My Oedipus Thing

(Part 1 from 1)

100% fiction!

I have devoted a great deal of time and energy in writing this story and I would appreciate any comments greatly - as long as they are logical and constructive. I hope that you find that my work is provocative enough to be worthy of your comments. I would also appreciate it greatly if you would E-mail your comments directly to me (john_octavian_murdoch at yahoo dot com) rather than posting them on the newsgroup if that is not too much trouble and it would be helpful if you mentioned the name of the story and which website you got it from as well. Here's hoping that most of the mistakes you find are merely typographical in nature.

The Story-
Let me introduce myself. My name is Mickey, I am 19 years old, and I have an Oedipus complex. For those who have yet to take a psychology course, an Oedipus complex is a condition discovered by Sigmund Freud in which a boy or young man has secret desires of killing his father and marrying his mother. It has taken from the ancient Greek tale of Oedipus Rex, who killed his father and married and impregnated his mother without realizing that he did. Supposedly, every man has one, though I have yet to meet any man who will admit to it, besides me of course, and that is just in the confines of this story. As you can imagine, it rather carries a negative connotation, not just because of the taboo of incest, but because in the story, poor Oedipus put his eyes out when he realized his actions. Does not exactly inspire every man to go out and screw his mom. It did not inspire me. I would never read it.

This whole thing started when my insensitive bastard father left my mother, my younger sister, and me when I was seven. I barely remember him, and I never remember him sober. It was actually a much better thing for the family that he ran off with a redheaded striper who had a fondness for giving fellatio. (It is amazing what you can find if you leave your bed to go downstairs for a drink of water.) My mother, in a desperate effort to never have her ex find her, changed all of our names and moved us to the most backwards town in the known universe. Since I never know if he is reading, I will leave it nameless, but I will say that we crossed national boundaries, eh? However, I had always had my heart set on attending a certain American university (again remaining nameless), so I changed my name again, with my mother's permission, and crossed back into the U.S. of A. when I began my secondary schooling.

My mother had always been a tense overprotective, so it surprised me that she never sent me a letter or called for almost two months. I received a phone call at about 4 a.m. when I was cramming for a big test. Apparently, she had forgotten that she was several time zones ahead of me. I could tell by the sound of her voice that she had fallen in love. It had happened several times since my father left, but the relationships never lasted much longer than when the line, "Oh, by the way, I have children," was uttered by my mother. This new guy, Bob, apparently broke this pattern. Despite how much my mom was praising this guy, I was silently praying that he was nothing like my biological father. I never received another call or letter, or fax or e-mail for that matter, until the end of the year.

This non-correspondence was actually a good thing: I didn't have to fill my mom in on the assorted details of my love life. It rather felt good that I didn't have to check in with her when I found my first serious girlfriend (both her and my mother are named Linda), but I kind of wished she was there when we broke up a few days before I was to go back home. Of course, in order to make it seem like I wasn't a mama's boy, I never called her myself. This would explain her surprise when I arrived home for the summer; I never called to tell her when I was returning.

I got my first look at this Bob fellow. My prayers were in part answered: he looked nothing like my father. My father was tall, pretty thin, and had hair and a beard down past his shoulders. Bob was short, clean-shaven, and balding. Although he liked football and motorcycles like my dad, he didn't like them in the same way. Whatever got in between my dad and his Harley, or him and his football on autumn weekends, was due for a serious ass whipping. To Bob, they were secondary. (In addition, who wants to watch the CFL, anyway?) So, Bob passed the test as far as how he treated my mom. There were two tests left: how he treated me and how romantic he was. I got my first look at the latter that night. He said, "This calls for a celebration," so we experienced a dinner at this backwards town's nicest restaurant on him.

He proposed marriage. She accepted. At least he thought enough to invite me and Lindy along. Lindy is my sister, who was 15 at the time. Her real name is Marie, but Linda is her middle name. Everyone in my family calls her Lindy, so even though she hates it, she's grown accustomed to it.

That night, it happened again. Apparently, when either of my parents have sex, they emit some kind of hormone that makes me thirsty. Now, it's not like I was paying attention to their tryst, but I was really, really thirsty. And it's not like I was especially looking there, but Bob's penis is dinky. I think mine was bigger when my father left. So, as far as the romance thing went, Bob got a broken-bat base hit.

He struck out swinging on how he treated me. Now, I like male bonding as much as the next guy, but ol' Bob was trying too hard to get me to like him, and it was more annoying than anything else.

Their marriage was set for September 7, the Saturday before I had to go back to school. I was too depressed to think about anything or anyone except Linda . . . my ex-girlfriend, just to clarify. And this is where the whole Oedipus thing kicks in. As you might be able to tell, my thoughts flowed easily from Linda my ex-girlfriend to Linda my mother. Before I knew it, I was having full-out fantasies involving my mom, who was only 18 years older than me (my dad's fault). I had never had an Oedipus fantasy before, but this night more than made up for it. It wasn't that I was a late bloomer as far as puberty goes, because I was physically post-pubescent before I graduated from high school. It's just that the lack of pretty girls in this town and not looking at my dad's Playboys like most guys my age dulled my mental maturity. I had never even masturbated until my first week at college.

Then I realized just how sexy my mother was. I excused myself from looking at her chest (everyone else was watching television, so no one noticed) and went in the bathroom. Not only was I through with my business extremely fast, but it was even fast for what I normally do in there.

"Boy, that was quick," was the response I got upon exiting the bathroom. I got defensive, thinking that they had figured out that my chicken had been thoroughly choked, but Bob replied, "It's okay, champ. So you didn't have to go after all. Happens to me all the time." After breathing a sigh of relief, I thought about how much of a goober my step dad-to-be was. My monkey needed to be disciplined twice more that night before I could relax enough to go to sleep. Thank God, they didn't "make me thirsty" again that night. I would have thrown my arm out.

The summer went unusually fast, mostly because I was having fun sneaking lewd peeks at my mother. I got better at controlling my erections so that I didn't have to excuse myself to visit the porcelain six times a day, counting what I normally do in there. Anyway, September 7 was closing fast, and Bob tried one last time to have me appreciate him more.

He invited me to his bachelor party. I tried politely to refuse. I figured one of his bachelor parties would entail trying to pop a boner after imagining Star Trek Voyager's Lieutenant Seven of Nine naked. He pressured me: "There'll be beer. There'll be strippers." I considered it, but I figured that as much as I like alcohol and naked women, it wasn't worth crowding around Bob and his nudnik friends.

"No thanks," I replied. He handed me a business card. "OK, my friend owns the 3X Club. The party is on the top floor, but you'll need this to get by the bouncer. Just in case you change your mind." I kept it, just in case I wanted to get drunk and rowdy. I could always burn it later.

September 6 rolled around, and Bob was more than anxious to get underway with his "campout," which was the term he told my mother before looking at me and winking. When she gave him permission to leave, he found all of his camping/hiking/fishing equipment threw it in the car, attached his boat to the back, and sped off, keeping up the illusion that he was on a nature trail evening.

It was the most boring night of my life. Lindy was at a friend's house, and there was nothing on TV. I needed something good to keep me from thinking about what a mistake my sexy mother was making by marrying this needle-dicked shmuck. I needed to get drunk. Since I wasn't yet old enough to drink legally (even in Canada), my only choice was the party. Despite all my reasoning to the contrary, I wanted to amble down to the bachelor party and drown my troubles in alcohol. I went into my mother's bedroom to make up some bullshit excuse to my mom.

She was more beautiful than I had ever seen her before. She was in her wedding dress. She was also crying. (I have a thing for crying women.) My heart just melted.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

She raised her head, showing the cleavage in between her massive mammaries. As I choked back my erection, she choked back her tears and said, "This was the same dress I married your father in. I just hope I'm not making another mistake. Do you think I'm making another mistake?" Damn, I hate when people put me on the spot like this, I thought. I tried my best to think up something, anything. Even lame and cheesy would work here.

"Well, not as big a one as Dad."

Bad move. She started emptying again. "No, it'll be worse. At least with your father, I ended up with two wonderful, beautiful children. Here, I'm not sure why I'm marrying him."

Screw it, I decided. Time to be honest. Here goes nothing: "Well, he seems like a nice guy and really friendly. The question is, is that what you want in a husband?" She pondered it some. I added more logic: "He reminds me of Tom Arnold. Even Roseanne got sick of him after a while." She laughed at that, but she had to put me on the spot again. "You didn't answer my question. Should I marry him or not?" I summoned up all of my courage and answered: "No."

"This is for real, right? This isn't because of some Oedipus complex or something, is it?" Now at the time, I had never heard of an Oedipus complex. I asked, "What?" She responded, "You know, boy wants to marry mother and kill father. I can't say I blame you if you do."

I had just been cornered. I had never thought about what to say if someone had ever asked if I had sexual fantasies about my mother. I asked "What?" in the exact same way I did the last time. Her response is burned into my mind forever: "Well, you have been . . . taking an exceptional interest in me lately. So much so that you haven't noticed that I've taken that same interest in you." Not even in my fantasies did I expect my mother to make the first move. I always figured I would fuck her brains out non consensually, then she would see that it was so good that she would want it on a more permanent basis. Kind of like my father, I'm ashamed to admit.

As if that wasn't enough, she took off her dress. Since this was just practice, she wasn't wearing the traditional bridal undergarments. As a matter of fact, she wasn't wearing any undergarments! I couldn't stop my physical responses. Looking back on it, I'm amazed I didn't dump a bank's worth of sperm in my boxers.

I did, however have a noticeable bulge, even in my loose-fitting jeans. We couldn't stop ourselves from embracing and running our hands over each other. As she undressed me, my mother spilled it all: "I gave my blessing for you to leave because I knew I wouldn't be able to handle having you around anymore. I couldn't call you because my imagination would have run amok. I only started screwing Bob because I needed some release besides my vibrator---OOHHHHHHHH!!"

Her release came quickly; she experienced an orgasm just thinking about what the next few minutes would entail.

I told her that with Bob's endowment being the size it was, the vibrator was probably an improvement. After her climax subsided, she said, "Damn it, I knew someone was coming down the stairs," while struggling to remove my boxers. She gave a few licks to my pole before I quite literally pulled her off. I wanted to show her how nice guys come last.

I grabbed a hold of her titanic tits and squeezed. She shivered at my touch, and I was afraid she would come again, spending herself before my mouth or cock got in on the action. She didn't, though, and my talented tongue made its appearance. I suckled on her breasts like I had eighteen years earlier, only not with the same thing in mind. I didn't consider them forbidden fruit, just especially delicious. I freely switched on her jugs, and whichever one my mouth wasn't working on, two hands were--one of mine and one of hers. With my other free hand, I snaked my way to the forbidden jungle. I finally found her clit, and gave it a few vigorous brushes before she pulled it away with her other free hand. Apparently, we both were trying to stall our orgasms.

Her attempt to prevent coming was in vain, as just my sucking brought her to her second shudder in five minutes. As she was cresting, I moved my hand back to her clit and diddled some more, making her reach a whole new peak. I moved my mouth downstairs to nourish myself on her wetness.

When that was through, she pulled me up, making it so my mouth couldn't work its magic again, for the time being. It was her turn. She kneeled before me with one of those "I'm going to suck your dick" smiles that only the sultriest of porn stars can pull off well. Speaking of pulling off, she did that to my pole for a while, then she lightly bit the purple head of my still-growing spike. She then went down on it like a champ. I couldn't believe that my father deserted blowjobs like this for the redheaded candy striper. Heaven descended upon me as I unloaded my first orgasm, and it was a dandy, catching even my experienced mom by surprise. Jizz rocketed out of my dick, and my mom's throat met a new force as she was sliding my prick out of her mouth. It took her several seconds to dry the well of shooting spunk. All she said was "Wow." I couldn't form the words to speak after receiving the best sexual experience of my life.

We just kind of lay together for a while, taking in the moment, when my restless dick decided to draw some more attention to itself. When it poked my latest lover, she jumped to a sitting position. Perfect for what I had in mind. I snuck up behind her and grabbed her boobs. I've liked this position ever since I saw it on a Janet Jackson album cover. She placed her hands on mine and rocked to my massaging. She started moaning again. I removed my left hand and eased her to another laying position, this time on her side. I snuck my hand down and rubbed her clit in the exact opposite motion. While her attention was focused on my rubbing her button, I snuck my other hand to her fantastic ass and gently massaged the opening to her innards.

This was probably the only thing I could have done that could have caught her by surprise anymore. She asked, "What are you doing?" without stopping her rocking. Without quitting either massage action, I simply asked, "Do you like it?" She said, "Yes, keep doing it. Nobody's ever done that before." It was my turn to be surprised.

Well, there was more in store. Her cunt had enough wetness that I could rub my dick on the outside and get it lubed up enough for her asshole. For someone who had never taken it up the ass, my mom knew what to do. She laid face down, bent her arms back, and pulled open her butt cheeks. I wasn't ready for that yet. I licked her tight ass up and down, focusing on her hole. When her chute was sufficiently relaxed, I took my greased cock and put it in her tight ass. It took a while, but eventually I mounted her ass with the full Monty inside.

And I thought her mouth was good! Eventually, her juices and my pre-come gave us enough lubricant for a steady pace. She had a death lock on a pillow as I geared up for my orgasm. To give me that extra sexual push, I reached out and grabbed her tits Janet-style again. Finally, I exploded, letting loose a flood of jism with maximum force. Instinctively, she tightened her gluteus minimus, and the tightness on the last couple of strokes sent me over the edge again: my first multiple orgasms.

Well, that was a challenge. I knew that her rectal reaming had gotten her close to climaxing. I wanted to polish her off. I turned her around and jammed my tongue in her twat. The sensation was instant. I didn't pull away when she tried to move my head away. I didn't stop when she asked me to, nor did I stop when she demanded that I do. I kept up my particular brand of cunnilingus.

I discovered two things with my other Linda back at school: Moving to different parts of a woman's pubis really gets them off, even though it may take a while. In concentric circles, I focused on her clit, then her labia. Whatever wasn't getting sucked was getting felt by my right index finger. Her screaming, "OH! OHHH! OOHHHHHHHH!!" told me I was doing a good job.

The second thing I learned was not to stop when a woman climaxed. A seventh-inning stretch often kills the odds of female multiple orgasm.

"OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! OHHHHHHHHHH!!!" I think that was three more. Her screaming was starting to get me hot again, so in a quick motion, I crammed my cock in her cunt. I expected that it would be buried to the hilt on the first stroke. I should have realized that a few months of only Bob's cocktail weenie would leave my mom's pussy tight and begging for a real man. I had to ease it in. Missionary probably wasn't the easiest position to do this in, but damn it, I needed to get off, and I didn't feel like pulling out and changing positions.

And I thought her mouth and ass were good! Both of us were working like animals to reach yet another climax: moaning, sweating, and the whole nine yards. Speaking of nine yards, I finally got my dick all the way in before I had to pull it back out again. The hell with easing. My father-like nonconsensual fucking brought itself to the forefront of my mind. I tried to push it out, but my cock was unresponsive. My mom actually seemed to like it, though, and she quickly caught up with me in the orgasmic race. Mixed sweat and other fluids were flying everywhere.

We were still going awful damned slow, though. Nearly twenty minutes passed before we felt ourselves getting close. We were both screaming. "Oh my God, Mom!" "Fuck me, Mickeeeeey!!" "I never want to leave. I just want to stay here and fuck you forever!" Her boobs were jiggling, and I helped myself to a tit while Mom licked my neck like a cat. The forces of the universe were centered in our privates, and we both finally climaxed. Nearly two hours after she removed her dress, my mother and I had fully defiled each other, and it was great.

"So what do you want to do now?" my mom finally asked ten minutes later.

"Well, my plan was to come in here and give you some BS excuse so I could get out of the house and go to Bob's bachelor party." Realizing I had just slipped Bob's secret, I said, "You did know he was having a bachelor party, didn't you?"

She giggled and said, "Yeah. I could barely keep a straight face when that idiot loaded all his crap in the car." Well, apparently her attitudes about Bob had changed. Good for her. "So they go to someone's house and watch a porno or have some stripper come over. Big deal."

Well, she got something wrong. I walked over to my pants on the other side of the room, shaking my ass as I did. Mom was laughing her head off, but her attitude changed when she saw the invitation.

"The 3X Club? Oh, that stupid son of a BITCH!! Get your clothes on. We're leaving." Hey, this would be cool. After some ass fucking, I would get to see some ass kicking.

"I'll drive," my mom said. That was a mistake. Since she put on only a trench coat, she got in the car first and started it while I, hopping while putting on my shoes, got in the back seat on the driver's side. She was too busy peeling and pulling out of the driveway to notice my strategy. As we were flying down the road towards the bigger city, I Janet-ed her again. My dick was so hard I probably could have fucked her through the seat, but her concentration wasn't broken yet. I had to unbutton her coat and start tweaking her nipples before she finally noticed. She nearly noticed us right into the back of a semi, but she swerved at the last minute. The adrenaline rush only served to make us hornier, as I moved my hands to her pussy and double-teamed on her box. She laid some nice treads stopping and pulling over.

"All right, let's go."

Well, at that point we knew quickies would be no problem. She continued hauling ass towards the city, until we reached the 3X Club. We strolled to the front of the line. I flashed my invitation and the bouncer let me by, but he stopped my mom.

"I'm with him," she said.

"Sorry, lady. Unless you have an invitation, you'll have to go to the back of the line." She unbuttoned her coat, opened it, and repeated, "I'm with him."

"Oh, that's you. Sorry. You and your friends were supposed to come through the back way 20 minutes ago. And where the hell are all your toys?" The bastard thought she was the stripper and still wouldn't let her in! She moved close, grabbed his crotch, and said huskily, "They wait for me, I don't need friends, and I definitely don't need toys."

The bouncer squeaked, "Okay."

As we were walking in, she said, "Mention this to anyone and I'll rip your balls off." I said, "Actually, that was good thinking." She started cursing at Bob and Bob's friends for inviting a team of strippers armed with X-rated toys to his party. This was going to be great. We took the elevator to the top floor. There was another bouncer there, but he really didn't give us any problems: "Okay, lady, I'll let you in, just don't touch me, okay?" I laughed my ass off. She went in first, and I said, "Pathetic," at the wimpy bouncer.

"Hey, she's never grabbed your goodies," he wussily replied.

"Oh, yes, she has."

It took a while, but she found Bob. I'm guessing he had his full, raging, 1 1/2-inch hard-on. (Who can notice?) Ol' Bob had his face full of some skank's hooters while he was cramming a double dildo in her two lower orifices.

My mom lost it. She yelled, "Hey, Bob!!" Everyone turned and even the guys who never met my mom before knew Bob was in deep trouble. She took off her coat and threw it at Bob. When he caught it, she charged him and punched him in the nose. He fell on his back, then Mom brought her knee down on his neck. While he was indisposed, she unzipped his pants and exposed his teenie weenie. She pulled a mousetrap out of her trench coat's pocket and snapped it on Bob's twig. Excellent move. He sat up, howling in pain, but Mom had another free shot and K.O.'d him with an uppercut to his left eye.

The rest of the guys hightailed it to the nearest emergency exit. Mom wiped her hands, picked up her coat, put it on, and strolled out the door. I threw my invitation onto Bob's unconscious body, said, "It's been nice knowing you, Bob," and followed my mother out.

When we got home, I agreed that if I helped my mom throw Bob's things out into the front yard, we would have another fuck session. I knew we would have another one, anyway, but it was fun chucking Bob's crap into the yard with reckless abandon. I was the last one in, so I intentionally put the outside light on. We're assholes, but not that big of assholes.

As promised, we had another scrum, but this time in my room, with a window facing the front yard. As we finally got around to intercourse, poor beat up Bob showed up, probably expecting that he would end up in a hotel. His nose was bandaged, his eye was black, and the front of his pants was bulging, due to swelling and three pounds of gauze. He started collecting his things and throwing them in his car. I pointed this out to my mom, who was riding me for all she was worth, and we both started laughing. If Bob didn't hear us laughing, then he must have heard the bed creaking and walls thumping. Poor asshole.

Despite the fact that Bob was an absolute moron, my mom was afraid he would press charges or, worse yet, that he figured out the two of us were screwing, so we ended up packing all of our things in her car and my truck, picking my sister up, and driving to my dorm, where they were to stay until they got back on their feet. It was a drive of several days. Our last hotel stay was outside Las Vegas. Although we had had fun just screwing, my mom was ready for commitment. Since I was already committed to her by blood, I thought, what the hell, why not? After my sister fell asleep, (I should say "our," because technically, my mom's daughter was soon to be her sister-in-law), we snuck off somewhere and got hitched. I'm not sure where it was, but Elvis, Jimi Hendrix, and Marilyn Monroe were all part of the wedding party. We were both banking on the fact that no U.S. government agent was going to dig through three name changes and tons of American and Canadian red tape to find out that Mickey and Linda were a little too related to tie the knot.

We went back to the hotel room for the traditional post-ceremony fuck. My mom was all geared up for the latest challenge of trying to do it quietly in the bathroom, but I stopped and looked at my sister sleeping. I was too busy ogling my mom over the summer to notice that my sister had grown up a lot since I had been home. At this time, my thoughts flowed easily from Linda, my wife and mother, to Lindy, my sister.

"Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?" my mom said. I just looked at her and smiled. "She doesn't wear anything under her nightgown," she informed me. This was going to be fun.

I carefully dug my way under the covers and Lindy's nightgown. Meanwhile, my mom woke my sister up. I was about ready to pop out and say, "What the hell are you doing?" but I caught a glimpse of the most beautiful sight in the whole world: my sister's thighs were tanned and perfect; her pubis was large and was decorated sparsely with hair. I was only halfway paying attention when my mom finally got my sister awake and said, "You know what you told me about your brother a couple days ago?" My sister only replied with, "What time is it?"

"Listen to me," my mom said, "You know what you told me about your brother a couple days ago?" My sister said, "Yeah. Shhh," figuring I was still asleep on the floor. My mom uttered another one of those burned-in-my-mind responses: "Well, Mickey and I both feel the same way about you." Now, at the time, I had no idea what they were talking about. When I only heard Lindy say, "Really?" and then silence, I was trying to slowly pull out of the covers to throw my two cents in.

When I finally made it out, I saw the reason why there was silence: my mom and my sister were locked in a passionate kiss while feeling each other's bodies. I didn't feel like questioning either's bisexuality; I had a hard-on so bulging, it felt like my eyebrows were being pulled down to my neck.

I don't think Lindy even noticed when I ripped the covers off of her. She moaned as soon as my tongue touched her clitty. She noticed.

"Uh-uh," my mom said. "I've been waiting for this for longer than you have." She pushed me away and launched into an all-out oral assault on her daughter's cunt. With my job down there put off for the moment, I focused on my sister's delectable top half. She wiggled out of her nightgown, and I got my first look at her chest. Her breasts weren't as large as my wife's/mother's, but they were firmer. I instantly caressed them while I was shoving my tongue down her throat. I wasn't there long: she pulled away and damn near ripped off my pants.

Like I did with her tits, she didn't observe my dick for long before she crammed it into her mouth. For a first-time BJ, it wasn't half-bad. She had problems deep throating it, which was to be expected.

She moaned loudly, and I looked back to see my mom rubbing the left half of her 36DD rack all over my sister's crotch. I figured since we were on a breast theme, I would try something new. I yanked my dick from my sister's eager mouth and slipped it in between her respectable 34C's. Her spit was more than enough lube for my breast fucking.

My mom, however, was giving a whole new meaning to breast-fucking with her actions. When her nipples started to get raw, she settled in for the good, old-fashioned grind. This action was enough to get me off. When I announced it ("Ohhhhhhhhhh shit!!"), my sister inhaled my dick again so she could catch it. The warm wetness of her mouth got me off a little more, but Lindy swallowed it all. It was a good thing she did, because the grind finally made my sister climax, and her moaning with my Jizz in her mouth probably would not have been a good idea.

"Fuck me now, Mickey," said my sister, after swallowing and screaming. Well, she didn't have to ask me twice. If she screamed when I took her virginity, it was drowned out by our mother's cunt. Damn, I thought, we are really fucking up this hotel room . . .

That was thirteen months ago. My psychology professor assigned my class to write about our biggest sin, then burn the book we wrote it in. I'm transferring out of that class and into a new one because I can't stand the thought of lighting the notebook that contains this on fire.

Somehow, we'll get by until I start reaping the big bucks as a psychiatrist dealing with sexual dysfunction. (After all, I am an expert.) When I say "we'll," I mean me, my sister, my mom/ex-wife (We got a divorce. After all, we cheated on each other. Plus, it wasn't fair to Lindy.), my mom's daughter Anne Marie, and my sister's son Daniel Edward. Anne was 7 pounds, 9 ounces, and was born on June 6. Daniel was 7 pounds, 6 ounces, and was born on June 9. If you do the math, you find that they got pregnant the very first time I fucked both of them. We couldn't be happier. It's a good thing Lindy had a boy; I don't think I would have the energy to take on four girls.


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