A Confident Man

I had left my notebook behind someplace. Damn! I back tracked my trail: the library, the bookstore, the walk through the mall, and then finally into the park. That's when I saw him, the old guy, reading my notebook.

Shit, it was the one with my stories in it, too -- my incest stories!

Worst of all, they were in the back of an old senior history notebook that was left over when I graduated from high school. It had my name and address all over the front. I couldn't just leave it behind.

He didn't look that mean and tough, though. If I had to fight him for it, I could probably take him. He was just an average looking guy, pretty nondescript really. About 5'9" I'd say, maybe 160 lbs. Kinda wiry with hair a little too long. He had on rumpled clothes, cotton trousers and a short sleeved button down shirt. A real nobody.

So I walked right up to him and told him flat out, "That's my notebook. I want it back, now!"

He chuckled, flipping the cover over and looking up at me, squinting into the sun as he did so. He gave me a kind of a cockeyed smile. Whoever he was, he had an easy-going face with steel blue eyes.

"Sure kid," he said casually, like it was no big deal at all. That was a real relief. He held the notebook out to me. I went to grab it, but he held on to it for just a second longer than he should have. Kinda just long enough to get my attention and to throw me off balance. Then he released it.

Leaning back, he smiled nice and friendly and then he said, "You know you're going about it all wrong, don't you?"

"Going after what?" I said, playing ignorant.

"See, that's what I mean, kid. You got no confidence. You're going about it all wrong."

"Look mister, just butt out of my business," I said, then turned to walk away.

"Fine by me, kid, but you'll never fuck 'em that way."

"Yeah, well what you know about it," I said, not even deigning to turn fully around, just packing away my notebook into my knapsack.

"I know I fucked more women than you got pairs of socks, that's what I know. And I know you ain't never gonna fuck no decent woman with any approach like what I read in there. Shit, you must be a virgin kid. Do the worlds a real favor, go fuck a real woman before you try and write about it."

That stung, and it stung to the core. That's what I had been trying to do really. My vast experience with women had been feeling up a few small tits hot and heavy on the front seat of Mom's car. That and just living with a single mom that didn't date much and a big sister that did. Lot of good either one of them did me.

I must have looked as dejected as I felt, because the guy said somewhat sympathetically, "Look, kid. It ain't no big deal. If half that shit you wrote is true, just go home and show some balls and fuck either one of them. Broads are pretty much all the same. They may say they want romance. What they really want is a real man that knows how to fuck. How many really nice guys have you seen dating the cheerleaders at school?"

He definitely had a point there. Every respectably hot babe I ever knew in high school dated the biggest jerks of them all. All the real loudmouth jocks got the best chicks. Sensitive guys, caring guys, we got squat.

"Look, kid. Park your can a minute. If you're gonna try and write about this shit, let me tell you how the game is really played," he said so confidently that I found myself sitting on the far edge of the same bench just listening. "Okay, let's take this mom you wrote the first story about. Let's say, for the sake of argument, she's not even your mom, just some generic mom. What did you call her?"

"Georgia."

"Yeah, nice touch there," he started off complimenting. "That name conjures up a sweet Southern gal. I've known a few Georgia's in my time and at least two of them were very sweet in the sack. I didn't get the third one now that I think about it, but I nailed her sister that night instead. I should have stuck with that Georgia though. The sister was a real tightass, and I don't mean that in a good way."

"Anyway, so this hypothetical Georgia of yours, she's been on her own since you were eight. That's ten years right? And you say she's not had many dates. That tells me a couple of things right there. Either she's giving it up on the side without even having to be dated or she's doing without. Either way, you got an easy in to fuck her right there."

He sat there like nothing else needed to be said. When I still looked puzzled, he shook his head and tried to spell it out like he was talking to an elementary schooler.

"Okay, let's take the first one. If she's screwing the pants off some guy without having to be dated, she got round heels anyway. A woman like that is just waiting for a big handsome kid like you to come home and put the meat to her.

"And if she's had none, well that's even better kid. You think us men corner the market on being horny? Hell no! The secret to understanding women is that when everything else is said and done, they really do act like men more than they want to tell the press. Broads want to fuck just as much as we do, kid. They just got to have the proper pretext. Give them a good enough reason and you can get any broad to fuck you anywhere at any time."

That's when I figured it out. This guy was so full of bullshit he stunk of it.

"Yeah, right mister. It was nice talking to ya," I told him, getting up to leave.

"You don't believe me, do ya?" he said, grinning up at me, squinting back into the sun again. "Jeez, why do I bother? I'll tell you why. I like a challenge and you look like a pretty decent kid. You could be worth something as a writer someday. Who knows, maybe I'm helping out the next Ernest Hemmingway of porn stories here?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick wad of bills.

"Tell you what, I got two hundred dollars here," he said, pulling off the first two bills. They were both hundreds and it looked like there might have been twenty or thirty more where they came from. "My two hundred says you take me home with you right now and if I can't fuck 'Georgia' right in front of your eyes in thirty minutes you keep the money and I walk out the door never to be seen again."

"You're joking, right? No way I'm gonna take you home with me and even if I did, there's no way in holy hell you could get into MY mother's pants in thirty days much less thirty minutes."

"So what have you got to loose?" he asked, waving the bills in front of my face. "You hold the money even. If I can't get the job done, and get it done right under your nose, you get a clean two clams."

"Look mister, as tempting as the free money is, I don't even want a guy like you knowing where I live. No offense or anything."

"None taken, kiddo. From your angle, I can't say I blame you. But I already know where you live. 123 Sycamore Street, isn't that right?"

Shit! The address on the notebook!

"If I was a real scumbag, I'd just hang around until you weren't around and fuck Georgia anyway. She'd be really easy picking's then. I'm trying to challenge myself here, kid. I'm giving you the edge. It'll be at least half as hard again to get her naked and on her back with her own son looking on."

I vacillated, not able to decide what to do, which left this guy with even more time to talk and get into my head.

"Look, if I strike out, you tell her what a phony I am and that nothing I said is true. I'll throw in some obvious lies that she can check out and then she'll know what a heel I am and never fall for my line of shit again. She'll be inoculated. Think of me as a virus or something."

"But if I'm right, not only will you get to see me fuck your mother, but I'll guarantee you that you can have sloppy seconds right after me, kiddo. How about it? Bang you mom for sure or win an easy two hundred-dollar bet. Shit son, you can't lose this one!"

Actually, it did sound like too good of a deal. "What's in this for you?"

"You mean other than the chance to bang your mom?" he cackled, even more so when I winced at the way he said it. "No, it's a good question, kid. One you should have asked about five minutes ago. People never do things for unselfish motives.

"See, number one, I love to prove I still got it. It's easy to go to some neighborhood bar or church where women are wanting to get laid and score," he said. When he saw me wince again when he said 'church', he cackled merrily again. "Most churches are filled with single gals wanting to find a husband or ignored wives that need a man. Either one is just a whore waiting to happen, kid. But I digress.

"Besides just proving I can do it, I'd also ask this, too. You described the older sister real nice in those stories, too. I'd want to stick around until she comes home from her date and fuck her, too. Mother and daughter teams are fun to fool around with. Especially the pretty ones. Yeah, I'd want to stick around and help you fuck the two of them together for the first time. Kinda set you up right from then on out, you know. After today though, you'd be on your own. Bird's gotta leave the nest sometime and all."

He was so overwhelmingly confident that it was funny. I started laughing aloud. The thought of this stranger talking his way into my staid, quiet home and actually having sex with my totally asexual mother and my sister who'd never be seen with an older guy like this... The audacity of him thinking he could set it all up in thirty minutes or less... It was just too much to bear!

He joined me laughing, but for entirely the opposite reasons. "So, we got a deal," he said after a moment or two of laughing. That only made me chuckle more, then I just shrugged and said sure, why not? Easiest two hundred dollars I ever made!

It was only a ten-minute walk to my house anyway. Sis would be gone until late, I knew. She always had a date on Friday night. This guy was just talking away like it was all for real, but it sure didn't feel that way.

"Remember what I said about pretext, kid? Okay, here's the pretext for your mom. I'm gonna be the vice cop and you're gonna be the kid I caught soliciting a prostitute..."

"No way!" I immediately protested.

"Don't sweat it, kid. I'll tell her you were real clumsy about it and it was obviously your first time. With a hooker, anyway. Though it would be better all the way around if you'd just come out and admit you're a virgin to her. Moms really dig that, you know. But I'll leave that up to you. As a vice cop, I wouldn't know that.

"So we'll go in the door with you in handcuffs, but don't be concerned about that. Let me show you the trick about these cuffs, kid," he said, pulling a pair of handcuffs from the small of his back and under his shirt. Was this guy really a cop? "Here, put them on me in front. I'll show you the gag."

We were in a secluded part of the street, so I put the cuffs on him in front of his body. I made them real tight, too.

"Okay. See this little catch right here? Just push that with the finger of your other hand, and..." quite easily, the cuffs came loose and slipped off his wrist. "Here, you try them on now until you think you can do it behind your back with no problem."

I tried them two or three times. It was very easy.

"Now ask me why I have a pair like this," he smirked, daring me. When I did, he told me, "Some chicks like to be restrained, kiddo. We won't do that with you're mom, so don't be worrying about that. But see, a new gal that doesn't know you very well don't want to be tied down where she can't get away. Not for real, anyway. These cuffs are the perfect pretext for those kinds of babes.

"Plus I've used them other ways. I once had a mom cuff me in the same room as her virginal daughter. By the time she got back from the grocery store, the girl wasn't a virgin any more, if you know what I mean. The mom didn't have a clue though. I was already back in the cuffs by then."

We started walking the block and a half to our house. The closer we came, the more I started thinking this wasn't so humorous any more. Suddenly, it started to get a little scary.

"Look kid, I know you're nervous and all. That's okay, believe me. You're supposed to look nervous in this bit. But even beyond that, any time you want out, just ask to see my badge. I ain't got one, see. I don't want some real cop busting me for impersonating or anything. Your mom will smell a rat immediately if I can't produce a badge. You've got nothing to worry about, see."

I brought him to the side door that only the family used so the neighbors wouldn't see. Then he had me turn around so he could cuff me real lose and easy like. "Just don't wig out and spill the beans just because you see she'd gonna tumble for me, okay? That would be a real rat. If I get her naked and primed, let me have a good go on her. She'll be ready to be yours from then on, after all."

He knocked on the door, and then whispered to me, "Don't be nervous, kid. But keep looking like you are."

Mom opened the door, all 5'5" and one hundred and ten pounds of her. She was wearing a buttoned down brief top that left about two inches of her abdomen showing and the only other thing showing was canvas shorts. They were an acceptable length at least, but she was barefoot other than that. Obviously she wasn't expecting company.

"Can I help you?" Mom asked, brushing her rich brown hair behind her ear and off her face, an unconscious gesture she used anytime she felt nervous.

"Yes, Ma'am," the man greeted her, then reached to the side and pulled me by the arm alongside him. Mom gasped when she saw me in handcuffs. "Detective Walter Blessing, Ma'am. I'm afraid your son got into a bit of a pickle. I thought I'd run him by here as a courtesy to you before I took him downtown and booked him."

"Please, come in detective," she said, inviting the man into our home just like that. No badge, no credentials even. Just her own son in handcuffs and she assumed the man was telling her the truth.

"Just park yourself right at the table, kid. You try and run and it'll go bad for you. Sorry, Ma'am. This looks like a nice neighborhood and you look like you have a nice home here. Sorry to be frightening you like this."

"What's this about Detective..."

"Detective Blessing, Ma'am. Or you can just call me Walter. I caught your son here, Daniel, soliciting a known prostitute in the park, Ma'am. Got to run him in for that, Ma'am. My partner already took in the girl."

"Daniel? Is this true?"

I couldn't lie to, Mom. Not just like this. So, I said nothing and shrugged in the seat with my hands still cuffed behind me.

"The thing is, Ma'am, this particular prostitute is known to have HIV. We watch out for her pretty regular. I'm on the Vice Squad, I don't know if I mentioned that. Anyways, we watch out for this gal whenever she gets out of jail. We keep putting her in and the judges keep letting her out and all. You know what it's like."

He talked so smoothly! I just sat back and listened to the words flow out of his mouth. From the time that Mom had answered the door, he had become the vice cop.

"Anyways, your son is so green that this real sleazebag... pardon the French, Ma'am... this lady of the evening had him talked up to two hundred dollars for an "Around the World," if you know what that means."

"Detective, Daniel doesn't have that kind of money. He doesn't even have a job this summer."

"Maybe he stole it or something, Ma'am. All I know was he had two-one hundred dollar bills in his pocket when we found him. That gal was about to take him for all he had on him."

He had me stand up and Walter turned my pocket inside out where I had stuffed the money. I thought he was going to pocket the bills and I was prepared to call it off right there, but he just winked at me where Mom couldn't see and tossed them on the table.

"Guess you can hold on to that, Ma'am. It'll get stolen downtown. His belt, too. They won't let him have that in lockup. You might want to get him some slip-on shoes, too. No laces in there."

"Wait, Detective. Please, isn't there anything that can be done? He didn't actually hurt anyone."

Here's where I thought he would spring it on her. He'd offer to let me go if she'd screw him right here, right over the kitchen table.

Instead, he shook his head and told Mom, "I don't know, Ma'am. I've seen kids like this move on to lots worse. It'd be best to teach him his lesson right now. He tells me his Daddy doesn't live here any more."

"No, but what's that got to do with anything, Detective."

"Well, I hate to be blunt, Miss, but he's just a young man desperate to sow his wild oats. Apparently he hasn't been able to find a willing girl his own age," he said. Hey! That stung! Especially because it was true! "If his dad were here, I'd recommend he punish him good and proper and then take him to some respectable place were the girls are cleaner and won't cheat the boy. But I can't very well have you take him to a cathouse, Ma'am."

"Why, I'd never do such a thing, officer!"

"That's exactly what I mean, Ma'am. And it's obvious to me that you're not willing to take care of it the regular way, either..."

"The regular way?" Mom asked, shaking her head as though refusing to accept what he was obviously implying.

"You know, teaching him at home like most folks do," he said like incest was the most natural thing in the entire world.

"Wait, Detective, you're not implying..." Mom's voice trailed off, unable to even form the suggestion with her own lips.

"I'm not implying anything, Ma'am. Maybe you have some religious objection or some fool thing like that, that keeps you from doing what any decent mother would have done years ago. For whatever your reasons, it's obvious to me that he's a menace to society like he is. He'll probably learn more in thirty minutes in a prison cell downtown than he's going to learn here with you."

Walter, if that really was his name, was really turning up the psychological heat on Mom. She looked completely confused and befuddled. They were standing about five feet apart, Walter by my side and Mom still mostly near the door.

"Please, Detective, just wait," she pleaded, trying to get her bearings.

"Wait for what, honey?" Walter asked, his voice dripping with irony as he took a step closer towards her. "You're probably one of those gals that think a man ought to learn about sex on their wedding night, for Pete's sake. When was the last time you even talked to the boy about the facts of life, like not to pick up crack whores on the street?"

"We've talked," Mom lamented, but when Walter looked as though he'd ask her what we had talked about, she admitted, "Okay, we haven't really talked. But he's my son, there's only so much..."

"There's a lot you can teach him. You're a woman after all. He's almost a man already. You do what women have always done."

"But he's my son. I couldn't just..."

"See, you're hopeless," he berated her. "You can't even say it, can you? You can't even say, 'fuck him.'"

Mother looked shocked and scandalized. I think it's the first time that, that word had ever been said in our kitchen.

"Come on, kid. I'm wasting my time here," he said, turning to me.

"Wait, Detective," Mother said again for the hundredth time. This time, just as he was reaching for me, she reached out to touch Walter on the shoulder to stop him.

He wheeled about on her suddenly, catching her very close to him before saying to her low and menacingly, "Just how long it has been since you were with a real man. That's what this is all about, isn't it? You're just too frigid to do your duty properly. Isn't that it? You're one of those gals that just don't like to fuck any real man, is that it?"

Mom sputtered and threw up her hands at the last minute, not touching him. With every harsh word he spit at her, it was like he slapped her. She looked stunned, like a wild deer in the headlights.