Hollow Talk

Literotic asexstories – Hollow Talk by Devinter,Devinter AUTHOR’S NOTE AND A WARNING TO READERS: The inspiration for this song is a (perhaps strange) interpretation of the song ‘Hollow Talk’ by the band ‘Choir of Young Believers’. If you have the possibility to do so, I recommend you listen to the song once before reading the story, or why not during? It should help set the tone. I also tried to set the pacing of the story to a similar build-up and crescendo as the song itself, but perhaps that’s far too subtle to be noticable by a reader.

As always, please read the tags and make sure you are comfortable with them before proceeding. You have been warned.

This is my contribution to the 2023 Karaoke challenge!

Song lyrics are the copyright of Choir of Young Believers.

All of the characters in the story are eighteen or older.

All of my stories are copyrighted, including this one.

— HOLLOW TALK —

“Echoes start as a cross in you..
Trembling noises that come to soon..
Spatial movement which seems to you..
Resonating your mask or feud..
Hollow talking and hollow girl..
Force it up from the root of pain..”
– Choir of Young Believers, Hollow Talk

“Your mother is sick, son,” is all that he told me, dad’s voice bitter and resentful. When he saw my worried expression, he swiftly added: “Not physically. Sick in the head.”

I was terribly confused. Just a week earlier, they had seemed so happy together. However, in that short of a timespan, their entire marriage was falling apart and there seemed to be no way of saving it. Each time I’d try to ask either one of them what was going on, I was met with elusive answers, and the same phrases kept echoing on repeat a lot. Through the art of simple deduction, I had managed to piece a few things together; My father was terribly disappointed in my mother, because she had done something wrong, I was pretty sure. He kept saying that she needed Jesus, or needed medical help. Any further details than that, he would not provide – saying it was for my own good. But I just felt more confused, and left out. I needed to understand why everything was falling apart. I still lived at home, being only 18, and their struggles affected me more than I dared to show outwardly.

However, there seemed to be no saving this situation. My father was already packing his things, half of it in boxes by then. Both of them acted completely out of character, as my dad was usually a patient and understanding man with a high degree of empathy. And my mother, always so sweet and warm to me, seemed distant and hollow. It was as if their usual masks had cracked and shattered, and they had put on different ones that didn’t match the way I saw them, now wearing alternative versions of their personalities. Mother, especially, felt hollow. I saw no love or attempt to reach common ground from her side towards my dad, whom in turn seemed unable to forgive her, his entire persona consumed by a bubbling anger. Any conversations they did seem to have, at least in front of me, felt empty and meaningless – like there was no real attempt from either side to try and repair their shattered marriage, erratically falling apart in so little time.

A few times, I attempted to mediate. Tried to get them to see eye to eye, or at least acknowledge that the other person’s feelings also had some merit. “Son,” said my father one time when I had made such an attempt, “I don’t want you to be a part of this. All of us are going through a difficult time. You need to let us go our separate ways, and you need to come live with me.”

But that really got my mother riled up. “If you try to take my son away from me, I will fight you with every inch of strength I possess. We all know I would win.” Her voice sounded like a dark whisper, almost a growl. I had never seen her like that before. If looks could kill, my father would have been worse off than even the most gruesome of homicide victims.

“He’s 18 and allowed to make his own choices!” my father countered in a roar. They were both talking about me as if I was not present in the room, making me feel awkward and uncomfortable.

“Yeah, difficult choice! Stay in the home he grew up in, with a mother who loves him, or go live in some shoddy motel room shared with his father with a drinking problem! I wonder what he’ll pick!”

“You-” my dad yelled, but cut his sentence short, biting his tongue. “Once he realizes what’s going on in your head, he’ll be out of here in seconds,” he continued in a slightly less aggressive tone. “And he’ll figure it out, even if I cannot tell him due to all of your threats of blackmail and legal actions.”

“Maybe,” said my mom, in a cold voice that sent chills down my spine. She leaned towards my father and whispered, just loud enough for me to hear: “… but if you don’t stop talking about this right now, or if I even suspect you’ve said anything, I’ll leak those files I copied from your work computer, and you’ll end up locked away for a long time.”

Shocked, it seemed to me then that I had found the root of the problem. And I actually had – in a way. Only I didn’t understand it at all at the time, and it certainly wasn’t what I had suspected.

— 2 —

“Never said it was good, never said it was near..
Shadow rises and you are here..
And then you cut.. You cut it out.. And everything.. Goes back to the beginning..”

I wish I could say that the decision of where I wanted to live was difficult. But the truth of the matter was that even with knowing my mother was threatening my father in a way that made me incredibly disappointed, I also understood that if she had something on him that was so damning it could ruin his life, that meant he must have done something illegal or horrible – possibly both. Furthermore, staying in the home I knew was far more convenient and comfortable, and the truth of the matter was that I had always been closer to my mother. I was a momma’s boy since early age, and although I treasured my father dearly, he oftentimes acted in ways I did not approve of, but still forgave him for due to him being my dad. The excessive drinking, for instance. And I found myself far less comfortable trying to talk to him about these issues than I would have liked.

They had cut each other out of their lives with surgical precision, yet made a complete and total mess of it all at once. And each of them seemed to cast long shadows seeping into the mind of the other, poisoning their thoughts. Each time I’d speak to my father over the phone, he kept talking about my mother, wondering if she was acting strangely or not, clearly suspicious of her actions. It really put me on the spot, because I didn’t want to act as some sort of spy, reporting what the other parent was doing behind their backs. Talking to either of them became strained.

Similarly, my mother was acting strange too. She didn’t speak of my father at all – not a word – but I imagined he was on her mind, because she didn’t seem like herself. Instead, she was in some sort of hot-and-cold limbo towards me, keeping her distance one day and then telling me how much she loved me and adored me the next, complimenting me, saying what a fine man I had grown into. But then she was back to the cold approach the following day. It almost felt like she was stuck in a loop, always circling back to the beginning, attempting to start over but never getting anywhere no matter how many times she tried. I tried to give her space, figuring she was probably grieving on the inside without showing it outwardly. Little did I know, that wasn’t really the case, and the last thing she wanted was space.

— 3 —

“Silence seizes a cluttered room..
Light is shed not a breath too soon..
Darkness rises in all you do..
Standing and drawn across the room..
Spatial movements are butterflies..
Shadows scatter without a fire..”

A few weeks passed, and there was no improvement. Quite the opposite, in fact – both my parents just seemed to be more withdrawn, both from me and from the world. And even though I was legally an adult, I felt deeply affected by what my parents were going through, struggling with it more than I originally expected. What had once been a normal home, albeit with its fair share of problems, was now a silent grave making a mockery of my mother’s former self, my dad’s ghost seemingly still lingering in the air.

Eventually, I reached my breaking point. I couldn’t take it anymore. I sat down on the couch right next to my mother, looking deep into her eyes with an inquisitive gaze. “Tell me what he did,” I demanded. “I need to know.”

“Who?” she asked me, seemingly startled by the confrontation.

“Dad, of course!” I said a little too loudly.

“Oh..” She paused. “He embezzled money from his firm.” And there it was. My dad was a crook. There really was no other way to interpret what she was saying, and she must have made copies of files of the evidence as she found out. I tried to reach out and hug her, but she shied away, closing in on herself, becoming more withdrawn with every passing moment. “… But that’s not why we ended our relationship,” she sprung upon me then, her face scrunched up and her eyes on high alert, as if studying my reaction extremely carefully.

“Oh?” I said, more confused than ever. “So what was it then?”

She took a deep, laboured breath – the air seemingly getting stuck in her throat on the way down into her lungs. She didn’t seem capable of thinking straight, just spilling words in whatever order they came to her mind. “I fell in love with another man,” she admitted, but as soon as she saw my reaction, she added “But I didn’t act on it. I still haven’t. I just told your father about it, and he went ballistic.”

I wanted to say something, but I found no words that made sense.

She got up from the sofa, walking across the room, unable to look me in the eye anymore. Her voice was trembling when she continued. “It’s.. A forbidden kind of love, you see..” she explained, sounding nothing short of heartbroken. “But I cannot help it. He just gives me butterflies like I’ve never felt before, and make my blood run hot as if caught in a wildfire. I can’t explain it.” I could hear her softly crying, her back still turned towards me.

I got up, and put a hand on her shoulder, attempting to comfort her – but she pulled away as if my touch had burned her, looking at me with eyes that seemed to painted with every emotion on the palette. “D-Don’t..” she said, her bottom lip quivering..

“You know I love you no matter what, right? You don’t have to go through this alone.” I felt genuine sympathy for my mother, realizing how difficult all of this must have been for her.

“I just..” she said between sobs, “I feel so dirty.. I don’t want you to know.”

She turned away from me again, and I approached her and wrapped my arms around her shoulders, hugging her from behind. She tried to fight it for a few moments, but eventually she gave in and leaned against my chest, letting out an incredibly heavy sigh, as if she was slowly deflating.

“It’s ok, mom.. I just need time to adjust. But you deserve to find someone who can make you happy.” I swallowed hard, before adding – in the most sympathetic voice I could muster: “Is it a woman?”

She turned around then, tears still streaming down her face, unable to look me in the eye. Whilst caressing my chest with her feminine hands, she shock her head. “N-No, darling..” She swallowed audibly, and raised her gaze to meet my own, her eyes so full of pain and desperation, and a longing that I could not put into words. “It’s you..”

The gravity of what she had just said didn’t even sink in at first. She studied my reaction with a fright in her eyes, and opened her mouth to speak again, but no words came out. So instead, she leaned into me, and hugged me with a force that I didn’t even know she was capable of, as she started bawling her eyes out. “I’m sorry..” she begged. “I can’t help it..”

I wrapped my arms around her small frame, holding her tight, doing my best to comfort her as my mind spun a million cycles a second, trying to grasp what she had just said. “I don’t understand..” I managed to say eventually, even though I did. My thoughts just felt clouded in a dark haze of confusion, and I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Even though you’re my son, you make my blood boil. And the way you smell, your touch, I can’t help but be drawn to you..” she said as she buried her head in my chest. “It’s so wrong, yet it feels so right..” She shook her head. “I cannot help these feelings. It’s like an addiction.”

She drew her head up again, looking at me with moistened eyes, as if asking me a question – but when I couldn’t find the words to give her a response, a new kind of desperation seemed to overtake her.

“W-We could keep it a secret,” she suggested, her words quick. “I’d be the perfect girlfriend, darling. I’d do anything you want. Whatever desire you have, I’d fulfil them all..” She drew circles through my shirt with her fingertip, as she added – almost in a whisper: “Please?”

She looked at me like a wounded animal – afraid and vulnerable, hoping that I could somehow take away the pain of what she was feeling. As much as I wanted to ease her suffering, I was at a complete loss. “It’s so wrong,” I replied, but my voice didn’t sound as confident as I had hoped.

“Love isn’t wrong..” she said in a hushed voice. “People are just narrow-minded..” I couldn’t help but wonder if she was saying it more to convince herself that her feelings were justified, or if she truly believed that. Either way, I just nodded my head, not really knowing how else to respond.

She attempted to kiss me then, but I recoiled by pure instinct, and instantly her heart looked shattered. Muttering another apology, she turned on her heel and nearly ran out of the room – leaving me lost and confused.

My mind kept reeling, going back and forth over the words that had just been exchanged, trying to make sense of them. It was almost as if my entire perception of reality had been cut into pieces, then glued back together in an entirely new shape.

— 4 —

“There’s never been bad, there has always been truth..
Muted whisper of the things she’ll move..
Never said it was good, never said it was new..
Muted whisper of the things you feel..”

I did not get a chance to speak with her again that night, as she had locked herself in her room, and refused to answer me when I knocked on her door. I could hear her crying on the other side, and I felt horrible, yet I didn’t know how to comfort her. The following day, I kept trying to process it all in my head. I knew my mother loved me very much, and she was the centre of my world. Her distant behaviour made sense to me. She must have been trying to keep herself in check all along. And as for my father? He must have found out the way she felt about me, one way or another. No wonder he wanted me to leave the house with him, and referred to my mother as sick. What she was going through could hardly be considered normal.

And yet, I couldn’t see her as some depraved, horrible human being. Far from it. She was a caring, sweet lady with a big heart. The kind of person who would move mountains for me, just to make me happy. In her eyes, my happiness was paramount to her own well-being. And this came from a genuine place – she was not some narcissistic mother in search of praise and approval. This was her truth, coming from deep within her soul. She had always been in my corner, and I was certain she always would.

When I came home from school the next day, attending a local college, I saw no trace of her in the house. The place felt hollow and empty without her presence. But as I entered my room, I found her there – in my bed, her head half-buried in my pillow, sleeping. Her face was a little puffy and red from all the tears she had shed prior, and her hair was a mess. Still, she looked incredibly cute to me.

She awoke just as I entered my room, turning on her side and looking up at me with heavy-lidded eyes. Then, as if struck by lightning, she opened her eyes wide and sat up on the bed, hugging the pillow she had just been sleeping on, hiding her face behind it – though not until after I saw her cheeks turn crimson. Although she was twice my age, she looked so innocent then, as if she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“I can explain..” she said, as she squirmed around in my bed. “I just.. Uhm..” She sighed deeply, and lowered her voice to a whisper. “No, I can’t explain.. I just.. I needed to feel close to you somehow, so I wanted to experience your scent..” I could almost see the heat rising to her cheeks behind her pillow shield, her embarrassment showing through.

I sat down next to her, and gave her a look that tried to show some empathy. “I understand that this feels wrong to you..” she said. “That I feel this way about my own son..” The look in her eyes told me all I needed to know – they were still full of pain, but also longing and affection. “And yet.. I wouldn’t trade it for the world,” she whispered. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me. And you always will be.”

“Do you think you can forget about this?” I asked then. “And we can return to a normal relationship, as if these conversations never happened?” I felt so torn on the inside. I hated seeing her so upset. I wanted to comfort her.

She shook her head slowly, with a slight frown on her face. “I’ve tried..” she confessed, and sighed deeply. “B-But I can pretend. For you. Just.. My feelings will never change. I am sure of that.” I saw her smile behind her pillow, though I still heard the sadness in her voice. And then she looked up at me and whispered – so soft and quiet: “Or, if you wouldn’t hate it.. We could try kissing once and see how you feel?” And there it was again – a look of desperation, but also a glimmer of hope, and all the love in the world in her eyes. That expression absolutely stunned me, because I think I realized there and then that no other woman would ever love me like she could. Like she did.

I took a deep breath, the conflict within me paramount. “One kiss, and then you promise me you won’t ask for more?”

“Yes..” she said with an understanding nod of her head. She raised a hand, pulling the pillow down and revealing her beautiful, angelic face, then gently grabbed my collar. My heart raced a thousand miles an hour in my chest, but I didn’t fight it. And as my mother guided my face towards hers, our lips met – for just one single second. Just a peck.

She smiled as we parted, the most adorable and satisfied smile I had seen from her in years. Perhaps ever. Just one small kiss like that was enough to send her over the moon? It made me feel incredibly flattered. It was as if I had just scratched the slightest itch for her, only briefly touched the surface, and yet she seemed eternally grateful – her whole face beaming. “You just made my whole year..” she said shyly, not looking directly into my eyes, suddenly seeming so innocent and cute.

I took another deep breath, before smiling too – feeling utterly confused. I didn’t really understand my own feelings on the matter yet. But all of a sudden, it didn’t really matter what my father thought anymore, or what the world thought for that matter. I was a grown man, with free will. I could make my own decisions, and in that moment, I wanted to explore what might happen with my mom. I wanted to give her a proper kiss.

“One more..” I said, and placed one hand upon her cheek, the other behind her neck, pulling her closer to me. The look on her face just before our lips touched made my heart do summersaults. Never in my life had I seen her look so overwhelmingly happy, with an expression you can only see in people who have found the other half of themselves. And then our lips met again – passionately this time, and I slipped my tongue into her mouth, causing her to moan with an intensity that aroused me to my core. She was paralyzed with pleasure, just sitting there – completely still, except for moving her tongue a little, savouring the moment like a meal she had waited her whole life to eat. I could feel her heart beating frantically inside of her chest.