Vincent's New Mom

Vincent's New Mom (version 1)

By Masked Man

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This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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Feedback: maskedmanwriter@gmail.com

INTRO/ BACKGROUND:

As most of my stories this happens in the 70s/60s. If you are young for you nowdays child nudity is the greater taboo, but generations ago, before the 80s child nudity were considered unimportant and asexual, more regarding boy.

As a Gen X guy growing in LA “mixes families” were rare, now the norm, so for me was interesting exploring the feelings of a boy suddenly having to live with a new woman and girl to be part of his family, strangers for him, but his strict dad in great love with his new wife and wanting things to work, more in a time when mixed families were rare and not seen with good eyes. Especially regarding the privacy issues for a preteen boy in an era when the children privacy were not a big deal, especially boys.

SIDE NOTE: this was not written by me, I hired a writer, but the plot and ideas were 100% mine, however the writer put ideas and phrases but it was almost ghost writing, English is not my first language but fear not, this is well written and the guy did an excellent job.

i.

“Thank you for the early dinner tonight, sweet,” William began, shifting to stand behind his newlywed as he wraps his arms around her waist in a strong, short hug. “I am sorry I can’t be home until much later tonight. You know how work is.”

Vincent stirs by himself, trying to keep his eyes away from his father and his new step-mother. He finds himself uncomfortable when it comes to having to watch them be affectionate; it isn’t something that he welcomes. He wants his father to be happy, there was no doubt in that, but, as ten year old boys are, he finds himself feeling incredibly resentful toward the idea of not only having to share his home, but also his father. Not wanting to get in trouble, he remains quiet and shifts in the seat in order to look out the window.

Turning to look at his boy, William raises a brow. Loud enough for Vincent to hear, he says to his wife, “If the boy gets out of hand at all, you have my permission to give him a good whooping. Keep him in line.”

Estela offers her husband a smile. “I have no problem with that, Will. I have a strong hand and nothing against spanking him into submission if need be. Even just an ounce of misbehavior and I will take care of it. He will be a good boy for me, won’t you, Vincent?”

Just barely catching note that the last sentence was directed at him, Vincent turns in his seat and nods obediently up at his step-mother. After catching the threatening look of his father, he says, “I’m going to be good, pa.”

“Come here, son,” William orders, standing in the middle of the family room as he waits for his boy to arrive at his feet. Looking down at him, he adds, “I want you to do something for me, okay? Now, raise your hand.”

Silently obeying and attempting not to show his fear, Vincent obliges to his father’s request.

“Promise that you are going to be obedient to your step-mother. She will be in control while I’m out and I don’t want to come back hearing anything about you misbehaving. You’ve heard. I give her my permission to give you a good spanking if you get out of line at all.” His voice is terse and commanding, the type that makes Vincent stand straighter and look up into his father’s eyes.

“I promise, pa,” the boy replies. Inside, he swallows a bit of humiliation at the show that was happening right now, how his father was turning everything into a spectacle. His tone had almost come out as a mumble, but right at the last second he had somehow managed to cough up something relatively confident. It must have been enough to convince his father, because it earns him a ruffling of his mess of black hair.

Smiling, William nods his head. “Well, then, good. I knew I could count on you, sport. I’m off to work now. Be good.” Stepping toward his wife, he leans in and presses his lips to hers. Estela beams up at him. “I love you, dear. I will see you later.” With that, he is off and out of the house.

Vincent immediately moves back to sit in his seat. He does not want to be in the same room as his step-mother and he is worried about his step-sister coming in at any time in order to start making fun of him. There is the slightest hint of a scowl on his face as he peers outside the window wistfully, wishing desperately to be back out there, playing with his friends. He is already sweaty and dirty from his morning activities and playing in the afternoon, but he finds himself still not wanting to remain inside.

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Vincent turns his head to see his step-mother looming over top him, staring down at him with the slightest hint of a smirk. “Vincent, go to the bathroom and strip. I am going to give you a bath.”

Unable to stop himself, his jaw drops. He stammers on any type of syllables that try to get out of his mouth. His immediate reaction is to give a prompt and defiant no!, but he is well aware that he is not allowed to do anything of the sort after the promise he just made his father. “I—“ he begins, wondering if he could come up with a compromise, but knowing even beforehand that he didn’t have anything on his mind which could get her to change her stance.

Interrupting him, Estela raises her brow, as though she fears he is about to challenge her. “Now,” she commands.

Letting out a low and long, frustrated moan, Vincent rises from his feet. He is about to turn back toward her, as though to question her authority, but then he remembers what his father said, about the permission he had given his step-mother, and he immediately reverts back into himself. Even still, he lets her know that he isn’t pleased—his footsteps toward the bathroom are slow and deliberate, every now and then his tiny foot pounding down in a stomp on the hardwood floor. The scowl on his face is prominent and obvious.

Thankfully, the blush on his cheeks doesn’t rise until he had already turned his back to his step-mother. He briefly finds himself thankful that his step-sister wasn’t around to witness what just happened. His trip to the bathroom feels long and humiliating, with each step drawing closer to it bringing him into a further state of embarrassment.

ii.

Having began the water and slipping out of his clothes, Vincent obediently makes his way into the bathtub. Fearing that she is going to come in at any moment, he immediately folds his tiny hands over himself, his cheeks still flushed with bright heat at the idea of what was going to happen. He thinks briefly of getting up, only to remember the promise that he made to his father.

The door opens and in walks Estela. Her lips are pulled taut into a smirk, a look which causes Vincent to blush even more. He feels his stomach turn inside out and acknowledges that he is pulling even more inwardly to himself. He wants to open his mouth to tell her not to do anything that makes him uncomfortable, that he can take care of his lower region, but his mouth isn’t working in his favor and he doesn’t feel as though he would be able to coherently speak, anyway, not with the level of humiliation bubbling inside of him.

“Stand for me to wash you,” she instructs, walking fully into the bathroom before closing the door behind her. She is barefoot, dressed casually, and has adopted an air of power around her that causes Vincent to obey, despite his reluctance. His hands remain over his boyhood.

She moves closer to him, casually sitting on the rim of the tub as her eyes rake her step-son’s body. It almost seems as though she is studying him, receiving a type of personal satisfaction at her ability to get him to become so docile without so much as a terse repeat of her command. “You have such pale and milky skin, Vincent. Just like a little white boy. It is so adorable,” she comments as she reaches her hand into the water to retrieve a washcloth.

Her comment catches him off guard. Her tone just then had seemed nearly motherly, affectionate, as though she was attempting to calm him. All the attention does is bring his appearance up, which makes him bashful. His head falls down as he tries not to focus on the situation, his hands never leaving his nether regions.

A soft chuckle comes from Estela. She takes the soap off of the side of the bathtub and begins to lather the washcloth in her hand. Her eyes are back to studying Vincent’s young face, his black hair matted down, his blue eyes cast downward.

“Are you embarrassed, Vincent? You’re blushing,” she says softly, pressing the cloth tenderly to the upper of his arm. “It’s cute, though,” she continues, enjoying the way in which he visibly retreats even more into himself. “There isn’t any need for you to blush. I am trying to be your mother now; it’s okay for me to bathe you like this. All little boys get washed by their moms.” Her voice continues to be soft as she washes each of his tiny arms, running all the way down to his wrist, in which case he involuntarily makes his figure hard in order to ensure that she can’t move his hands from where they are positioned.

Remaining quiet, Vincent keeps his thoughts mental and tries not to allow his blush to be as prominent as it has been. He does not like what she is saying and is finding himself nearly on the verge of utter humiliation, a feeling he had, in his ten years of life, not ever experienced to this degree before—not even during the playground brawls and when he got into fights with his playmates. He keeps his eyes downward, still, reminding himself of what he promised his father and what would happen if he misbehaved. It is a reminder he needs to think of often, just to ensure that he does not act out while she is washing him. He remains obedient, just as he was told to be.

“I know that it may be difficult to accept my new position of authority, Vincent,” Estela continues, her light, feminine hands slowly gliding from his wrists down to the side of his thighs. “But I only have your best interests in mind. I want us all to be a family, you know? It will be much easier to accept in the up-coming years. You’re my boy now and I know that you’re capable of being good for me and your papi, aren’t you?”

Vincent continues to find himself silent. He does not want to respond to her; he closes his eyes in a long blink, not wanting to look at her. He gives a quick nod of his head, knowing that he is obligated to respond to her in one way or another and not wanting to risk upsetting her.

She leans down to soak the washcloth in water again, rolling the bar of soap in the cloth before moving it back to his thighs. As she is looking at his little, pale body, it becomes evident that she is momentarily thoughtful, maybe even striking a thought of curiosity. “From what I’ve seen, you’re always where long pants, aren’t you? Even today, when it was hot outside and you were out playing with your friends.”

He can tell that she is pondering this thought as she continues to take her time running the soapy water over his thighs, moving from the sides to the back, gliding to the front again. He feels incredibly out-of-place, not sure if he is more embarrassed due to his inability to complain or because of how nervous her air of authority makes him. He decides once again to not respond, his pink and youthful skin remaining flushed.

As if coming to a conclusion in a conversation she had been having with herself, Estela says to him, “From now on, I want you to start wearing shorts. All of the other little boys that you play outside with have no problem wearing them. You will be cooler and it’s what I want for you, do you understand?”

Biting back a comment, Vincent submits to another head nod.

“Someday you will come to accept that I know what’s best for you and then we will get along wonderfully, my boy. It’s important for you to put yourself out there, you know? You have nothing to be ashamed of. You’re an adorable boy and all of your other friends are just as pale as you are, although maybe not as cute.” Her tone has become soft and gentle, as though attempting to coo him into some type of security that he had not had a chance to agree to.

Vincent finds himself wanting terribly to tell her to stop commenting on how pale he is—it is not his fault that he doesn’t tan as easily as the other kids and that his step-sister is a different skin tone than him. He does not want to be classified as “cute” or any of those other little-kid adjectives that she was getting accustomed to calling him. However, his mouth remains shut, obediently, his hands still held over his personal bits.

Her hand finds its way to the upper of his back thighs and his first instinct is to move his body away, but she places a hand on the front of his opposite thigh in order to hold him in place. She brings the washcloth over his butt, washing it much more slowly than what it would seem she would have to under normal circumstances.

“You are so quiet,” she comments, although it is obvious that she does not expect a reply to this—he suspects that the only reason she said it was to assert that she has control over the situation at hand. “I know that you want to be a good boy for your father and I, Vincent, but I also know how boys are and that, sooner or later, something is going to get out of line.” Her hand reaches over to wash the other side of his pale bottom. “Someday it will happen and you are going to get a spanking from me, to keep you in line.”

Vincent tries to ignore how her voice sounds, with a new lilt to its tone which suggests that she is not messing around anymore. He wants to tell her that he does not need this warning, that his father made him aware of what would happen, and that he did not feel they should be having this discussion while she was washing intimate parts of his body she had never seen before. The sound of her voice, though, it scares him just enough to cause him to remain quiet, silently obeying the law of her word.

“It will be hard and you may even have a few bruises, but it will only be to remind you to be good for us. All little boys receive a severe spanking at one point or another,” Estela continues, a knowing smile curled across her lips as she leans down to soak the cloth in water, rinsing the soap from his bottom. “You’ll be even pinker than you are right now,” she comments off-handedly, a light-hearted and womanly chuckle following her statement.

Without so much as a warning, she begins to bring her hands forward, sitting up straighter on the side of the tub as she attempts to move his hands away from his nether region. “It’s time to finish up your washing,” she instructs.

Giving a quiet moan in protest, Vincent shakes his head, determined to not allow her to take this last bit of modesty from him. He says in his head that this last bit of himself is not up for discussion and that no matter what, he must retain some type of humility toward himself and that she doesn’t get to take that away from him, because she was already beginning to take away the attention of his father, so—

“Vincent,” Estela commands, her voice still soft, yet retaining that quality of authority.

His thoughts come to an abrupt stop as he continues to try to keep his hands guarding over the sensitive parts of his body. He shakes his head again, not daring to look at her.

The grip on his wrists that she has on him tighten slightly, though not enough to cause harm. She is firm and it is obvious by her touch and demeanor that she is not playing, despite the gentle tone of her voice. “It’s understandable that you’re shy, but I am your mother now. It’s okay for me to wash you there, just like any other little boy has done to them by their own mother’s. There isn’t anything to be embarrassed about.”

Furrowing his brows and closing his eyes tight in humiliation, Vincent gives out another small moan to voice his displeasure with having to submit to her ruling. He deliberately takes his time in moving his hands away from his area, slowly, wanting to make it obvious that although he is submitting to her, he is not happy about it. His face is beat red at this point as he becomes fully exposed to her.

“I have no problem washing your boy parts, Vincent,” Estela tells him. The smile on her face is enough to suggest that she knows she is victorious in this, that without so much as having to warn him of the smart slap of her palm, she had mastered being able to get him to obey. It is obvious that she is not only pleased with herself, but also with him. Her voice reverts back to its warm state. “I knew you were going to be a good boy for me.”

Vincent stands in the tub, fully exposed and drowning in the realization of how ridiculed he feels. He realizes that he won’t even be able to tell his father about this, because surely William would end up agreeing with Estela, and he thinks to himself how that isn’t fair. He doesn’t want to be standing here for his new step-mother to see everything that God had given him as he was born. It isn’t that he is self-conscious, necessarily, more-so that the humiliation of having to submit in such a way is something that he never thought he would have to feel, let alone experience to such a degree.

Estela makes it obvious that she is looking at his lower parts while she gets the washcloth soapy again. She reaches her hand up to hold onto the back of his thigh in order to keep him in place as she lifts her other up to begin washing him at an alarmingly slow and deliberate state, silently wanting to make it obvious that this was her act of showing her dominance over him, that this was the ultimate proof that she is now in control of every last bit of him and that he has no say in the matter, regardless of how embarrassed it may make him.

Since his eyes are downcast, Vincent can see how her hand moves over his bits. It makes him tremendously uncomfortable, but he feels as though he is practically frozen in his place, unable to tear his gaze away from how she is dismantling his since of Ego and replacing it with her dominance. A nearly inaudible moan of protest falls out of his throat as he helplessly manages to finally turn his head, not wanting to force himself to watch the movements of her hand.

“It’s okay for me to wash you here, Vincent,” she declares to him, tenderly continuing to watch as she diligently and purposefully washes every part of his nether region. “You are a little tiny for your age, but that’s nothing to be ashamed of; I’m sure you’ll grow into a fine gentleman.”

His face falls. He swears that if he could lift his hand up in order to feel his cheeks, he would sense the heat emanating off. He remains stunned in silence, embarrassed beyond anything that he could coherently sift through inside of his head. His humiliation is rampantly pervading every last ounce of his being.

“There,” she announces as she lifts the cloth up in order to rinse his body of any remaining soap. “All finished. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she questions, leaning down in order to let the water out of the bottom of the tub.

Vincent, once again, remains silent.

Estela lifts herself from the side of the bathtub and moves to get a towel. Standing in front of him, she wraps the towel around his lithe body and effortlessly lifts him out and into her arms. “Let’s take you to your room and dry you off,” she says, carrying him easily to his room.

iii.

Sitting on the bed, Vincent shifts to nervously stare at the open door of his room while Estela takes the towel and begins to slowly dry off his body. “Can’t we close the door?” he questions uneasily, fidgeting on his bed while he tries to get up in order to close it himself.

“Stay seated,” she demands, not bothering to acknowledge nor reply to his request. She does not mind that the door is open. In fact, she left it there like that on purpose. She knew that her little girl had yet to come into contact with what a male’s body looked like and she did not mind the idea of her discovering what a boy had in a setting like this—some place in which she was able to watch what was happening, in a safe environment she had control over.

Silently fuming at being ignored, Vincent continues to eye the doorway, wanting his step-mother to hurry up in fear that his step-sister would arrive—the absolute worse situation in which he could imagine happening.

“I don’t want Carmen to walk in here and see me like this!” he exclaims, not thinking the better for himself. He tries to calm himself down and takes a deep breath, not wanting to upset his step-mother and make her believe that he wasn’t being a good boy anymore. Attempting to be well-behaved, he alters his tone and begins to breathe out a, “Plea—“

“Please what?” a light, girly voice pipes up, rounding around the corner and past the threshold of his bedroom door.

Vincent stares in horror at his step-sister, immediately moving to cover himself as he waits for Estela to say something to her. His eyes are locked with Carmen’s, unable to look away from the smirk that was slipping across her lips as she made it quite obvious that she was taking advantage of his vulnerability by staring at him, despite how unwelcome the little girl was aware it was on his part. The look in his eyes makes it more than obvious how not only uncomfortable he is, but also how upset and fuming he finds himself.

Looking up at Estela for support, he is stunned into silence by the smirk that he sees on his step-mom’s lips. “This isn’t fair!” he objects, suddenly attempting to rouse himself from the bed in order to desperately attempt to cover himself. He ignores the giggle Carmen lets out. “Come on, make her leave, please,” he continues, trying to take the towel from Estela in order to physically cover himself with it. He ignores the fact that he knows this is him misbehaving, but he suddenly has the overwhelming feeling that he must be justified in a situation like this. Surely, from his perspective, it cannot be fair that he is being put in a situation like this. He reasons with himself that maybe he could talk to his father about it, but just as soon as that thought comes up, it swiftly leaves.

In what seemed like a span of only a few seconds, Vincent finds himself standing up and turned around, a sharp imprint of his step-mother’s hand left on his bottom.

“You behave right this instant. This is the only warning I’ll give you,” Estela tells him, her voice terse and commanding, words accentuated with a few light smacks to his bottom. “Behave or I will spank you like I told you before.” She has an air about her which suggest she is tired of his unruly behavior and how he is disrespecting her wishes.

Vincent finds himself absolutely mortified. It was as though the universe was challenging itself to see just how humiliated it could make him, leaving him completely defenseless to the chain of events that was happening to him. His cheeks are flushed redder than they ever had been throughout the shower, mainly due to the embarrassment of being chastised like this, exposed and bare right in front of his little step-sister.

His step-sister of which is having a ball at this point. Giggling at him, Carmen makes it quite obvious that she is looking at the parts of him that are exposed. “Yeah, Vinnie, want to make sure that you don’t get spanked, so you won’t be any more pink than you already are. Why don’t you have any color, huh? You’re so pale!”

A groan slips from his lips. His first reaction is to begin protesting how Estela is drying him off, but the gentle throbbing on his bottom from her hand reminds him of how severe the consequence would be if he continued to disobey. He submits, unwillingly, doing his best to keep the sound of his pestering sister out of his head.

“I can tell how much you’re blushing even from over here!” Carmen exclaims happily, enjoying this moment to cause humiliation to her unwanted bigger step-brother. “You know what your papi said, though,” she continues maliciously. “You behave or you’ll get a good whooping and you’ll be in pain!” It is obvious how much pleasure she is deriving from this, seeing her mother being able to hold her bigger brother in such contempt, helpless to everything that was going on.

Vincent remains quiet, deciding that if there is any hope at all for him to remain in line, it is for him to not open his mouth. After all, at this point, with the level of humiliation that he was facing by having himself exposed not only to his step-mother, but also his step-sister, he has no idea what he would say if he gave himself the opportunity to speak. He attempts to close his eyes and reason with himself that it will be over soon, that it at least could always be worse.

Suddenly his body is turned effortlessly, as though he is just some ragdoll Estela can move as she pleases, with his backside directly facing his step-sister. He feels the breeze in the room hitting his bottom and realizes that the towel is not covering him at all now—it is instead being used to dry off his back. His entire body flushes with heat at the idea that Carmen can get a full view of the backside of his body.

“Your butt is so milky white, Vincent!” Carmen teases ruthlessly, continuing to giggle. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” she continues to comment, her eyes soaking in the sight of him as she happily watches her mother continue to dry him off.

Vincent lets out another groan of protest, attempting to move the towel back over him without thinking. He feels Estela’s hands become tense, as though she is about to provide him with that spanking she had warned him about. He immediately stops trying to fuss with the towel and is suddenly reminded of scared he is of what she could do to him.

“Please,” he murmurs to Estela in a pitiful attempt to get her to reconcile with what she is doing with him.

Estela ignores his efforts, moving the towel in order to begin drying Vincent’s mats of black hair. She is completely content with what is happening—this is the most natural way for her daughter to be able to understand what boys have on them and there is absolutely no intention in her for Carmen to receive retribution for what is perfectly natural curiosity. She is also well aware of how much in control this situation is putting her in, how humiliating it must make her step-son to have the girls in his house be able to see him in such a vulnerable position. She continues to derive satisfaction from what she is doing, taking her sweet time in drying his small body.

“Turn around for me,” Estela commands.

He stays still. He tells himself that this is it—he will not allow himself to be brought any further than he already has been. This surely must not be something that his father will agree with. All he will have to do is talk to his pa when he gets off of work, let him know the situation and—oh, no, that just will not do. Just as soon as the thought crosses his mind, he realizes how silly that would seem, to hypothetically go to his father and tell him how embarrassed he had been that his step-mother and sister had made him to do something as humiliating as this.

Yet, he continues to stay still.

“Vinnie! Mami told you to turn around,” Carmen plays, her voice sing-songy; it is the kind of tone that takes Vincent’s stomach and turns it inside out right there where he is standing, his regard of himself a puddle at his feet as he feels every last ounce of respect for his privacy being torn away from him without so much as a fair warning.

Estela begins to turn his shoulders, shifting him to physically turn around. He does his best to try and root his feet to the ground, but with his step-mother’s strong will and strength, he realizes how futile of an attempt it is to deny her what she wants. In a last attempt of an effort, he at least attempts to keep the towel over his nether region, not daring to look at Carmen or Estela the entire time.

“Sit down for me, on the bed, so I can finish drying you,” Estela demands, her voice terse and made of everything that scares Vincent into behaving straight, lest he be struck with the strong palm of his step-mother’s hand.

With cheeks blazing, color flushing down to even his neck, Vincent makes the decision to do as he is told. Despite how embarrassing everything is, the very last thing he wants is to receive a harsh punishment naked and right in front of Carmen, especially because she obviously already has plenty else to make fun of him for.

Upon sitting on the bed, he continues to fold the towel over himself, although at this point he is dreadfully well aware of just how little it will do.

“Good boy,” Estela muses, enjoying the fact that she gets to use such demeaning terms in front of her little girl. She wants to show Carmen that boys are completely natural and nothing to be scared of—a silent and vital lesson to what it means to grow into a young woman.

Vincent feels himself reverting back into silence, wanting to displace himself from where he is in order to not have to face feeling such utter humiliation in so many different forms. He realizes how pointless it is for him to argue and finds himself, once again, submitting to the will of his step-mother. He becomes docile and obedient, telling himself that since it seems helpless to cover himself, at least if he is good he will not get any additional punishment.

Of course, there is a part of him that is absolutely fuming mad, but throughout having an entirely new family move in with he and his father, he has perfected the art of not allowing how he is feeling to show, a direct correlation of the many amount of times he has had to pretend that everything is okay in the last few weeks, since the marriage happened.

The one thing that is upsetting him is that he will not even have any way to get his frustration out—there is no one to talk to about how humiliating all of this is, because his father will not understand and if any of his boyhood friends found out, he would never hear the end of it.

His course of thought only saves him from a few moments of humiliation, because he is suddenly once again well aware of what is happening in front of him. Estela has the towel in her hands and his legs are parted wide, far enough for Carmen to be able to see everything that she wants to and for his step-mother to dry anything that she wishes to.

He lifts his head up and catches the way that Carmen is staring at him. It is so open and blatant that the unbridled tenacity of her stare sends him into even more of a state of embarrassment, verging on shame. It is a look that in the ten years of his life, he has never seen before. It is unsettling in his world to see something like that, especially from a little girl younger than him, that he has been thrust into a position of brother and sisterhood with without so much as a reasonable warning by his father.

It is this realization that makes it dawn on him what exactly is so humiliating is not only the fact that everything God blessed him with is on display for what little of the world he knows, but that he is supposed to be the man of the house while his father is gone—yet, here he is, what little boyhood he has managed to conjure up before this moment being torn down as he is put into a situation of emasculation without even having the ability to fight for it back.

This realization sits heavily on his chest and he can feel himself clenching his jaw, his little fists balled up.

Carmen is smirking mercilessly, her eyes malicious in intent as she devours the look of her step-brother in such a vulnerable position. She is staring at his tiny boyhood and taking in what it means for a boy to be a boy. She is deriving pleasure not so much from being able to see what parts a boy has opposed to her own, but that she gets to make a show of it, too, that she gets to let him know that it is she who has the upperhand right now and all of those times that he has teased her in the last few weeks mean nothing now, because she gets to have this over him.

Estela continues the drying, being delicate with the tender of his bits. She dries him until she is absolutely sure that his pale skin has no sign of moisture. She catches Vincent’s wandering eyes (in what she assumes is an attempt to not have to face the look of her peering daughter) and gives him her own version of a smirk. This is not her attempt to be cruel—this is merely a lesson of who is in dictatorship now and of whom he must listen to.

“Do you feel dry now?” she questions, continuing to move the towel over the inner of his thighs.

“Mami, I think you missed a spot there!” Carmen exclaims, lifting up her tiny hand in order to point some place on his nether regions.

Vincent fumes silently, clenching his jaw tighter.

“Ay, what do you know? Si, Carmen, gracias for the observation,” Estela replies casually, playing along to her daughters antics by moving the towel to dry off an imaginary spot on her step-son’s milky thigh.

The little girl happily catches Vincent’s gaze as she makes it obvious how proud she is that she has been able to embarrass him even further. There is a youthful grin stretched across her lips, something along the lines of na-na-na, just the kind of smile an adult would melt when looking at and a boy would sneer at.

“Now you have to have some shorts somewhere in here, don’t you?” Estela questions off-handedly, lifting herself up in order to head off to his dresser drawer, taking the towel with her.

Vincent is horrified that now not only does he not have the towel covering him, but his step-mother’s body is not in the way to cover at least something of his. Now his body is completely exposed to his step-sister and in between the moment of shock that erupted through him and getting his senses back, the thirty or so seconds in between are the longest of his life. His hands scramble to cover himself, despite realizing that his movement of his is a silent admittance of how humiliated he feels.

Carmen continues to stare. “Every part of you is so pale, though, Vinnie, don’t you ever get any sun? You’re outside all the time!” She is back to her usual self, not wanting her mother to know how diligently she had been staring at his boyhood (despite this being an irrational thought).

He groans and crosses his legs, hanging his head in defeat. He can feel himself getting angrier and angrier as the moments pass on and briefly wonders whether the color in his face is now due to the humiliation or to how upset he could feel himself getting, how his insides are beginning to boil in an attempt to reconcile redemption with the bits of ego he has had shot to hell.

“Ah, here we are!” Estela exclaims happily, lifting a pair of rather exposing shorts from Vincent’s drawers. She returns back to him and effortlessly lifts his legs up, assisting in pulling the shorts over his scrawny legs. She follows it with slipping a shirt over his head, even going so far as to ruffle his hair at the end.

As if things could not get even more humiliating, Vincent finds himself being dressed as though he is a toddler. Carmen is giggling as though the world is suddenly her own and Estela is smiling warm-heartedly down at her step-son, although he does not, for a moment, let it fool him into a false sense of security.

“Let’s go out and wait for papi to get home,” Estela instructs.

Vincent immediately rises from his spot on his bed, walking out of his room as he ignores Carmen’s taunts being sent after him.

iv.

Despite attempting to calm himself down after the whole endeavor, Vincent finds himself perpetually angry. Now that he is in a position in the family room where he is able to keep to himself, he finds that the embarrassment has subsided and is now replaced with trepidation and ferocity at the events that unfolded earlier. His little hands are balled up in fists and his lips are pursed. It is impossible to ignore his step-sister singing off on the other side of the room.

“I saw everything, Vinnie!” she sings happily, pleased that she is able to have something to hold over him. “Mami’s going to make you wear those shorts all the time now,” she giggles. “So that you can show off those milky thighs of yours and how pale you are.”

Vincent is fuming, but decides that it’s best to not react to her. He is staring out of the window again, longing for when tomorrow is going to come, when he can be outside and not have to worry about being with his step-family any longer. He does not know who to be angrier at—his father, for giving permission for all of this to happen, Estela, for how she tormented him into an unfair state of submission, or Carmen, for how merciless she was being about the whole thing and how he knows that she is never going to let him live it down.

He decides that it’s fair, in his world, for him to be absolutely furious with everyone. His manhood he has been trying to build is completely compromised and he wonders if he will ever be able to recover from something as traumatizing to his boyhood as this.

“I wonder what your playmates are going to think of your new style! I bet they’ve never seen anything as pale as you, though, have they? Do you think they’ll make fun of you? I bet!” Carmen continues. “Vinnie, I saw every bit of your boy parts!” It is as though she is getting pleasure from not necessarily remembering the incident, but just letting her step-brother know that it happened, in order to not give him the opportunity to get past it.

Vincent continues to stare out of the window, although now he can practically feel his veins coming out of his body. Never before can he remember a time when he has been so furious with everything around him. He curls his legs up in the seat that he is in, eagerly anticipating for when bedtime is so that he can turn the light off and slip off into a dreaming state, where he won’t have to worry about hearing what his step-sister has to say and being forced to see the righteous smirks of his step-mother, which are quite obviously there to remind him of who is boss now.

“You were completely nude, Vinnie! Nudie!” Carmen sings out, enjoying the new nickname she is taking a liking to using for him.

He is a crumpled boy, full of humiliation and disdain for everything that has to do with his existence. He wonders even if his father will be able to tell, simply due to how red he still his, how his fists are wound up and tight, his body fuming heat due to how angry the bragging of his sister is making him. The degradation of tonight’s events is something that will last within him until the end of time, he is absolutely sure of that. His indignity is written all over him, but he pays no mind to it, continuing to submissively stare out the window as he silently fumes at just how little of a boy tonight has turned him into.

(End of File)