Incest
2007-11-21
Topic: Rebuilding MomGood day, it is my first ever attempt to put down on paper the nightmare we lived. I say (we) because it involves my incredible mother and I. Backing up a step, may I introduce ourselves and set the scene. My Name is Paul; my mother calls me sweetie and lately Thumper (after Bambi’s rabbit friend). I just turned 18 last week. My mother is Pauline (whom I was really named after) is 38.
It is a story of my mother’s incredible comeback after a horrific accident and her loving encouragement that fostered the anger inside me, which is why I write our story; the event took place over 4-years ago.
June 3rd, I was awoken to yelling and screaming again; my drunken father had come home after being away for an extended weekend of god knows what and was apparently upset about something to do with mom being a cold woman and where was that brat that you trapped me with … the door to my bedroom thumped as my eyes glued to the turning door knob, I shrank in terror of another brutal beating. I could hear my mother’s voice pleading and then the ugly sounds of fist smashing into flesh and repeated hits, scuffling and muffled voices as the sounds withdrew further into the house. I crept from my bed to listen at the door and slowly opening to peek out; the scuffling was in the kitchen as the door to the attached garage was wrenched open violently with my father dragging mom’s limp body through the doorway yelling, “…you’ll burn in hell this time you cold bitch!”
Suddenly sirens and flashing lights filled the windows as yet again the neighbours had enough; the police PA system was calling to my father to put down the object in his hand and lay down on the ground. Hell had invaded our turmoil existence again. I had by now reached the kitchen, peeking into the dark abbess of the garage with its big door open, whirling flashing lights, spot lights flickering and to my horror a flash that ignited the garage. In the back blast that concussed this feeble child I had seen my father flinging a liquid onto the unconscious form of mom while yelling at the police as he walked out of the garage he struck a highway flare and then oblivion. was weeks later before I could function mentally again; physically I was relatively lucky to come away with as the doctor had said, “miscellaneous contusions”. Mom on the other hand was finally in stable condition with a severe head concussion, wicked body contusions and multiple burns still lying in the intensive care bed. I was a temporary ward of the court since Grandma (on father’s side) was in a nursing home and he had driven all other family from both sides away along time ago.
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I was allowed to sit alone with mom in her glass room. Her eyes tearing unchecked as she attempted to lift a hand to beckon me to her side as I reluctantly walked towards the tubes, bandages and machines that represented my mother. Her only concern trembling from her feeble voice was, “… if I was ok and that she was sorry for what happened. ”
I was taken back; this object laying there represented the individual that had saved me from a horrendous beating at the cost of her own safety, the result now before me. I was speechless, but felt the compassion to hold her hand tightly for I knew not how long and had to be pried away with force from my mother. As I was dragged out into the hall I remember the medical staff voices saying, “…far to traumatic for a young boy … no more till she’s began the forced separation from my mother for the next 5 weeks.
I was finally allowed to visit mom, she was in a small room shared with another. Her tears and whoop of joy as I knocked sticking my head in through the door was real. “…Oh Sweetie … I missed you …”
We hugged cautiously and held hands for along time just chatting, never once discussing the incident that placed her here. When an individual in uniform clashed into the room with a wheelchair demanding that it was physio time. Having been away from mom for so long I was not about to be abandoned again and begged fiercely to accompany her, when all agreed I watched in stunned horror as mom slowly slipped out of bed, some dressing still encased her legs, yet other terrible wicked looking bruises covered other parts of her but it was the sight of raw inflamed twisted flesh of the burns that stood out the most. Her once vibrant walk was now a shuffle accompanied by grimacing pain all over her face.
I watched intently as her physiotherapy was started and at times held her hand to give her strength but looking back now it was to gather strength from her to remain with her through the ordeal. I witnessed her legs being moved, therapy baths, massages and so many countless treatments that my mind swirled to her pain and yet remember only her soft words of encouragement and talking about things that I was doing. And so for months whenever I was allowed we’d face these encounters together and gradually I came to accept the disfigurement of mom.
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Till finally the happy day when mom could come home months after the incident. Mom had at times taken passes from the hospital to tend to home matters and each time seemed more withdrawn to where she barely talked with me anymore.
Mom picked me up from the house where I had been staying, talking through the window to the woman that had cared for me; as I climbed into the taxi I noticed mom was covered in a hooded long garment; we rode in a taxi to a out-of-the-way area pulling into a treed yard and finally to a small house and so began a new life. All was not showed me the house for what there was of it, then my room telling me to get settled in and check out the yard. Having explored all that was our domain I returned to find mom huddled on the couch crying still wearing her cloak, a bottle of alcohol on the table beside her. I came to sit with her and was told to sit away across the couch, held back from sharing the bond I thought we had developed in the early days of physiotherapy, worse mom was drinking.
This cold rejection increased as mom never went anywhere; all groceries were sent in and like mom I became semi-recluse to being by myself. It heightened when I had seen an old newspaper article about the incident; that was how I discovered my drunken father had burnt to death at the time and we had been rescued.
Now after weeks and weeks of drinking my mother was slowly developing the same traits and in one of her physical moments I cried out that she was no better than he was, after she had hit me across the face she struggled away crying.
I eventually found her outside hugging a tree crying.
I sat down on the ground beside her speaking softly, “this can not go on mom, your turning into the thing that you protected me from, it’s destroying you gives a damn, no one cares … I’m ugly all scarred up … no one wants me now …”, she hissed in slurred speech
“I care Mom, without you I would not be here and if you go on like this I’ll be all alone again…” I tearfully cried my heart out. “Only you and I can stop this …”
Within her drunken foggy mind I apparently touched an animalistic primal urge of motherhood; she attempted to focus on my face while concentrating on my voice and finally she nodded her head in resignation of acceptance, then passed out onto her face.
In the twilight of dusk I bodily dragged my mother into the house, closing the door I wondered what to do next, whom could I turn too … there was only … me! And, finally I dragged her to her room.
I struggled to get her feet under her enough and while lifting and pulling managed to roll my drunken mother on the bed and walked away.
It was all of an hour later having cleaned myself up, hid the liquor bottles and tidied up the house that I walked back into mom’s room to sit on the bed wondering what to do next.
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I struggled to remove her cloak, then her urine covered pants and soiled shirt before I realized it I was looking at the semi-nude image of my mother. I sat there staring at her as a woman, her breasts dishevelled in her bra and panties soiled and drawn into parts of her anatomy. I was amazed that I was aroused!
I was acutely aware of the budge in my pants and that in the past troubled years I had grown up: I had stayed close to mom during the physical abuse, I fought to be with mom when she was in hospital; I fought to stay with her in physiotherapy; I fought to stay with her when she was released from hospital and most of all I was now fighting to keep her as my loving protecting mother. I did not want to be alone! I do not know how long I sat there gawking at my mother; I just knew I had to do for her as she always done for me, protect her from herself.
I shakily reached forward and rolled mom so I could slip off her dirty bra and then slipping my hands into her panties my hands came into full contact with her soft skin and I swear there was an electrical charge exchanged between us. There before me was my disfigured naked mother and she never looked more beautiful, but how do I, a 18-year-old kid convince her of that?
Many thoughts came into my juvenile mind, some very lustful while others were compassionate. To my embarrassment before my mother (who is looking over my shoulder as I type this), I submitted to my lustful inquisitive thoughts; I leaned forward and kissed my mother on her cheek, her lips, her shoulders and her lovely breasts of which I felt up with abandon, amazed that her nipples harden to over an inch while I suckled till mom groaned and mumbled in her drunken sleep. To which I explored my mother’s body; kissing her scars on burnt shrivelled skin, her arms legs and finally the forbidden region from whence I was conceived, carried and born. It was magical – a healthy patch of pubic hair, the aroma of stale urine! Yet, as mother tossed in her sleep her folds opened and before my virgin eyes lay a pink wonderland of an unknown tunnel that led into her soul; I felt and cupped that triangle of pinkness; exploring the folds with a ghostly touch so as not to awaken her, my fingers slipped up and down with her increasing wetness that dribbled from her wondrous tunnel; with my body shaking uncontrollably I slipped a finger within my mother and thrust, exploring. Then I slipped in another as mom’s unconscious form quivered as she danced to my touch and before my eyes I watched a bud at the top of this magical tunnel grow into what looked like a small penis. I touched and explored that bud till mom began convulsing uncontrollably on the bed gushing forth-creamy slippery wetness that covered my fingers and hand as I continued to explore her private canal. Mom’s body continued to shake, her hips thrusting up into my hand and her triangle of hair matted with her wetness. I damn near peed my pants as her voice screamed, “Ummmmmm – Ooohhhhh – Oh yes, EEEEeeeee … ” finally lay slumped open legged on the bed. And I stood beside the bed trembling in fear of what I had done.
I left the room and wondered about the house in fear of what I had done; I molested my own mother, I evilly and willing played with her and most of all ENJOYED it immensely.
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What I needed to do now was clean mom all up and explaining when she awoke that she had dirtied herself and I had cleaned her up and tucked her into bed as she had done me so often.
I crept back to mom’s room and sat staring at her lovely delights till I finally got down to actually cleaning mom up; a large bowl from the kitchen, hot water, towel and face cloth; I set forth and starting at her face with the greatest compassion driven by lust washed every square inch of her lovely body while at times lingering to explore her hidden recesses and once again contriving to illicit a response from my lustful administrations as thus succeeding in making my mother dance and scream repeatedly to my fingers of which a good portion of my hand was inserted inside of her creamy tunnel and thus wet her blanket below her thrusting quivering hips as her legs spread widely for my exploration that I am sure carried on far too long as the water was cold when I finally returned to cleaning up the gooey mess that I had to go refill the bowl with hot water.
When I had completed satisfying my exploration of lust, I rolled mom below the blankets to leave her sleep and returned to my room to reflect on my evil deeds glancing at my wrist watch I discovered that I had played with mother for nearly 7 hours, it being now shortly after 2 AM slipping contently into sleep.
I awoke leaping from my bed to a horrible sound of agony following the sounds to find my naked mother bent over the toilet casting the ruminants of alcohol and diet neglect repeatedly into oblivion of the toilet bowl. Her nakedness aroused me again and I sat on the tub encouraging her to get rid of that terrible stuff in her tummy (as she had often told me when I was sick) while slowly caressing her naked soft skin on her back and shoulders. When she had finally appeared to stop I cleaned her face up with a hot facecloth and assisted her back to bed. Running quickly to the kitchen I returned with a jug of cold juice and a glass and while supporting mom helped her drink some.
“You’re a Sweetie, can you bring mommy the aspirin bottle … mommy has a headache,” she requested softly. On return, mom cast down 5 or so of the pills and rolling onto her tummy slipped back asleep. I sat with her; rubbing her shoulders softly till faint soft snores immolated from mom and thus encouraging my wondering hands to caress her breasts along the sides and down her back to caress her naked ass and before long mom was restless in bed, her legs opening to which my fingers slipped to that magical tunnel area and very gently traced the folds of the pinkness till I found her opening and thus slipped inside her creamy warmth as my fingers thrust in and out making her moan and pant. I continued as mom’s hips firmly pumped against my hand and the bed that increased dramatically as my finger stroked her enlarged bud and she screamed into her pillow, “Ohhh god … Mmmm …” and so many other cooing noises till she screamed “Oh yes, EEEE eeeeee …” and thus lay still and panting.
Having quietly and somewhat guiltily slipped away, I prepared lunch in the form of soup and sandwiches to start nutrition back into mom and repent for my evil playing that I had been doing and just before noon, slipped into her room and gently shaking her shoulders awoke her urging her to take some food.
On rolling over she started to sit up suddenly realizing she was naked began a angry tantrum using some nasty language and with horror realized what she had said reached out to drew me nearer; she caressed my face saying, “I’m so sorry sweetie … I … well last I remember we were outside … how did I get here and … how’d I get talked outside mom … I helped you get here and then … well you had been sick several times that I couldn’t leave you like that … so I … well I …”, I stumbled to a halt while my face reddened with embarrassment I asked, “How do you feel this feel better than I have in along time … thanks to you, I remember some of your speech young man…” she said as she tried some soup, “I’m sorry you had to see your ugly mother and sick on top of not ugly mom, your beautiful and sexy”, I blurted out wildly.
“I think not sweetie, I seen myself in a mirror, I’m all scarred and disfigured … I’m ugly and no one will want me ever again…” she began to softly cry, “Please leave me, get out …” she suddenly snapped, throwing the food to the floor.
I slowly walked towards the door, turning said with all the passion I could muster, “Your still very beautiful and sexy … and … and I need you …” and as I closed the door slightly, said almost inaudibly, “and I want you mom” walking away with tears flowing in my eyes.
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Hours later, I peeked into mom’s room and saw she was asleep again; I watched her from the door for awhile then quietly slipped in and picked up the dishes from the floor and soaked up some of the mess.
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