He was done with the pictures of luscious young women he had printed out that night.
He hid it under his bed, knowing his mother would not look there.

The next morning, he woke up, showered, brushed his teeth.
At school, he reached into his backpack to pull out his homework, but instead of school papers, there was the porn.

He rushed home, having flushed the porn down the school toilet.
He sat down, exhausted, reached for a glass. His hand touched only papers.

He went into his room, papers in hand.
He grabbed his lighter, and set the papers aflame.

He went downstairs, on his laptop.
He flipped open the computer and the pornography dropped out.

He balled it up.
He fed it to his dog.
He fed it to himself.
He chopped it into little pieces and fed it to his fish.

But the papers kept reappearing.
Finally, he tried the paper shredder.

He shredded the papers, then reshredded the shreds.
He put the last bit of paper into the whirring machine.

His Mother.
“Charles, what the bloody hell is this?!”

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