“You squamous rickety fuck!” She yelled it in a way only a drunken mother could; vulgar and wet like the pubic patch of her second hand thrift store panties. She needed it like a goldfish needed water. She was desperate enough to even test that metaphor. Ramon Marsh was the last gill dicked bastard she had fucked way back when. That was the handful of times until she got knocked up with little Herman. Then Ramon skipped town and vanished into the abyss. Not to return until Herman’s eighth birthday, without so much as a casual hello in between. Her mind and loins had a fierce confrontation; A showdown between maternal hate instincts and insidious carnal desperation. In the end, she fucked him, or more honestly, let him fuck her. She even did the dirty stuff. Face sitting, cornholing, degenerate acts of consensual delight. She sucked the webbing on his hands and toes. He ate her out as she moaned to Dagon. He tugged on her sunset colored hair as his eight tentacled cock tickled her cervix. He pulled out and inked on her face. He didn’t want to risk filling her womb with a school of young. He cleaned himself up but left her face smeared like running mascara. On the way out, Ramon told Herman he would see him the next day, perhaps a trip to the zoo. But Herman wouldn’t see him for another eight years, not until the stars were right again. Not until his little brother Bernhard’s eighth birthday.