The Lie by Chad Kultgen Page A

would be at work and my stepmother would be out wasting the money he was making.
    I poured myself a glass of orange juice, realizing that I was actually too hungover to eat. My father started up a conversation with me about the game, which I had managed to miss every second of despite the fact that he had paid a large sum of money to be able to show a closed-circuit broadcast of the game at the party on ten seventy-inch televisions throughout the house. He also mentioned meeting several of my “friends” and went on to say that many of them seemed like they’d make great junior sales executives at Keller Shipping when they graduated. I was unsure if he was telling me this information because he was thinking of hiring them himself, or if he wanted my first task as an employee of Keller Shipping, upon my own graduation, to be the hiring of these douchebags.
    I realized too late that sitting down was a mistake and that whatever semblance of family interaction might have drawn me into this was fleeting at best. My stepmother brought up how much she liked Kyle’s girlfriend. It wasn’t hard to see why she would have liked Heather. They were essentially the same person separated by twenty years—superficial money-grubbing sluts who would fuck any man they met if he offered the slightest possibility of elevating their material status. My stepmother further inquired as to why I let Kyle land “that girl” when I could have usurped her from him. When I told her I would never do that to my best friend, she said something about friendships coming and going but love lasting forever.
    She went on to probe my relationship “situation” and assured me that although Kyle might have gotten that specific girl, there were probably others at SMU who were similar enough to make suitable wives. I wanted to tell the horrible cunt that I had found a girl who was every bit as nice and charming as Heather. I wanted to tell her that I couldn’t remember the girl’s name but I could remember that she gave a slightly better-than-average blowjob, and let me fuck her in the ass and then slap my dick across her face for five minutes before she jerked me off all over herself. I further wanted to tell her that this angel was sound asleep upstairs in my bedroom with my dried semen all over her face and tits. I also wanted to tell her that this nameless collection of holes allowed me to put my dick in every one of them because she knew it gave her a slight chance to acquire a piece of what my family had to offer, much the same way I was sure my stepmother had allowed my father to do all the same things to her for the same reason. I held back this information, though, and maintained that my special girl was out there somewhere, I just hadn’t met her yet. I said this in some part because I knew my father was listening and it would placate him to know that I was following the grand pattern that had been laid out even before him by his own father. But more than that, I said it to successfully end the conversation.
    I sat at the table sipping my orange juice for what must have been five more minutes or so. The next person to initiate conversation was the girl from my bedroom, who had found her way downstairs and onto the patio where we were having breakfast. She apologized for interrupting, which was considerate, and then thanked my father for throwing the party and thanked me for a “wonderful time last night.” Her disheveled hair, incorrectly buttoned blouse, and general mauled appearance made it more than clear that I had done every vile thing imaginable to her the night before. I would also add that some of the specifics of the previous night’s activities were most likely made obvious by her walk toward the table. Her gait was more than somewhat labored, appearing unusual to anyone who saw her walk, due to the amount of time I had my dick and fingers in her ass the night prior. My back was to her when she approached the table, but later when I