Mother / Son Incest Victim
Introduction:
Please Don’t Read.
“Hello?”
“Hi, this is Doctor Hanks from Roxelle’s Pharmacy. I’ve been informed that you are Ellie’s son, am I correct.”
“Yes, what about it?”
“I’m sorry to tell you this, but your mother is really sick. She is currently at home alone, I feel that there should be someone there for her at this very crucial time in her life.”
“Is she going to die?”
“All I’m saying is that she doesn’t have much time left. Please if you can visit her, it would really help.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I descend downwards towards my basement. It is cold, dark, and full of boxes that were left unchecked since we moved in 10 years ago. I look around, seeing labels on the top of the boxes, “Haley’s doll collection.” “Jake’s hockey equipment.” This brings back memories of my kids doing these things years ago, but this isn’t what I’m looking to find. I walk to the very corner of the basement, and look at the very first box I unloaded into my basement when my family moved into the house.
It was my childhood all into one box. I ripped the taping and opened the box revealing all my old things. “Danny’s Olde Stuff,” was what the label read as I opened it up. I smile as I open the big fat box, seeing a few items from my childhood. I picked up my Tamagotchi, then a few pictures, then my elementary school skipping rope. My diploma, my school speech, my class pictures. All these things bring back instant memories. But these weren’t what I was searching for.
I scatter the items around until I feel it… I pick up a book, The Book! This is it. I close my box while keeping the notebook in my hands. I rush out of the basement and run to my bedroom, closing my bedroom door, and sit on my bed while staring at my book.
“Danny’s Diary, Don’t Open.” is what I called it the last time I wrote in it. I decided that I had to read this, before deciding whether to visit my Mother for maybe the very last time.
The very first page…
Saturday, April 8, 1972
Hi my name is Danny Smith. I am 8 years old. I live with my Mommy in 2 room house. Daddy is coming back home next year, Mommy said he went to join army and fight bad guys. I am in grade 3. My teacher says to write. It help when I become old man. So Mommy buy me this book, I go write here everyday.
I smile at my reading and I skip a few pages…
Sunday February 4th 1973
I started sleeping in bed with my Mom, which she likes. It is comfort for both of us, since I have nightmares often. Mom says that sleeping in bed together helps us become smarter and when we need someone, we have each other right beside us to provide whatever was needed. Also, when we get cold, we will cuddle, I love cuddling with my Mom. My friend Jake mom says bad words to him. I love my Mom.
I skip a long stroke of pages…
Saturday October 9th 1976
Last night, I was in bed with my Mom when I woke up startled by a strange dream and a funny feeling – I had my first wet dream. I forgot what happened in my dream. I felt myself feel really good. I had woken up just as I started to notice I was peeing the bed. I wasn’t dreaming anymore. I panicked that I was wetting the bed and quickly woke my mom. She pulled down the sheets only to look me in my eyes and say that this was normal. She told me to remove my pajama bottoms which embarrassed me a lot. She quickly grabbed some tissues and cleaned me up, but it felt very weird when she started handling my still erect penis and gently squeezing the contents into the tissues. I felt so ashamed at what was occurring but it also felt amazing how she touched my penis. I feel go guilty right now.
I feel sadness running in my heart as I turn to the next page…
Sunday, October 17th 1976
Mom’s been acting differently toward me ever since that incident last weekend in bed. I was terrified that she would tell my friends or her friends of what happened with me in bed. I keep feeling ashamed when her friends are over, and I was scared to bring my own friends over to my home. Will she tell her friends I wet the bed?
Friday, March 4th 1977
Before we were about to sleep last night, Mom gave me this sad look. She said that my penis is deformed, and asked whether I masterbutt a lot. When I asked her what masterbutt was, she laughed. She told me to lower my pants. She said that my penis was curved when it should be straight like a line. She said she will talk to Doctor Stan today and everything will be okay. I’m scared I might have cancer, my teacher says a lot of people can get cancer at any age and any time but people don’t know about it.
Terry Fox, my hero is who I can think about as having Cancer.
Sunday, August 7th, 1977
It’s getting so weird that Mom has to keep checking my penis to see whether I was actually deformed. I tried to say no last time she wanted to see it, but she began to cry and said that she doesn’t want me to die. I finally let her take my pants off. This time, she immediately started touching me in a way as to produce an erection to my penis. I felt embarrassed when my body started responding and became aroused. She started talking to me about intercourse and, I guess, trying to give me that sex talk that my teachers say our parents will give us. She held my hand and walked me into the bathroom, she sat me down on the toilet and gets out a bottle of lotion which she puts on my erect penis and starts to masturbate me. She told me this is what boys do. I’m so conflicted at this point because I want to run away, but the masturbation feels very good. I started to panic as I felt this rising pressure. I told my mom I had to pee and she responded by grabbing some tissues with her other hand and held them at the tip of my penis as I started to ejaculate.
Now I feel so miserable and upset that my Mom did this to me.
Saturday, August 27th, 1977
I felt like my Mom has some kind of power over me. She kept up the teasing and would often knock on the door when I was in the bathroom and asked if I ‘needed any help.’ Yesterday night, I was masturbating in the bathroom when my mom knocked on the door and again asked if I needed help. I couldn’t get an erection. I couldn’t stop myself; I went to the door and let her in.
Sunday, April 2nd, 1978
My Mom still masturbates me several times a week. I would accompany her to bed in the evening and already be aroused knowing that she would pull down my pajama bottoms or boxers, the minute I got into bed. I am totally dependent upon her for sexual release. I felt resentful every time but at the same time I couldn’t help myself. The nights that I tried to sleep alone, I would lie awake panting with arousal until I found myself tiptoeing down the hall towards my Mom’s room, almost against my will.
~
Tuesday, July 15th, 1980
I haven’t written here for a few months. I got myself a job! It’s a stupid job, just picking up garbage at the park but I don’t mind. I give half my paycheck to my Mom, and keep the other half for College.
Whenever I give Mom money, she will get excited, and again will take me into the washroom and masturbate me. But yesterday night after I gave my Mom money for rent, she went onto her knees, pulled down my jeans and underwear, and put her mouth over my penis. I felt so disgusted but at the same time, the feelings felt so good. I ejaculated into my Mom’s mouth, I felt so gross. She opened her mouth, and there was nothing there. She swallowed my sperm, and smiled.
I wish, I wish I can say no to her, I don’t want to do this anymore.
~~~
I close my diary and try to think clearly. My Mom. What do I need to do? I don’t know what to think anymore, life feels so weird. I’m married, have two kids, a wonderful wife, but my Mom was part of my life for so long. She was a single mother, worked hard, and just needed someone she can benefit from. She… loved… me… She didn’t give up after Dad left her, she tried to ignore it, and just needed someone who she can share her highs, lows, and fun with. That person was me.
~~~
Saturday, February 15th, 2014.
This will be my last entry. Yesterday after work, I took a shower and headed off to visit Mom instead of spending Valentine’s Day with my wife. I found her apartment, and thought whether I should actually go in. I decided I had to, I found her apartment number, and knocked on the blue wooden steel door. I knocked twice, the second one louder than the first. When the door opened, the emotions struck me hard.
Mom’s head was full of white hair which reached her shoulders. Her skin was wrinkled, she looked very skinny, and her posture changed. But her eyes and smile told me she was the same Mom I always had. We hugged and cried together. She gave me a glass of milk, saying she doesn’t drink juice. We went to her room, which was really small and clean. We sat on the bed and talked, about life, about work and retirement, and then about sex.
When we talked about sex, she asked whether I remembered about my past. I told her I did, and the effects it had on my life. She began to cry and apologize for what she did, blaming my Dad for abusing her and leaving us alone. I acknowledged what occurred and forgave her.
I asked her if there was anything I could do for her. She said there was, but it was best if she doesn’t say. I demanded to know what she was thinking. She said she wanted to have sex with me. I was surprised, and we both remained quiet for a minute before I stood up from the bed and began to remove my clothing. My Mom smiled and did the same. She started with masturbating me, then giving me oral, and then lay down on the bed. I licked her vagina, sucked her breasts, and finally went inside my own mother to complete her final wish. Her pussy was tight, I took it slowly in and out as we moaned very softly together. I came inside of my mother. And just like when we were kids, I grabbed the tissue and cleaned her vagina of my cum. We lay down together, and talked before taking a shower together, and finally leaving one-another.
She passed away the following day.
~~~
So this is a very long testament for those who maybe are less threatened by mother/son incest than by father/daughter. They are equally reprehensible and harmful. Beyond the physical manifestations of abuse, the psychological harm is what lasts a lifetime. Any abuser needs to know that for their few minutes of gratification at the expense of a child, the wounds they inflict resonate for decades.
