Flowers in Autumn

This account deals with potentially triggering content such as: Events that could be considered physical or sexual abuse, and borderline incest between a mother and her son. It also contains first hand remembrances of depression, involuntarily celibacy, social isolation, and agoraphobia. So if any of that may bother you, you have been warned.

Introduction

My name is Mark, and this story takes place in the autumn of the year I was 22. My family situation was fairly cliche' for a semi-dysfunctional middle class American family circa 2000ce. Dad was rarely home, and mostly just argued with Mom when he was. My little sister had just left for college. Which meant that it was pretty much just Mom and I at home.

I was in a pretty bad state. Growing up, I fit many of the incel/neckbeard/weirdo etc. stereotypes. I was obese during my childhood and adolescence, which had devastated my social standing and confidence to the point that I hadn't developed social skills.

During my teenage years I went through constant rejection and unrequited love. I couldn't talk to girls at all and had difficulty even keeping ties with my childhood buddies.

After high school, I became a hikikomori. Although that is a Japanese word, it is the closest I can find to describe my condition. I experienced a mental breakdown that resulted in severe agoraphobia. I was unable to speak more than a couple syllables at a time, and I was completely unable to leave the house.

At the time I didn't work or attend school. I had an inheritance of a few thousand dollars from my great-grandparents that I lived on in addition to my parents taking care of me.

In an attempt to recover from my mental breakdown, I started a diet and exercise regimen just after I graduated high school. I blamed my obesity for why no one wanted to be my friend, so I mail ordered a weight set and a stationary exercise bike. Over the four years between graduation and the events of this story, I lost over 100 pounds, and became very physically strong.

I had assumed that once I was fit, it would be easy to find a girlfriend. Making friends obviously didn't happen, as I was a shut-in. But I stubbornly maintained my regimen of calorie counting and bodybuilding.

Unfortunately, it seemed my efforts were in vain as instead of making myself attractive I just looked scary. One of the symptoms of my depression was poor self-care, which caused red scaly patches of dermatitis on my pale skin, and thin, greasy, uncut hair. Coupled with my 6'3" 230lb muscular body and heavy features I looked like a real-life Frankenstein's monster.

My Mother's name is Anne. She is 5'9" tall. Her face and body type sort of resemble the actress Sigourney Weaver, although Mom is a little fuller figured, with a rounder butt and breasts. At the time of this story she was in her mid 40s. She had dark hair that she kept shoulder length, but almost always wore up in hair clips. It was just starting to go grey at the temples. Her skin is soft and fair, which contrasts with her hair. At the time of this story she was inspired by my weight loss and had taken up hiking and dieting and was fit and shapely for a woman of her age.

Mom worked as an ER nurse at a nearby hospital. She was under a huge amount of stress from her work, marital difficulties with dad, financial worries, and of course not knowing what to do with her failing son.

Generally, Mom has a loving, fun personality. She did have a terrible temper when she was younger, that appeared when she was stressed or tired. I've always loved her very much, but was also a little afraid of her mood swings.

Mom and I had drifted apart during the years between my mental breakdown and the events of this story. She had tried to maintain a relationship with me during the first year or so, but my sullen silence had been impenetrable.

I had gradually restarted interacting with my mother a few months before this story begins. I seemed to spontaneously recover a little, being able to think and speak more coherently, and I was extremely lonely. I started by thanking Mom when she brought home groceries, and progressed to short conversations and visits. She was supportive and patient, and after a while I was able to talk with her normally. Mom was lonely too, and we rediscovered that we got along well, and we would often keep each other company when she was home.

Chapter 1

Ok, that probably illustrates the situation enough for context. It all started in August. Our house has all kinds of books, and we even had a book on Wicca. There were some parts of it that were kind of taboo, such as many of the rituals are performed "skyclad" i.e. nude, and it illustrated some basic bondage harness ties for initiating coven members, etc.

I noticed Mom reading it and we kind of joked about it and she said she was going to try some spells for fun. I didn't think anything of it and pretty much forgot about it.

A few days later, she was working 2nd shift and got home around midnight. I was in my room but I heard her come in, and do her usual post-work routine of bathroom, change out of her scrubs, feed the cats, and check her plants. I would sometimes come upstairs to say hello to her once she had decompressed with her post-work ritual.

On this particular night it seemed like she was taking forever to come in from watering her plants. It was also weird because the back porch light was off, which I could see through the basement window. Although to be fair it was a full moon so it was pretty bright. I decided to go see what was going on.

I got up and went upstairs. I was barefoot and she had left the back door open so she didn't hear me. She was outside in her garden, completely nude, performing one of the rituals from the book. She was about ten or 15 feet from the door. Her back was to me, and she was kneeling and bending over one of her flowerbeds and was chanting over it or something.

This was the first time I had seen a naked woman in person. Her fair skin glowed in the moonlight, her hair was down around her shoulders, my gaze went from her head down to her back and finally her ass, bent forward with her cheeks parted slightly. At the sight of her butt, a lifetime of sexual denial and frustration lurched through me. My body didn't seem to care that she was my mother.

I couldn't think clearly, and my ears started to ring slightly. My penis immediately became erect, pushing the threadbare sweatpants I was wearing out like a tent. The entire event only lasted a second or two, until she noticed me. She made an eek! sound in surprise and stood up and grabbed her robe from the bird feeder holder that she had hung it from.

Quickly putting it on she came towards me, saying "Hi, Mark, I was just doing one of the nurturing growth spells from the witch book, for my plants. I needed to be skyclad."

I could tell she was embarrassed, but all I could do is mumble, "Oh, cool, but isn't the growing season almost over?"

"These are chrysanthemums." She said.

"Some flowers bloom in autumn, Mark."

My penis was still rock hard, which she obviously noticed, but didn't acknowledge. We went inside, where she just wished me good night awkwardly and went upstairs to bed. I was still in a shock like state, so I just went to my room and laid in bed until I fell asleep.

Chapter 2

Mom and I continued to grow closer, I started spending more time upstairs visiting her and we would talk and watch tv, or sometimes share a meal. She would occasionally "accidentally" brush against me when we passed in the house, she would sit close to me when I came upstairs even though we were the only ones there and there was plenty of room.

It wasn't anything untoward, just little excuses for contact or closeness. However, she had noticed the effect her nudity had had on me that night.

Occasionally when she would get home and I would go up to see her, she would have her robe on loosely with nothing underneath. Her robe would open as she moved and I would catch glimpses of her breasts and belly and pubic hair. I would often become erect as a result of these flashes of her body. I was embarrassed, and tried to hide it, but she just smiled slightly, enjoying the validation.

After a while I returned the gesture, most of my clothes were much too big for me after the weight I lost so I would leave the drawstring on my sweatpants loose when Mom was around. They would fall down, exposing me. I would quickly pull them back up and we just both pretended that it was all accidental.

Chapter 3

At that point in life, I had no hope or dreams and was too depressed even to play video games. The things that kept me alive were my relationship with Mom, and spending about two hours a day hitting the weights and exercise bike out of sheer habit.

As this was around the turn of the millennium, the internet was just becoming truly mainstream. We had a family computer in the living room that had internet access. I was amazed to find all the porn, fetish, dating, and sex worker ad sites.

I was particularly intrigued by the dominatrixes. The idea of being wanted and valued by a woman, to the point where I belonged to her, was incredibly appealing to me, even though it was just pretend. When I was home alone, I scoured through the fetish content and local advertisements for dominatrixes.

There was one who I really wanted to see, she was pretty, and the page where she listed her interests contained things like, spanking, facesitting, medical play, and "A special interest in anal play with male subs." I was intrigued, but I couldn't believe this was true; did people really do things like that?

The thought that I could visit a lady for a couple hundred dollars and she would pretend to care about me, and spank me and sit on my face, seemed like an impossible dream.

I started making paddles and other implements as I obsessed about being dominated. Our house has a full collection of tools that I used. I tried spanking myself, but it only frustrated me more. However, my new paddle making hobby helped with my depression, and little by little I became more skilled.

After a while, I emailed the dominatrix that I wanted to see. She listed the price and attached an activity questionnaire. I had enough money saved to see her, but she lived an hour drive away. Even if I had the courage to leave the house, I had no transportation to her. My drivers license was still valid, but I didn't have a car and was too scared to drive even if I did. After agonizing over it for days, I asked Mom if she would give me a ride.

Mom was surprised and exited that I wanted to leave the house, and she immediately interrogated me about where I wanted to go. I was evasive, just saying that it was to a therapist that I wanted to try. Mom began questioning me about the therapist, saying there may be someone closer that would be covered by our insurance, etc.

Finally, she wanted to see the website of the specific therapist I wanted. I've never been good at making up cover stories under pressure, so I just gave her the web address of the dominatrix.

The computer was on a side table next to a loveseat. Mom sat next to me and had me show her the site. I didn't know what to do, and I really wanted to go, so I connected to the dominatrix's site.

"Oh my god," Mom said softly as she looked through the site. There were pictures of the dominatrix holding various implements seductively, wearing strap-on dildos and little else, as well as pictures of the facilities available, i.e. dungeon room, bedroom, bathroom, etc.

"So this is the 'therapist' you want to go to, Mark?" Mom asked teasingly as she read through the site pages. She was actually kinda shocked, but she laughed it off. She didn't agree to drive me, so in embarrassment I just dropped the subject.

A couple days later in agony of frustration I abashedly asked Mom for a spanking. I knew there was a sexual component to the sort of spanking I wanted, and it was wrong to ask my mother. On the other hand I was in desperate need and had nowhere else to turn.

Mom was embarrassed, but agreed to give me a quick spank. I brought Mom the best of the paddles I had made, it was made out of a 2 3/4" wide by 5/16" thick strip of rubber inletted into a carved maple wood handle.

As an aside, over the years after these events, I've made several similar paddles to give to dommes that I've frequented. They are always well received and popular with subs because of their combination of a fierce sting with a solid thud. Their other advantage is that despite how painful they are, they tend not to leave significant or lasting injury compared to solid wooden paddles.

Anyway, I pulled my pants down in back, just enough to expose my butt while keeping everything else covered. I bent over the arm of the sofa.

Mom spanked me hesitantly. It wasn't like I was hoping for, I pictured something like the spanking scenes online. The reality was far more awkward and much less satisfying. After less than a minute of spanking, Mom told me to pull my pants up.

I sat on my knees on the couch while Mom sat on the loveseat. "Does your bottom hurt?"

"Yeah, kinda. But I do feel a little better emotionally though, thanks Mom." I could tell Mom didn't know how to feel about what had just happened. She had never believed in spanking, so I think part of her felt guilty.

I wanted her to understand that I needed discipline, and spanking was not the same thing as losing her temper, but I don't think she really understood.

Mom tried to give the paddle back to me, but I told her that I had made it for her and that I wanted her to spank me whenever I did something wrong. She didn't say yes, but put the paddle away in her room.

Chapter 4

Things went along uneventfully, until I injured my groin while exercising. For some reason some of the pain was referred to my testicles so it constantly felt like I had received a mild blow to the balls.

I was terrified of going out of the house but after a couple days of me limping, Mom insisted that I go to the doctor.

Our Dr was a friend of Mom's through work; as we lived in a fairly rural area, the Dr often covered shifts in the ER with my Mom in addition to maintaining her private general practice.

Now keep in mind that I hadn't interacted with anyone besides my parents, sister, and a couple extended family members since I graduated high school, over four years previously. Mom explained the situation to her friend, so the Dr made the appointment for 12 noon when her office was usually closed for lunch.

When we pulled into the parking lot I was starting to freeze in anxiety, but Mom said she would bring the Dr out to the car if I wouldn't go in. I had no choice, so I went in with Mom walking close beside me. We went to the main desk to check in. The receptionist smiled and said we must be here for the noon appointment.

Just then the Dr came out hurriedly from the back hallway and said to the receptionist: "I'll take him in exam room 2 as soon as the intake paperwork is complete."

"Hi Anne," she greeted Mom familiarly, "And you must be Mark?"

I nodded almost imperceptibly. The Dr introduced herself with a friendly smile. As her last name is difficult to pronounce, she said I could just call her Dr S.

Dr S is a tall woman originally from Canada, she was around forty years old with a buxom build and reddish blond hair. After Mom filled out the paperwork, she directed us to the exam room we would be using. I could barely speak so Mom had to come in the room with me.

Dr S took my vitals, saying that she was doing it rather than her medical assistant to make it easier for me. That way I would only have to meet one stranger. After getting the story of how I injured myself, (I had been lifting a heavy bar) she thought it might have caused a hernia. Dr S said she would have to have a look.

She told me to lower my jeans but I could keep my underwear on. She had me lay down on my back on the exam table. She lifted my shirt and felt my lower belly, and had me cough while feeling specific places on my abdomen. After a few moments of this she told me to stand up on the foot step of the table and lower my underwear.

I had been trembling a little since we left the house, but I started actually shaking with anxiety at this point. Mom started to rub my shoulder soothingly and told me to stand up, so I did. I reflexively put my hands over my lap. Mom told me to close my eyes and put my hands behind my back. After I obeyed Mom pulled my underwear down to my knees and Dr S began the examination.

One of the main emotional traumas that led to my situation was constant rejection from women and girls, and now here I was, incredibly vulnerable with my balls in a pretty lady's hand. The feel of her slightly cool, gloved fingers was terrifying and arousing at the same time. I couldn't help getting an erection from the attention, and I was afraid that the Dr would be angry or disgusted.

Neither Dr S or Mom paid any attention to my erect penis, but I couldn't help cowering, dreading rejection. Seeing this, Mom held my hand while making shushing sounds and gently rubbed my bare bottom with her free hand.

She began squeezing gently, alternating with the calming strokes. It worked, and I was able to stop crying as I concentrated on Mom's touch. The Dr repeated the instructions to turn my head and cough while she checked each testicle, spermatic cord and the lower abdominal wall.

Dr S then said the good news was there was no hernia or abnormalities in the testicles. The pain was from a sprain, and I just needed to rest, take over the counter nsaids, and finally start stretching and lifting when it no longer hurt to do so.

I was relieved that I would get better, and I thought the exam was about to be over, but Dr S said she needed to look at the rest of me. She then told me to remove my shirt and shoes and remove my pants entirely. I looked towards Mom, who had taken a step back, and she nodded. I started trembling again but did as I was told.

Dr S had me sit facing her on the exam table. She had me bend forward to check my scalp, then had me sit upright so she could look at the red patches on my face. I had showered thoroughly before the appointment, but I still had lots of skin irritation.

Next I had to bend over the table facing away from her. I glanced at Mom, but she just nodded again. When I got into position, I felt my buttocks being spread open. I gasped involuntarily, so Mom came close again, she stood close by my side so I could feel her warmth, but this time stroked my upper back to comfort me. I wasn't sure if Dr S was going to touch anything, but she was only looking. It only took a moment until it was over.

Dr S said that the bad news was that I wasn't taking care of myself properly. She said that my skin was covered in dermatitis. She questioned me, in a soft and kind tone, asking how long do I wait before changing my bedsheets, how often I shower, etc. I was still unable to speak with her so she turned to Mom.

She said, in a much firmer voice, "Honestly, Anne, what the heck is going on in your house?" Mom was a little flustered and stammered that I was a grown man and she couldn't make me do anything. The Dr replied that I needed some support. Mom agreed and said that she would help me learn how to care for myself and help me clean my room.

The Dr said that she was going to schedule a follow up in a few weeks time and that If I wasn't better with self-care and being able to leave the house then she would insist on a mental health assessment. Mom and I had downplayed my agoraphobia and just made it out to be relatively mild, but I think the Dr figured it out.

Chapter 5

When we got home Mom started getting ready for work. I felt really clingy because that day was the first time I'd been farther than our yard in years and during this outing I had been stripped naked and examined.