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All he could feel was cold and numb, bursting to break free. Lying awake, naked, pressed skin in his mom's arms after the act.Of staring vacantly at the Steinbeck poster of Lennie above his bed, a present from her, as he nuzzled into his mom's hair and felt the rhythmic pulsation of her sleeping breaths. say a word..." read the poster's writing on his bedroom wall. His anguish staring at Rick, and his naked, sleeping mom in their dirty sheets, capturing the soulful spirituality of their first-blood incest.And then, as the walking distance between him and his mom closed until she was inside his personal space; he embraced the union he had longed for all day and all last night.The only telling signs of her age, were her hands, and the bluish veins through her soft creased white skin.Just walking, being, looking across New York's dusk lit streets, the theater signs and bustling traffic, felt different. It felt numb seeing her sitting there, waiting for him like a lover, to come home.An elegant brunette she stood up from the foyer couch, and walked over to her son.Last night, his arms wrapped around her, as he spooned his mom with his muscular thighs. In the poster's background, the frontier landscapes of stagnant Yankee pastures stretching behind Lennie into the blue yonder.

The farthest Hollywood ventures into this territory, according to liberals, would be the trailer scenes with the sick kid in Susan Sarandon's flick, The Client. Allison, just like any other mom, lost in the cogs of a closed process that has 1 rigged outcome. When you see the extent of how badly they hurt people, it's not hard to understand why some folks use the second amendment, on themselves, or the excrement that throws families, with elderly veterans, onto New York's guilt laden, filthy streets. A nice girl, delving into a depth of emotional pain she had no experience to even hope to fathom or compare. What had started as a mom-son in-joke, her contacting him as a "birthday surprise" having found out about his online dating shenanigans from his younger sister, Jessica, had ended in bed last night, with mom... Bodies illicitly entwined, in a type of dark passion most men will never know. The alias his mom, whose real name was Chloe, had pretended to be for the joke.

To be casual, yet viscerally real, in a way no shady classifieds could ever be.

The dating site had set up the immensity of this moment of illicit, unbridled criminality that would purge the guilt Rick felt for that other mother today; Allison, and her world, that he had laid bare in ruins. He needed to be with his mom, not to talk, just to be with her again.

--- Staring into the mid distance, Rick recovered from his loss of concentration, tilted his head back, and looked sideways across at Myers's clients in open court.

Rick had been an attorney for Bells these past 5 years, and stupidly, he still had a conscience. So the bank could criminally raise repayments and turn foreclosure into unlawful theft. Since last April, Rick's department at Bells had fabricated so many bogus, fraudulent documents, by the time the Manhattan district attorney's office got round to Allison's family—the bank, that barely made it out of the recession—was already up to its neck in shit. This was the family the bank had harassed and aggravated and threatened and exhausted, until they finally gave in. The bank had done its homework and in Allison's hands rested on her lap, an economy packet of tear soaked tissues, heavy and sodden. No further submissions," Rick stood professionally to address the court, raising his voice. He slumped back down in his chair afterwards, and felt the cold, sweat dampness of his thin cotton shirt press against his back. It was then, at that very moment, as he looked down the vertical snow line of Manhattan's grid, from his plush office window, that Rick heard the muffled ping go on the phone inside his suit trouser pocket.

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The hardness of his cock soothed and purged, as he pressed his legs, entwined in his mom's lust, into her warm sleeping belly. Those were the words he read over and over last night, his insomnia bleak; tracing the edges of the blue-tacked torn poster corner. Then, depicted in the foreground of the art-deco print, one of the famous novel's earliest cover editions. The nourished, anguished heart that Rick felt inside.