Karen came home angry. She’d gotten a cab all the way out to Nowheresville just to have her client not bring any money. He thought that a bottle of gin and a few Xanax bars would be plenty for her. They were, but that wasn’t the point. Karen had bills to pay, and until the landlord accepted Xanax as payment, neither did she. She took his “gifts,” then grabbed his phone and made him pay for her Uber back home. She’d been in the business for over twenty years now; did he really think she was some kind of chump?

She made a detour to Hemingway’s Bar before coming home. Yes, she had a pint of gin in her purse, but she couldn’t bare to return early for the third time night a row. She sat down on her favorite barstool—the leather had cracked faster than any of the other stools underneath Karen’s daily sweat—and ordered a beer. She already had a beer gut; why not have a drink better to fit it? Karen resolved to not return home until the sun was down.

Eventually, she stomped up the filthy steps of her apartment building to her one-bedroom on the third floor. Then, after fumbling with the keys for longer than she would have if she’d been sober, she unlocked all three locks on the front door and went inside.

There was her friend Amanda—5’11”—and son Sam—0’5”—playing Scrabble as per usual. Karen smiled at Sam’s determination to struggle with the tiles even as they got larger and larger over time in comparison to him, then immediately began sobbing. Amanda turned to face her and frowned with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Karen sucked up her tears and did her best to put on a brave face. She tried to act nonchalant, despite all three of them knowing rent day was looming. “The only thing worse than getting paid for sex is not getting paid for sex. Rent’s due in a week, and I’m about ten clients short. I haven’t had a single actual one in over a week.” She kicked the heater below the dirty window. “I can’t even afford to fix this damn heater. I can see my breath in here. I wish I’d stayed at the damn bar.”

Amanda walked over to her friend and placed her hand on her shoulder. “You just have to remember it’s February, babe. Work will pick up in the Spring.”

“Not if I’m homeless then!” she yelled. “And what’ll happen to Sam if we get evicted? Foster care? You know what that’s like. At his size… Those foster care fuckers’ll eat him alive.”

Amanda rubbed her shoulder. “Money will come. It always does. You know that.”

Karen shook her head and walked with Amanda over to the couch. “Money doesn’t come to me like that anymore. Not since my open heart surgery and my scar and all this weight from sitting around all the time after. Nobody thinks I’m forty, but I am! It’s not my fault all that coke back in the 90s made me age so quick.” She sighed, surveying her body. Yes, she had a great ass and great breasts, but who cared about any of that on a woman who weighed slightly over 300 pounds? And though she personally thought she had an excellent tan, it didn’t take much for bystanders to snicker that it was a bit too much on her, even for a Miami hooker. “I’m a decade out from my best years. You have it easy. You’re thin and young and beautiful. And you have a great package,” she joked.

Amanda rolled her eyes. “And I have a package. Work is still hard for me. Not everyone’s as into trannies as you think they are. I only get by half the time by seeing those creepy guys who want you to pee on them.”

“Politicians. Yeah.” Karen pulled out a cigarette and lit it, then extended the pointer finger of her free hand to Sam. She couldn’t give him a full body hug anymore, but she still needed to show him her affection. She hated to see him shivering. “I’m just saying. You made a grand yesterday. I haven’t seen a grand in a week in a long time.”

“I’m always happy to help cover costs that you can’t manage,” Amanda said, leaning close to her friend. “Rent won’t be a problem for you as long as I’m around.”

Karen sighed. “I know, I know. I just…” She took a drag of her cigarette.

“What you know,” Amanda said, “is that this place isn’t going to stop smelling like cigarettes until—

“Shut up,” Karen cut her off. “I need a smoke.” After taking another drag from her cigarette, she leaned in to whisper into her friends ear, but at Sam’s size, he could hear everything. He tried not to let on that he could hear when they whispered; it gave him a bit of an advantage. “I’m scared about Sam,” she said. “He’s only five inches now. What happens when he disappears completely? What if I hurt him?”

“I can’t answer that,” Amanda said, trying to remain pragmatic. “But I can say your smoking inside doesn’t help anything.”

“I told you,” Karen said. “I need it. For my nerves.”

“What you need,” Amanda said coyly, “is some of this.” She winked at Sam, ignoring the appalled look on his face, then pulled two small pieces of paper out of her breasts.

Karen frowned. “Is that…?”

Amanda beamed. “Yes. Acid. Good acid.”

Karen looked at the pink and blue tie-dye colored squares in Amanda’s hand with wonder. “In Miami? I haven’t seen a halfway decent psychedelic since…”

“Woodstock?” Amanda joked.

“Guys,” Sam tried to pipe in, but neither was paying attention to the teenager, who was scrawny even for his size.

“I’m not that old,” said Amanda. “But really? Good acid? Here?’

“Even in Miami.” And to prove she meant it, Amanda took one of the two squares and placed it on her tongue.

“Shit,” I haven’t had any of that since I was a teenager.” Karen rubbed her beer gut with thought. “I’m almost kind of nervous.” She laughed.

“Wait,” Sam said, but if either of them could hear him, they showed no signs of caring. Sam watched with awe and trepidation—and, he had to admit, with a twinge of jealousy—as the two gigantic women in front of him placed the pieces of paper on their tongues. He was eighteen. Ever since he’d started shrinking when puberty hit, his life had less and less adventure in it. While all his friends forget about him in a haze of alcohol, sex, and sleeping through detention, Sam was forced to stay home with his mom, Karen, or, if she was “working,” her friend she’d met on the job, Amanda.

The two couldn’t have been any more different. There was Amanda, not only his mother’s best friend but his as well—with long, silky auburn hair and more than a handful of surgeries on her body that had rendered her nothing short of most men’s ideas of a goddess. Add in her smooth, pale, and hairless skin and the fact that she bragged frequently enough about having one of the biggest dicks in the state that it had to be true: She made money.

And there was his mom. What she bragged almost every time she got drunk and, subsequently, horny was that she used to be one of the top strippers in Vegas. She was one in a thousand out there, with breasts large enough on their own to not need augmentation and natural blonde hair that didn’t grow frizzy from bleach. But that was twenty years ago. After getting pregnant with Sam while filming a porn scene (to his chagrin, she’d told him the story more than once), her stretch marks put her out of the game. She started hooking to get by, and from there fell into a daily speedballing habit. She lost weight like crazy, but after an overdose gave her a heart attack and a mini-stroke and the months of bedrest and binge-eating-inducing depression following it, she gained back all fifty pounds she’d lost—five times over. The constant warmth of Miami let Karen wear skimpy clothing year-round, whether or not strangers would have recommended it—and her skin had grown leathery and tan, mottled in color and wrinkled in texture. The world had been unkind to her, and she wore it across her body.

Sam watched from the coffee table helplessly as the LSD began to work itself into their brains. He had told Amanda not to do it, but she had written him off. She claimed she’d be around the whole time to make sure his mom didn’t get too crazy. It eased his nerves, but not as much as he would’ve liked it to. The two of them were so big compared to him. Add their drug habits and general boisterousness and Sam was on the brink of a panic attack almost once a day.

“Mom?” he called to her from the coffee table, gazing up at the woman placing LSD on her tongue. She was gargantuan, in comparison to him, yes, but also to others, her elbows sinking into nonexistence in her fat, her thighs overflowing on normal sized chairs.

Karen sat back, failing to hear her son. She cared about him more than she knew was possible. Even when her drug habit had fallen into excess in the early 2000s, she had never neglected him… too much. Nowadays, she didn’t ignore him on purpose; he was simply difficult to see and hear, especially over The Grateful Dead that Amanda put on.

“Remind me. How long does this shit take to kick in?” she croaked, absentmindedly playing with her nipple.

“Half an hour,” Amanda said. “Plenty of time for me to finish my game with Sam.” She winked at him. Sam didn’t return her joviality, crossing his arms and frowning. Why didn’t she listen to him? He really wished he were in foster care, just as his mom had threatened he could be any day. But the stories the two of them told… He thought he’d prefer to stick with what he knew.

“Amanda,” he asked her, “can you put me in my house, please? I don’t want to be around while you two are high. You know that.”

Amanda grinned. She did know that. But if she was planning to make a move on Karen, Amanda didn’t want her to think that it had all been planned to the last detail. Including setting Karen up with a fake john to get her in the mood, as well as some booze and benzos. Removing Sam from the room on his own request added to the authenticity for her. Sure, it was conniving, but Amanda felt that Karen only needed a little push to see what was right in front of her all along.

She laid her palm out in front of her on the coffee table and let Sam climb on, then lifted him up to her chest. She smirked at his erection.

Sam couldn’t help it. He was eighteen and a virgin. He had never so much as had the opportunity to kiss a girl, except a brief two minutes with that girl Stacy who had taken pity on (or advantage of) him when he’d stood at three feet tall at sixteen. And Stacy had been fat, with glasses, braces, and acne. A miraculously oversized polo shirt and undersized khaki shorts. Only a fanny pack could have made Stacy more Stacy. And here was Amanda, looming and beautiful, right in front of him. He wasn’t crazy about what she had going on downstairs, but her breasts were some of the best he’d ever seen.

His “house” was a doll house his mother had found at a garage sale. It was ratty and smelled of something stale, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It had apparently been sitting in some old woman’s attic for seventy years or so years before she finally kicked the bucket. He didn’t like feeling like a doll. But it was better than a shoebox with a washcloth and sponge in it, where he’d spent his first few months of being under a foot tall after he’d started insisting he not share the bed with his mom.

The second Amanda left the room, Sam began to masturbate. Then he stopped, frustrated with himself. He could hear their voices and make out about half of their words as the drugs started to kick in for both of them.

Amanda and Karen spent the first hour or so howling with laughter at absolutely nothing. When the second hour crept on them, their moods grew more introspective. Karen, as per usual, had nothing but her son on her mind. Under the effects of the LSD, she felt she really understood what he must be going through. She felt that she, too, was less than half a foot in height. “Please don’t let me disappear, Amanda. Please. I don’t know what I’ll do if I disappear. Who will take care of Sam?”

Amanda hushed her. “Don’t worry about that right now, Karen. Take a deep breath. No need for a bad trip.”

Karen took a deep breath and tried to relax. Without intending it, her hand snuck its way inside her daisy dukes. It was the only way, outside of the drugs she was already on, that she knew how to relax. The Xanax had worn off, but the acid was only getting stronger by the minute.

“You know,” Amanda said, scooting from her end of the couch closer to Karen, “if you’re in the mood, sex on acid is the best.”

Karen looked at her. Really looked at her. Maybe it was the acid, but Amanda seemed only more beautiful, if that were possible. She also felt beautiful. Like anyone in the world would be lucky to even look at her, let alone feel her most intimate parts.

“And it’s a good way to stay warm, too,” Amanda added.

 “Blueberries…” Karen said.

Amanda giggled. Then she leaned in and kissed her.

Sam, listening to them slurping on each other (he hoped it was just mouths), couldn’t help but start touching himself again. He knew it was wrong, but if he just pretended the noises were coming from people who didn’t act as his mothers in conjunction… The moaning and sucking sounds, increasing in intensity and frequency—those were from two random women who had somehow snuck into this apartment.

Then he heard Amanda’s phone ring. The moaning coming from the other room stopped and he heard Amanda say “Hold on. I have to take this.” He continued what he was doing anyways, at this point just wanting to get it over with. Just because neither of them were going to finish didn’t mean he couldn’t.

“Okay Jack,” Amanda’s muffled voice reached through his mom’s bedroom door to him, “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

“Do you have to go right now?” his mom said.

He could practically smell Amanda’s disappointment. “Yeah. This guy is really reliable. And he’s booking three hours. That’s a full month’s rent in my pocket.”

“But…” Karen started to say, then forgot, then remembered again. “Blueberries…”

Amanda laughed. “Christ, I didn’t realize how hard this stuff was going to hit you. Listen, I’ll be back in a handful of hours. You’ll still be high. Trust me, this shit lasts almost too long.”

“Cherries?” Karen asked.

“Yeah, I’ll pop your girl cherry when I get back. Promise. Now hold tight and don’t have any fun without me.” Amanda opened the front foor, thought for a moment, then turned around to face Karen again, relenting. She returned to her and handed her four milligrams of Klonopin. “You know what? Take these. You’ll be knocked out in half an hour. It’ll waste your high, but I don’t think you need to be going nuts all by yourself right now.” Then she yelled over her shoulder, not realizing Sam had been able to hear the entire time, “You’re welcome, squirt!”

With a slam of the front door, Amanda was gone.

Karen slumped over herself, staring into space. No, that wasn’t space. That was her breasts. They were so saggy. Wrinkled beyond what she thought was possible where her cleavage had been pressed together over all these years. Amanda was gone, and she was starting to feel ugly and anxious and scared again. And cold.

She stood up and rubbed her chest for warmth. Then she rubbed her nipple. Her fingers were warm and wet. Why? she thought. She sniffed them. Oh. That’s why. She licked them clean then walked to her bedroom, giggling the whole way at how her toes looked like mushrooms.

Sam turned over onto his stomach the second he heard his mom’s lumbering steps approach. The last time she’d gotten high with just the two of them in the apartment… He was too ashamed of what had happened to tell Amanda, but now he wished he had. Maybe she would have stayed just a little bit longer.

He’d been about two feet tall at the time. Small enough that his mother’s lips could swallow his crotch whole, but not so small she couldn’t give him head in the first place. She’d sat on him to prevent his escape, eventually scooting backwards until her wet vulva nearly swallowed his head. Fortunately for both of them, she didn’t remember a minute of it the next day: a fifth of whiskey could do that to someone. But Sam did. He remembered acutely his struggles, as his small fingers tried to claw her thighs into forcing her to get off of him, and how she was too drunk and he was too small to even get her to notice that anything was amiss. He remembered how even as he tried to make his muffled voice heard, the most he’d ended up doing was giving his own mother unintentional cunnilingus. That was the day before he’d started sleeping on the couch. And then the shoebox.

And now he was five inches tall, sleeping in a dollhouse, and his mom was not only drunk, but on acid as well. He was disgusted with himself for the fears that flashed through his mind of what was about to happen. Just because she isn’t sober doesn’t mean she’s not my mom, he tried to reason with himself. She would never hurt me.

Karen’s stomach reached out in front of her and bumped into the dollhouse, shaking it. Sam fell out of bed, his erection out in visible sight.

“Sam,” Karen began, trying to figure out exactly what the purpose of language even was, when bodies could do most talking for themselves. “Sam, I love you. And I want to be closer to you. I… I don’t want you to go anywhere. And I don’t want to lose you.”

“Okay, mom.” Sam gazed up at her with trepidation. Her belly button was barely half a foot from him, and he could smell what was at the end of her happy trail. “I love you too, but do you think—

“I know you do. I want…” She paused, licking her fingers.

“I think maybe you should just watch a cartoon or something,” he said. He wasn’t sure exactly what type of thing mollified the insanity of LSD in people. He backed up to the far wall of his house, knowing it was useless.

“I am he as you are he as you are me,” Karen said. Sam could see her pupils, wide to the point of making her irises obsolete. “You know?” She reached down to Sam. There was nothing cruel about what she was doing. In fact, Sam could hardly have said he even thought that it occurred to her that he wanted anything other than what was about to happen. He knew she would never hurt him. Sober.

Karen wrapped her meaty fist around her son. His erection pressed into the bed of her thumb. “We’re all one. And love… I want to show you my love.” She lifted him up to her face so quickly that the air rustled through his hair. “With my body,” she whispered. Her breath, smelling of beer, cigarettes, and the hot dog with sauerkraut she’d had for lunch, wafted through him.

“Mom,” Sam sputtered. “The way you’re thinking… that’s a different kind of love than what we have.”

“No,” said Karen. “Love is love is love. I am he as your are—

“No.”

“Yes.” She giggled even as she kissed him. Her tongue fluttered out, its tip poking Sam’s face and leaving a strand of drool clinging to him as it retreated.

“Show me tomorrow then,” Sam said. “Not today.” If he could just hold her off, she’d fall asleep and they could avoid this.

“No, not today,” Karen said. “You’re right.” She lowered him. Sam naively hoped she’d return him to his house, but then she said,  “Not just today. Always. I’ll love you always.”

She walked back to the couch, Sam beating his fists against hers. “Blueberries,” she said, trying to console him. With her spare hand, she removed her short shorts and then her thong, which was saturated with sweat from a full Florida day spent outside. Sam watched it drop to the ground and started to whimper.

There it was—the last thing in the entire world that he’d ever wanted to see again. And it was right in front of his eyes. Her pubes were normally blonde and had been shaven freshly today, but there were unsightly patches she’d been too lazy to notice, as well as more than her fair share of razor burn. It wasn’t a sight for any pair of eyes, really, let alone sore ones. She took her free hand and started to rub her hand between her vaginal lips, the moist schlicking noises of her sex permanently ingraining themselves in her son’s mind.

“Mom, stop!” Sam tried to yell at her, but she couldn’t her him over the sound of her moaning and The Grateful Dead, especially when he was trapped in her increasingly sweaty fist. Then he was moving upwards, under her shirt. He didn’t get a chance to catch his breath before his entire body was planted into her breast. She released him from her fist in the same motion that she pressed his entire back into her with her palm, sandwiching him between two thick walls of flesh. Her breast was practically water, rippling under its thick, leathery casing, letting her push him multiple inches into it against her nipple. The bumps on her areola were hard and pressed into him, as well as a few wispy hairs.

He couldn’t hear her moaning any more—his sense of sound to the outside world had all but been cut off—but he could feel the vibrations of her toadlike moans coursing through her chest and, subsequently, him. He couldn’t move, complain, or even breathe. Karen did more than enough moving and breathing for both of them, and there was nothing for her to complain about.

Then, finally, she removed him from her shirt. She brought him up to her mouth—with her untreated cavities and lips cracked from constant dehydration—and gave him one last, soul-sucking kiss, before, finally, she did what the alcohol and LSD were telling her to do. It was time for them to be one.

Sam tried to stop her. He tried to cling to her labia’s lips as tightly as he could. Even if she’d already got his lower half wrapped inside her pulsing vaginal muscles—“I do my Kegels all the time,” she bragged. “Good for work.”—he would fight tooth and nail to make sure he didn’t slip entirely inside of her.

Of course, his tiny teeth and nails did nothing more than send pleasure through Karen’s body. “I love you,” she said to nobody in particular. Her eyes were closed and she was looking at mandalas. With a sigh of love, she pushed Sam inside of herself.

In her increasingly wet and warm crotch, her son was stone-cold sober and in an absolute panic, thrashing as wildly as he could. Karen failed to consider he might have been doing anything other than been trying to please her. “You love me too,” she smiled. “You’re inside my feelings so much, Sam,” she said wistfully, as if she weren’t now rubbing his face against her puffy g-spot. “And now you’re inside me. I’m so glad you want to be inside me. You’re so…” She smiled peacefully, feeling completely at one with every living, dead, and never alive thing in the universe, as she brought her hand back and forth. “Licorice.”

Sam choked and sputtered and beat his fists. He couldn’t hear her voice, but he could hear the beat of his mother’s heart, the gurgles of her churning stomach, the raspy wheezing of her tarry lungs filling and decompressing with rank air. He could hear the slapping of her rolls of fat against each other as she bucked with ecstasy. More than anything, he could hear the sound of his own body making sloppy, sucking noises as he slid up and down inside of his mom’s vagina. The smell of her discharge overwhelmed him, as did its taste. Salty, sweet, and umami—some waves of her juices were acidic, others were practically candy. The sensation of being drowned in a has-been hooker’s copulins was ineffable.

He was now completely engulfed in not only his mother’s genitals, but darkness. Her lips closed behind him after she’d pressed him as deeply into herself as she could before finally removing her fingers to lick them clean again. The lack of sight not only increased his claustrophobia—which was already at its peak, the semi-elastic walls of what he was certain would be his tomb encasing his on all sides—but heightened his other senses as well. The sense of smell, of taste, of hearing. The absolutely unbearable and humid heat clung to him. The transition from the cold of the outside air into her frothing, boiling depths had been like jumping into a hot tub in the middle of, well, February. And the sense of touch. Her walls rubbing against his face, his torso. Rubbing against his crotch. With steadily increasing speed and pressure.

He could feel it coming on, and even before it happened, shame filled him more than Karen’s stench ever could. “No!” he tried to shout, but failed. Instead, he gasped with the intense sensation of his own orgasm, and Karen’s viscous liquid filled his mouth. He was forced to swallow it as the walls around him constricted tighter than they ever had before. Karen had reached her own orgasm.

The couch groaned underneath her immense weight. “Blueberries!” she gasped. “Blueberries! Blueberries!” She giggled uncontrollably in between repeated orgasms for over two and a quarter minutes straight. Sex on acid really was the best. She couldn’t wait to try it again. To Karen, those 137 seconds felt like an eternity. They did for Sam as well.

The only reason it ever ended was the Klonopin finally kicking in. In a matter of seconds, Karen went from laughing maniacally and loudly enough for the neighbors to hear through the walls into a deep slumber.

Sam was too shell-shocked to move for over a minute. Though on the outside, to Karen, there was significantly less noise—as loud as her snore was, it couldn’t possibly match what had come before—inside of her, the same noises surrounded Sam. Her heartbeat, her wheezing lungs (even louder now with her heavy breathing), the low hum of her vocal chords as she sleeptalked. The only change was the absence of the noise of her crotch suctioning and unsuctioning its walls against itself. And the shaking of her body had stopped. And the clenching of her vaginal muscles.

Eventually, he realized that his surroundings were about as still as they were likely to get. Yes, Karen slightly shifted her weight now and then, obliviously rotating her son’s entire world for the sake of trying to get comfortable underneath her own weight. And, even subconsciously, she practiced her fucking Kegels now and then. Sam would’ve cursed to himself if he’d had the energy to form words. Instead, he began to army crawl forward through the sludge, hoping with all his heart that he hadn’t been turned backwards in the pitch black.

After struggling for countless minutes to move forward, one millimeter at a time, through the cramped confines of his mother’s still radiating warmth, Sam began to see a little bit of light. He refused to thank God, but was grateful all the same, to discover her spray-tanned thighs were still spread apart, allowing for him to shimmy himself out. As he strained to finally remove himself from the hell he’d just gone through, he unintentionally rubbed his head against her clit. She moaned, and her eyes fluttered open as he finally fell out of her completely. He kissed a wine stain on the couch because it was something other than where he’d just been.

Karen silently looked down the length of her body. She couldn’t see anything past her own stomach, but she knew that her son had accidentally fallen out. She’d help him back in. Sam tried to stand up and run from the quickly growing shadow of her hand, but after a few pats to either side of him, it found him and grabbed him back up. He started to cry even as he beat his sore fists against her pointer finger.

It tried to push him back where he’d just escaped moments before. It. This was no longer his mother: it was a disembodied hand and a disembodied pelvis. He had to believe that. As it pressed him silently without so much as an extra breath, he exerted all the effort he possibly could. He’d die before he went back. “Sh,” Karen managed to hush, as if he were a toddler tantruming simply because he hated bedtime. “Sh, sh, sh. Mommy’s here. I’ll keep you…”

Even as she said it, she was starting to fade again. He was winning. The hand drooped, tired. He breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed his struggle while he waited for her hand to loosen.

“…keep you nice and warm.” Karen, unable to see what she was doing or awake enough to accurately assess the situation, inserted her son into herself. It hurt a little, and she couldn’t understand why or bring herself to care. Maybe Sam was uncomfortable too. Needed a little lube. She wiped up a pool of her drool on her pointer finger then poked it back into her son. Her hole, she meant. As she drifted back to sleep, she felt supremely peaceful and fulfilled. She felt full, in soul and in body.

Sam was past the tight ring of her anus. The smell was unbearable, but after minutes of pushing and shoving against her opening, he realized there was nothing he could do. It wouldn’t open. And, he realized, her legs were now back together. He cursed his mom for having put him into this position. Then he shook his head. It was everyone’s fault. Karen, yes, but also Amanda. Also Sam himself. Why did he have to be so weak? Was there a part of him that actually enjoyed it? There must have been if he’d come. He wished he would just disappear.

He had no such luck, but moments after Karen got her third and final wind from his wriggling and lazily pulled her thong back on, his body had the grace to pass out.

Amanda came home not three, but six hours later. The client had extended his appointment with her, and she was never one to turn down an extra 600 dollars. Her liner and mascara were smeared around her eyes, her lipstick was completely gone, and her seemingly perfect hair was now mussed and matted in uneven clumps. It’s how an elite escort looked at the end of the day.

And there was Karen, not elite in any way other than taking first place in Amanda’s heart. Or maybe it was just first place in her crotch. Either way, she held a special place. Amanda sighed contentedly. She was tired as hell. She’d taken her own sampling of Klonopin in the car on the way back, though she probably hadn’t needed it. She was sleepy enough after all that sex she’d had. But she’d had it with the wrong person.

Karen was where she’d left her, wearing what she’d left her. There was no doubt in Amanda’s mind that Sam was safe. She nudged Karen over onto her side and took her place on the couch, even though she could have gone back to the bed, and took her place as the big spoon, her crotch pressing into her crush’s rear. Then, like Karen, she sunk into a long, deep, and restful sleep.

The next morning, Karen hummed “Friend of the Devil” to herself as she walked to the countertop to make herself some coffee. She was in high spirits, which was rare for her at this time of day. She’d never been a morning person, and probably wasn’t going to shower or change her clothes for a few more hours.

The acid last night, as far as she could recall, had been great for the brief moment she’d been on it. Everything after the Klonopin was gone from her memory, so she assumed she’d passed out quicker than expected. She’d found Amanda’s erection pressed against her ass when she’d woken up, and she couldn’t help but admit that it helped her self-esteem somewhat to be desired by someone so beautiful, even if she was a tranny.

Something was itchy in her ass, so she started to scratch it. The itch persisted, forcing her to pull her thong aside and really jam her fingers in between her cheeks to scratch. That was when a wave of shame overcame her. She ran across the apartment to the bathroom, squatted down on the floor, and pulled her weary son out from inside her puckered hole.

Sam inhaled deeply, hoping fresh air would perhaps bring back some of his energy, but he had no such luck. The smell of where he’d spent his night clung to him and all the air that went into him passed through its filter. He was glad that his final burst of strength, upon being woken up by the shifting of the dark tunnel he was trapped, had let him escape, but as soon as he could, he passed out again.

Karen’s eyes quickly welled. After she laid Sam on the sink counter, she stormed out into the den, so angry she was crying. “You bitch!” she yelled at Amanda.

Amanda groggily lifted her head, but kept her eyes closed. “Hm?”

Karen grabbed her by the hair and lifted her up. “You bitch!” she screamed.

“What the fuck?!” Amanda yelled back, groping blindly in front of her to try to scratch Karen.

“You gave me that fucking acid and said you weren’t going to leave and then you left! I told you not to! I fucking…” Karen let go of the flailing woman’s hair and brought her hands to her own face.

Amanda’s eyes widened. “You didn’t…” she could barely bring herself to say it. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

“I don’t know!” Karen wailed. “I’ll kill myself!” Amanda tried to collect her thoughts. “And what if I didn’t kill him? It’s almost worse! I don’t think I can even look at him.”

“Karen…” Amanda started to say, but Karen returned to her previous anger. She grabbed Amanda’s hair and slammed her face against the wall. The vibration of the thud resonated through the apartment’s walls and woke Sam back up from his all-too-brief respite.

He heard Amanda plead to be given the opportunity to rectify her position with Karen by offering herself as a messenger. She’d speak with Sam first and check in on him. Karen wouldn’t even have to look at him until the situation was copacetic.

Amanda opened the bathroom door and tiptoed in, closing the door behind her. Her nose was bleeding from both nostrils.

“Hey…” she said, trying to quietly grab tissues from the box next to Sam.

Sam didn’t say anything. He turned over onto his stomach and closed his eyes.

“Listen, Sam, I…” No words sprung to her mind that could somehow rectify the situation.

“You what?” he mumbled. He didn’t have the energy to express the anger he felt through his timbre.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said.

Sam didn’t move.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” He had no desire to say much of anything. Amanda sighed. “Do you want me to turn the sink on so you can have a bath?” Sam grunted an affirmation.

Amanda used the cool water to wipe up her nose while she waited for it to turn warm. Then she pulled the stopper shut, so the steaming water filled the sink. Once it was filled, she shut the water off and told Sam to get up and slide into the sink. He took his time to uncurl himself, and then even more to take the few steps over, before sitting on the ledge.

Even though he knew he was only festering in his stink, he waited to slide down. “How could you do that to me, Amanda? I told you not to.”

“I gave her some pills to help her pass out quickly. I thought they’d kick in before she had the chance to wreak any havoc. And I definitely didn’t think that that was the type of havoc she’d wreak.”

“You really fucked me over, Amanda. You really fucked me.”

Amanda grabbed another tissue to clean up a fresh spurt of blood. Sam refused to look at her. She sighed. “What exactly happened?”

“She… she raped me. And then when I tried to escape she shoved me in her…” Sam gagged on the word. “I spent the whole night…”

Amanda frowned. She really couldn’t think of anything to say. She was in between a rock and a hard place as the go-between for her two friends, but the grass somehow seemed greener on the side of getting viciously attacked by Karen again. “How about I give you some space to get cleaned up while I go check on your mom?”

Sam didn’t say anything, only slid into the water.

Karen was rooting through Amanda’s purse when Amanda returned to the living room. She pulled out a bottle of Hydrocodone and started to open it up when Amanda wrested it from her hands.

“Karen,” Amanda said, “the last thing you need to be doing right now is getting high. Especially on these. You’ve been clean from all opiates for almost a decade now.”

“Who cares?” Karen grumbled, but she didn’t bother to stand up and wrestle for them back. “Who fucking cares?”

Seeing her romantic interest in such a low slump hurt Amanda, too. She tried to think of the right thing to say. “You know, he said he kind of liked it,” she said. She tried to cover her own cringe. You idiot! she thought. She’s never going to believe that!

Karen looked up at her. She didn’t believe it.

“I mean, the last part he said was bad… but he liked it before then. He’s a… he’s a teenage boy. You know? And he never gets to leave the house. And pretty soon, we’re going to have to do a lot of figuring things out, when he gets to be under an inch tall. He was a virgin and everything and…”

Karen wouldn’t have believed her if she hadn’t been so desperate to want to. But she was desperate. “You really think…?”

“Listen,” Amanda said. “I’ll go check up on him to see if he’s cleaned up and then you can ask him yourself.”

Karen sighed. “Okay.”

Once the door was closed, Amanda leaned into the sink to whisper with Sam. “Listen, Sam,” she said. She paused. Part of her knew that what she was about to propose was morally wrong. That it was almost disgusting to even say it. Another part of her really believed that it was the right thing to do. “Your mom feels really, really guilty. She feels horrible. I saw her starting to take some of these.” She placed the bottle of pills on the counter where Sam could see them.

Sam, sitting on the edge of the water, slid in further, but kept his ears in the air.

“She never, ever would ever would want to hurt you. We both know her. It’s the last thing she would want. I need you…” She paused. “Your mom needs you to say that you were okay with it. Or she’s going to wind up going off the deep end.”

Sam frowned.

“Look,” she said, “I don’t blame you if you want to get the hell out of her and call the county. But if you care about your mom, you’ll know what’s right to do.”

“So I just say that I didn’t mind?”

Amanda sighed. “You mom will know exactly what ‘not minding’ means.”

Sam’s frown deepened. “You want me to say I liked it?”

“Think of it this way: You can say you liked it, but that she needs to stay away from drugs.” It crushed Amanda’s heart to say it, as acid was the only chance she’d seen to get with Karen in a more intimate way. “You can say… she was a little too rough. And that you definitely didn’t like the last part. It can be the impetus your mom needs to get into rehab again. But if she knows the truth, she’ll never be able to forgive herself long enough to want to be sober. This can be her bottom.”

She was right, in a way. Sam looked at Amanda. “I’ll lie to her to help her, you’re saying.”

“Yes.”

“To protect a rapist from herself.”

It was Amanda’s turn to frown. “To protect your mom from herself.”

Sam thought it over, and Amanda allowed him the time to do so. She felt she knew what he was going throughl. “Okay,” he finally said. “But if she doesn’t get sober, I want you to call the county. Tell them you lied about my running away. I’d rather be experimented on than be here if it’s going to be more of… that.”

“Okay,” Amanda said, relieved.

“Promise me. And look me in the eyes when you say it.”

Amanda had been looking at him the entire time, but now he was looking back. His tears made him want to cry her own. “I promise. Rehab or bust. Now finish rinsing off and I’ll bring you back out to your mom so we can talk.”

Sam told his mom what Amanda coached him to say and the three of them called Shady Oaks Rehab together and spent the afternoon getting Karen an evaluation. They put her on a waiting list for a bed in their facility 15 miles out from downtown—it would be about a week until a spot opened up for her. Because she wasn’t on any drugs that could elicit a physically harmful withdrawal (she might have fibbed to them a little) they would let her remain at home in the meantime.

Amanda said that she’d stay in the apartment with them for the week until the bed opened up, but that night, she had another client call. She asked Sam if he was okay with her leaving them alone for just an hour. With his consent, she left the apartment, promising to try to get her client to cum quickly.

Unfortunately, Amanda didn’t stick around too often that week. Every day, for at least four hours—if she wasn’t seeing a client, sometimes she’d lie, because a little bit of fresh air suited her—she’d be out of the apartment, and Karen and Sam would be alone together.

At first, Karen tested minor boundaries. If Sam had enjoyed himself, why not have a little bit of sober fun between the two of them? She was feeling depressed without her coping skills, but getting a little frisky always boosted her mood. If she were really going to stay off drugs all on her own for a whole week, this was the easiest way to do it. And her work phone was still absolutely silent.

On Monday, the first day after her evaluation, she laid on her bed and tucked Sam into her bra. She didn’t even masturbate, simply choosing to pay close attention to sensation of his body against her engorged nipple. They played like that for about an hour, with Karen moaning not out of necessity but to let Sam know what a good job he was doing. Occasionally, she’d switch him from one nipple to the other. She was proud of him; felt close to him, even.

To Sam, he’d been simply trying to get out of the confines of his mom’s large, sweat-stained bra at first, but when he saw how good it made her feel, he got a little bit into it. If he just imagined she were someone else, it wasn’t so bad. If he disappeared into his head.

The next time Amanda left the apartment on Tuesday, Karen put Sam in a washcloth while she was in the shower, and gently rubbed him around her whole body. She spent extra time on her ass cheeks, taking great measures to make sure he wasn’t uncomfortable. She imagined what it must have been like to be him, to have personal access to such a large, gorgeously tan ass. She knew not to put him in between her cheeks—that was the part he hadn’t liked from the other night—but that didn’t mean he didn’t like asses at all. As a reward, she placed him in between her breasts and used her thumb and pointer finger to give him a handjob to completion.

Sam didn’t like any of it, but it didn’t feel bad and it was helping his mom stay clean, physically and metaphorically. He didn’t tell Amanda: he knew she already felt guilty for putting him in this position. The week would be over soon enough and things would go back to normal. Or, no—they’d be even better than before. Besides, there wasn’t really anything sexual on his end about being in a washcloth. Sure, he’d gotten an erection, being pressed into her flesh, surrounded by the smell of her soap, and, sure, she’d taken care of it afterwards, the ridged pads of her fingers stroking him almost painstakingly slowly. His back was on her thigh and she was sitting down, craning her head over her belly to gaze down at him lovingly.

He felt a little like a toy when that happened, even though she was only doing it to make him feel good. He knew she was making him feel good to make herself feel good, and that was all. He could see it in her eyes. But whatever. All three of them were doing what they could to make sure Karen got safe and sober. It’s how they reasoned it.

On Wednesday, Karen finally gained the courage to place Sam in her underwear. Evey day she asked him if he was okay with what was happening. To Sam, saying he wasn’t would undermine the lie that he’d enjoyed it the first time, so he was, in a way, forced to consent to maintain the charade. And in her underwear, he once more imagined that it was someone else. It was pretty easy to enjoy himself in a thin, young girl’s pussy. The scents, the oils, even the stubble rubbing against him. Karen didn’t put her fingers in her pants to finish herself off: she didn’t know how it would affect Sam’s safety, and what he was doing was just fine.

She’d been having shakes from withdrawal that day, and had convinced Amanda, with Sam’s blessing, to give her a few benzos, just to get her by until she was under observation in the hospital. With her anxiety chemically removed from her, she was able to relax and let the sensations in her pants relax her even further.

He got caught up in it, in fact, when it happened again on Thursday. He rubbed his back against her labia, and started touching himself. He stopped, mortified, then started again when he noticed Karen had stopped moaning to indicate her pleasure to him. Who was here to judge him? Karen certainly wasn’t judgmental, as the oils coating his body indicated. He took his feet and slipped them inside of her. Immediately, Karen knew without even the smallest doubt that Sam was enjoying himself. He’d finally taken the plunge, so to speak.

That was all she needed to have absolute certainty. She waited until he had already placed his entire body inside of her and started rubbing his crotch against her walls, then snuck her fingers in to take care of her clitoris.

Sam had lost himself almost completely. Like, couldn’t remember the last five minutes. But here he was, back where he’d been a few days ago. Where he’d swore he’d never be again. His mom was a little high (though thankfully much less so than the last time) and he was inside of her. He waited for her to clench around him, to let him know she had finished, yet once she had, she made no indication that she’d be removing him any time soon.

She took her hand out of her pants and licked her fingers. God, he was enjoying himself so much down there. What was the point in being sober if she hadn’t actually really hurt him? She imagined that he hadn’t liked being in her ass for an extended amount of time, and she couldn’t blame him. She hadn’t prepped it to be slightly looser to accommodate him, or even cleaned it out. So she’d fix that for tomorrow.

Karen was so happy he was enjoying himself, so happy she and her son were finally able to bond, despite his condition. She clenched her cunt around him, as if to give him a hug. She knew exactly what she wanted to do on Saturday night to celebrate the eve of her final non-sober day. She was going to go out with a bang.

Sam woke up with his world shaking. His mother, leaning down to him so her cleavage filled almost his entire view, was shaking his dollhouse to wake him up. “I have a surprise for tonight,” she said. “I know you weren’t crazy about it the first time, but I really cleaned myself out and stretched and prepped and everything. I want you to spend the night with me, but not in my purse because you could get stolen. And not in my pussy because, in these shorts, you could slip right out and that’d be the end of you.”

Sam was groggy. “So where are you going to put me?”

She didn’t bother to ask before her poorly manicured nails swooped in and curled around him. Sam yelled as she tossed him into her mouth without warning. She placed him on her tongue and bit down.

Sam was uninjured, but it was dark and cramped. He was covered in saliva that smelled like beer, cigarettes, and pork rinds. Her tongue clenched and unclenched underneath him, and he was pressed in cycles against the ridged roof of her mouth. Was she… sucking on him? The massage of her slick taste buds rolling in waves against his body, against his cock—it didn’t take long for him to cum.

When he did, she opened her mouth and light shone in. The brief seconds before she pulled him back out were almost worse than the compelte darkness. He could see in full detail her yellowing and uneven teeth opening like a horizontal gate. And then her fat fingers reaching in. He breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god she doesn’t actually think storing me in her stomach would be safe, he thought.

He lay in her open palm, coughing and trying to figure out where she was going to put him. Unless… She brought him back up to her face and looked down at him. He could see up her nose, and turned away right before she licked him once more for emphasis, her slimy tongue sliding over his back, the taste buds massaging him.

“Good,” she said triumphantly. “I hope you had fun. I never like to be the only one having a good time in bed.” She winked at him. “Anyways, two birds; one stone. You’re nice and lubed up to boot.”

That’s when it clicked. Sam immediately started sturggling, trying to wriggle out of her hand, but her grip was like a vise around him. “No! Mom! I told you, don’t put me there.”

She rolled her eyes. “And I told you it’ll be different. You know you’ve loved every second of this week.” She winked at him, her thickly mascared eyelashes slowly coming down and then up, before she poked his now dwindling erection with her finger.

“Seriously, mom. I don’t want to go there.”

“You can play coy all you want,” she grinned. “Shyness doesn’t work on the likes of me, you know. Any good hooker knows exactly what a man wants. Did you know that you can’t get a full ten out of ten review anymore unless you offer anal?”

“Mom,” he said. “Get Amanda.”

“She’s outside waiting for the cab. We’re going out clubbing tonight!” She giggled giddily. “I showed her you were sleeping all safe. She really wanted to make sure I wasn’t pulling any tricks. But then said I better double check I locked all the locks. I want you coming along to be a surprise for her too. You can’t out-trick a veteran hooker.” Then she laughed to herself. “That’s a good enough pun to write down, don’t you think?”

Sam looked up into her eyes. There was no convincing her that he really, truly had no deep desire to be put back in her ass. Still, he shouted at her, “Please! This isn’t safe for me! I could get hurt! Or- or suffocate!”

Karen laughed. “Sure it’s safe! You already survived one night of it. And I was way more trashed than I’m going to get tonight. What’s wrong with doing it a second time, especially when we’re both more prepared?”

“Mom, I—

Without bothering to hear the rest of his sentence, Karen pulled the back of her waistband open and dropped Sam onto her gray and black striped underwear. Then, once both of her hands were free, she grabbed him up again—Boy, he’s really struggling to get away! she thought. There’s no reason to be shy at this point!—and pinned his arms and legs together in her fist. She furled her eyes and bit her tongue with the effort of such careful maneuvering of something she couldn’t see. Then she guided his wriggling toes into her hole.

Sam tried to bite her, but it was of no use. Once his feet had slipped inside of her hole, any struggling he did was useless squirming. Karen pressed the tip of her pointer finger against the top of her son’s head, and pressed him inside of her. She gave her ass a few shakes and then a slap to ensure he was safely inside of her, then pulled her thong and short shorts back on.

The car ride was horrible for Sam. He could just barely make out muffle voices: Karen, Amanda, and the driver. They were all laughing about something day-to-day. Maybe exchanging a few brief words about politics. For Sam, every bump in the road pushed him deeper. He was glad she was clean, but the cramped space, combined with the unceasing jostling nearly brought him to tears. He tried to yell, somehow, through the sound of the traffic and the radio and their talking to get Amanda’s attention, but all he got was a mouthful of large intestine bulging into his mouth.

At the door to the club, Sam thought he could vaguely hear the bouncer telling his mom to get lost. She clenched all her muscles (ass included) as she prepared for a fight, but then Amanda said something in a sultry and imploring tone and the two of them were in within seconds. It paid to have connections, and in more ways than just money.

The club was even worse than the car ride. Her dancing made him sick to his stomach, especially when she was twerking. Her cheeks slapped together to the electronic music’s cadence, and each audible slap sent a sharp, jolting squeeze through Sam’s body. His elbows were bent, with his hands pressed against his chest, while his legs were poker straight.

Especially especially when she was twerking against Amanda’s crotch, and its bulge pressed up against her and somehow made his space even more cramped. Karen’s shorts were about as thin as they came, and Amanda’s crotch as big, so even though they weren’t having full on intercourse in the middle of the dance floor, Amanda was firmly in between Karen’s thick cheeks.

It went on for what seemed like hours, with only intermittent breaks when—he assumed—she was getting drinks. He could tell when she sat down on a bar stool. He tried to keep track of each time she did. The drunker she got, the more chaotic her dancing became. Unfortunately, he lost track after what was probably the third drink. Amanda did too, getting even drunker than Karen despite drinking at the same rate—her liver was not nearly as battle-worn.

During one of their breaks at the bar, Amanda slipped her hand down the front of Karen’s pants. Karen and Amanda were both pleased to discover she was practically soaking through her underwear. They’d both been worried that the other woman had only been attracted to her because of the effects of the LSD. Now, just as Karen had been pleased to discover beyond a shadow of a doubt that Sam enjoyed fooling around with her, her self-esteem was boosted further by Amanda’s advances. It was exactly what she’d been hoping for, and the plan that had been brewing in her mind for the entire past day finally seemed attemptable. She was going to show Amanda that Sam had come along with them, and that he was having a good time too. Then the three of them would be able to fool around whenever they pleased at home.

“I need to show you something,” Karen tried to whisper to her friend.

“What?!” Amanda yelled above the music.

“I need to show you something! Come with me to the bathroom!”

The two of them were pretty hammered, and it was all Karen could do but to not trip over her platform heels as they weaved their way across the dancefloor. In fact, she stumbled repeatedly, the intense motions of which caused Sam to once more faint. Frankly, he was grateful.

In the bathroom, Karen tugged Amanda into the farthest stall with her. She was glad their plans had been delayed one night to Sunday, as the bathroom was not nearly as crowded as it might otherwise have been.

“There’s something I want to show you,” Karen said, smiling.

Amanda grinned. She had an idea, she thought. “So show it to me then.”

Karen pulled down her pants and started to turn around, when Amanda brought hers down to the ground too. Her erection was certainly above average: nearly ten inches long, with a slightly above average girth. Karen forgot what she was doing, enamored by the sight.

“You’re so drunk…” Karen mumbled. “How do you stay hard? Most of the guys who see me who are drunk…”

Amanda laughed. “You think I didn’t take a Viagra the second you started twerking on me? Girl, bye.”

Karen slowly knelt down, then placed her mouth around the head of her friend’s penis. Then, slowly and with great care, she pushed her head further and further until she was deepthroating the entire thing. “Oh my god…” Amanda said. “I always figured you were good, but… wow.”

Karen was focusing too hard to smile. She managed to slip her tongue out just far enough to tickle Amanda’s balls with it. Then, in one fluid motion, she pulled her head back and sucked back her excess spit. She coughed a little and gagged for a moment, but was otherwise fine. She looked up at Amanda and Amanda looked down at her.

Then Karen remembered what she’d brought Amanda into the bathroom for. She turned around to face the wall and leaned over, then brought one of her hands back to pull her cheeks apart. “Come on,” she said, speaking to Sam, who was only now just returning to consciousness.

But Amanda took the message in a different direction than it was intended. She slapped her cock against the valley in between her friend’s asscheeks, then stepped back to go in. Karen giggled, thinking Amanda was just being playful. Amanda spit on her cock, then spit again on Karen’s asshole. Then her cock was inside her.

Karen gasped. Any thought of Sam left her mind. The pain was intense, but the pleasure more so. Both of them pushed any other thoughts out of her that the alcohol hadn’t already taken care of.

Sam had just regained consciousness when he felt the slap. He knew something was different, and he was scared to guess. He could hear them more audibly, and the slightest bit of light was creeping in to his hole. Her pants were off. He tried to breathe a sigh of relief that he was finally going to be out of here, but then the light disappeared from view. He couldn’t make out exactly what was blocking it, but it was flesh colored. He hoped it was a hand.

But then it thrust against him. It pushed him twice as deep in as he’d been before, the thick head of what he guessed was Amanda’s cock (judging by the female-pitched grunting coming from outside) sliding him along the humid tunnel walls. It pulled away, leaving him there alone at the very end, before rushing back in.

Amanda’s cock rushed in and out, backwards and forwards. “The best the about Viagra,” she said in between grunts, “is that it makes you last longer and cum harder too. It’s really a miracle drug.” She curled her body over top of Karen’s, adhering her chest to her back and wrapping her arms around Karen to grab onto her breasts.

One song played and then another one, with a faster pace. Amanda kept time to them, ignoring the giggles of a group of girls directed at the two dykes moaning in the stall. She paid attention to the tight ring of Karen’s asshole pressing down in rhythm along her cock.

Karen couldn’t say anything, only grunted as the largest cock she’d ever taken went back inside her. Sam crossed her mind. She hoped he was okay, but no longer had the energy to do much of anything but experience the moment. “More spit,” she managed to grunt.

Sam had been pushed as far back as he could go, but it wasn’t far enough. The head of Amanda’s cock slid over his legs and torso. With more saliva and sweat now accompanying him the hole than before, Amanda’s cock made fluid motions over him, pressing him down.

Amanda didn’t bother to mention to Karen that there seemed to be a little bit of waste still inside of her. She was rubbing the head of her cock against it, and it wasn’t exactly pleasant for her to imagine, but she figured she was getting laid; better to protect her best-friend-turned-inamorata’s feelings than to nitpick her hygiene. And she wasn’t going to stop: the deeper she went the better it felt.

Meanwhile, Karen had an orgasm. The reflexive clenching of her vaginal walls returned, and it pulled tight with it her asshole. Amanda’s cock was nearly unbearable inside of her. Amanda could feel herself approaching the finish line as well. She abruptly slowed her rhythm, instead slapping her thighs with vigor against Karen’s ass, plunging her cock inside of her even deeper than she thought possible. She clenched Karen’s massive tits with her hands and slapped her pelvis two more times into Karen before one final plunge. She held her cock there as it pulsed and shot its load, relishing the tight walls around it.

Inside of Karen, Amanda’s final plunges brought the tip of Amanda’s cock—somehow the urethra placed just right—against Sam’s chin. It knocked his head back a few times, before he heard a whimper, and his face was doused with wave after wave of thick, white semen. Truthfully, if it had been bright pink, Sam wouldn’t have known. It was too dark for that. But he was forced to taste it, the slimy cream sliding its way down his throat. He whimpered as Amanda pulled out finally and Karen stood up. Gravity pulled the cum down, and it coated him.

In the cab on the way home, Karen rested her shoulder on Amanda’s shoulder. She’d decided to reveal the surprise tomorrow, when the two of them were sober enough to figure out how to make light of it.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” she said.

Amanda smiled peacefully. “I did too.”

A thought crept into Karen’s mind. “We should do this again. Go to the club and have crazy good bathroom sex.”

“Clubs aren’t much fun if you’re sober, I hear,” Amanda said.

“Ah, fuck sobriety,” Karen said. “This is too much fun. Can we delay rehab just one more week? Please?”

Amanda rolled her eyes, but was secretly glad. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll tell Sam someone else took your spot. He’ll understand.”

Karen felt an intense wriggling inside of her and smiled. She was glad all three of them had a good time.