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Ben dropped the ladder to the attic and stared up at its dusty maw. The daunting task in from of him was months in the making.

“You sure you want to do this today?” he asked apprehensively.

His mother — Julia — smiled and leaned against him. “Oh come on, you promised you’d help me this weekend and we’ve been putting it off. You aren’t going to make me toss everything out by myself, are you?” She sighed, feigning disappointment.

Ben groaned and smiled back, “No, of course not.” He took the first step up the ladder and when he reached the top, dust flickered the air from the rays of sunshine piercing the attic window. He dusted off the front of his pants and smoothed out his t-shirt.

They lived in a modest, one-story house on the West Coast. Ben and Julia moved in a few years ago for a change in scenery. Old furniture that didn’t fit downstairs was shoved in the attic, along with boxes of old memories that they wanted to avoid.

“Where do you want to start?” Julia surveyed the stacks of boxes and gathered her caramel hair into a messy ponytail. She wore a light blue tank top and a pair of tight, yoga pants. Her feet were slipped into a pair of well-worn flip-flops.

“Let’s just junk it all,” he joked.

“Yeah okay, mister.” She chided him. “You take that corner and I’ll start on this one. Anything we keep-” she paused and then corrected herself, “-anything we need to keep gets stacked against that wall. Anything we don’t need, stack it by the ladder.”

“Okay then,” he nodded.

Once they had started, they became lost in the memories of each box. While some were just boxes of old VHS tapes — those were tossed — others had old pictures. Ben found a stuffed bear that he didn’t quite remember but it felt familiar.

“Keep that,” he heard his mother say with a smile. “That bear is the only reason you slept at all when you were a baby. I owe my sanity to that thing — it stays.”

Ben tossed it with a shrug into a box for things to keep.

“Look at this,” Ben laughed. In his hands, he held an old yearbook: “Vanguard High School: Class of 2005”

Ben heard the sound of his mother’s sandals slapping against the soles of her feet and knew he didn’t have much time.

“No! Don’t you-” she hurried as Ben flipped through the pages. Just as his eyes found a familiar — yet younger face, Julia snatched the book from his hands and flipped the yearbook shut with a plume of dust. “-there. Better.”

“Are you really that embarrassed?” he laughed trying to pry the book from her. Julia secreted it behind her back with one hand and held him at arm’s length with the other.

“I was nerdy back then,” she turned red.

“What’s wrong with that? I’m nerdy. Are you saying that-” he feigned outrage.

Her face darkened. “Well, no, but-” she sighed and nudged him. “I didn’t mean it that way. You know I didn’t.” Ben smirked. He loved teasing her. “Jerk.”

Julia finally conceded after minutes of unrelenting and insistent prying. She watched him with side-eyes and red cheeks as Ben found her page and looked at his thirty-five-year-old mother in her high school years.

“You were pretty,” he said after a long pause. Under the glasses that she had long since left behind, and the ringlets that framed her youthful face, he could see the same woman that raised him as a single mother.

Now it was Julia’s turn to feign outrage. “Were?” she said with a glint in her eyes as she huffed. “I see how it is.”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m just saying that high school you was –” then Ben’s words came to a crashing halt. Julia raised an eyebrow. There wasn’t a way to say it without either offending her or sounding weird.

“That’s your mom in that picture. Weirdo.”

Ben flipped the yearbook shut and handed it to her. “Whatever,” he scoffed.

Their playful banter continued as they worked through all of the boxes. After a few hours, they had almost everything sorted and stacked. There was more to keep than throw out, but they had drastically reduced the chaos and disorganization that plagued the attic.

As Ben was going through the last corner, he came across one box in particular. In the corner were two letters written in sharpie: FG. He ripped the tape and opened the cardboard flaps to find a stack of DVDs and a bundle of black material. As he unfolded it, he discovered a white leotard inside and raised an eyebrow.

“Uh — what’s this, Mom?” he said curiously. His fingers ran along the stitched seams.

“What’s what?” he heard her call back. Again, he heard her flip-flops scuffling along the attic floor. Then she stopped in her tracks. “Oh uh… that. Just toss it. Just an old Halloween costume that won’t fit me anymore,” she let out a nervous chuckle.

Ben sensed the unease in her words and looked in the box. Halloween costume? He took inventory of what was inside. There was a black cape and a pair of black open-toed ankle boots. This didn’t look like a character out of any comic book or movie he had seen — and he would know.

“What character is this?” his Kıbrıs Escort curiosity got the best of him.

“I don’t remember.” It was the tone of her voice that had him immediately suspicious. She sounded uncertain, like she was quickly trying to put together a story. Ben glanced back over his shoulder towards her, only to suddenly find her there, standing just a few paces away from him. She wasn’t looking at him though, but rather the box in front of him.

“Just toss it, Ben. It’s an old costume I wore maybe once for a Halloween party, and I don’t think I could do it justice anymore.” Julia planted her hands on her hips. Then a smile broke out on her face. “Come on, we’re almost done. Once we get all of this sorted, how about we order some pizza? My treat.”

“Yeah, pizza sounds good.” He murmured, his thoughts elsewhere. He put the costume back in the box and pushed it to the side.

Later on as they were sorting the last of the boxes, he put one of his own on top of the one marked: FG. Julia didn’t notice.

Julia dusted herself off and sighed with satisfaction. “All done. See? Wasn’t so bad.”

Ben nodded and stretched with an audible groan. “Yeah yeah, glad its over with.”

“Hey, I appreciate the help,” she nudged him. “Can you carry down the last of the throwaways and leave them by the door in the garage? I’ll go ahead and order the pizza.”

He agreed and watched Julia carefully climb down the ladder. Once she was out of sight, he immediately searched for the marked box that held his full attention. Ben would not be throwing this one out.

He carried a few boxes downstairs, and spirited the box marked ‘FG’ away to his room, where it was hidden in his closet along with another box set on top of it. He vowed to come back later and finished carrying the throwaways to the garage.

—

Ben sat at his desk; his thoughts drawn towards his closet.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to what was in that box than his mom was letting on. He was anxious to investigate its contents even further. Every time his curiosity reached a point where he decided to look in the box, he paused thinking he heard his mother walking down the hallway.

At the same time, he also felt a bit guilty. She asked him to get rid of it and instead, he was invading her privacy by keeping it with the intent to snoop on what was inside. Maybe it was nothing or maybe it was something — he had to find out.

Ben knew that he wouldn’t be able to indulge his curiosity until nightfall.

“Ben? Pizza’s here!” she called.

His stomach rumbled for the first time amidst the whirlwind of thoughts in his head. Food would be a good distraction. The shuffle of his mother’s flip flops on the hardwood floor led him to the kitchen. Ben pulled a pair of plates from the cabinet while Julia set out some napkins and cups. The pizza was from a local place, ordered their favorite way: pepperoni and mushroom.

As they ate, Julia began to flip through the mail, pausing at a beige an envelope. The grimace on her face drew his attention. A red past-due notice glared at him. Those were becoming more and more common lately, though he hadn’t had the nerve to bring it up to her. Ben glanced away, only noticing too late that Julia had caught him looking, and when they made eye contact again, she put on her trademark, kind smile.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

And just like that, things began to shift: her face, her posture. Her fingers briefly clenched against the envelope with the marked past due notice before she quickly shuffled a few pieces of junk mail atop it.

“Yeah, we’re okay.” Julia said lightly. It was a stretched smile, one that was worn and thin. He didn’t need to call her out on her lie: they both knew she was bad at it. “Attendance is lower than expected,” she indulged him further, “Not everyone can afford classes right now, so a few of them had to withdraw.” She was referring to her dance classes. Julia rented out a small space to teach dance and business was usually enough to get them by and make ends meet — but as with anything there were ups and downs.

“We’ll recover — we always do,” she said with a forced smile.

“I can ask for more hours. I’m sure Mike won’t mind me working more shifts now that I’m out of school,” he offered.

“Anything you make extra you should be saving, Ben.” She sighed. “If I really need help I’ll let you know, okay?”

She always did this.

Julia moved towards the sink and rinsed off her plate. She was still dirty from their adventure in the attic. Dust clung to her mesh leggings and there was a smudge on her cheek, framed by loose strands of hair that had fallen from her ponytail. As she leaned over to put her plate in the dishwasher, Ben saw her foot arch out of her sandal. Dust discolored the soft sole of her foot.

“Well, I obviously need a shower — so that’s where I’ll be,” she chuckled. “Thanks for your help today.”

“No problem,” Ben swallowed. Julia excused herself and left him alone in the Lefkoşa Escort kitchen. He felt his stomach buzz with excitement now that he was alone. Now was his chance. He was halfway through another slice of pizza and his appetite vanished.

After he stowed the leftovers in the refrigerator, he found himself in his room. With the shower running, he knew he had at least fifteen minutes.

The box came out onto his bed, and he pulled the cardboard flaps open. Ben peered inside, the black parcel of cloth waiting for him. He unfolded it again, laying the costume out on his bed. The white material stretched between his fingers, the insignia for FG printed across the chest area — whatever it meant.

Ben leaned back over the box and pilfered the rest of its contents. He found some old composition notebooks which he flipped through, and oddly enough they didn’t seem to have anything to do with the costume. They looked like class notes. Ben noted the beautiful handwriting.

“That’s random,” he breathed out and tossed them to the side. Ben felt nervous doing this. This box was contraband.

Ben pulled out the stack of jewel cases containing an assortment of DVDs. He set those on his desk. Most of the discs had nothing written on them, so what was burned on them was unknown. There was no need to get sidetracked with that yet — he would circle back later.

Underneath it all, he found a rolled-up piece of canvas — an art print. As he unraveled it, he recognized two things on it. First, the white leotard with the FG logo and second, his mother.

“What? Holy shit!” he exhaled quietly — as if she might hear him over the shower somehow.

At least, the character in the artwork looked like his mother. They had the same caramel brown hair, the same amber eyes and while his mother had more curves now, a very similar physique.

And that smile.

Ben raised an eyebrow having just discovered another piece of the puzzle. At the bottom of the print was a stylized logo that named the character.

Flex Girl.

He had to know more — he couldn’t stop now. Ben returned the contraband back to the box, all except the DVDs. The box went back in the closet and Ben sat down at his laptop. His excitement grew and he was close to unraveling what he suspected was a dirty secret.

The disc tray popped open with a dull click, and he inserted the first disc. The disc reader spun loudly as it scanned the drive. Ben tapped the frame of his laptop impatiently.

“Come on,” he hissed. Finally, the folder populated and he saw a grid of files cascade in front of him. His eyes widened. From the thumbnails, he could make out shapes and figures. He double-clicked the first thumbnail, and he felt his stomach twist with anxiety as the photo viewer spun. The two seconds it took to open in gallery view felt like two years.

Ben’s breathing halted. There on the screen was his mother, Julia, in the white leotard, a decade younger and in a lewd pose. She was arched against the wall — her chest thrust forward. The leotard clung to her shapely body like a second skin, the material stretched taut across her frame. She looked right at him, right at the camera with her hair pulled in a messy ponytail. One leg was drawn up against the concrete wall, her foot in the same black ankle boot that sat in the box in his closet.

He stared at her for a few minutes in disbelief. Ben almost forgot to resume breathing, and then heard the shower water shut off. With a tap on the arrow key, he was onto the next picture. Julia was in a similar pose, her head canted, and her gaze lowered.

Another tap on the arrow key and the next photo showed his mother striking a heroic pose, something he’d seen often in comic books. After that, the photo showed her with her black cape fanned out behind her, arms outstretched in both directions.

When he viewed the next picture, he paused. Her ankle boots had been removed and she dangled them by the loops with her fingers, standing there barefoot and eyeing the camera knowingly.

Ben tabbed through the gallery more rapidly. A tightness swelled in his chest — he wanted to see more. Next picture, the cape came off and in the one after that, she was on her knees hands covering her arms protectively.

The poses became more sexual as he went on: Julia crawling, Julia looking up at the camera. Ben swallowed. Then, the gallery ended. He felt the world whirling around him and then, everything came crashing down when he heard her footsteps down the hall.

“Oh shit,” he realized.

Ben ALT+F4’d out of the photo viewer and hid the jewel cases in his desk drawer under some papers while leaving the DVD in his laptop. He needed some air.

That was his mom — his kind, dance teacher mom. Ben raked his fingers through his hair and stood from his desk. He didn’t know how he was going to look her in the eyes after this.

—

The last seven days had been an absolute mind-fuck.

He didn’t know where to start. If he hadn’t been distracted and tired Magosa Escort from his evening shifts at work, he would have gone insane.

Every night as he came home, Ben felt his newfound obsession come to life and draw him towards his laptop. Ben spent the last few days copying the archives on each DVD. He browsed the folders of images of his mother, in various erotic scenarios and poses — dressed as a superheroine in peril.

Not every archive had pictures of Flex Girl in them. Some folders had other characters both male and female and seemed to carry themes and stories across each release. It was almost like a comic book — just without the word bubbles and special effects.

In some of the folders, he came across short video clips. Most of the files were compressed poorly and the quality was lacking — but he saw Flex Girl in motion.

Cheesy special effects shot beams of light at her and she pretended to weaken — crawl along the concrete floor and look up at the point-of-view camera as she struggled against her impending peril. In other videos, she held true to her name and twisted and contorted her shapely body to escape her doom. Often, she managed to turn the tables on her nemesis and escape.

Ben had come across pictures and videos like this before — anyone with an interest in fandoms knew what cosplay was but it was different when it was your own mother.

And he liked it. He was addicted.

In one video, the man behind the camera had Flex Girl tied down to the table — arms pulled taut over her head. She looked up at him in defiance and arched her back. Flex Girl pulled at her bindings and let out a frustrated whine. His hands crawled ominously down her legs and started to unzip the black ankle boots.

Ben felt his mouth go dry.

He watched as the man debooted his mother. One boot clattered loudly to the floor, followed by the other. Ben felt guilty while he watched this play out. He felt his hands tremble and go cold. He held onto his mouse with an iron grip.

Flex Girl arched her bare feet and curled her toes demurely, covering one foot with the other as she let out another nervous whine. “P-please, let me go-” she whimpered. His ears felt like they were ringing when he heard his mom’s voice say those words. “-you’ve defeated me, let me go.”

The man behind the camera ran his hands along her smooth, bare legs. Ben wanted to be him. The video ended with Flex Girl panting nervously, staring up at her captor. His cheesy dialogue closed off the scenario with: “You aren’t going anywhere Flex Girl. You’re mine now.”

Everything faded to black.

Ben left his room to get a glass of water from the kitchen. He was parched and as he walked down the hall, everything felt surreal.

His mind tried to perform mental gymnastics to rationalize what he saw. The worst part about it was that he liked it. Ben enjoyed seeing his mother in those situations, and he felt his stomach twist with excitement that she consented to something like that.

Ben rounded the corner to the kitchen lost in his own thoughts when he nearly startled himself. He saw Flex Girl — no, his mother sitting at the dining room table nursing a glass of wine. She had envelopes and past due notices scattered in front of her and she looked distraught. Ringlets of her caramel hair hung in her face, and her eyes were a subdued red.

He felt a pang of regret rush through him and he nearly backed out of the kitchen back towards his room — but then she made eye contact with him and he went rigid.

“Oh h-hey,” he said. Ben swallowed loudly. “Just needed some water.”

“Hey you,” she forced a melancholic smile. “How was work?”

“You know — work. You?”

“Everything’s… great. I have two new students so that helps,” she looked sullen. It wasn’t enough. Ben felt his stomach drop. He spent the week unraveling her past and prying into her secret, while she was worried about keeping them financially afloat.

The look of guilt on his face coaxed out her motherly instincts. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“Nothing, just tired. It’s been a long week, that’s all.” He forced his own smile.

“You’re a terrible liar, just like me.” She laughed.

Ben smiled and opened the fridge. “You want a refill?”

“Nooooo, I’m okay. Just perfect-” she took another sip. “But really, I don’t need anymore.”

Ben didn’t like seeing her like this. He would ask for more hours at work and he would make her accept his help. Somehow.

“I love you, mom.” He said. He took his glass of water and retreated back to his room.

“Love you,” she smiled.

Ben dragged all of the folders to the Recycle Bin on his laptop and put the jewel cases of DVDs back in the box in his closet. He decided he would throw the box out on the next trash day — except he ended up forgetting.

The following week, Ben woke up early for work. He was covering another shift — which meant he was up at dawn. When he rushed to the kitchen to grab a bagel, he halted when he saw the display in the living room.

Ben had seen Julia do her morning yoga plenty of times in passing, but now it was different. His eyes roamed over her mesh leggings, which cut off at her calves and left her soft feet bare. Her toes were pointed, the soles of her feet scrunched tight as she stretched her body and rose up from the yoga mat.

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