Well, where to start?

Jack Smith, the son of lesbian mothers, had always felt a sense of pride in his unique upbringing. His mother Lara was a curvaceous beauty, her chocolate skin glistening in the sunlight as she expertly tended to their garden. Kira, on the other hand, was as thin as a reed, with delicate features that seemed to float above her pale face. Together, they created a harmonious blend of colors and textures that captivated Jack from the moment he entered this world.

But lately, something had been bothering him. As Jack turned eighteen, he couldn't help but feel an unfamiliar stirring in his loins whenever he caught his mothers in a passionate embrace. It was a strange and confusing sensation, one that he hadn't quite figured out how to process. He tried to ignore it, to focus on the other aspects of his life that brought him joy: his studies, his friends, and his burgeoning art career.

His mothers both came from rich backgrounds and Jack had spent most of his childhood surrounded by luxury. Being home-schooled and with no siblings, he had always been quite close to his parents. They encouraged him to pursue his interests, whatever they might be, and so Jack found himself with a deep love for art. He had been drawing and painting since he could hold a brush, and his skills had only continued to improve over the years.

One day, while browsing through an old family album, Jack stumbled upon a photograph of his grandfather, Kira's father. In the picture, the man was holding a peculiar-looking piece of art-equipment, really strange pen that he saw for the first time. Jack got really interested in the pen and started searching for it. He asked his mothers, but they didn't seem to know anything about it. After several hours of searching, he finally found it in the dusty attic. The pen was made of a rare, iridescent material that seemed to change color depending on the light. It was unlike any writing utensil he had ever seen before.

Intrigued, Jack decided to give the pen a try. As soon as he gave it a grip, the pen seemed to come alive in his hand, its grip adjusting to fit his grasp perfectly. "Wow, just like the ring... Does it mean I become Golum?" he joked, half-seriously. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and put the pen on the floor trying to feel if it has a already possessed his soul and checking the need to call it "precious."

"Hm, no. Just some regular grip-adjusting pen..." his voice was not enough to convince himself that the pen was not anyhow magic. "Maybe if I draw something with it, things would come to life or something?"

Jack opens his grandpa's old draw book and chooses a clean page. He takes a deep breath, steadying his hands. He knows he can't draw anything complicated, but he wants to make sure his first attempt is something simple, something he can't possibly mess up. So, he picks up the pen and begins to draw the most regular butterfly he can think of. His movements are careful and deliberate, as if each stroke of the pen were a prayer.

As he finishes the last wing, a sense of accomplishment washes over him. He sets the pen down, leaning back to admire his work. The butterfly looks perfect, just as he'd envisioned it. he looked at the butterfly on the page, he scratched it with his finger. He blew some air on it. Butterfly did not seem to be impressed. "Well, it is a regular pen then." he wrote his name below the painting and went downstairs, taking the the pen, and the old draw book with him.

His mothers, Lara and Kira, were in the garden, tending to their roses. The sweet scent of the flowers mingled with the warm summer air as they worked side by side, their movements fluid and graceful. Jack approached them, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness. He cleared his throat, drawing their attention.

"I found this pen in the attic," he said, holding it up for them to see. "It belonged to you dad actually." Kira smiled at the mention of her father, her eyes sparkling with warmth. "Oh, that is nice. What about that draw book? Found his old drawings?" she asked, her voice full of curiosity. Jack nodded, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Well, I drew something myself."

He showed them the butterfly he had drawn, and despite the fact that it was not anything particularly special or unique, they both looked at it with pride in their eyes. "Well done, Jack," Lara said, beaming at him. "But why you said it is your grandpa's old draw book? Is not it yours? There is your name written right on the page."

I knew this shit magic, thought Jack.