New Story Title: Moms & Two Laps
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“Harold, this is crazy! We’re never going to fit all that in the car.”
I had to agree with Mom on this one. We were shutting down the summer cabin early, and as usual, it meant bringing home lots of gear that had migrated there during our multiple ‘mini-vacations’. Unfortunately, Dad’s workload had exploded with a new contract, and it was unlikely we’d get back out to the house again that summer.
This season we’d accumulated more than ever. The coolers with all the game meat were the main culprits. We’d planned on the wild pig hunt earlier in the summer, but had to reschedule twice, due to weather. Mom and Aunt Marie had conniption fits when they found out we’d be hunting on the last day of our vacation. After a bit they settled down and gave in. Mom was a big believer in ‘male bonding’. Dad and I didn’t do enough together, other than watch football part of the year, by her way of thinkin’. We’d taken up hunting two years back, and even though it was pricey as hobbies go, it turned out to be good for us. It brought us closer, and though we were usually all business during the hunt, we opened up a good bit during our outings. Truth is, it was kind of cool.
My cousin Colin had never really known his real father, and had never been close with either of his two step-fathers, neither of which were in the picture any more. Aunt Marie welcomed any opportunity for him to hang out with other men. Besides, I think she kinda liked the old man. You can’t blame her, he’s pretty good as Dad’s go, if a little ultra-conservative on occasion.
In the end they let us ‘he-men’ go with their blessings, insisting that we prove ourselves as ‘providers’ and bring home the bacon. Literally. In the mean time they’d keep the cave clean, and work on polishing off some of the fermented brew. We’d been derelict in our duties, and they had a good bit of work ahead of them, at least in the drinking arena.
We headed out well before dawn to a local orchard where the owner was having problems with herds of feral pigs. It was my first time hunting hogs, and Colin’s first time hunting, period. We’d had him practicing out back on the property, chewing our way through a mess of ammunition. Another manly thing the Mom’s thankfully approved of. But the play time was over. Big leagues now. We had no idea what to expect.
If you’ve never gone wild pig hunting, there’s no way I could do it justice in a few paragraphs, never mind an entire novel. It’s beyond description. We had the time of our lives. We killed wild beasts, dragged their massive carcasses across fields, skinned and cleaned them, and all in all felt pretty damn good about ourselves. Nothing like killing critters, especially big mean ones that could tear you open in seconds, to get a man’s testosterone and adrenaline pumping. I swear, after one particular episode I could practically feel my voice deepening, my chest hair growing, and my dick swinging free, half-way to my knee.
If any of you ‘men’ have got some kind of deep-seated issue with me killin’ stuff, as far as I’m concerned you can just pull up your panties, shave your goatee, and move to France, ya damn wusses.
Ladies with issues? Understood. It’s a man thing. Come sit on my lap, and I’ll explain everything. Heh. (It’s an inside joke, never mind.)
The day had been incredible, to say the least. We’d harvested eight all told, and spent more time cleanin’ them than we had hunting. We’d filled two large coolers to the brim, and still left most of the meat with the property owner. The farmer was pleased as could be with our results. The pig issue was becoming a huge problem, causing massive crop damage and ground erosion. He welcomed us to come back any time, and clear out as many as we possibly could. Dad shook his hand, and told him we might take him up on that.
We were exhausted yet exhilarated. Colin had killed one ferocious boar that weighed in around 200 lbs, and I’d shot a trophy sow that easily exceeded our 250 lb scale. We’d worked our asses off dragging the pigs back to the Jeep, and learning to skin, gut and butcher a hog bigger than me turned out to be a supremely time-consuming and messy effort. I was never more appreciative of that winch on our Jeep. Dad knew what he was doing, and had all the tools we needed. I’m sure he could have finished it in half the time, but our learning was a big part of the process. Dad always took pride in teaching me, and I appreciated it, even if I didn’t say so very often.
The sun was hanging low in the sky by the time we made it back to the cabin, which put a damper on our excitement. We were late getting back, and knew it would be a lot later before we got out of there, with at least a 2 hour drive ahead of us before we got home.
Turns out things weren’t all that bad. Aunt Marie and Mom had finished up most of the packing and a stupidly large pile of gear was stacked in the car-port, ready for loading. We backed the Jeep in and found the sisters parked on the front porch, beers in hand.
Colin ran over, still completely stoked over his first hunting trip, but before we were 10 seconds into our story we were cut off.
Mom was holding her nose, and pointing to the lake. “Go! In the lake, clothes and all. Now!”
Aunt Marie was no better. “Lord, y’all stink! You’re filthier than those pigs you claimed to be hunting. Harold, I gave you my handsome boy and you returned this?”
Dad laughed. “This young MAN shot a 200 lb boar with 5 inch tusks that could tear you wide open faster than you could say ‘Woo pig sooie!'” He put his big old meaty hand on the back of Colin’s neck and gave him a squeeze. I saw Colin wince. I knew that squeeze well. I’d suffer it happily. It was the closest thing to affection we men are allowed to share.
Ten minutes later we were swimming/bathing off of our dock, with the Moms parked on the end, listening to our tales while still working on their beers. I suspected they’d had more than a few. It was easy enough to see they were feeling no pain.
To hear Colin tell it, we’d killed Hogzilla, and needed a backhoe to drag it back for cleanin’. Dad shed some reality on the stories, but our Moms were happy we’d had a good day, and were clearly pleased with Colin’s contagious excitement in particular.
Alright, I’m gonna throw this out there, even though a lot of y’all are gonna think me perverted or something. Try to be open-minded.
Aunt Marie is hot. Her ex-es must have been some stupid sumbitches.
There. I said it. And don’t judge me until you’ve seen her.
If Mom wasn’t, well, Mom, it’d be pretty easy to put her in the same category. Hell, except for their boobs and butts, they could almost have been twins. Come to think of it, they are – Irish twins at least, born only about 11 months apart.
They were both wearing bikinis which they had selected to best emphasize their most noteworthy features. They were obviously sisters, with much the same build, and nearly identical features. Aunt Marie had been considerably more blessed when the boob fairy made her appearance, but Mom had the whole package, including the most perfect ass in the free world. Don’t believe me? Ask Dad. He pointed it out in the first place.
Aunt Marie’s bikini top was barely able to contain her enormous bounty, and for a woman closer to 40 than 30, they stood up firm and proud, defying age and gravity.