height). And he was a nerd. Adam played Dungeons and Dragons. Adam played WoW. Adam had an extensive Magic the Gathering card collection, both in real life and online. And Karen never understood. She could not understand why Adam was inside on this beautiful night. Even though she got him a sweet car, he did not go cruising in it. Was he gay? He never brought home a girl. Maybe he was gay.

She would have cajoled an answer to any one of her questions of misunderstanding of her son, but they didn’t talk much. Well never of anything of substance. They were two people worlds apart and neither cared much, or had the wherewithal, to establish a connection.

The Experiment

So here we have the four apartments. And my experiment, of course. See, I take pity on these young boys. Stereotypical young boys. They live in such luxury, and still, would rather be anywhere else. They’re forced to live in their parent’s reality, unable to change it despite how they try. Well the little transmitters I implanted inside every smoke detector within 819 North Primrose Lane will fix that problem. The transmitters will warp the minds of our residents. It will shift them into a mindset more amicable to the young boys-it will give them what they want most; and isn’t that what all parents want for their children? It will take but a few days, and the results will be quite long lasting indeed. Each boy will become man of the house. Day 1: Wednesday

The transmitters were turned on at 11pm last night. Don’t worry; I don’t plan on ever turning them off.

Apartment A: The Baptistes

Trevor’s parents decided to skip work today. Trevor found this perplexing since his parents never missed worked. Ever. Trevor woke up at around eleven, which was normal considering his line of work. He found his father sitting on the couch watching tv in a white t-shirt and pajama bottoms. He was watching BET. He was watching the repeat of the music video program that his wife so disliked.

“Hey son, how was work,” Robert asked and then addressed the television, “ooh, baby is fine.”

“Was ok. Whatchu watching?”

“Top 100.” Trevor joined his father on the couch, dismissing the odd behavior. Well it wasn’t so odd-the ladies were fine and, well, Pops was a man after all. “You better not let moms catchu watching this.”

“Nah, it’s fine. She’s out at the pool. She said she wanted to catch some sun. Hell, she deserves it with the long hours she puts in,” Robert trails off again as his focus turned to the television and pointed, “you know, your mom’s got an ass like that.” Robert looked up at his son with a shit-eating grin on his face. Trevor just stared back blankly; apparently the words that just came out his father’s mouth had stunned him.

As the day progressed and Trevor became more and more comfortable with his father’s change in attitude. In fact, they were bonding. They had talked about women, music, all types of shit. His father had not once chided him for his use of “ghetto speak” as he normally had. Then at about three, Marilyn walked in. She was wearing a turquoise bikini and Trevor realized his father was right: she did have an ass like the girls from the videos. He didn’t miss out on the fact that his mother’s tits were swaying as she walked from the front door to stand between the television and her boys. She looked down at them and placed her hands on her hips. She was shiny from lotion and sweat. Her hair was frizzy as she hadn’t straightened it today. Father and son, both caught and knowing it, looked up at her meekly. She was smiling.

“Nice beat...” she said as she started moving her body to the music. It wasn’t the most erotic dance ever, in fact, her disco-like moves were a bit goofy, but it stirred both men.

Robert got up and wrapped his arms around his wife and she reciprocated in the same manner. They again still proved how “not with it” they were by slow dancing to the music from the TV. “At least it’s a slower song,” thought Trevor as his sat there confused and watched them.

Nuzzling his face down to Marilyn’s forehead as he swayed with her, Robert said, “why don’t you go shower and get dressed. I’ll run out and get some dinner for all of us.”

Marilyn responded by tiptoeing up and sticking her tongue into her husband’s mouth. Trevor grimaced. “Get some barbeque. Someone was grillin’ outside and I gots a hankerin’,” she said after a 30 second face suck. The oddest thing was (and there were a lot of odd things), Trevor thought, was how his father seemed prepared for the kiss. His mother never displayed affection like that.

Not speaking a word Robert picked up his keys and left the apartment. He did manage to grab his wife’s ass before parting with her though. Once the door closed Marilyn looked down at her son again as he just sat silently. She was smiling broadly; this day off really seemed to be what she needed; she looked like all the weight of the world was lifted off of her shoulders. “You should skip work tonight,” Marilyn offered, “your father and I did and we needed it. Cut work, hang with your ole’ moms and pops. It’s been so long since we spent time as a family.”

His mother’s cheerfulness was infectious. Trevor smiled, abandoning his hardened demeanor for a moment and replied, “you got it mom.” Marilyn smiled.

“Well, I will be in the shower,” she turned and left. She swayed to the beat as she walked from Trevor. Then he noticed that his father’s less-than-conspicuous ass grab managed to cram the back of the bikini into his wife’s ass. Trevor’s mouth hung open as he stared at the one glorious ass cheek exposed by a wedgie that his mother obviously felt, but didn’t care enough to fix.

Robert returned 45 minutes later with a shitload of ribs, extra sauce, fried okra and two 24 packs of Miller Genuine Draft. Somewhere between 819 Primrose and Donnie’s BBQ Robert Baptiste nixed the idea of “dinner” and promoted the night’s event to a small party. Trevor was on the phone with work, pacing around the apartment when his father walked in the door with all the fixins’. He was still wearing his PJs Trevor noticed. Marilyn walked out of her bedroom at the same time. She opted for a white tank-top and her hot pink gym shorts. Her hair was still frizzy-straight, but clean. When she saw and smelt what her husband brought in, Marilyn called out, “OOOH, Suga! I am starving!” needlessly loud and waving her hands in the air as if to testify. Trevor looked up from his phone and stared at his mother. This time, however, Trevor didn’t stare at her with confusion. No, he stared at her with lust.

For the first time since he can remember, etiquette was set aside at the dinner table. Marilyn and Robert went back and forth making fun of their respective co-workers, often with food in their mouth. “Inside voices” were hardly used. At first they made fun of people’s poor work ethic, or managerial insufficiencies, but then the conversation devolved into mockeries about base things like physical appear and dress. Doctors usually are understanding of such things, the Baptistes were not so tonight. Trevor finally broke into the conversation by deriding their neighbors the Rutherfords and their cracker-ass attitudes. Normally, Marilyn would have screamed at Trevor for such remarks, especially directed at their neighbors, but she instead added her own thoughts about the assumed size of Mr. Rutherford’s genitalia. Trevor and Robert roared with laughter, but then the conceded that Mrs. Rutherford was one fine piece of ass. This sentiment invoked jealously in Marilyn Baptiste, and she ever so subtlety thrust out her chest, her red bra clearly visible as it pressed into the tank. The boys grinned at each other; obviously, they knew what they were doing.

As they ate, they also drank. That night Trevor and his parents drank quite a bit. By 9:30 or so, they had moved the party into the living room having left the table covered in their scraps to be cleaned another day. During the drunken revelry, somehow Marilyn’s tank-top and shorts came off. She was watching their 30″ flat-panel computer screen as Trevor tapped through a streaming video of a woman, who happened to be wearing as much as she was, and moving her tight 44-year-old body to “Pop, Lock & Drop It.” This was the third such video Trevor tapped through in slow-motion as he watched his drunk mother soak in and mimic each move only to master it by her second try. His father was gratuitously grinding into his wife, tongue hangin’ out, hands groping and squeezing. Marilyn only encouraged him, “yeah! Yeah! You like that Suga?” she asked as she ground her thong-covered ass into her husband’s engorged cock.

“You shake dat’ thing shortie!” he called back.

“Damn, Moms, you got moves woman!” Trevor exhorted. All parental intimidation was gone, and Trevor was conversing with his mother as if she was a co-worker or a classmate. He tapped the keys to an unheard beat, leaned back casually to soak in the sight in front of him and nodded his head approvingly.

Marilyn brought her booty down to floor. Her thick, muscular legs straining sensuously as she thrust her chest up and shook her bottom so it bounced against the hardwood. She made eye contact with Trevor. She should have been thinking, “my son should NOT be seeing me be so intimate with my husband.” Instead, she took in his entire rippling body, and thought, “boy iza pimp,” and smiled. “Honey,” she said with a very surprisingly,motherly tone, “I have moves you couldn’t dream of.” Trevor had about as much as he could stand. He was drunk, tired and horny and he knew he wasn’t going to get any. So he got up to excuse himself for the night.

His parents were sad to see him go, but in other ways, happy. “He is kinda a third wheel,” thought Robert drunk and kind of jealous. His mother hugged him and said, “momma loves her baby.” Then, with alcohol on her breath, she vulgarly licked the side of his face and started giggling as Trevor flinched.

Trevor smiled though and pushed his giggling parent onto to the couch as she continued to laugh and slap her bare legs. It would turn out to be this image, of Marilyn Baptiste, laughing and grinning wildly, with parts jiggling that should be jiggling that caused Trevor to climax into his sheets 25 minutes later.

After Trevor left, the two parents roughhoused for a couple more hours. Robert eventually broke out the digital camera and took some sweet shots of his woman. With beer still fueling her decision-making abilities, Marilyn got the bright idea to create a myspace page to post the photos on. She was still with it enough to know not to use her real name, incase a colleague stalked her, so she used the name of her favorite cartoon character-Tweety Bird. She spelled it with an “ie.” By 2 o’clock Robert Baptiste was passed-out on the couch and his wife, Marilyn “Tweetie” Baptiste had a functioning, typo-filled, myspace page. She listed her age as 23. See, in another few hours under the transmitter, that’s the age she will be convinced she actually is.

Apartment B

Johnny woke up to a loud conversation between his mother and Jessica. It was about 10 am and Johnny realized that his mother hadn’t got him out of bed at 8:30 and fed him breakfast. His blonde hair was a mess he plodded out of his room clad only in his gym shorts and socks. Kelly and Jessica were on his laptop. His laptop filled with porn.

Trying to be inconspicuous, Johnny asked, “hey mom, what’s up?”

Jess spoke up first. “Mom is FINALLY letting me have a myspace page!”

“But I am watching what she puts on here,” his mom picked up, “and then I am going to make one to so I can keep an online-eye on her. I expect you to make me your friend too, since I noticed your have your profile set to private...” Johnny, trained by habit, agreed.

Kelly continued, “This is really neat though. I bet I can connect with old friends on here!”

“There aren’t many forty-somethings on myspace, mom,” Jess chided and continued to type.

She was taken back by her daughter’s comment, not because of the tone, but because she mentioned being “forty-something.” It was like, for the briefest of moments, she forgot. “Well, I am a Alpha Chi Omega,” Kelly Rutherford responded, proudly referring to her old sorority, “maybe I can find other Alpha Chis around town.” She thought that was a pretty good response. However, her children thought it odd.

“Why would mom want to connect with her old sorority?” thought Johnny who would have thought his mother’s first option would be to find a Christian group to join, “maybe it’s my pining for school rubbing off on her.” Satisfied that the ladies weren’t going to stumble into his porn collection in the near future, Johnny prepared to go out to the gym. He wouldn’t return until 3 pm.

A quick note about myspace. To increase my range of information sources pertaining to my subjects, the program sent through the transmitters has been compelling the residents to create these pages. The pages merely give me supplemental evidence for the corporation I work for. Anyway, back to the narrative.

Between 10 am and 3 pm, mother and daughter bonded. Jessica turned on MTV and while reruns of Laguna Beach were playing, Kelly hunted through some old boxes. In case you haven’t guessed, had she been in the room, she would-uncharacteristically so- not have disapproved of the program her daughter was watching. And in case you haven’t guessed, she probably would have gotten into the show herself. But Kelly didn’t watch the television today. About an hour after her search began, Mrs. Rutherford returned to the living-room triumphantly. She had her hair pulled back by a plaid head-band, and was wearing a grey t-shirt with her sorority’s Greek letters imprinted on the front (in the same plaid print) and was wearing red gym shorts. Jessica’s red gym shorts (oddly, Jessica didn’t seem to mind). What’s more, Jessica’s mother had meticulously applied a light layer of make-up and eyeliner. She looked like she was, simultaneously, ready to lounge and host guests.

With a grin on her face she threw a similar t-shirt onto Jessica’s lap, took a box a cereal from the kitchen counter and curled up Indian-style on the couch next to her daughter. “Put it on,” Kelly said as she started to munch on a handful of dry cereal. Kelly felt it too; Johnny’s college conversations must have gotten her. She had a compelling need to share some of her own stories with somebody and her lil’ Jess was the only person around.

Without embarrassment Jessica hefted off her nightshirt, revealing her bare chest to her normally conservative mother, and put on the old t-shirt. The looked like sisters. “Like my little sorority sister,” Kelly mused to herself. Kelly then started to talk. No, she started to gab. Once upon a time, Kelly Dixon had ran Rush for her sorority; what was going to be a mother reminiscing with her daughter now became a pitch to try to get Jessica to consider rushing Alpha Chi when she went to college. And Jessica was eating up the conversation.

She shut the television off and listened with rapt attention to this older woman who was “recruiting” her. Kelly’s stories were exciting and Kelly was so beautiful and accomplished looking, Jessica couldn’t wait to join in the fun. She wanted to be just like her mother. Of course, many of Kelly’s naughtier stories weren’t exactly true. She was good at administration, so it was natural that she had responsibilities within the sorority, but all the “fun” stuff she talked about were lifted from the tales her friends shared. But as she talked, Mrs. Rutherford began to have regrets. She regretted not going to keggers at the frat houses. She regretted not having the multiple romantic trists that her sisters had, and in which she was now implying that her daughter would get to enjoy if she became an Alpha Chi. That’s when Jessica had an idea.

“Do you think we can ‘try out’ sorority life for a while?” she said, “you know, while dad’s away, we can do sorority stuff. Like wear these t-shirts, and gab like this. I like hangin’ with you.” Jessica was not thinking about doing anything bad. She honestly was trying to connect with her mother. She looked on like an expectant puppy.

Kelly got an idea, though, on how to improve on Jessica’s. “We can...” Mrs. Rutherford said, clearly not thinking like a mother, “and we can do other sorority things. Like go clubbing.” Jess’s eyes opened wide.

“Really? When? I don’t have anything to wear!” the daughter exclaimed.

“O-M-G! Neither do I!” Kelly shrieked in a tone mocking her daughter, “come on let’s get ready and go to the mall. I will help you pick out something nice. Then tonight-dancing!” Kelly hopped up and then pulled her daughter to her feet. They shrieked some more, embraced, bounced in each other’s arms and then ran to their respective bedrooms. Not once did either one think about other plans they had for that night. Not once did the girls think about church.

Kelly didn’t change much, she kept on her t-shirt and put on some capris. She was delighted when her daughter came out wearing the same. “Come on ‘little sister’” the mother said to daughter as she held out her hand to take, “lets go SHOPPING!” Jessica took her mother’s hand and they skipped to the door. When they opened it, a sweaty Johnny was just about to put his key in the lock.

He pulled his head back, surprised by the sorority girls. “Hey mom, hey sis,” Johnny trailed off.

“HEEEEY JOHNNY!” the girls shouted in unison. Then the three of them awkwardly tried to squeeze through the door at the same time. During this moment of close proximity, Kelly’s eyes moved down to her son’s chest and lingered on the Sigma Chi on his t-shirt. She smirked and thought how Sigma Chi was the BEST frat ever. When she brought her eyes back up, they met her son’s wide and confused eyes. Kelly winked knowingly at her son and pulled her daughter out of the apartment. “Be back soon,” she yelled as they ran out to the parking area.

In fact, shopping didn’t take them long. The girls were very goal oriented and made it back home by 5. They promised each other they would “shop for real” on Saturday. Dr. Baptiste was hauling in some food and a whole lot of alcohol when as they were arriving back and Kelly made a mental note that Apartment A maybe a place to party...then she corrected herself. Apartment A was a place to keep her kids away from. The time away from the transmitter had mitigated the effect it seemed.

As Kelly and Jessica came back in, each went to their separate rooms. Jessica was still excited about the night, but Kelly was puzzled. Accordingly, Jessica began pouring over exactly how she was going to put her outfit together and Kelly paced around her room, wishing her husband was around. Eventually, she decided to take a shower to relax.

Twenty minutes later, Kelly came bouncing out the master bath completely refreshed and “revitalized.” She had a towel wrapped around her hair and one around her waist. She danced to a fast paced song in her head eventually stopping in front of the mirror and she proudly cupped her huge tits and shook them for an imaginary stud. “look, but don’t touch big-boy,” she cooed at herself and flicked her wedding-ring adorned left hand up, “I’m a married woman.” Mrs. Rutherford giggled at herself and then started getting dressed. Moments later, a thought occurred to her and she called out, “Johnny?”

“Yeah mom?” the shout came back.

“Don’t forget to get ready. We’ll be leaving soon,” the mother called, implying that she was expecting him to join them.

“OK...”

At around 7:30, Johnny came out in trousers, a shirt and tie and a navy blazer. His hair was very tidy. Johnny Rutherford was ready to go to church. Kelly and Jessica Rutherford, as their halter tops, heavy makeup and gaudy jewelry indicated, had totally forgotten. There was a silence. It was like Jesus himself walked in, looked at the two sluttily dressed women (though one was not quite a full grown woman) and wagged a finger of shame. It was at this point that I increased the power of the transmitters, ever so slightly.

Conflict raged in Kelly’s mind. For six seconds. At that point she had a decision that she knew was the best possible one. Kelly Rutherford stepped towards her, son pulled off his tie, opened the top button of his shirt and untucked it, then she mussed his well-combed hair. “Lose the jacket. You look great. You’re driving.”

“Mom? What about church?” Johnny asked, though not complaining.

“Well, John-boy,” Kelly said using both her nickname for her son as well as the proper southern drawl to accompany it, “I realized that’s it’s been a tough summer for you and it thought that a night on the town would be good for you. You don’t mind two young ladies chilling with you, do you?”

Johnny smiled, “Of course not. But what are we doing?”

“Jess and I were planning on hitting a few clubs. You dance?” Kelly asked, truly interested. She hoped that her son wasn’t a stick in the mud. She also hoped that Johnny, a strapping lad indeed, would keep dirty men from grinding on her and her daughter as they danced.

“Yeah, I dance,” the girls smiled, “but how is Jess is going to get in? She’s only 16.” Jessica’s face dropped. Like her mother earlier that day, it was like she totally forgot she wasn’t college-aged.

Mrs. Rutherford had an answer and thought it was the most brilliant idea ever. She pulled out her driver’s license and handed it to her daughter. Jess smiled, clearly impressed by her “big sister’s” ingenuity. “Problem solved,” Kelly snorted, and shook her body back and forth proudly.

Johnny should have realized that his mother’s idea was crazy. A 16-year-old could not pass for a 42-year-old. But he didn’t realize that. Instead he smiled in assent and took a moment to sincerely drink in what his family members were wearing.

Jess was wearing a shimmering halter-top covered in those shiny metallic sequins. Her tits were hoisted up, probably by a wonder-bra. A pleather mini-skirt incased her pert ass and gaudy shiny platform heel forces her sexy legs to accentuate their firm muscles. Jessica was aware that she needed a tan and was hoping no one noticed that she normally wore polo shirts. Her was pulled in to braids that hung down over her shoulders. Kelly, well, Kelly was the poster child for Mothers that I’d Like to Fuck. She was braless; her mountainous firm tits were held in by a black, strapless dress. It seemed that the dress would, at some time tonight, succumb to the breasts’ attempts to free themselves. It was a form fitting dress that clung to her every curve: her yummy smooth stomach, her heart-shaped ass, her welcoming thighs. Stiletto pumps completed the outfit. She managed her hair into a pretty hot looking bob too, which was hot. Both girls had on too much makeup. Their eyes were outlined as much as an Egyptian’s. They had on too much perfume. They were girls going clubbing for the first time in their lives. Johnny took his “ladies,” one on each arm, and led them to the car.

Mom’s fake-id plan never got to be used, at least on this first night. Since they were out so early, the bouncers weren’t checking IDs. And in any case, Jess looked 21. They started slow, getting a table off to the side, chatting about pop culture. They looked to Johnny for alcohol advice, since neither girl ever drank. Since this was still kind of weird for him he started them lightly on beer. At least he has them drinking, I thought to myself, since small amounts of alcohol will lessen the chance of the girls breaking with the program. Johnny had a beer or two himself that night.

Kelly was taking this time to impress Johnny, just as she enamored Jessica earlier that day (Jessica had since updated her “hero” section of her myspace page to read, “My mom! Who is both my hero and totally like a big sister!” On that note, Jessica had also updated her aged to read “19”). Johnny couldn’t believe how cool his mom was being. It was like she was showing off her inner child, which he didn’t think she had. She shared some aspirations, like wanting to have her own cooking show on TV, and wanting to travel abroad. She griped about Johnny’s grandfather, who was really strict and she griped about how boring Arkansas was, and how jealous she was of Johnny who got to grow up in a fun place. She also astounded Johnny by how much she new about his fraternity. “I love Sigma Chi,” she would say after sharing some facts with him. Around 11 pm two things happened: 1) Johnny realized that he was FLIRTING with his mom, she was FLIRTING back at him and his sister was looking on at them both enviously; and 2) people really started hitting the dance floor and his mother and sister dragged him out into the crowd with them.

They danced for a while together. Nothing was overtly sexual, but Johnny did catch a few peeks at his mother’s stiff nipples and Jessica did, on one occasion back her ass into him and he held her tight around her stomach as they moved together. Eventually, a cute 20-something brunette stole Johnny’s attention away from his ladies. Two hours later, with digits in hand, Johnny set off to find his mother and sister.

Earlier, Kelly had the intention from avoiding other men and just hangin’ and dancin’ with lil’ sis Jess. She had overestimated her ability to resist the sexiness of the meathead- fratboy type. When Johnny finally found his family members they were surrounded by them. Kelly and Jessica were sitting on adjacent bar stools surrounded by empty shot glasses. They were facing each other, smiling, each with a hand on the other’s side. The meathead-frat boys were chanting and pounding the bar, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Johnny Rutherford’s mouth fell open as his mother and sister started making out with each other. Cries of joy and excitement went out as Kelly sucked on her daughter’s tongue. Cell phone cameras and video recorders were able to memorialize Jessica playfully biting on her mother’s bottom lip. They also got to see Johnny grabbing them by the arms and pulling them out of the club, Kelly’s right breast, as prophesized, free of the dress and waving goodbye.

“But Johnny,” Kelly whined, “Iz my twentyfirfh burday!” Her head was pressed against the cool backseat window. Jessica was passed-out, leaning on her mother.

“No it’s not mom.”

“Iz too.” Kelly retorted, and indeed, when I next checked her myspace page, that’s the age it proffered. “I wanna dan summor.”

“We can go dancing tomorrow night mom.”

“You prommiss?” she muttered.

“Yeah, I promise,” Johnny replied, knowing that his mother could not possibly remember this conversation.

“You good dander, Johnny,” Kelly’s conversation was more with herself now, “wamma dans wit you.”

Just as Trevor’s night ended in frustration, so did Johnny’s. But in a different way. Both Kelly and Jessica vomited in the parking garage. He had to carry two insanely drunk and vomit-covered girls back inside, without drawing notice from the neighbors (if only he knew). And his mother tried to make out with him, with vomit still on her chin, before she passed out again. He rolled them on their side on the living room floor so they would choke on future vomit and then he passed out on the couch, just in case they need more help through the night.

Apartment C: The Shapiros

Seth did have a job; he worked at the mall’s Hot Topic. It allowed him to socialize with other employees that hated fake people as much as he did. Because he had a job, and because going to that job was, in theory, in line with what the experiment was bringing out in him (i.e. accentuating his “goth” nature), Seth actually left for work (skipping summer school). Similarly to the Baptistes, Andrea Shapiro was in no mood to go into work and called in sick. She was certainly in a bad mood. Her son’s behavior had really gotten to her and she felt down.

Since Seth was gone, Andrea made the decision that she would completely give into her nosiness and enter her son’s “lair.” Sure, she would be the first to cite the importance of respecting a person’s privacy, but dammit, her son was asking for this. Besides, she paid the rent. Barefoot, in denim shorts and short-sleeve, button-down shirt Andrea entered the pit.

Of course he didn’t clean his room. Of course he didn’t take out the black lighting. And of course he was going to come home with black make-up on. She set to cleaning up his room for him, if for any other reason, to calm herself down. The second bedroom, I may add, since it is the same in each apartment, is rather spacious. Seth had a queen-sized bed, which was unkempt, a large desk with a desktop computer and a laptop both turned on. He had a bookshelf filled with eerie books, dvd’s and cds. And he had a vanity because he wore make up. This is the room Professor Andrea Shapiro would spend the entire day in, until her son arrived home a little past seven at night. Her plans to clean would be, to use lawyer-speak, tabled.

It started with a buzzing in her head that compelled her to click on Seth’s iTunes. He had a playlist called Misery 1. It saddened the professor that her son could be that upset. The hard music, with its ghastly lyrics provided her with one reason why. “If this is the music he listens to, no wonder he’s down all the time,” she thought. She lowered he sound, but did not turn it off. She turned her attention to picking up comic books strewn about the floor. She didn’t notice that her head was nodding in time with the thumping, though lowered, yelling from the speakers.

Around noon, Andrea decided that she was definitely going to buy some Lady Death graphic novels when she has the chance. She had been sitting on her ass leaning against the bed reading the comics around her for two hours now, and she thrilled at how Lady Death was sexy, confident, and didn’t take shit from anybody. She stood up and unbuttoned her shirt. She looked at her chest with pride. “Not as big as Lady Death, but they will do,” she thought. She continued to model herself, with the sides of her shirt blocking her breasts, but showing cleavage. Then she briefly ran to her bedroom and changed. She came back in her son’s room wearing a black push-up bra and a svelte black slip. She was playing dress-up, though she wouldn’t admit that to herself. She was, however, able to admit how badass she looked in her son’s vanity. Hefty breasts held up against gravity by black satin. It was all set off nicely with her naturally pale skin.

She wandered back to the computer. First she ever so slightly raised the volume of the music playing feeling empowered by its rage. “I will just check my email,” she said out loud. And she did. But she also read through past IM conversations her son had. He was denouncing conformists and “sheep.” Andrea found herself agreeing with a lot of her son’s arguments. She was proud of him. Proud of his use of rhetoric, proud of his stance and his individuality, and then she was sad. She felt a pang of anguish because she realized she was a conformist that her son disliked so much. “I do what I must to support us,” she justified.

She reviewed his internet history too. And she learned about goth culture from goth websites. She logged onto his myspace page, and looked at his friend’s profiles as well as her son’s. One profile of some girl-a goth girl, of course-struck her as stunning. Her name was Amaryllis and she was dark and beautiful and deep. In one picture she was wearing a flowing black dress, with her jet-black hair done up in pigtails. She was 22 and a poet. Andrea found herself wanting to be like her. Just then the playlist ended. The last song was Personal Jesus sung by Manson and it got stuck in her head. This led Andrea to pop in one of Seth’s DVDs on Marilyn Manson into his DVD player and educate herself. So the law professor, wearing only underwear, left her son’s computer, put in the DVD and made herself comfortable on his bed.

Her original intent was to educate herself as to her son’s culture. This documentary made her a believer, or a nonbeliever, or what have you. Never, in her entire life, had she been so enamored by a persona. She had clerked for Justice Breyer. She studied under Lawrence Tribe. She wanted Marilyn Manson to fuck the shit out of her. Halfway through, Andrea Shapiro used her left hand to reach under her slip and pull her panties aside. She then used her right hand to push her fingers deep and feverishly into her pussy and rubbed her clit with her thumb. She bent her legs and pushed her heels into the soft and dirty sheets on her son’s bed. She hadn’t masterbated since she was a teenager. It was an effort to look over her breast to see the TV screen, to make eye-contact with Manson, but she was up to the challenge. Andrea moaned and writhed on Seth’s bed, not letting herself cum until the show ended. In her mind, she climaxed with the dark singer.

Once Andrea regained her breath, she wiped her wet hands on her son’s blanket, not caring what she was doing, and stood up and snarled. She snarled at herself. She was a hypocrite, and conformist and a lawyer. She was done with it all. She sat down at Seth’s vanity and started applying his black make-up. The black eyeliner, the black lipstick, the mascara, the nail polish. She wanted to be dark. She wanted to grow-up and be a poet. Once she had made this transformation, she got to work on her myspace page.

She named herself Daisy, to juxtapose against her dark nature. She cut and pasted a lot of her son’s interests onto her own page-she knew she had a lot to learn, and Andrea intuited that she would like the things she listed once she found out what they were. She took a photo of herself in the vanity using her son’s digital camera. She tried to keep a lot of her hair out of it because she hadn’t dyed it yet. Andrea gave her best “Lady Death” pose and center the photo to her jutting breasts and lower face. She’d take a new picture tomorrow. Once she uploaded the photo, 17-year-old Andrea “Daisy” Shapiro leaned back and started contemplating a new wardrobe that she would need to buy. She needed to get her message of annoyance across to everybody at school. “Everybody at school?” Andrea thought to herself, “what...”

“...the hell are you doing in my room?” Seth was in the doorway freaking out. There was his 41-year-old mother, in a bra and a slip, leisurely sitting at HIS computer. Andrea immediately took control of her senses. She stood up feeling very exposed and confused. Seth was mad and gawking. Andrea played her only option.

“I told you to clean this shit-hole and you didn’t,” She yelled back changing the subject. She turned off the computer, without shutting it down I might add, and unplugged the cable modem. “Clean it, or no computer!” she stamped, almost like a child throwing a temper-tantrum, and she stormed out.

Seth didn’t know what to do. Seth didn’t realize that, on the way back to her bedroom, his mother stopped off in his bathroom and took his hair-dye into her bathroom. The startled teen could only pull out his bong, which his mother failed to find under his bed, and put in the pot from the bag clearly in his hand, which his mother failed to notice.

Apartment D: The Shoemakers

As determined as she has always been, not even my programming could keep the driven Karen Shoemaker from her job, and from the gym. Still, she was unusually frumpy at work today. So, when she got home at 7ish she decided to make up for it, planning on changing and co-workers for some dinner and networking. Oh, and some drinking, maybe. Therefore, I had to up the power a bit to catch Ms. Shoemaker up to the rest of the mommies in the building. Nevertheless, I can only do so much given the time difference.

I almost thought I lost her when Karen left her room wearing a tight little outfit and headed to the door. But then she noticed Adam on the couch, with his feet on the ottoman, watching TV. Alone. The mother’s heart sank a little and she walked over and sat next to him.

“Whatcha watching?” she said right to Adams face. Another, difference, between them showing. Karen made eye-contact when she spoke. Adam was unable to make eye-contact with people because he was so shy. Even with his mother.

Looking down, Adam replied, “Firefly.”

“Oh, you like bugs?” Karen was really trying to be interested.

“No, it’s a TV show. It’s kind of a sci-fi western,” he said, and forced himself to look at his mother’s beautiful, and oddly kind, looking face. “What are you up to?”

“Oh... a sci-fi, western,” she muttered and casually watched the screen, averting her eyes from her son’s, “yeah, I was planning on going out, and stuff, you know.” Adam sighed that he did know.

“But now I’m kind of tired. Mind if I join you?”

Her son again looked at her and Karen smiled and her look seemed to say, “come on, I’m trying here.”

“Ok. Sure.” Adam was feeling a strange bit of happiness. He had company. Even if it was just his mom.

Karen hopped up and said, “one sec.” Then she rushed around the room, turning off the lights so they could see the TV better and she grabbed a throw blanket from the love seat and did a running jump into the couch next to Adam. The blanket settled on them both as she hugged a pillow and leaned into her son. That happiness that Adam felt doubled. He was now snuggling with a hot girl. Even if it was just his mom.

“So catch me up,” Karen said, pausing the DVD as the episode ended. Adam was still hesitant, but as he started to tell his mother about the show, he learned that she was genuinely interested. They spent the rest of the night talking as other episodes played in the background; Karen even listened to Adam explain who Joss Whedon was. Finally, around 4am, the both fell asleep on the couch, with their heads resting on the others’.

To Be Continued.....