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- Thread starter Zuiderzee
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Now, getting back to those kidney stones:
My Uncle Phil, God rest him, on my father's side of the family, went through a terrible experience which should have told me something. The trouble was, Phil's ordeal was so wretched to look at and to remember that I worked up a dense mental block and shut it all out---until it was too late.
Sweating and afflicted halfway through a card game at our house, Phil struggled to his feet. "Doreen, I'm going to the john. Gotta feelin' it's gonna be a bad one..."
Phil had wisely left the bathroom door unlocked.
Uncle Phil's lifetime of careless eating and drinking had caught up to him. The devil--or someone just as sadistic--had set up a miniature gravel pit in each of his kidneys, and the output was more than he could bear.
"Uncle Phil? Are you all right in there?"
"AhhhGAKKKKKKKKK!!"
He fell with a long, pained outcry and thud, and he was still writhing when I timidly came to the door. There on the dark blue tiles, showing up for its pale color was a kidney stone. A pretty huge one. And there was blood. Uncle Phil was stuffing his aching dilly back in his pajamas. I reached out for the stone.
It was dark, not quite round---like a weird alloy---half dull, half shiny.
Somehow, this large lump of minerals had gone right down his pisser and forced its way out like some sort of weird birth or egg-laying in a sci-fi horror movie.
The sight warped me, even thought I didn't know it at the time. I could have used some psycho-therapy.
I never knew what "passing" stones meant. Now I did.
"Don't touch that!" Aunt Doreen picked the stone up with a hand towel. "Doc's gotta see this."
Fuck me, I should have tried to remember that incident, no matter how it disturbed me.
I didn't. Not till it was too late.
My Uncle Phil, God rest him, on my father's side of the family, went through a terrible experience which should have told me something. The trouble was, Phil's ordeal was so wretched to look at and to remember that I worked up a dense mental block and shut it all out---until it was too late.
Sweating and afflicted halfway through a card game at our house, Phil struggled to his feet. "Doreen, I'm going to the john. Gotta feelin' it's gonna be a bad one..."
Phil had wisely left the bathroom door unlocked.
Uncle Phil's lifetime of careless eating and drinking had caught up to him. The devil--or someone just as sadistic--had set up a miniature gravel pit in each of his kidneys, and the output was more than he could bear.
"Uncle Phil? Are you all right in there?"
"AhhhGAKKKKKKKKK!!"
He fell with a long, pained outcry and thud, and he was still writhing when I timidly came to the door. There on the dark blue tiles, showing up for its pale color was a kidney stone. A pretty huge one. And there was blood. Uncle Phil was stuffing his aching dilly back in his pajamas. I reached out for the stone.
It was dark, not quite round---like a weird alloy---half dull, half shiny.
Somehow, this large lump of minerals had gone right down his pisser and forced its way out like some sort of weird birth or egg-laying in a sci-fi horror movie.
The sight warped me, even thought I didn't know it at the time. I could have used some psycho-therapy.
I never knew what "passing" stones meant. Now I did.
"Don't touch that!" Aunt Doreen picked the stone up with a hand towel. "Doc's gotta see this."
Fuck me, I should have tried to remember that incident, no matter how it disturbed me.
I didn't. Not till it was too late.
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Insomnia became the latest symptom of our illness. We were always tired, but never sleepy. Sleep was just another part of normal life we had been cheated of.
However, I wouldnt be caught napping.
I caught Mom trying make a phone call in the wee hours of the morning. There was a can of NUTRA-BOOM" on the table next to her, and through familiarity with the label, I knew there was a 1-800 number in fine print. She had to use a magnifying glass to compensate for her deteriorating vision.
With arthritic fingers, she punched in the number and stood there for seven minutes, shifting from foot to foot, waiting for someone on the other end to pick up.
Secretly, I watched for those several minutes, not giving myself away.
Finally, she hung up.
In another moment, the phone warbled.
Despite her shattered nerves, she whipped the handset from the cradle halfway through the warble and pressed the mouthpiece close to her face and turned away, conspiratorially, almost guessing I was spying on her. But she didn't close the kitchen door.
Whoever it was on the other end did all the talking for a while. Mom just agreed with pathetic-sounding "uh-huhs" and worried whimpers. Then I heard her mention my name. Then my date of birth, height, weight, blood type, recent illnesses---pretty much a medical history.
After that, she Mom got even more furtive; she shut the kitchen door and began talking in a strange tone that was both hushed and excited. I heard little bits of what she was saying, but not enough to follow.
It sounded troubling.
Going over, I opened the kitchen door.
"Who are you talking to, Mom?"
In a flash, she hung up.
"Aunt Doreen," she answered quickly. Too quickly. It was a lie. "I was just telling her how we were doing. Uh...she says hi. Stuff like that."
A voice in my head told me to play dumb, and I did.
My life was on the line.
Mom had just signed on with the bad guys---and what they were coaxing her to do was too rewarding for her to resist.
However, I wouldnt be caught napping.
I caught Mom trying make a phone call in the wee hours of the morning. There was a can of NUTRA-BOOM" on the table next to her, and through familiarity with the label, I knew there was a 1-800 number in fine print. She had to use a magnifying glass to compensate for her deteriorating vision.
With arthritic fingers, she punched in the number and stood there for seven minutes, shifting from foot to foot, waiting for someone on the other end to pick up.
Secretly, I watched for those several minutes, not giving myself away.
Finally, she hung up.
In another moment, the phone warbled.
Despite her shattered nerves, she whipped the handset from the cradle halfway through the warble and pressed the mouthpiece close to her face and turned away, conspiratorially, almost guessing I was spying on her. But she didn't close the kitchen door.
Whoever it was on the other end did all the talking for a while. Mom just agreed with pathetic-sounding "uh-huhs" and worried whimpers. Then I heard her mention my name. Then my date of birth, height, weight, blood type, recent illnesses---pretty much a medical history.
After that, she Mom got even more furtive; she shut the kitchen door and began talking in a strange tone that was both hushed and excited. I heard little bits of what she was saying, but not enough to follow.
It sounded troubling.
Going over, I opened the kitchen door.
"Who are you talking to, Mom?"
In a flash, she hung up.
"Aunt Doreen," she answered quickly. Too quickly. It was a lie. "I was just telling her how we were doing. Uh...she says hi. Stuff like that."
A voice in my head told me to play dumb, and I did.
My life was on the line.
Mom had just signed on with the bad guys---and what they were coaxing her to do was too rewarding for her to resist.
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Mom and I began passing stones, little ones at first, and then larger ones. And we saved them, making natural history museums with them. To my knowledge, none of those stones were ever shown to a physician or discarded.
The terror of the stones helped us take a respite from "NUTRA-BOOM" and we cautiously ate regular food again.
Of course, the abrupt change in diet brought on more bouts of indigestion, but at least we were gaining weight once more. Additional symptoms made our lives miserable.
Again and again, I would catch Mom on the phone with someone who was definitely not Aunt Doreen. I would find torn-up notes in the trash with my new weight, diet details and health habits written on them. She was secretly talking to someone---but who?
Bouts of restlessness drove me out of the house.
People stared at me at the Coin-Op Laundry; I looked like a refugee from a plague. No one wanted to come near me.
I made three partially successful trips to the john to pee and only managed a few drops and some blood. I had a stone coming. A big one. I would pass it very soon. I just hoped no one else would be in there when I had to get rid of it.
Aching, sweating, unsteady on my feet, I leaned on the nearest machine. Something made a splash in the spilled suds on the floor. A footprint appeared and vanished.
Or had it? I couldn't think straight with the stone nagging me.
I perused the laundry's bulletin board. I saw something interesting.
Someone had made a flyer.
HAVE YOU TRIED ANY OF THE FOLLOWING PRODUCTS?
Susta-Blend
Nitro-Gorp
Growth-Blast
Mega-Meal
Nutra-Boom
Vita-Pow
IF SO, CALL THE NUMBER BELOW:
The bottom of the flyer was snipped with scissors into a fringe like on a leather jacket. Between each snip was a
hand-written phone number. It was hard for me to concentrate. But I was sure I had read "NUTRA-BOOM" somewhere in that damned list. I was sure.
Maybe Mom would want to know about this. Where was she?
She was supposed to swing by and pick me up for the short drive back home.
I was barely aware of her standing at the other end of the place carrying on a conversation with a strange man. He wore sunglasses regardless of the dark, cloudy day. His clothes were black. I didn't hear a word he said, he must have been speaking under his breath, but his body language said he was laying down something serious.
Mom seemed completely in a trance over what she was hearing.
Crap! I didn't have a pen and paper. None of the strips on the bottom of the flyer were torn off. I would be the first taker. Maybe then, we could get some help.
Something took my hand and stopped me.
It wasn't an angel. I got a smack---the noise was covered up by the rumble and thrum of the washers and dryers. It hurt, though. Especially since my skin was far more tender than it had ever been since I was born. A welt rose.
I didn't see anyone. Shit! I was getting tunnel-vision.
Just then, I felt the knifing pain of a kidney stone at the base of my dick. I made a run for the one and only toilet in the place. Once in, I dropped my drawers and sat like a chick---standing up was a risk. I often felt woozy and weak. Parking my butt on the toilet seat to pee/pass a stone was a safeguard.
The light switch moved. I swore I saw it drop by itself.
I wasn't alone in there. But I didn't try to get up.
The terror of the stones helped us take a respite from "NUTRA-BOOM" and we cautiously ate regular food again.
Of course, the abrupt change in diet brought on more bouts of indigestion, but at least we were gaining weight once more. Additional symptoms made our lives miserable.
Again and again, I would catch Mom on the phone with someone who was definitely not Aunt Doreen. I would find torn-up notes in the trash with my new weight, diet details and health habits written on them. She was secretly talking to someone---but who?
Bouts of restlessness drove me out of the house.
People stared at me at the Coin-Op Laundry; I looked like a refugee from a plague. No one wanted to come near me.
I made three partially successful trips to the john to pee and only managed a few drops and some blood. I had a stone coming. A big one. I would pass it very soon. I just hoped no one else would be in there when I had to get rid of it.
Aching, sweating, unsteady on my feet, I leaned on the nearest machine. Something made a splash in the spilled suds on the floor. A footprint appeared and vanished.
Or had it? I couldn't think straight with the stone nagging me.
I perused the laundry's bulletin board. I saw something interesting.
Someone had made a flyer.
HAVE YOU TRIED ANY OF THE FOLLOWING PRODUCTS?
Susta-Blend
Nitro-Gorp
Growth-Blast
Mega-Meal
Nutra-Boom
Vita-Pow
IF SO, CALL THE NUMBER BELOW:
The bottom of the flyer was snipped with scissors into a fringe like on a leather jacket. Between each snip was a
hand-written phone number. It was hard for me to concentrate. But I was sure I had read "NUTRA-BOOM" somewhere in that damned list. I was sure.
Maybe Mom would want to know about this. Where was she?
She was supposed to swing by and pick me up for the short drive back home.
I was barely aware of her standing at the other end of the place carrying on a conversation with a strange man. He wore sunglasses regardless of the dark, cloudy day. His clothes were black. I didn't hear a word he said, he must have been speaking under his breath, but his body language said he was laying down something serious.
Mom seemed completely in a trance over what she was hearing.
Crap! I didn't have a pen and paper. None of the strips on the bottom of the flyer were torn off. I would be the first taker. Maybe then, we could get some help.
Something took my hand and stopped me.
It wasn't an angel. I got a smack---the noise was covered up by the rumble and thrum of the washers and dryers. It hurt, though. Especially since my skin was far more tender than it had ever been since I was born. A welt rose.
I didn't see anyone. Shit! I was getting tunnel-vision.
Just then, I felt the knifing pain of a kidney stone at the base of my dick. I made a run for the one and only toilet in the place. Once in, I dropped my drawers and sat like a chick---standing up was a risk. I often felt woozy and weak. Parking my butt on the toilet seat to pee/pass a stone was a safeguard.
The light switch moved. I swore I saw it drop by itself.
I wasn't alone in there. But I didn't try to get up.
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"I didn't even see you," I said.
"You weren't supposed to."
The voice was right next to me. But I didn't see anyone.
My judgment was off. I did as I was told. The speaker didn't have a low voice naturally; it was forced. Was it a girl?
I made a move to rise. I got a push back down.
"Take a seat. Try to get rid of that stone while you're at it."
I reached out for what I thought was there and got another crack on the knuckles for my trouble.
"I'm enough pain---"
"Keep your damned hands to yourself. How long have you been taking that Martian Trail-mix? Was it Susta-Blend?"
"Nutra-Boom."
"Same stuff. Just sold in a different region. How long?"
"Months...I think it's been---" I got a slap in the face.
"Shut up," she said.
"Hey! What's with the all the fucking slaps?"
"Can you see me?"
"No...I can't...see you."
The light came back on. I couldn't see anyone.
"Slaps are what I use in place of a stern look. That guy out there talking to your mother. He's getting her to sign your death warrant. You've both been passing stones around the clock?"
Having a conversation with an invisible person does wonders in suspending disbelief. I was ready to listen.
"Sure." Nothing for a while as another big kidney stone tore up my urethra and stopped halfway. A hand that felt very pleasant took hold of my dick and massaged the stubborn stone to the pisshole. A pebble a half inch in diameter floated in the air, suspended by an invisible grip. I sagged forward on the pot, blacking out.
A hand braced me. "Saving them?"
"Yeah."
Another slap. This one intended to bring me around.
"Don't get yours mixed up with hers. If you don't have any on you right now, it's too bad for you. You have to learn the difference between her stones and yours and quick. The moment you get home or wherever the stones are kept, she is going to go through them. You have to get there first. If she gets one of yours before you get one of hers, you're finished. Get me? Finished."
"Gets? You mean eat? Put kidney stones in my mouth? That doesn't make sense---"
But it kinda did.
"---and eat them? But that's fucking disgusting!"
"The stones you produce won't work on you. The same with your mother. You take hers or she takes yours. Get home. Now. Find her stones. Don't let her get any of yours."
"How do you fit in to all this?"
"Payback, Stupid. I'd like to help more, but I've got my own problems, see?"
"No."
Another slap.
"Now listen, Stupid. Your mother's stones won't look exactly like yours. Get them. And destroy the ones you passed. That's where all the energy is. That crap you've been taking changed your organs. You both make energy pills. Do you fucking hear what I'm telling you?"
The person I couldn't see bent over me and flushed the toilet. I felt a good-sized boob brush my face.
"I would tell you not to look for me, but that would be useless. Remember, your mother, your own mother will try to keep you prisoner or kill you. Now go home."
"You weren't supposed to."
The voice was right next to me. But I didn't see anyone.
My judgment was off. I did as I was told. The speaker didn't have a low voice naturally; it was forced. Was it a girl?
I made a move to rise. I got a push back down.
"Take a seat. Try to get rid of that stone while you're at it."
I reached out for what I thought was there and got another crack on the knuckles for my trouble.
"I'm enough pain---"
"Keep your damned hands to yourself. How long have you been taking that Martian Trail-mix? Was it Susta-Blend?"
"Nutra-Boom."
"Same stuff. Just sold in a different region. How long?"
"Months...I think it's been---" I got a slap in the face.
"Shut up," she said.
"Hey! What's with the all the fucking slaps?"
"Can you see me?"
"No...I can't...see you."
The light came back on. I couldn't see anyone.
"Slaps are what I use in place of a stern look. That guy out there talking to your mother. He's getting her to sign your death warrant. You've both been passing stones around the clock?"
Having a conversation with an invisible person does wonders in suspending disbelief. I was ready to listen.
"Sure." Nothing for a while as another big kidney stone tore up my urethra and stopped halfway. A hand that felt very pleasant took hold of my dick and massaged the stubborn stone to the pisshole. A pebble a half inch in diameter floated in the air, suspended by an invisible grip. I sagged forward on the pot, blacking out.
A hand braced me. "Saving them?"
"Yeah."
Another slap. This one intended to bring me around.
"Don't get yours mixed up with hers. If you don't have any on you right now, it's too bad for you. You have to learn the difference between her stones and yours and quick. The moment you get home or wherever the stones are kept, she is going to go through them. You have to get there first. If she gets one of yours before you get one of hers, you're finished. Get me? Finished."
"Gets? You mean eat? Put kidney stones in my mouth? That doesn't make sense---"
But it kinda did.
"---and eat them? But that's fucking disgusting!"
"The stones you produce won't work on you. The same with your mother. You take hers or she takes yours. Get home. Now. Find her stones. Don't let her get any of yours."
"How do you fit in to all this?"
"Payback, Stupid. I'd like to help more, but I've got my own problems, see?"
"No."
Another slap.
"Now listen, Stupid. Your mother's stones won't look exactly like yours. Get them. And destroy the ones you passed. That's where all the energy is. That crap you've been taking changed your organs. You both make energy pills. Do you fucking hear what I'm telling you?"
The person I couldn't see bent over me and flushed the toilet. I felt a good-sized boob brush my face.
"I would tell you not to look for me, but that would be useless. Remember, your mother, your own mother will try to keep you prisoner or kill you. Now go home."
MrDuuude69
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The climax, already? I thought we were just getting into it. Don't get there too fast!
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Mom was waiting outside the john when the door opened---practically laying in wait. She wore a bleak, but hungry expression. A vulture's leer. "Did you just pass a stone, Son?"
"Uh, yeah."
Her eyes brightened, but not all the way. The running toilet sound was still going on. My invisible "friend" was keeping my latest excretion hidden from sight.
"Did you...keep it?" Mom asked.
I looked around. The man in black she had been talking to was nowhere to be seen.
"No," I said, "It got...flushed."
Her expression turned dark. Betrayed. She was now my enemy.
But maybe I had a friend. Behind me, I felt the air swish as the invisible informant breezed past me and on her way.
Payback, she had said. Some evil corporation was using people for experiments. And now Mom and I were part of that experiment.
The game was on.
A maze of one way streets stood between home and laundry.
She had the car keys. And loads of laundry in the machines. A dilemma. But she had no reason to think I knew anything.
She was trying to hide her plan, but her face showed what I feared. I stepped out of the john, adjusting my pants.
Could I get home before she could? Get home and find the containers? I gave it a shot.
And before you ask, I didn't.
Cramped muscles, sore bones, strained tendons and a general malaise that came from months of ill-health saw to that.
Mom hadn't serviced the car in about the same amount of time. The brakes screeched, the radiator billowed, cylinders misfired---but she got home before I did by a narrow margin. It was enough.
We saw each other struggling to get home. She drove the wrong way down three streets to get home, dodging and honking. I took all the shortcuts I knew, going through neighbor's yards and over fences, draining what energy I had for the chance of getting one of two of those stones. I also had to keep mine out of her clutches while I was at it.
Trouble was, Mom had the presence of mind to carry some of the stones around in her purse. Whether she ate some of hers along with mine didn't matter much.
In minutes, she wrestled me to the floor and beat on me, belying her haggard appearance. The clothes at the laundry blocks away would stay there; they meant nothing now. Her job, my school---they were all irrelevant.
"NUTRA-BOOM" took a long time to pay off and brought us both close to death, but it finally paid off. Mom had just gotten the payoff first.
I regained consciousness in bed, naked, tied down. And for the next week, I passed those weird stones that months and months of taking "NUTRA-BOOM" had triggered.
Using a pill-cutter, Mom gave me slivers of hers, just to keep me strong enough to keep "laying" like the storied Golden Goose. She wasn't going to kill me so long as I could keep coming up with energy pills.
The bitch.
Mom was power-mad, and I shouldn't have been too surprised.
For the first day, she was disorganized. The sudden boost of energy had been like a powerful drug---a real shock to her system. She was going ten directions at once, talking to herself, sitting down only to stand up in another moment and begin pacing. Objects in the house felt her abuse. She kicked chairs and punched things and knocked her head against the walls with the thoughtless rage of a drugged-up weirdo in the streets.
She bit her nails till they bled, pulled out clumps of her own hair, pounded her fists on everything---trying to clear her head. Only in those erratic moments there were signs of hope. She was so erratic, she was bound to make a mistake sooner or later.
It was later. It was definitely later.
"Uh, yeah."
Her eyes brightened, but not all the way. The running toilet sound was still going on. My invisible "friend" was keeping my latest excretion hidden from sight.
"Did you...keep it?" Mom asked.
I looked around. The man in black she had been talking to was nowhere to be seen.
"No," I said, "It got...flushed."
Her expression turned dark. Betrayed. She was now my enemy.
But maybe I had a friend. Behind me, I felt the air swish as the invisible informant breezed past me and on her way.
Payback, she had said. Some evil corporation was using people for experiments. And now Mom and I were part of that experiment.
The game was on.
A maze of one way streets stood between home and laundry.
She had the car keys. And loads of laundry in the machines. A dilemma. But she had no reason to think I knew anything.
She was trying to hide her plan, but her face showed what I feared. I stepped out of the john, adjusting my pants.
Could I get home before she could? Get home and find the containers? I gave it a shot.
And before you ask, I didn't.
Cramped muscles, sore bones, strained tendons and a general malaise that came from months of ill-health saw to that.
Mom hadn't serviced the car in about the same amount of time. The brakes screeched, the radiator billowed, cylinders misfired---but she got home before I did by a narrow margin. It was enough.
We saw each other struggling to get home. She drove the wrong way down three streets to get home, dodging and honking. I took all the shortcuts I knew, going through neighbor's yards and over fences, draining what energy I had for the chance of getting one of two of those stones. I also had to keep mine out of her clutches while I was at it.
Trouble was, Mom had the presence of mind to carry some of the stones around in her purse. Whether she ate some of hers along with mine didn't matter much.
In minutes, she wrestled me to the floor and beat on me, belying her haggard appearance. The clothes at the laundry blocks away would stay there; they meant nothing now. Her job, my school---they were all irrelevant.
"NUTRA-BOOM" took a long time to pay off and brought us both close to death, but it finally paid off. Mom had just gotten the payoff first.
I regained consciousness in bed, naked, tied down. And for the next week, I passed those weird stones that months and months of taking "NUTRA-BOOM" had triggered.
Using a pill-cutter, Mom gave me slivers of hers, just to keep me strong enough to keep "laying" like the storied Golden Goose. She wasn't going to kill me so long as I could keep coming up with energy pills.
The bitch.
Mom was power-mad, and I shouldn't have been too surprised.
For the first day, she was disorganized. The sudden boost of energy had been like a powerful drug---a real shock to her system. She was going ten directions at once, talking to herself, sitting down only to stand up in another moment and begin pacing. Objects in the house felt her abuse. She kicked chairs and punched things and knocked her head against the walls with the thoughtless rage of a drugged-up weirdo in the streets.
She bit her nails till they bled, pulled out clumps of her own hair, pounded her fists on everything---trying to clear her head. Only in those erratic moments there were signs of hope. She was so erratic, she was bound to make a mistake sooner or later.
It was later. It was definitely later.
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Her abusive kicks and punches and other self-destructive habits showed. Mom came into the garage where I was tied down with bandaged hands and feet, bound head and skin looking like she had blundered into a rodeo in full swing.
In days, she recovered her former appearance and improved on it. She grew, packing on pounds and inches while I languished in bed, serving no other purpose than to make pills for her self-improvement.
I doubt she slept. The high from my weird-ass kidney stones was a stimulant like nothing I had ever seen. But in reality, I saw almost nothing. I heard crashing and thumping all around the house while I was tied up and forced to face a blank wall.
When I saw her again, the wildness seemed to have passed. She looked through me rather than at me. All those self-inflicted injuries had healed in two days without a mark.
When she started looking too different, she pulled up stakes and moved out of the house, renting a huge RV.
I was packed along as prisoner, hog-tied with every kind of restraint she could think of. I wasn't family to her any more, just an animal in her own traveling farm. And, oh yes, the pallets of "NUTRA-BOOM" came along with us. Doubtless, she was still taking the stuff, but probably only in small doses.
Even though I no longer ate that "Martian Trail-mix", I still made those potent kidney stones. And they did the trick on her body every time. And I made a lot of them. More than I ever supposed she would need.
What she was doing with the bulk of HER stones, I couldn't guess. Selling them? But did they work on anyone other than me?
The few pills I was allowed made me fit, but not strong enough to break the leather straps and ropes that held me to the frame.
Every time I was treated to one, I got a rush of energy;
no words in any language can describe the feeling of "POW" I got when the nutrients in those filthy stones of hers metabolized in my system. I fought my restraints, but Mom had done her homework and tied me up good. I began to change, but nothing like her. The aches and tiredness vanished in a day. I got muscle tone, virility, energy---everything those drums of "NUTRA-BOOM" claimed to deliver in the first place. They had worked---in a strange way.
Mom and I had mutated. I could only imagine what she felt when she took mine. And she took so many of them. They certainly had an effect. If she had a store of them, she took pains to hide it from me. Mom passed the six foot tall mark in two months. Her small bones turned into medium-sized bones. Her face alone took on weight, she longer matched her old pictures.
Did the "NUTRA-BOOM" pills have psycho-reactive properties?
I wasn't getting enough of them to find out. Surely, surgery, make-up, high heels and hours in the tanning booth weren't enough to account for the change in her appearance.
Oh, and no one would have recognized me, either. I grew too, maturing beyond the likeness of any photograph in any album or any image on any surveillance camera I might have passed. I was a new man. None of my old clothes with the exception of a bathrobe and an adjustable baseball cap would fit me. As far as the world knew, we were dead---replaced with all new people with all new lives.
In days, she recovered her former appearance and improved on it. She grew, packing on pounds and inches while I languished in bed, serving no other purpose than to make pills for her self-improvement.
I doubt she slept. The high from my weird-ass kidney stones was a stimulant like nothing I had ever seen. But in reality, I saw almost nothing. I heard crashing and thumping all around the house while I was tied up and forced to face a blank wall.
When I saw her again, the wildness seemed to have passed. She looked through me rather than at me. All those self-inflicted injuries had healed in two days without a mark.
When she started looking too different, she pulled up stakes and moved out of the house, renting a huge RV.
I was packed along as prisoner, hog-tied with every kind of restraint she could think of. I wasn't family to her any more, just an animal in her own traveling farm. And, oh yes, the pallets of "NUTRA-BOOM" came along with us. Doubtless, she was still taking the stuff, but probably only in small doses.
Even though I no longer ate that "Martian Trail-mix", I still made those potent kidney stones. And they did the trick on her body every time. And I made a lot of them. More than I ever supposed she would need.
What she was doing with the bulk of HER stones, I couldn't guess. Selling them? But did they work on anyone other than me?
The few pills I was allowed made me fit, but not strong enough to break the leather straps and ropes that held me to the frame.
Every time I was treated to one, I got a rush of energy;
no words in any language can describe the feeling of "POW" I got when the nutrients in those filthy stones of hers metabolized in my system. I fought my restraints, but Mom had done her homework and tied me up good. I began to change, but nothing like her. The aches and tiredness vanished in a day. I got muscle tone, virility, energy---everything those drums of "NUTRA-BOOM" claimed to deliver in the first place. They had worked---in a strange way.
Mom and I had mutated. I could only imagine what she felt when she took mine. And she took so many of them. They certainly had an effect. If she had a store of them, she took pains to hide it from me. Mom passed the six foot tall mark in two months. Her small bones turned into medium-sized bones. Her face alone took on weight, she longer matched her old pictures.
Did the "NUTRA-BOOM" pills have psycho-reactive properties?
I wasn't getting enough of them to find out. Surely, surgery, make-up, high heels and hours in the tanning booth weren't enough to account for the change in her appearance.
Oh, and no one would have recognized me, either. I grew too, maturing beyond the likeness of any photograph in any album or any image on any surveillance camera I might have passed. I was a new man. None of my old clothes with the exception of a bathrobe and an adjustable baseball cap would fit me. As far as the world knew, we were dead---replaced with all new people with all new lives.
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That only enabled Mom to fake new identities for herself.
And always, when her looks changed too much, she broke camp and found another venue. She had become a stripper---I should have figured.
I never was told where. Accents from people I could overhear seemed to hint we had wound up in the Deep South, if not the Bible Belt. Florida, I guessed, but that didn't help. If the man in black from the Coin-Op laundry was aiding and abetting Mom, I never saw or heard him.
I was alone. But getting stronger. Mom, though---she always kept ahead of my growth curve, buying stronger restraints.
And always, I passed those fucking kidney stones. And she collected them like a hand in a poultry farm. And the cruel reality that I couldn't use what I produced myself was a torture I could hardly endure. The tight leather cuffs around my wrists and ankles and around my neck didn't bother me as much as the idea that I was only making my situation worse---feeding it.
I had to get out. Had to.
"You just keep making those pills for Mommy, Son," she told me. "And nothing will happen to you. But if you ever come up dry, it's back to "NUTRA-BOOM" breakfast, lunch and dinner until you start up again."
Her huge hands, rippling with vascularity, tested and tightened my restraints. New breasts, likely D-cups bobbed on her chest, spread wide apart from being set on slabs of muscle.
An unshaven crotch-to-navel hair bridge bristled as she worked. Below, barely masked by the tight fabric of her bikini bottom poked a nubbin of a clitoris that would have made some guys my age recoil with inadequacy.
That she-dilly only grew larger as she went around me, checking to see if I was tied down.
Her memory often slipped. For all that, she wasn't hiring other people to guard me.
She had been treating me to larger slivers of her own kidney stones. I was getting rushes of energy, but nothing I could avail myself of. After all, I wasn't getting fed.
"Don't you get it, Mom? We're somebody's pet science project. One day that somebody is going to want to cut you up for stem-cell research or something. Me too."
She wasn't listening to me. "And if that doesn't work, I will gut you myself. So don't ever disappoint me!"
What Mom regarded as disappointment was anyone's guess.
Hundreds, possibly thousands of people had made guinea pigs of themselves with the help of a freaky, crooked lab that had covered its tracks. And somebody (cue ominous music) knew who and where the consumers were.
We grew. Mom fast for having taken so many of my kidney stones, I slowly for the meager amount I was allowed. What was happening to other people? The first batch of "NUTRA-BOOM" could easily have been healthy. The succeeding batches, I was sure, had additional ingredients. But by then, we were hopeless addicts.
Mom made all the plans while my life was made of empty hours, looking back on what had happened, and waiting for the next time one of the damned power pills found its may out of my pisser.
And always, when her looks changed too much, she broke camp and found another venue. She had become a stripper---I should have figured.
I never was told where. Accents from people I could overhear seemed to hint we had wound up in the Deep South, if not the Bible Belt. Florida, I guessed, but that didn't help. If the man in black from the Coin-Op laundry was aiding and abetting Mom, I never saw or heard him.
I was alone. But getting stronger. Mom, though---she always kept ahead of my growth curve, buying stronger restraints.
And always, I passed those fucking kidney stones. And she collected them like a hand in a poultry farm. And the cruel reality that I couldn't use what I produced myself was a torture I could hardly endure. The tight leather cuffs around my wrists and ankles and around my neck didn't bother me as much as the idea that I was only making my situation worse---feeding it.
I had to get out. Had to.
"You just keep making those pills for Mommy, Son," she told me. "And nothing will happen to you. But if you ever come up dry, it's back to "NUTRA-BOOM" breakfast, lunch and dinner until you start up again."
Her huge hands, rippling with vascularity, tested and tightened my restraints. New breasts, likely D-cups bobbed on her chest, spread wide apart from being set on slabs of muscle.
An unshaven crotch-to-navel hair bridge bristled as she worked. Below, barely masked by the tight fabric of her bikini bottom poked a nubbin of a clitoris that would have made some guys my age recoil with inadequacy.
That she-dilly only grew larger as she went around me, checking to see if I was tied down.
Her memory often slipped. For all that, she wasn't hiring other people to guard me.
She had been treating me to larger slivers of her own kidney stones. I was getting rushes of energy, but nothing I could avail myself of. After all, I wasn't getting fed.
"Don't you get it, Mom? We're somebody's pet science project. One day that somebody is going to want to cut you up for stem-cell research or something. Me too."
She wasn't listening to me. "And if that doesn't work, I will gut you myself. So don't ever disappoint me!"
What Mom regarded as disappointment was anyone's guess.
Hundreds, possibly thousands of people had made guinea pigs of themselves with the help of a freaky, crooked lab that had covered its tracks. And somebody (cue ominous music) knew who and where the consumers were.
We grew. Mom fast for having taken so many of my kidney stones, I slowly for the meager amount I was allowed. What was happening to other people? The first batch of "NUTRA-BOOM" could easily have been healthy. The succeeding batches, I was sure, had additional ingredients. But by then, we were hopeless addicts.
Mom made all the plans while my life was made of empty hours, looking back on what had happened, and waiting for the next time one of the damned power pills found its may out of my pisser.
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What little amounts of Mom's "moon-rocks" I was allowed to consume catapulted me into jock proportions and then super-studdom. Other than my hazel eyes and slight overbite, I didn't recognize myself when I caught a flash of myself in a mirror. I got hard just from that little peek. And then the thrill turned sour when I realized I was wasting away despite my robust state. I should have been out romping and getting pleasured from any chicks that caught my eye, but that wasn't my luck.
And all from getting home too late.
Only a few precious minutes, maybe even thirty seconds or twenty had spelled out my fate.
Well, escape had to become my priority. Looking and feeling the way I did---thinking about something other than sex was almost impossible.
I couldn't measure my cock, but erections were not only possible, but pleasurable. I got them hard enough and durable enough to whip back against my lower abdomen while I was tied up, permitting myself a form of self-abuse.
Orgasms from this sort of ab-hammering were irregular.
Mom saw the cum I produced, pints of man-juice! And all going to waste! But it only made her worry.
Those storied "drastic steps" were in the works.
And all from getting home too late.
Only a few precious minutes, maybe even thirty seconds or twenty had spelled out my fate.
Well, escape had to become my priority. Looking and feeling the way I did---thinking about something other than sex was almost impossible.
I couldn't measure my cock, but erections were not only possible, but pleasurable. I got them hard enough and durable enough to whip back against my lower abdomen while I was tied up, permitting myself a form of self-abuse.
Orgasms from this sort of ab-hammering were irregular.
Mom saw the cum I produced, pints of man-juice! And all going to waste! But it only made her worry.
Those storied "drastic steps" were in the works.
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Mom drove around with me prisoner in an even larger RV, following the strip circuit for a while and then she got into body-building competitions, winning left and right. No one except the hugest males had a physique like hers; she was grotesque with veins and stretched skin. Barbells loaded down with a quarter ton of weights became typical lifts for her. Mom could bite through rawhide with a single chomp.
She billed herself as "Dinah Powers." I heard she even did a few porno movies before she grew too big. Big? Try 350 lbs. I was looking fine---I was looking great. Mom, with her ferocious appetite and fried brains was only looking wasted. She put her makeup on with a paint-roller.
During her "rounds" in my captivity, her hands shook.
I never got those symptoms. In fact, when I had a chance to look at myself in a mirror, I could have turned queer right there and then if I had an identical twin!
"Aren't you getting tired of this, Mom. You oughta quit---you look awful. You look sick. I saw the "NUTRA-BOOM" pallet. It's down to three cans. And I'll bet that fucked-up lab isn't going to send you any more. There isn't a doctor who can treat us. Except their lab butchers. And they'll come calling. Then what will you do?"
"Never mind MY private life, Son," she told me with a laugh. "YOUR life is the one that's going to stay private!"
And as always, when I showed signs of weakness, I would receive a sliver of one of her fresh stones to pep me up.
If only, if only I had gotten a few of her whole stones!
Yeah, and if I died, her supply would dry up. Death was easy. It was the living that was killing me.
I didn't look for help. It was nowhere in sight.
She billed herself as "Dinah Powers." I heard she even did a few porno movies before she grew too big. Big? Try 350 lbs. I was looking fine---I was looking great. Mom, with her ferocious appetite and fried brains was only looking wasted. She put her makeup on with a paint-roller.
During her "rounds" in my captivity, her hands shook.
I never got those symptoms. In fact, when I had a chance to look at myself in a mirror, I could have turned queer right there and then if I had an identical twin!
"Aren't you getting tired of this, Mom. You oughta quit---you look awful. You look sick. I saw the "NUTRA-BOOM" pallet. It's down to three cans. And I'll bet that fucked-up lab isn't going to send you any more. There isn't a doctor who can treat us. Except their lab butchers. And they'll come calling. Then what will you do?"
"Never mind MY private life, Son," she told me with a laugh. "YOUR life is the one that's going to stay private!"
And as always, when I showed signs of weakness, I would receive a sliver of one of her fresh stones to pep me up.
If only, if only I had gotten a few of her whole stones!
Yeah, and if I died, her supply would dry up. Death was easy. It was the living that was killing me.
I didn't look for help. It was nowhere in sight.
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"Wake up, Stupid."
I hadn't been asleep, just drained. I got a few slaps in the face all the same. Mom never called me "Stupid". That only left one person who could sneak through Mom's defenses.
The RV had served its purpose. Mom had me locked up in a
an old industrial area in a city completely strange to me.
The warehouse had been fortified to keep people out and in at the same time. I was an investment worth a fortune.
As usual, I was secured in a heavy frame that could have penned in a small dinosaur.
I felt a flask at my lips. A fluid that would make sewer water taste mellow went down my gullet. I tried to spit out, but invisible hands went under my chin and pinched my nose shut. I swallowed and screamed.
"Shut up!" The hands relaxed from my face.
"Fuck! What was that?"
"Plan B. I got here too late, and this place is rigged too seriously for Plan A. Your mom is running out of stones. She's on a plateau. Leveling out. She's having to take more and more to strut her stuff. That skunk piss you drank will give your next few stones a wallop on her system. And when they do, that's the time to make a run for it."
"A run to where? I don't know this place!"
"Birmingham. I can't go with you when you make your escape, and you'd better escape. Fifty of your mom's stones are in a test tube."
"Where's the test tube?"
"In your rectum. Don't clench."
"What about this escape?"
I got the details. I would have to run twenty blocks at least---naked---to the train yard. I didn't know it at the time, but it was late at night. Maybe I wouldn't get caught. It was more than worth the chance. I would live as a fugitive for the rest of my days. If I was careful.
Mom, all of six and a half feet tall, came pounding in to where I was restrained. She wore a bikini that looked out of place strung over all those muscles. Her clitoris was erect and made a little node in the lower front of her bikini bottom; getting those energy pills from me had become her top fetish.
Playing business as usual, I yielded up a stone and she popped it in her mouth right then and there and swallowed, patting her stomach. She began to outline her plans for the month---and then the whole speech cut off like a phone conversation when the line is severed.
She had swallowed a veritable booby trap. Choking, foaming, she fell down on the hard concrete floor with a thud that shook the frame I was tied in.
On her back, she writhed and whacked the floor with her fists, having a fit. Her clitoral erection wilted.
Mom was still strong and wasn't about to quit---perhaps realizing this was the first stage of a robbery. Someone was stealing me away from her.
That made her mad. Her eyes blazed as she turned over and crawled toward me, drool pouring from her lips. Finger-thick veins crawled under her skin like snakes waking up from winter. Her joints cracked audibly.
In seconds, the bonds were released and I was free for the first time in seasons. I felt all wrong for not having been allowed to move. The thing was, I had to move.
"I'll...kill...you!" My mom sprayed, trying to get at me, flailing blindly. Her reach was amazing now, I underestimated it and was swept off my own feet. "JUST LET ME GET MY HANDS ON YOU...YOU FUCKING PIECE OF LIMP-DICK SHIT!!!"
I hadn't been asleep, just drained. I got a few slaps in the face all the same. Mom never called me "Stupid". That only left one person who could sneak through Mom's defenses.
The RV had served its purpose. Mom had me locked up in a
an old industrial area in a city completely strange to me.
The warehouse had been fortified to keep people out and in at the same time. I was an investment worth a fortune.
As usual, I was secured in a heavy frame that could have penned in a small dinosaur.
I felt a flask at my lips. A fluid that would make sewer water taste mellow went down my gullet. I tried to spit out, but invisible hands went under my chin and pinched my nose shut. I swallowed and screamed.
"Shut up!" The hands relaxed from my face.
"Fuck! What was that?"
"Plan B. I got here too late, and this place is rigged too seriously for Plan A. Your mom is running out of stones. She's on a plateau. Leveling out. She's having to take more and more to strut her stuff. That skunk piss you drank will give your next few stones a wallop on her system. And when they do, that's the time to make a run for it."
"A run to where? I don't know this place!"
"Birmingham. I can't go with you when you make your escape, and you'd better escape. Fifty of your mom's stones are in a test tube."
"Where's the test tube?"
"In your rectum. Don't clench."
"What about this escape?"
I got the details. I would have to run twenty blocks at least---naked---to the train yard. I didn't know it at the time, but it was late at night. Maybe I wouldn't get caught. It was more than worth the chance. I would live as a fugitive for the rest of my days. If I was careful.
Mom, all of six and a half feet tall, came pounding in to where I was restrained. She wore a bikini that looked out of place strung over all those muscles. Her clitoris was erect and made a little node in the lower front of her bikini bottom; getting those energy pills from me had become her top fetish.
Playing business as usual, I yielded up a stone and she popped it in her mouth right then and there and swallowed, patting her stomach. She began to outline her plans for the month---and then the whole speech cut off like a phone conversation when the line is severed.
She had swallowed a veritable booby trap. Choking, foaming, she fell down on the hard concrete floor with a thud that shook the frame I was tied in.
On her back, she writhed and whacked the floor with her fists, having a fit. Her clitoral erection wilted.
Mom was still strong and wasn't about to quit---perhaps realizing this was the first stage of a robbery. Someone was stealing me away from her.
That made her mad. Her eyes blazed as she turned over and crawled toward me, drool pouring from her lips. Finger-thick veins crawled under her skin like snakes waking up from winter. Her joints cracked audibly.
In seconds, the bonds were released and I was free for the first time in seasons. I felt all wrong for not having been allowed to move. The thing was, I had to move.
"I'll...kill...you!" My mom sprayed, trying to get at me, flailing blindly. Her reach was amazing now, I underestimated it and was swept off my own feet. "JUST LET ME GET MY HANDS ON YOU...YOU FUCKING PIECE OF LIMP-DICK SHIT!!!"
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I didn't recognize her as my mother anymore---or as anyone.
And how could I?
She was inching her way closer to me; the last of the straps in the restraint harness was loosened.
"ALMOST...THERE!" Clawing her way ever nearer, my mom took hold of the steel frame I was in and hauled herself upright.
"Make tracks, Stupid." The voice in my ear told me. I felt a hand squeezing my nuts. It hurt. It could have hurt a lot worse.
For all that, the sympathy factor made me delay.
Without each other to supply "moon-rocks", we both got a streak of desperation.
Sans clothes and a plan, I backed away. The floor felt ice cold under my feet.
I made good my escape, never again looking back.
Light snow which I first mistook for rain shimmered in front of the streetlamps in the wee hours of the morning.
Snow? In Birmingham? Well, at least it kept the curious off the streets. The red and blue flashing lights of two police cars painted the walls of buildings as I slipped and stumbled. The snow and ice on the normally hot, dry streets had them skidded and colliding with other cars parked along the way.
The cold made my expanded nut-sack pull up close to my crotch---my dangling cock flopped and slapped on my legs as I put on an extra burst of speed to make sure the cops wouldn't catch up.
Halfway across town, I arrived just in time to clamber into an open boxcar as the freight train pulled out. Luckily, the test tube up my tail-hole didn't crack.
I had the means to get my strength back. Thanks to Mom.
Invisible hands on my shoulders told me I had made it.
The interior of the boxcar was strewn with thrift-store duds that smelled of tobacco smoke and the people who last wore them.
"Aren’t you cold?" I asked her.
"I come from Hamilton."
"Bermuda? But that isn't---"
"Hamilton...Ontario, Stupid."
"I could do with a fuck," I told her.
"You sure could. I ought to warn you I'm an invisible dike who's into bare-knuckle fighting. It won't be worth the trouble."
Then began the long, slow process of getting back to normal and then on from there, knowing with less than a hundred of my mother's stones available, I would only be a shadow of her strength. Those stones had to be enough, they just had to be.
We headed south. I didn't think I had a chance with her.
Still---results may vary
THE END.
And how could I?
She was inching her way closer to me; the last of the straps in the restraint harness was loosened.
"ALMOST...THERE!" Clawing her way ever nearer, my mom took hold of the steel frame I was in and hauled herself upright.
"Make tracks, Stupid." The voice in my ear told me. I felt a hand squeezing my nuts. It hurt. It could have hurt a lot worse.
For all that, the sympathy factor made me delay.
Without each other to supply "moon-rocks", we both got a streak of desperation.
Sans clothes and a plan, I backed away. The floor felt ice cold under my feet.
I made good my escape, never again looking back.
Light snow which I first mistook for rain shimmered in front of the streetlamps in the wee hours of the morning.
Snow? In Birmingham? Well, at least it kept the curious off the streets. The red and blue flashing lights of two police cars painted the walls of buildings as I slipped and stumbled. The snow and ice on the normally hot, dry streets had them skidded and colliding with other cars parked along the way.
The cold made my expanded nut-sack pull up close to my crotch---my dangling cock flopped and slapped on my legs as I put on an extra burst of speed to make sure the cops wouldn't catch up.
Halfway across town, I arrived just in time to clamber into an open boxcar as the freight train pulled out. Luckily, the test tube up my tail-hole didn't crack.
I had the means to get my strength back. Thanks to Mom.
Invisible hands on my shoulders told me I had made it.
The interior of the boxcar was strewn with thrift-store duds that smelled of tobacco smoke and the people who last wore them.
"Aren’t you cold?" I asked her.
"I come from Hamilton."
"Bermuda? But that isn't---"
"Hamilton...Ontario, Stupid."
"I could do with a fuck," I told her.
"You sure could. I ought to warn you I'm an invisible dike who's into bare-knuckle fighting. It won't be worth the trouble."
Then began the long, slow process of getting back to normal and then on from there, knowing with less than a hundred of my mother's stones available, I would only be a shadow of her strength. Those stones had to be enough, they just had to be.
We headed south. I didn't think I had a chance with her.
Still---results may vary
THE END.
