I never figured our double-wide had much in the way of secrets left. Trailer sat on cinder blocks out past the pecan grove, septic tank bubbling like it had opinions, and the whole damn place smelled like motor oil, fried catfish, and whatever perfume Anna May still sprayed on her neck like it was 1987. I was Billy. Twenty-two, back from a short stretch of community college that didn’t take, living in the lean-to room off the carport because Cletus said a grown man paying rent to his own daddy was “unnatural.” That should’ve been the first clue the family had a flexible idea of natural.
It was a Thursday in July, heat sitting on the tin roof like a drunk uncle who wouldn’t leave. I’d come in early from helping Junior haul scrap because the water pump on the Ford quit and I needed a shower before I started smelling like the county dump. The AC window unit in the living room was rattling like it was dying of shame. I heard the other noise before I even got the screen door shut.
Not the usual TV preacher or Cletus cussing a football game. This was wet. Rhythmic. A low, wet slapping sound mixed with Anna May’s voice doing that high little “oh Lord, oh Lord” she usually reserved for church when the offering plate came around empty.
I should’ve turned around. I should’ve gone back to the yard and pretended the pump needed another hour. Instead I padded down the hall in my work boots like a man who already knew he was about to ruin his own life and was curious how it would taste.
The bedroom door wasn’t even latched. Just pushed to. I put my eye to the crack.
Anna May was on her back in the middle of that old brass bed, the one with the pineapple posts she’d inherited from her mama. Her big soft tits were spilled out of a faded pink nightgown that had given up years ago. Cletus — my daddy, her son — had her legs hooked over his shoulders like he was changing a tire. He was bare-ass naked except for the dirty white socks he never took off, and he was burying that thick country cock of his into her like he was trying to find oil.
Anna May’s gray-blonde hair was fanned across the pillow. Her mouth hung open. Every time Cletus bottomed out she made this little punched sound, half laugh, half hymn. Her hands were on his ass, pulling him in deeper, nails painted that cheap drugstore red that always chipped by Wednesday.
“That’s it, Mama,” Cletus grunted, voice low and wrecked. “Take it like you used to when Daddy was on night shift. You remember. You used to sneak me in here when I was sixteen and tell me not to tell. Well I didn’t tell. I just waited till he died and kept on.”
Anna May laughed, a dirty little cackle that shook her tits. “You always were a greedy boy, Cletus Ray. Now shut up and fuck your mama proper. I ain’t got all afternoon. Bingo’s at six.”
I stood there with my dick already trying to punch through my jeans. Twenty-two years old and I was watching my daddy plow my grandmother like she was a rental mule. The smell coming out of that room was sex and baby powder and the cheap whiskey Cletus kept in the nightstand. My mouth went dry.
Cletus pulled out long enough to spit on his cock and shove back in. Anna May’s belly jiggled. She wasn’t skinny. Never had been. Soft everywhere a woman gets soft after forty years of biscuits and babies. Cletus liked it. He grabbed two handfuls of her hips and used them like handles.
“Boy, you better not be out there jacking off to this,” Anna May called suddenly, without even looking at the door. “I can hear you breathing like a busted vacuum. Get in here or go on. Don’t lurk like a pervert.”
My face went hot. Cletus didn’t even slow down. He just glanced over his shoulder, sweat dripping off his mustache, and grinned that same shit-eating grin he used when he won at poker.
“Well look who finally grew a pair. Come on in, Billy. Door’s open. Might as well learn how this family does Thanksgiving.”
I pushed the door. It creaked like it was embarrassed for all of us.
Anna May looked me up and down, eyes bright and mean with amusement. “Lord, he looks just like you did at that age, Cletus. Same dumb expression. Same bulge. Take them jeans off before you ruin the zipper.”
I don’t remember deciding. I just remember the sound of my belt hitting the floor. My cock sprang out, already leaking, and Anna May made a little approving noise like she’d just been handed a second helping of banana pudding.
“Come here, grandson. Grandma’s got two holes and only one son using ’em. Seems a waste.”
Cletus laughed so hard he missed a stroke. “Jesus, Mama.”
“Don’t you Jesus me while you’re balls-deep. Billy, get up here. Put that thing in my mouth before I change my mind and send you to hoe the garden.”
I climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped. Anna May reached up with one hand, wrapped her fingers around me — cool, a little arthritic, still strong — and pulled me toward her face. She licked the head like she was tasting batter off a spoon.
“Salty. Just like your daddy. Family recipe.”
Then she opened up and took me in. Not dainty. She sucked like a woman who’d been doing this since before I was born and saw no reason to get precious about it now. Her tongue worked the underside. Her other hand stayed on Cletus’s ass, keeping the rhythm while she drooled around my cock.
Cletus watched, hips slapping against her, and shook his head. “This is the most fucked-up family reunion I ever been to. And I been to the one where Uncle Earl brought the goat.”
“Goat was better looking than your last girlfriend,” Anna May said around my dick, then went back to work.
I put a hand on the headboard to keep from falling over. Every time Cletus drove into her she made a little noise that vibrated on my cock. The whole bed complained. The pineapple posts knocked the wall. Somewhere a dog started barking like it knew something unholy was happening and wanted a turn.
Anna May popped off me long enough to say, “Cletus, pull out a minute. I want to see if the boy can last longer than you did your first time. You came in forty seconds and cried.”
“I was sixteen and you jumped me in the laundry room.”
“And you still came in forty seconds. Billy, get down here. Let’s see what you inherited besides that stubborn jaw.”
Cletus pulled out with a wet sound. His cock was dark, shiny, slapping against his belly. Anna May’s pussy was a swollen, messy thing, gray-blonde hair trimmed sloppy, lips puffy, a little trail of his spit and her own wet running down toward her ass. She patted the inside of her thigh.
“Right there, sugar. Grandma ain’t gonna break. I had three kids and a tractor accident. You ain’t special.”
I lined up. The head of my cock kissed her. She was hot and sloppy from Cletus already being in there. I pushed. She took me easier than I expected, that practiced squeeze, and I made a sound I will take to my grave.
“There he is,” she said, satisfied. “Now fuck me like you mean it. Don’t tap-dance. I got bingo and a casserole in the oven that’ll burn if y’all take all day.”
Cletus moved up the bed, knelt by her head, and fed her his cock while I started moving. She sucked him the same filthy way she’d sucked me, making eye contact with me the whole time like she was grading us both. I found a rhythm. Her tits bounced. The old nightgown was bunched under her arms. I grabbed one heavy breast and she hummed approval around Cletus.
“That’s it, Billy. Use your mama’s mama. She likes it when you get a little mean. Don’t you, Mama?”
Anna May pulled off long enough to gasp, “I like it when neither of you talk so damn much. Less commentary, more cock.”
We gave her both.
I fucked her in long strokes while Cletus used her mouth. When she needed air she turned her head and I leaned down and kissed her — tasting my daddy on her tongue, whiskey and her lipstick and something that was just family and wrong and so hard my vision tunneled. She bit my lip and laughed into my mouth.
Cletus reached down and rubbed her clit with his thumb while I was in her. She clenched around me so hard I almost lost it.
“Don’t you dare come yet,” she warned. “I ain’t had my turn being greedy.”
We switched. Cletus got back between her legs. I sat on my heels by her face and she jacked me with one hand while she watched her son fuck her, giving a running filthy play-by-play like she was calling a tractor pull.
“Look at that. Same angle he used when he was sneaking in at night. Always did like to watch it go in. Nasty boy. Both of you. Lord, I raised a pair of degenerates and I’m the only one honest enough to enjoy it.”
She had me lean over so she could lick my balls while Cletus pounded her. Then she wanted me in her ass.
“Lube’s in the drawer next to the remote and the extra batteries. Don’t act shocked. Your grandpa used to say the same thing you’re thinking and then he still put it in.”
Cletus found the bottle — half-empty, no label, probably stolen from a truck stop. He poured it down the crack of her ass like he was dressing a salad. I worked a finger in. Then two. Anna May cussed and told me to quit being a gentleman.
When I finally pushed my cock into her ass she went quiet for the first time all afternoon. Just a long, low “fffff—” and then she started laughing again, breathless.
“There it is. Full house. Cletus, get back in my pussy. I want to feel both my boys at once before I get too old to remember the date.”
He did. The two of us in her at the same time, thin wall of her between us, sliding against each other through her body. It was obscene. It was ridiculous. Cletus caught my eye over her shoulder and we both started laughing like idiots while we fucked her, the laughter making everything tighter and sloppier.
Anna May reached back, grabbed a handful of my ass, and pulled me deeper. “That’s the spirit. Now somebody play with my tits before I start thinking y’all don’t appreciate good cooking.”
We lasted longer than we had any right to. When Cletus finally came he did it inside her with a groan that sounded like the Ford when the transmission slipped. I felt him pulse against me through her. That finished me. I dumped in her ass, forehead on her sweaty back, muttering something that might’ve been “Grandma” and might’ve been “oh fuck” and was probably both.
We collapsed in a pile of limbs and cheap sheets. The window unit kept rattling. A fly walked across the dresser like it had seen worse.
Anna May patted both our thighs, satisfied as a cat that got into the cream.
“Well. That takes care of the afternoon. Billy, you wash up and take that casserole out at five-thirty. Cletus, you owe me twenty dollars for bingo and you will not tell the boys at the feed store about this or I will tell them about the time you cried during Titanic.”
Cletus lit a cigarette without getting dressed. “Yes, Mama.”
I lay there staring at the water stain on the ceiling that looked a little like Texas, dick still twitching, wondering how the hell I was supposed to sit across from these two at supper and pass the cornbread like nothing had happened.
Anna May reached over, pinched my cheek like I was still twelve, and said, “Don’t look so tragic. Family that slays together stays together. Now somebody get me a wet rag before I stick to the bedspread. And Billy? Next time knock. Or don’t. I ain’t particular.”
Cletus snorted smoke. “Welcome home, son.”
Outside, the pecan trees kept dripping in the heat like they were in on the joke. Inside, three generations of bad decisions tried to remember whose sock was whose.
Bingo was at six. The casserole did not burn.
And that night, after Anna May came home with a full card and a plastic Jesus prize, she sat on the edge of my little lean-to bed, nightgown back on, and said, real casual, “Your daddy’s snoring. You coming to Grandma’s room or you gonna make an old woman walk?”
I went.
Some families go to church on Sunday. Ours just found a different way to say grace.
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