Don't let the cheesy title fool you, this is a comedic tale of Stifler's POV after AP2, and how he deals with his mom and Finch's kinky relationship.
Goodnight Kiss
Steven Stifler tipped his chair back, resting it on it's back legs. One week until he went back to East Lansing for college. His bedroom was becomming crowded with boxes, boxes that weren't even filled yet. He coasted back further on his chair, thinking of how he would kill the rest of the night.
He could pack some of his things.
He could have a beer or two.
He could climb through Paul Finch's window and strangle the sorry mother-fucker until he went to hell.
The guy had been a thorn in his side since the day they met. Always trying to make him look stupid with his "sophisticated" wit and his Tantric lifestyle. But he had pushed it too far the night he had slept with Stifler's beloved mother. The fight later went down in history. While they both got fairly hurt, Stifler was the one who had had to go to the hospital to get stitches where Finch had bit him.
Three days ago, history had repeated itself. Only Finch was nowhere to be found and Stifler wasn't able to impale him on a flagpole.
Stifler should have known his pampered, perfect life would come to this. His parents, both single, spoiled him and his younger brother rotten. Stifler himself was a god, with parties, with ladies, and looked up to by all the guys at school. Except for a few independant-minded losers he had spent the summer with. Even his former friend, Chris 'Oz' Ostreicher had gone manogamous on him, not even seeing the humor in him having a sneak preview of Oz's phone sex with his girlfriend, Heather.
"I used to be a genius," he mumbled pitifully to himself. "I am gonna kill Shitbreak."
His door swung open.
His mother, a leggy blonde that appeared ten years younger than her age, yet still a classic beauty, was standing in the frame, her usually bitter smirk replaced with a slightly warm smile. He hated to think where that smile had come from.
"You talking to someone?" she asked.
"Nah," he mumbled.
"Just wanted to say nighty-night," she said cheerily, full of corn.
"Yeah, nighty-night," he groaned.
She chuckled. "Don't be so moody, Steven. You've been staying up way too late lately."
"I'm nineteen mom," he complained, "I don't need a bedtime."
His mom rolled her eyes happily, then, to Stifler's horror, she bent down and kissed him on the forehead.
"MOM!" he cried, nearly falling off the back of the chair, "Don't do that?"
She crossed her arms. "You used to be my baby boy," she said softly, "What happened?"
'You showed a sudden interest in men two months older than me,' he wanted to say. Instead, he took the more subtle approach and muttered, "Who knows who your lips have been on?"
She smiled with delight. "You know who. Your friend Finch."
This time he really fell off the chair. "What?!" he demanded, trying to pull himself up on the side of the bed.
"Oh, I know that you know," she said nonchalantly. "Finchy told me."
"Finchy?" he asked in disbelief.
"He tells me alot," she said simply, as if it that kind of thing happened every day. "Give me his e-mail adress one of these days. I don't want to lose touch with him like I did last year."
Stifler stayed quiverring on the floor, gazing as his mom as she walked slowly out of the room.
"Oh, fuck."
Goodnight Kiss
Steven Stifler tipped his chair back, resting it on it's back legs. One week until he went back to East Lansing for college. His bedroom was becomming crowded with boxes, boxes that weren't even filled yet. He coasted back further on his chair, thinking of how he would kill the rest of the night.
He could pack some of his things.
He could have a beer or two.
He could climb through Paul Finch's window and strangle the sorry mother-fucker until he went to hell.
The guy had been a thorn in his side since the day they met. Always trying to make him look stupid with his "sophisticated" wit and his Tantric lifestyle. But he had pushed it too far the night he had slept with Stifler's beloved mother. The fight later went down in history. While they both got fairly hurt, Stifler was the one who had had to go to the hospital to get stitches where Finch had bit him.
Three days ago, history had repeated itself. Only Finch was nowhere to be found and Stifler wasn't able to impale him on a flagpole.
Stifler should have known his pampered, perfect life would come to this. His parents, both single, spoiled him and his younger brother rotten. Stifler himself was a god, with parties, with ladies, and looked up to by all the guys at school. Except for a few independant-minded losers he had spent the summer with. Even his former friend, Chris 'Oz' Ostreicher had gone manogamous on him, not even seeing the humor in him having a sneak preview of Oz's phone sex with his girlfriend, Heather.
"I used to be a genius," he mumbled pitifully to himself. "I am gonna kill Shitbreak."
His door swung open.
His mother, a leggy blonde that appeared ten years younger than her age, yet still a classic beauty, was standing in the frame, her usually bitter smirk replaced with a slightly warm smile. He hated to think where that smile had come from.
"You talking to someone?" she asked.
"Nah," he mumbled.
"Just wanted to say nighty-night," she said cheerily, full of corn.
"Yeah, nighty-night," he groaned.
She chuckled. "Don't be so moody, Steven. You've been staying up way too late lately."
"I'm nineteen mom," he complained, "I don't need a bedtime."
His mom rolled her eyes happily, then, to Stifler's horror, she bent down and kissed him on the forehead.
"MOM!" he cried, nearly falling off the back of the chair, "Don't do that?"
She crossed her arms. "You used to be my baby boy," she said softly, "What happened?"
'You showed a sudden interest in men two months older than me,' he wanted to say. Instead, he took the more subtle approach and muttered, "Who knows who your lips have been on?"
She smiled with delight. "You know who. Your friend Finch."
This time he really fell off the chair. "What?!" he demanded, trying to pull himself up on the side of the bed.
"Oh, I know that you know," she said nonchalantly. "Finchy told me."
"Finchy?" he asked in disbelief.
"He tells me alot," she said simply, as if it that kind of thing happened every day. "Give me his e-mail adress one of these days. I don't want to lose touch with him like I did last year."
Stifler stayed quiverring on the floor, gazing as his mom as she walked slowly out of the room.
"Oh, fuck."