On looking back at one’s past it sometimes seems strange that there are so many things we did not notice at the time. Perhaps because at the time, especially during childhood, we take for granted what is there.
True we can experience the wonder of the world around us and bask in the love of parents and grandparents, but again, they are there and simply accepted as such. They are there just as we expect our meals to be there, our rooms cleaned and beds made, that is, until that fateful day when mother says, “It’s time you tied your own shoe laces”, or later, “You can look after your own room.”
It is at such times when you can no longer take things for granted and are gradually made responsible for your self, that you need to think more carefully about what you have and what you want.
To be more specific; it is a well known and accepted truth that in a healthy family mother and son tend to bond more strongly than father and son or mother and daughter. Often that bond lasts until death and beyond. Even when the son takes a partner of his own, the mother-son bond can remain.
Take for example my own case; when I was a child I thought my mother the most beautiful woman in the world. This had nothing to do with my mother’s actually physical beauty. My view of her beauty could not be measured on some beauty scale of one to ten. It was a concept of beauty that arose from my need of her love and care, and the fact that she gave this love and care made her beautiful in my eyes.
Apparently my father did not share my view of mother’s beauty because when I was ten he left her for a girl from his office. I can recall mother being utterly distraught and crying, and me trying to comfort her in my childish way, telling her, “I still love you mummy, and I’ll never leave you.”
For all her distress at my father’s departure, when, after a month of living with his new paramour he decided he would return to mother, she would not have him back.
I overheard some of that conversation through the crack of a partially open lounge door. My father’s pleading to be allowed to return was quite pathetic, and mother’s refusal adamant. I was cheering for her on the sidelines since I felt father had betrayed both of us.
After that there was much legal wrangling as father tried to get his revenge on mother by making the division of property as difficult as possible. He ended up the loser, with mother retaining the house, and getting an allowance for me.
One aspect I did not relish was that father was permitted weekly access to me. This meant trips to the zoo and things like that, but it didn’t last. I believe he got himself another woman who had four children and his visits to me tailed away to zero.
Mother who is a pharmacist continued a part time job in a local pharmacy she had worked in for some time. Thus financially we jogged along comfortably enough, if not luxuriously.
In some respects I was the winner in this situation because mother’s love and affection became totally focused on me. I suppose I became a substitute husband, and although this might be considered unhealthy for both of us, I confess I revelled in being the “Only One.” I no longer had to share mother, she was all mine; at least, I thought she was at the time.
When I entered the period of roaring hormones I think I became a very difficult and temperamental youth. I played the game of rejecting mother although deep down I still craved her love and attention, which I still received for all my irascibleness. Mother hung in, waiting for my hormones to calm down.
The hormonal peace began when I started to date girls and have sex with them. I suppose that this pleasant activity assured me of my manhood, and mother, being alive to my sexual activity, did her best to make sure there were no consequences by always seeing I had a supply of condoms.
I had no difficulty getting girls, and at first I was like a child let loose in a sweet shop. But like that child I soon became jaded by the honey sweet diet, and longed for something more substantial than a series of one night stands with girls who were “anybody’s.”
I suppose that is another stage on the road to maturity; the desire to establish a long term relationship with a beloved one. Not that I had a very good example in my own father, or from what I could see, many other fathers. Nonetheless that was what I hankered after. I wanted the fountain to which I could constantly return to slake my thirst.
Part of my problem was, that once my “difficult phase” had passed, I began to compare the girls I fucked with the other woman in my life, mother. I suppose mother was my ideal model, the female par excellence, the one against whom I unfairly matched all other females. I compared the girls with her, and found them wanting.
No doubt this is what happens with many males and eventually along comes “The One,” or at least, the one whom they think is The One. That the divorce rate is so high suggests that the task of finding “The One” is even more difficult than we might suspect.
This comparing the girls with mother led to my starting to see mother in a new light. Certainly she was “The Woman” as far as I was concerned, but in some respects she was an abstraction until I began my sex life. It was then that mother took on a more concrete form.
She became much more a flesh and blood female; a female who had given her body to a man, my father, and, as I by then began to suspect, several other men after father left us. Not that she paraded these men before me, and I had no actual proof even of their reality, but in my mind I began to picture her murmuring words of love and crying out as my girls did when they orgasmed.
Unreasonably I felt terrible pangs of jealousy as I pictured the lurid scenes of lust as mother coupled with these men of my imagination. I was tormented by these visions of my beloved and beautiful mother with her lover, giving herself as he held her in his lascivious embrace.
It was the torment of these visions that first led to my new way of perceiving mother. I began to view at her as a desirable woman.
Features that had always been there for me to see started to take on a new significance; her firm unbridled breasts pressing against her blouse or shirt, stirring as if with a life of their own as she moved; her long slender legs that led me to envisage that paradise at the top of them. I fantasised seeing her naked, touching those breasts, kissing, smelling and tasting her womanhood. Perhaps feeling her handle my penis and saying, “I want you, my darling.”
As these fantasies grew ever more insistent, so the girls I fucked became less and less pleasing. They were but passing shadows that temporarily sated my lust as I released the pressure of my testes into them.
To put it bluntly, every time I looked at mother I started to get horny.
The constant presence of the unobtainable object of sexual desire in one’s life makes for a particularly excruciating agony. “So near and yet so far,” as they say. To copulate with another or to masturbate is to fantasise the truly desired one, but with scant satisfaction, either for the self, or where a partner is involved, for her.
Mother seemed blithely unaware of how I was feeling about her, which in a way seemed fortunate at the time because I had to constantly hide embarrassing erections from her. These came unbidden; at times simply by looking at her, but most powerfully if she was close to me, perhaps embracing me. It was then I could smell the fragrance of her body and it was this that sent me nearly frantic with longing for her.
I had reached this problematical point in my life as my eighteenth birthday approached. In our society this gave me the right to vote in elections. In addition, for those who stayed on at high school for the final year, it meant that at age eighteen you finished with that part of your education, depending in which part of the year your birthday fell. It is usual for there to be some form of celebration for the occasion, and that is how it was for me.
Mother organised a big party, inviting relatives, friends and my fellow students. Speeches were made, toasts drunk and gifts given. During the course of the party I noticed some of my fellow students, male and female, sneaking off to a dark and unused path running down one side of our house. They returned a little later, dishevelled with faces flushed, but looking somewhat relaxed.
I had formulated my own plans and since I obviously had access to my own bedroom, I would have been fairly sure of privacy while I entertained a young lady on the bed. Unfortunately, it did not work out as planned. Mother stuck close to me the whole evening and this gave me no chance of propositioning a girl, let alone inveigling her into my bedroom.
