The Peep Hole Ch. 02

Chapter 2 -- A Remembrance of Abuse

Summary of Chapter 1: Michael's mother has discovered that he has been spying on her while she bathed. In furious anger, she confronts him physically and verbally. But the deep emotions of their encounter turned into a moment of lust and desire.

I was sitting on the living room sofa unsure about how to feel about what had jut happened. My mother's angry physical and verbal attack ultimately manifested itself into a sexual experience that I could not have manufactured in my horniest imagination. My heart was still racing, pounding in my chest as I sat on the living room sofa and attempted to make sense out of this night's emotional encounter. Anger had turned to desire, a moment of lust; were the two emotions that closely related? No, I refused to believe this because I had seen too much anger in our home. As a young boy, I had seen and heard my parents go at each other tooth and nail and it had frightened me. Not until my father finally left was I able to experience the kind of deep, caring love that my mother could give; unobstructed by violent anger.

I had heard of people releasing their emotions during times of extreme stress; after the lose of a loved one, after an emotional breakup of a relationship, or even during extremely intimate times like communal prayer. Was this just the same sort of occurrence? It had been many years since I had seen her so angry and emotionally charged. My spying on her, naked and innocent, had definitely struck a deep nerve. Yet out of all this emotion, my mother and I shared a moment of mutual sexual need. The realization of that reality was just beginning to sink in. Although we hadn't had sex in the classic sense, we had masturbated each other to shuttering climaxes. Just the thought of this made my cock twitch again, and though I felt a sense of shame and sorrow at having hurt my mother so deeply and emotionally, there was a renewed fire in my loins and a sense of gratification at having finally entered my erotic holy of holies; sex with my mother.

Reliving the experience again - while it was still fresh in my mind -- I took hold of my hardened cock and replayed the erotic scenes with all their vivid emotion and intensity while I stroked myself in earnest. I could almost feel my mother's soft, sagging breasts pressed against my chest, the touch of her hand on my stiff prick, the heat of her pussy as I fingered her to climax, spraying my seed over her breasts, seeing her sheepishly taste her son's ejaculation. With a shuttering orgasm, I collapsed on the couch from exhaustion and, still clutching my slowly shrinking cock, dosed of, emotionally and physically spent.

It was quite early in the morning when I finally dragged myself to bed and slumped into an agitated sleep. I awoke about 8:00 AM and dressed quietly, not wanting to disturb my mother. Her bedroom door was still closed and I had not heard a peep from there since our furious encounter the night before. Looking in the mirror, I noticed that I had a shiner under my left eye where she had struck me squarely with one of her initial blows. It wasn't the physical pain I minded, it's just that this mouse under my eye would, at least for the next few days, be a visible reminder of our wild sexual wrestling match.

I left the apartment and took a long walk over to the local strip mall to get some breakfast at the small diner I frequented there. All the while, I tried to sort out the events of the previous evening. I have to admit that my heart felt a little heavy and remorseful too. I wanted to make things right between us again, but still, I couldn't erase the supreme pleasure of having touched my mother intimately and having her do likewise to me, no mater what the circumstances.

While I slowly worked over my breakfast, I pondered all these things and decided that I needed to put a plan for reconciliation in motion to set things right between my mother and me. The first thing to do was to seal up the peep hole in order to remove any ongoing suspicion between us, and secondly, I had to confront the issue straight on so that we could deal with it immediately and at least attempt to get past it. On the way home, I stopped at a local hardware store to purchase some Spackling compound and a putty knife.

I wasn't looking forward to facing my mother for the first time after last night but I didn't see any way around it other than to meet the situation head on. With a lump in my throat, I entered our apartment -- 'the scene of the crime' -- but, with a slight feeling of relief, found that my mother had left to go shopping. I found a note on the kitchen table saying as much. With the anxiety of having to confront her when she returned still hanging over me, I set about the task of sealing up the peep hole that ran between my bedroom closet and the bathroom.

With that job done, I settled down on the living room sofa to read the Sunday paper and waited for my mother to return from her shopping trip. Still weary with emotion and a fitful night of sleep, I dosed off again and didn't awaken until I heard my mother's key rattling in the front door lock. It was already late in the afternoon, long evening shadows were streaming through the window blinds. I must have been asleep for hours. She seemed a little surprised to see me sitting on the couch and gave me a nervous smile.

"Oh, your home," she said. "I was out shopping."

"Yes, I saw your note," I replied, equally as nervous and embarrassed as she. Both of our faces showed a reddish glow about the cheeks. "Can I help you with the bags?" I asked as I got up off the couch and headed towards her.

"No, no, I'm fine," she mumbled as she lowered her gaze, hurried past me, and walked down the hall towards the kitchen.

I watched her as she walked away from me. I knew I had to confront this situation immediately but I would have been willing to do almost anything except what I knew I had to do at that moment. Following her into the kitchen, I walked up behind her as she unpacked her parcels and grasped her gently by her upper arms.

"Mom," I began, "I, I wanted you to know that I closed up the hole in my closet. I, I won't be doing that anymore." I felt my mother slump forward a little and heard her emit a soft sigh.

"Thank you, Michael," she said softly, "I, I, Uh..." she continued hesitatingly and then I felt her shoulders shutter softly as she began to silently sob. I moved in closer behind her and held her arms more tightly. Leaning in I rested my chin on her right shoulder.

"I'm sorry about this whole thing, mom," I whispered in her ear. "I never meant to hurt you. I feel so badly that I hurt you. I love you so very much. I'm sorry. I, well, have always had this, this desire for you. You're so beautiful, mom. I've always thought that, and I just, just let that desire do my thinking for me. I'm sorry." Our mutual remorse felt like a heavy cloud that encircled us. My mother's shoulders heaved with each deep sigh of tears she tried to suppress but was unable to. She reached her left hand over and placed it over my own as I held her. Slowly our fingers intertwined as I kissed her gently on the shoulder and neck.

"Shhh... Don't say such things, Michael. It's not just your fault," she said through her tears. "I'm sorry too." With that, she turned around and I quickly took her in my arms. She laid her face against my shoulder, wrapping her arms around me. Her whispered sobs began to quiet down as we held each other. I wanted to say more but couldn't find the words that I'd rehearsed over and over during my morning of preparation for this moment. Mother, too, seemed at to be unable to find the appropriate words. Again, as we had the night before, we held each other and began to rock gently in place, a silent two-step dance that held its ground. Words had escaped us for the moment but I felt we were communicating at another level.

"I just felt so violated when I found out what you were doing, Michael," mother began as she finally broke through the silence. "It just brought back some awful feelings that I thought I'd never have to feel again. I've never told anyone about this, Michael, but I have to tell you now." Mother paused for a moment, bit her lip, collected her thoughts, and then continued. "Years ago, when you were a little boy, your father had a bunch of his friends over to play cards and, of course, they were drinking lots of whiskey and carrying on like a pack of fools."

I reached over and gently stroked my mother's hair in an effort to ease her mind and to help the words come more easily.

"Luckily, you were staying at grandma's house for the weekend so you didn't have to witness it. All evening I was trying to stay clear of them because I didn't like his friends much and, well, you know what your father was like when he was drunk. Anyway, later that evening I decided to take a bath before bed. I made sure to lock the door before getting in the tub, but sure enough, as soon as I settled down in the water, one of your dad's buddies decided he had to pee and tried to get in."

I could tell that the retelling of this story was painful for her. Her words came haltingly and she seemed to be choosing them carefully.

"Well, he started making a real scene about needing to pee and not being able to get in the bathroom. I keep yelling back to him that I was in the tub and that he'd have to wait until I'd finished. Pretty soon I heard more voices in the hall. Your father and his friends had all gathered in front of the bathroom door and where banging on it and cursing and laughing and yelling at me to open it. I screamed at them over and over that I was taking a bath and that I wanted to be left alone, but they just kept up their hollering. Then all of a sudden the door was kicked in and your father and his three friends all came into the bathroom whooping and cursing and laughing. I screamed and I screamed at them to get out but they just won't listen. They just kept on laughing and whistling and howling and making lewd remarks to me. I was completely naked, trying to cover up, and screaming at them to leave but they just kept joking and cursing at me."

My mother's tears returned again as she related this awful night of horror at the hands of my father and his friends. But even through her tears, she seemed to have a need to retell it. She continued as best she could through her sobbing. "The one who had to pee so badly pulled out his, his, penis, and walked over to the toilet but your father said, 'Hey wait, Chuck, I think we could all use a good piss, come on back over here.' Oh, Michael," she said through a fresh wave of tears and cocked breaths. "They all pulled their, their penises out and they were laughing and they were waving them at me and cursing me and calling me names and asking me to, to take them in my mouth."

"Oh, mom," I said as I stroked her face and kissed her forehead. My heart ached for her as I pictured the lewd scene in my mind. "It's OK, mom, it's OK." I said, but it wasn't OK. Mom's eyes were red and swollen with tears as she choked out the rest of her story.

"Oh, Michael, it was awful," she continued through shattered breaths, "Those men, all those men, they stood there and they, they, Oh, God, Michael, they started peeing on me! They just stood there and laughed at me and cursed me and called me bitch and whore and peed all over me. Your father grabbed hold of my hair and pushed his penis into my face. He just kept saying, 'Suck it bitch, show these guys how you like to suck.' They all started egging him on and waving their penises at me and laughing. Oh, god, Michael, they were laughing at me! I was crying so hard and begging them to leave but they just kept laughing!"

"Shhhh... Mom, don't. It's OK," I tried to reassure her but I knew there was nothing I could say to ease the hurt of this memory.

"Your father said they won't leave until I, I gave him oral sex. I just wanted them to leave so I did it. I took him in my mouth and did what he asked but he was too drunk to finish. Some of the other men wanted me to, to suck them too, but, thank God, your father wouldn't let them. I was so afraid they were all going to take me. He just said, 'Shit, she's no fuckin' good at it anyway...', and they all laughed some more. Finally, they all left the apartment and went to the tavern to drink some more."

My mother buried her head in my shoulder a little further. I continued to stroke her face and cooed softly in her ear that she was safe and that I would care for her. I took a handkerchief from my pocket and wiped her tear-filled eyes and wiped her nose. I thought to myself how many times she had done that for me when I was a boy but now the tables were turned, she was the one who needed comforting. After a few moments she once again regained her composure.

"Oh, Michael, you can't imagine how dirty and embarrassed I felt. I must have cried for days afterwards. I thought I would never feel clean again after having all those men pee on me. I couldn't understand why your father had allowed such a thing to happen to me. I did everything for that man, and everything he wanted, everything, Michael, in the kitchen and in the bedroom. And then, then that all happened. It was right after that that I decided I wasn't going to let him touch me ever again and I wasn't going to let myself be abused like that again. Well, we just kept getting into more and more shouting matches and things between us started falling apart, until, about the time you were 10 years old, I finally decide I had had enough and asked him to leave. I decided it was going to be just you and me, Michael, and I was happier for it. I made up my mind that there wasn't going to be another man in my life except you."

"I'm so sorry that all happened to you, mom," I said. "I knew dad was a pretty crumby person, but I can't imagine that he'd let something like that happen to you."

"Well, that's all old news now, Michael. It's over but do you understand now why I reacted the way I did? That feeling of being violated again just struck an old, raw nerve."

"Yes, I see," I said, "I love you, mom, I just wish I could undo whatever hurts I gave you."

"That's over too, Michael," she said. "I love you too much to let that come between us. I said yesterday that you were just like your father, but you're not, Michael. You're nothing like him. You're good and I love you. You're the child of my old age, Michael. I guess I'd never noticed until now that you had become a man and had a man's feelings and, and a man's needs and wants. I'm tired of being strong, Michael, you're grown now, the man of the house. I want you to be the man of the house."

Mother hugged me even tighter after having said that. "You are a man, my man," she said as she wiggled her body slightly, her face buried in my neck. "And I'm going to honor that. I don't want to fight anymore. I want us to take care of each other like we always have. I just hope I didn't hurt you last night with my crazy carrying on." With that, she lifted her head off my shoulder and looked up into my face. "Oh, my," she said with a sniff, after seeing the shiner under my eye for the first time. "Did I do that?"

"Um, yeah, you did, slugger," I replied with a sheepish grin.

Mom reached up and gently placed her finger tips on the black and blue mark under my eye. Then she cupped my face with both hands, pulled my face down, and planted a soft kiss over the bruised spot. "There," she said, "that should make it feel better. Man or boy, a kiss always makes things better."

I brought my head back and paused for a moment as our eyes met; our faces just inches apart. My mother had just told me her most intimate secret, something that was so very painful for her to remember, but at that moment there seemed to be a peaceful karma that encircled us. Everything that was so dreadful the day before was suddenly swept away, and I was certain that the feeling of relief and serenity that came over me at that moment was not just something I conjured up but was coming from her as well. I could feel my heart pumping solidly in my chest. Our faces were so close I could feel the flush of heat from my mother's face. Our eyes locked in a gaze of mutual understanding, and with each breath, we breathed into each other's mouths. Slowly, almost involuntarily, the space between us became no space at all. As our lips touched, I felt like the ground below me had given way and I was supported only by my mother's tender lips. Oh, how often I had dreamed of this moment.

There is no description for how wonderful and intense and satisfying it was to kiss my mother like that for the first time. It was as if our lips were made for the moment, perfectly fit for each other. The taste of her mouth was like a home coming. I, we, belonged there, for that moment and for all those moments which would come after. Our lips were perfectly locked, sucking and biting and licking; uninhibited, hungry, and passionate. She had called me her man and by that kiss, I understood immediately what that meant. Unafraid, I let my tongue glide across her soft, full lips, and immediately they parted for me, and I probed deeply into her sweet tasting mouth. She moaned into my mouth as our tongues danced and intertwined, and she seemed to almost collapse in my arms. I had wanted this for so long. I had wanted her for so long.

My mother had called me her 'man' and I, based on the validation of this kiss and her tender embrace, was ready to assume that position. She had admitted that she had been without a man since that demoralizing incident with my father and his friends. She had focused all her attention and resources and love on me, and since my earliest recollections, she had been my ideal, the woman I measured all others against. So many times I had masturbated with erotic thoughts of her, and now I wondered if she did likewise with thoughts of me. Regardless, she was now in my arms, giving the rest of herself to me and without shame I was ready to take control of our relationship.

With our lips still locked in erotic embrace, I cupped her left breast and squeezed it gently. Her stiff bra could not hide the soft, spongy tit that it held. My pawing became more aggressive as, once again, she moaned deeply into my mouth and leaned into me with increased passion. Her hands roamed freely over my back and ass, causing me to pull her even closer to myself. My cock was stiff with desire and my body began to involuntarily hump into her soft frame. Releasing her lips, I leaned down and kissed and licked her neck and her ear. Her response left no doubt that she had surrendered herself to me.

Reluctantly, after several minutes of passionate necking, our lips parted and we gazed into each others eyes like two lovers long parted but once again united. Without a word, I took her hand and we walked silently toward her bedroom.

We were both very tense, neither of us could deny that, but we both knew what we wanted, and we both knew the implications of what we were about to do. Socially, and for some, morally hideous and repugnant, my mother and I were about to cross over into a relationship of incestuous love. We did not speak of it, not then and never in the future. For us, we were a loving mother and a loving son in love.

In these last few moments, through our wordless, passionate kisses and warm embracing, my youthful longings for my own mother were taking full physical shape. And I understood too that she had feelings for me that ran parallel to my own. She was now more than my mother, she was my woman, and that was all that mattered to me. As a boy, she had never denied me anything good, that was within her power to give. Now as my lover, I knew that this aspect of her love for me would not change; that she would abandon her won needs, wants, and desires to fulfill mine.