Good Grief, Fam

"Hey honey," the door opened to his mother's voice. "Want to--"

Slip.

"--fuck? Just you and me. While there's time? I have condoms."

The boy froze, his fingers stopped mid-motion.

He glanced at his mother, waiting at the doorway of his personal jungle, eyes drifting down to her blue trousers-hugged hips. Then to her short-sleeved top, which her chest naturally stretched against.

Slip.

His mother frowned. "... the Carters'! Right. So do you want to go or not?" She waggled her finger playfully. "Now or never, young man. We're taking off in 15 minutes. Okay?"

Once 'ol mother was gone, (after a few re-confirmations on the subject), John swiveled his chair back to face his desk, impersonating a rabid hobo, minus the 500k yearly income, white picket fences, two-story house, wheeled chair.

Mind racing to a week ago.

---

"One week!"

John, shaking the stupor off his eyes, looked up from his homework, nibbling on a banana chip.

"One week from now, and all your sleazy dreams can come true," snap! "just like that."

"All you need to do is send an e-mail to the address below where you give us your name and your personal story of unloved woe, and you will have a chance to win this once-in-a-lifetime, guaranteed-it-works-or-your-sorry-money-back, life changing magical trinket!"

"The 'Get Laid' Ring!"

"Wear it... and girls will be down to [bleep] in a blink of an eye!"

"You heard us right! Want to get [bleep]'d? Well, now so will all your favorite chicks!"

"Want that crush of yours to finally know you exist?"

"Feeling lackluster in bed? Wish to see that lady of yours roar back to life again?"

"Or maybe you just want to get out of a sticky situation with the law, and go out huffing and puffing!"

"Finally, you can get laid anywhere, anytime you want, by anyone you desire, and do so as easily as one, two, three! With the one, the only, the 'Get Laid' Ring!"

"Limited supply. Many will enter, few will win. Refunds distributed on case by case basis. Wear with discretion."

John's gaze sunk into the TV screen as it flickered to another advertising program. See her walk. Hear her talk. Get it now. She will rock.

Meanwhile, John rustled his hair in his conventionally silent flavor of frustration.

What was the password to his Gmail again?

---

The door swung open. "John."

This time, to a low, lazily cool voice, as a fairly tall silhouette lurked at the doorway.

"Are you going--"

Slip.

"--or what?"

Cue blinking. A quick once-over of the man staring at him impatiently, adorned in light blue jeans and a dark tee. Then a sigh of relief leaving John's lips.

Just as advertised, it didn't work on fellow men. He was not interested in attracting the attention of random males his own kind his way -- least of all his own brother.

"What are you doing?" Said sibling was looking at him from under a slicked bang, suspiciously. John realized that moment he had been staring at Aaron like a numbnut the entire time his internal briefing was going.

"Hey," suddenly, another voice piped up from behind said sibling, this time lighter, as even-toned as it was squeaky and melodic. "Izz'e going?"

"I don't know," turned the brother, pushing himself off the door ledge as he walked off. "He looks pretty comfortable in that chair."

A set of hands on the doorway gave way to a chestnut-haired, round, cute lil' pouting face. "John!"

Predictably, he flinched.

"You're not going!?"

Before John could even reply, his lil' sister Hannah huffed and walked into his room, a permanent bounce seemingly ingrained in her step, as always. Then, she tugged at the waistband of her knee-length trousers, and shucked it down over one pert butt cheek, and its perfect glowing slab of skin stared back at him with patient indifference. "Slap it!"

John nearly fell out of his chair.

"Come ooooo-oon," wiggled Hannah, moving her behind closer to John's face, until he could nearly smell the rosy suppleness of his sister's exposed bottom. "Slap it already!"

Despite himself, John still remained paralyzed. No. He couldn't do this. This was his sister.

This was his own family!

He reached down to his banded finger, and...

Slip.

"Hmph," pulling up her own fingers from her pants, Hannah suddenly let the trousers slap back over her behind. She briskly sent a hand down over it to crease the fabric down, looked at her brother with an upturned lip, then marched away. Before taking off, she glanced at him over her shoulder. "If we can't motivate ya to get outta here, then you're gunna have to find it yourself, bro!" She threw out a peace sign, her trademark gesture. "Lates!"

And so, left alone again to stew in his own mind was the young lad.

His eyes boggling. His heart skipping.

And his hormones bumping and grinding in tandem with the pair of hummingbirds dancing outside.

It was true.

This ring had the power to get him to... to... to have sex!

To 'do it'!

To 'score'! With all of the chicks he could think of!

To put the key in the keyhole! Any girl's keyhole!

Even his own sister. His mother! Oh, his mother. The latter had yet to even give him the sex talk! And the former hated creeps!

"I hate creeps," said a self-covering Hannah at a public swimming pool one year earlier.

And all five of them went to church! Tomorrow, in fact, would be one such occasion!!

John could feel dirty vibrations echoing across his anatomy. Festering inside a corner of his soul. Namely, that area under his specific cut of undergarment. And he faintly squeezed both legs together in the haze of it all, crashing, suddenly, into the reality of what had just occurred.

There was no doubt. Unknowingly knocking the rumpled envelope it came in aside as he stood up, John held the ring up between two fingers, circling it until 'Get Laid', the two very blunt words etched across its metal curvature, was reflecting off his pupils.

Perhaps it had a point there. Perhaps, it was time.

Perhaps, now, it was in the turn of the ladies in his life to get some pelvic thrustin'!