I then took a healthy gulp of the stuff in the mason jar, which had the furious punch of airplane fuel mixed with an aftereffect that whispered of the...secrets of the Mayans. The scene was beginning to have a decidedly sexual effect on me. The tension and suppressed violence of the exotic mountain cats, the tableau of the excited crowd and the two solemn Indians presenting their animals, and stimulation of the weed and the liquor (which I knew to be the notorious mescal), were combining in me to. The bed itself had become an unholy altar on which the fiery passion between mother and son was being quenched. Juan pounded his mother’s tight cunt into the mattress. Her hips bucked against his. All the while his testicles powerfully beat against what was left of her ripped underwear. In the back of her mind, she felt as if she was entitled to this treatment. She loved her son more than she loved her X-husband even when they were married. Afterall, he was part of her and her X wasn’t. Juan. More

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