A Beginning.
"Oh God, no! Not my best friend!" I had suspected, but now here was the evidence plainly visible. My eyes saw, but they did not want to see what was before them. For a moment, I was frozen with angry shock, and then I fled to my room. But this is to enter the story half way through, so let me begin at the beginning.
The Sacred Assembly
My father was, and possibly still is, a lecturer in sociology. Back in the sixties when I was about ten years old, we used to have Saturday night gatherings of devoted sociology students at our house. They sat or lay around the floor on beanbags and cushions, draping over one another in weary indolence. I was allowed to sit in on these worship sessions and I did so a few times until a combination of boredom and disgust led me to join my mother in another part of the house.
The gathering was made up of young people in their late teens and early twenties. Their garments ranged from North American Indian, through Buddhist monk's habit to something resembling a Mongolian shaman's outfit, plus a couple of Jesus lookalikes. All were festooned with beads, crosses, Egyptian ankhs and other obscure charms. Their vocabulary seemed to be limited to "Crazy, man," "Wow, man," "Cool, man," and "He really know where it's at, man." The normally masculine noun "man" seemed to lose its male connotation on their lips, and be addressed to both male and female. In addition, there seemed to be a competition to see who could go the longest without washing, especially the hair, which was mostly worn long, lank and greasy.
My father sat in the midst of this assembly, and was the object of their devotion. His garb resembled a picture of an Egyptian pharaoh I had once seen in a book. He would hold forth with sociological platitudes about the world's ills and potential cures to the accompaniment of many "Crazys," "Wows," and "Mans," from the company. When he was not talking there was Indian music that he usually introduced with an elucidation on why a particular wail from a sitar explained the meaning of the universe. While father was talking the worshippers gazed upon him with rapt attention. Once the music started, they went into some sort of meditative ecstasy during which they swayed and moaned.
Having given up attending these gatherings, I joined mother, who would be reading and quietly playing recordings of Bach's music. I brought my own books and read with her. At the sound of the worshipper's departure, mother would shut her book, turn off the recording and hasten to the room now being vacated. I went with her sometimes, and found my nostrils assailed by the combined stench of cigarettes, pot, unwashed bodies and a particular odour caused by one student who I later learned was called Alistair. Alistair was a youth about nineteen years old. He might have been called pretty if he was a girl, but had a flatulence problem which exploded audibly and constantly.
Mother would fling open doors and windows to try to rid the room of the stench, and inspect the furniture for the latest cigarette burns and other signs of the new society of "love sweet love."
Mother and Father.
Mother and father had been very potent lovers. Back in the fifties, he had got mother pregnant, and as was fashionable in those days, he married her. Their lovemaking continued through most of my childhood, and I know this because they were very vocal love makers. My bedroom was next to theirs, and I often heard his moans and her screams. This worried me at first, but as they always seemed to be in good shape next morning, I assumed all was well. Later I was to learn the meaning of those outcries.
Potent lovers they may have been, but one day when I was eleven my father said he wanted to have a "Man to man talk," with me. For the occasion, he was wearing his Canadian lumberjack clothes. Without going into endless detail, it came down to this; he was leaving mother and I in order to "find himself." His departure took place next day, and that was the last time I ever saw or heard from him. I did learn, however, that he intended to "find himself" in the anus of the flatulent Alistair who went with him on this voyage of self-discovery.
Alistair apparently found the exploration not to his taste. He parted company with my father after a couple of years, became an accountant, and when his employer died, married his widow. He took over the business and became known as one of the shiftier operators in the profession.
Mother and I.
After my father left, my mother was involved in some legal wrangling and came home one day saying, "We won!" I was not clear what exactly we had won, but we continued in the same house, and seemed to be no worse off financially. Certainly, mother was sufficiently in funds to see me through university.
This brings me back to the point where I began. One afternoon while still at university, the scheduled lecture was cancelled because the flue virus had assailed the lecturer. I made my way home, arriving earlier than I was expected. As I entered the house, I heard human cries that I recognized from years before.
I shall describe mother more fully shortly, but suffice to say that I never thought of her as a woman who would allow herself to be deprived of adequate emotional fulfillment. Not that I had ever seen or heard any sign of a sexual relationship, but I assumed she was very circumspect, and kept this side of her life away from me.
I confess that curiosity got the better of me. The noises where coming from her bedroom, and were too distinct for the door to be properly shut. I crept along the passage to her door, and sure enough, it was partially open. What I saw on looking in was a sight I wished I had not seen. My naked mother was sitting across a man thumping up and down on him while he groaned and she screamed. My horror was not so much that my mother was having sex, but the fact that she was having it with my best friend, Robert.
Robert and I had been friends from our first day at school, when our anxious mothers left us howling in the care of the teacher. He had spent many hours in our home over the years, as I had in his home. I always thought my mother looked upon him almost as a second son, just as Robert's mother seemed to regard me in that way.
Neither Robert or I were innocent virgins; in fact, we had at one time shared the same girl who was happy to spread her sexual favours widely. But with my mother! To be frank, there had been a worm of suspicion lurking in the recesses of my mind, but like most people faced with something distasteful, I had pushed it aside.
Mother.
It happened like this; one summer day about three months prior to my discovering them in bed, Robert, my mother and I, were lounging beside our swimming pool. Mother had on a bikini – not a particularly provocative one, but enough to display her female charms, and perhaps now is the moment to try and describe those charms.
I do not think anyone would call mother "beautiful" in the generally accepted meaning of that word. "Pretty" would be an even more inadequate description. She is about five foot eight inches tall, and buxom. She has a dark gypsy look about her, with almost black shining hair sometimes worn tied back, but when loose hangs just below her shoulders. Her eyes are almost the colour of her hair, and they glitter with intelligence. Her nose is straight, and longer than fashion dictates, and the mouth might be described as "generous." Her breasts are full, well rounded and firm; her legs long and well formed.
My father had said he left her "to find himself." I thought he must be mad to leave a woman like my mother, but mother is not the sort of woman in whom men "find" themselves, but rather they long to "lose" themselves in her. She has an animal grace that can be seen when she moves and when in repose. I sometimes liken her to a panther in the smoothness of its movement and the beauty of its rest. In mother's presence, you are always aware of the sensual woman. There is nothing calculating about this. What you see is what she is. . As we lay beside the pool on that summer day Robert was next to my mother. I noticed as she spoke with him she kept touching his arm and shoulder sometimes letting her hand linger. Robert's swimming briefs were very brief indeed and I could see that he had a half-formed erection, which, as it continued to grow, he tried to hide by rolling over on his stomach. This did not especially trouble me because I had noticed before that my male friends often showed signs of being attracted to mother. It was a little surprising, though, because, as I have said, I had always thought Robert was my mother's other son, and assumed that Robert also accepted this relationship.
