tagIncest/TabooThe Mother I Never Knew Ch. 01

The Mother I Never Knew Ch. 01


*Do not mourn lost time; make the most of what you have left*

(Thanks to Desiree Fox and Talenwolf for their help)

(A little background)

My name is Joshua Beverly. I'm a twenty-nine year old white architect living in the City. I've got sandy brown hair, brown eyes, weigh 210 and am 6' 2". I went to school near here but did four years in the Marines before coming back and going to college for my architecture degree. Due to my financial situation I was able to start my own little firm. I'm not making tons of money, but I keep busy and pay the bills.

When my Dad was eighteen he had a fling with a sixteen year old foster kid, my Mom. He had his fun, dumped her and went back to his privileged life. The only problem was that she showed up at his doorstep pregnant. Dad freaked. Grandmother and Grandfather went ballistic. They made my Dad marry my Mom. They were social prominent but not the kind to abort a potential grandchild. Four years later they had a second child, my sister Natalie.

After that, my history gets fuzzy for reasons that will be obvious. A year after Natalie was born Mom caught my father and one his co-workers having sex and killed them both. She was found guilty of two counts of manslaughter and lost all parental rights to my grandparents. I never saw my mother again and my only history of my life with her was from my grandparents' perspective; not the most unbiased account of what happened.

Now I live in a Brownstone in the heart of the Old City; my grandparent's place. My Grandfather died five years ago and Grandmother's mental health went down rapidly and now lives in a hospice. I visit her once a week but she doesn't recognize me anymore. I had a girlfriend, Robin Turnery, until four months ago when we had serious commitment issues. Since then I've been alone and unsexed. Natalie is going for her doctorate at one of the local universities and we meet at least once a week as well. She's has no one serious in her life either. That's me in a nutshell.

(The Start)

I'm finishing up a project for a client in Osaka Japan when my phone rings with a number from MarWCF, whatever that is.

"Hello?" I answer.

"This is Marymount Women's Correctional Facility," a voice responds. "Your conversation will be monitored."

"Um ... okay?" I say. Who the hell do I know in a women's prison?

"Joshua Beverly?" a female voice asks.

"Yes and you are?" I reply.

"Sienna Beverly," the woman tells me. It takes a microsecond for that name to register; Mom.

"Joshua?" the woman inquires after I haven't said anything for fifteen seconds. "Are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm here. I never thought to hear from you again. What do you want?" I respond.

"I want to know if you can come down to Marymount and talk to me. I have something I want to ask you," she requests. For twenty-four years this woman has been out of my life and now this.

In the end I can't forget that she's technically still my Mom.

"Sure; when do you want me to come down?" I answered. I could hear her sigh of relief.

"Tuesday around eleven," she informs me.

"See you then Sienna," I say before hanging up.

I phone my sister and tell her about the call. She got the same call and hung up. She advises me to not go; that if Mom hasn't bothered to contact us in over twenty years we'd be better off not talking to her now. She is going to want something and we have zero reason to give her it. I do remind her that she brought us into this world and we have no idea what our grandparents put her through. She sighs, gives up and wishes me luck.


I arrive at the prison and have a truly interesting time. The prison authorities tell me all kinds of fun things like 'don't get in fights with inmates' and 'always obey the guards', both of which sound like common sense to me. The search doesn't involve an anal probe and I'm thankful for that. I am surprised by the sheer number of male guards in a women's prison.

I admit to having a preconceive notion of what a mother should look like. In the wedding pictures I've seen (the grandparents didn't keep many of her pictures around) she's tall and willowy, with fine long red hair, green eyes and looking so young and full of hope. I haven't a clue about what I'm going to see.

I walk into the communal meeting room and see various female inmates in orange jumpsuits talking to family, lawyers, or friends. I scan around looking for who could possibly be my mother. I notice this one woman staring at me. She's got short cropped red hair, has a serious addiction to weightlifting and must weigh two hundred pounds. She's definitely a big girl and covers it up with some serious body art.

She's still staring at me; burning a hole straight through me in fact. She stands up and I meet the gaze of those green eyes. It is my Mom -- oh fuck! I notice she doesn't leave the table. By the rules she isn't allowed to. Twenty-five years in prison has made my Mom a hard bitch, but I'm not going to walk away having driven all this way to see her.

"Sienna," I say as I walk up. She keeps staring at me. "Sienna Beverly?"

"Oh God," she whispers, "You look just like your Father." A lot of people tell me that. I sit down opposite her and she follows suit.

"Fuck, you are so hot," Sienna tells me flat out. I'm flabbergasted.

"You're my Mother," I gasp and she looks amused.

"I never stopped loving your Father," she chuckles. I guess that is her form of an apology. "All these years and I still remember him the way I did the first time we met."

"What about how he looked the night you killed him?" I accuse her.

"That was a long time ago," she tells me evenly. That is clearly a sore point.

"Okay, why am I here?" I ask. Sienna looks incredibly grim, even nervous.

"I need a favor," she admits. I wait for her to continue. "I'm coming up for parole in a week and it would really help my case if I had a home and job on the outside."

There, it was out in the open and she looks relieved to have said if not terribly confident. She has fierce eyes and her bodily language is that of a fighter.

"So you haven't contacted me in twenty five years and now you want to move in and have me get you a job?" I question her.

"Yes," she grunts. I'm looking for some clue but the woman has no softness to her. She's not begging me for any sympathy.

"Why me?" I question.

"I called Natalie but she wouldn't take my call. You two are all I have," she confesses.

"Okay," I tell her.

"Okay?' she arches an eyebrow.

"I'll show up for the parole meeting, give you a place to live and get you a job," I explain.

"Just like that," she stammers before she recovers her hard exterior.

"Yes. You are still my Mother and I'm your Son. I've got a room in the house you can use and I can give you a job as my book keeper until you can find something better," I promise her.

She clearly can't believe I'm real.

"What am I going to do Sienna? Leave you here because my grandparents hated you?" I continue.

"No ... thank you Joshua. You won't regret this," she says smiling for the first time. Even smiling she is still kind of scary. I stand up to leave and she does too. I realize she's coming round the table and sticking out her hand. I look at it, close with her and give her a hug. Her whole body tenses up but she manages to pat me on the back.

Note: grabbing a tough prison bitch without her knowledge can be fatal. I realize this when I step back and note her hands are bunched up into fists and her body is poised to strike.

"Ah ... did I do something wrong?" I whisper.

"I don't get many hugs in here," she grins back.

"Well, I'll see you in a few days," I say. She nods and watches me walk off. When I leave the room a guard escorts me out.

"So, are you really Sienna Beverly's son?" he asks.


"I've never seen you up here before," he tells me.

"This is the first time I've talked to her in over twenty years," I reply.

"Do you realize she's a gang enforcer in here?" he laughs. "She's one evil bitch."

I look straight ahead without comment. No, I didn't realize my Mom beats the crap out of other women for some criminal organization. I'm feeling like a real idiot because I was thinking of my twenty-one year old housewife-Mother not a forty-five year old convict. I suddenly begin to wonder if my house safe and gun safe will be secure. Oh hell.

(Three weeks later)

I'm leaning on the hood of my Mercedes when Sienna comes out of the gate. She looks at me and my car and snorts in amusement.

"I could have taken the bus," she informs me. "I would have shown up, I promise."

"You can wait for the bus. I'm not going to take you by force and stuff you in the trunk," I taunt her. Sienna laughs.

"I'd like to see you try Kid," she chuckles. I take her bag, open her door and toss the luggage in the back seat. I'm standing there holding her door and she's staring at me.

"That's your grandparents alright; your Dad did stuff like that too -- holding doors for women," she notes. That doesn't stop her from getting in.

As I peel out of the parking lot I try to start up some conversation.

"We'll have to get you a driver's license," I begin.

"That would imply getting a car," she points out.

"You can borrow one of mine," I answer. She looks at me seriously. "I have a Land Rover too."

"Why do you have two cars?" she asks.

"I like to go into the great outdoors from time to time," I inform her.

"Oh," then after a minute, "I'd like to do that. I've never driven a car before. I've lived in the city all my life and your Father didn't think I needed one."

"Well, I'm not Dad and would you rather drive or take the Metro?" I tell her.

"Oh fuck, if given a chance I'll learn to drive," she grins.

"Do you have your GED?" I ask next.

"Yes, earned it years ago. I had plans back then," she admits.

"Like what?" I inquire. She doesn't answer for a minute, instead looking out the window and letting the breeze roll across her arm.

"I had hope that I could win an appeal, so I behaved, did all the right things, and kept my nose clean," she informs me.

"What happened?" I wonder.

"Ha," she smirks, "I exhausted my appeals and got slapped around a lot. I guess I decided that if I was going down for thirty years I had better get a survival strategy. I got big, toughened up and joined a gang."

"That's fucked up," I whistle.

"Don't judge me," she snaps.

"Sienna, you killed my Father. If anyone has the right to judge you it is me," I counter.

"You were a child when it happened. You don't know shit," she growls.

"I know you disappeared after that," I respond angrily. I could see her jaws clench and unclench.

"I tried damn it. I was banned from calling your Grandparents' house, I never got responses to any of the letters I wrote," she blasts me. "Pull over!" I give her a look and pull to the side of the road. Only when I have done so does it occur to me that Mom might attack me. I have been in the Marines but Mom is one tough looking woman.

Mom reaches around to her luggage and pulls out an envelope and hands it to me. I pull out a series of news articles; Natalie's and me with dates at our Debutante Balls, Natalie winning a science award and me winning the Bronze Star. There was even my Grandfather's death announcement amongst other tidbits of our lives.

"I never forgot you were my kids," she declares fiercely.

"Why didn't you contact me after Grandfather died?" I question.

"And do what; ask you to come down and spend a few hours with your convict Mom so that we both could feel worse afterwards," she tells me flatly. "Did you ever come looking for me?"

"Once in high school but Natalie betrayed me and Grandmother put an end to it," I shrug.

"Natalie," she murmurs. "Why?"

"She never got to know you at all Sienna. I at least had some memories of you reading to me and tucking me in at night. She had nothing," I say defending my Sister.

"She's a real bitch," she responds.

"Well, she's your daughter," I point out. That makes Sienna laugh.

"You've got me there."

The rest of the drive was in silence. Seems prison hasn't made her keen on small talk. As we pull up she looks up at the house.

"I hated this place," she scowls.

"It is the only house I have," I tell her. She grunts as she gets out of the car and takes out her bag. We walk up the steps; I unlock the door and fish a spare key out of my pocket.

"Here you go," I say as I toss it to her. She looks at it funny.


"I've lived in a locked cell for the past twenty-four years, you prick. You can't appreciate what it is like to have a key to your own home," she states.

"Glad I could make you happy," I smile. I hand her a cell phone too which she pockets without comment.

She follows me into the house and up to the second level where I give her my old room. Mom coming home has finally forced me to move to the master bedroom. It has always been my grandparent's room until now. Still Mom looks pleased with what I've done.

"Well damn ... I swear this bed is as big as my old cell," she sighs as she flops down on the queen-sized bed and bounces a bit. A whole lot of her bounces too.

"Where's my bathroom?" she asks. It is an old house so the news isn't great.

"Well, there isn't one on this floor, but you could use the half bath on the first floor or one of the two full baths on the third. There is a third full bath in the basement too," I relate.

"That's good to know," she shrugs. "So, are there any restrictions?"


"Are there any things I can't do? Do I have a curfew, can I bring a date back here?" she asks.

"If you are going to be out late -- say past one, give me a call. If you bring a date home, you are responsible for them; otherwise, just the basics; no drugs, no ex-cons, no crime."

"Booze?" she inquires.

"No drinking and driving, but if you want to drink until you pass out; be my guest. Try to do it in bed though. I don't want to have to carry your ass up those stairs," I grin.

"So I can drag some piece of ass back here, get drunk and fuck it on the sofa and you are good with that?" she asks suggestively.

"Clean up after yourself," I warn her, "Most of this furniture is expensive."

Mom bounds up and shakes my hand. Her eyes keep roaming the room and she gets this almost misty-eyed quality. She surprised me by closing and grappling me in a massive bear hug. Damn she's got some huge breasts. When we break she looks away.

"How about we get something to eat?" I suggest. Sienna nods but waits until I walk for the door of her room to wipe her eyes. Downstairs in the kitchen we go through the leftovers I've acquired as well as my slim cupboards. Mom really puts away the food, attacking it with gusto and polishing off three servings before I've finished one.

"So can you cook?" I ask Mom.

"Never did kitchen duty," she answers. "Besides, I didn't think you hired me on as some sort of domestic."

"Good enough," I concede.

"So, do we have any weights here? I need to keep working out," she tells me as she stands up, "Or all this will go to fat," she emphasizes her body.

"Oh, and here I thought you just ate fresh meat," I joke.

"I've done that too," she winks and I choke. There is something so disturbing about the thought of Mom going at it with some poor girl fresh to the prison system.

"How about we hit a movie?" I change the subject. Mom gives me the once over.

"Are you sure you want to be seen with me? I'm not your normal date material," she tells me.

"What do you think my normal date material is?" I challenge her.

"Tall, fair-haired, slender but with big tits, college educated and a good dancer," she guesses.

"You forgot the nice butt," I chuckle.

"Isn't that a given for every man?" Mom taunts me. I raise my hands in acceptance.

Two hours later we are sitting in a theater and I can tell we've had our share of people staring at us. If they stare too long Sienna glares back. One group of guys has less sense than most. They are looking at Mom and snickering. I notice her putting a hand in her pocket.

"Mom, do you have a weapon?" I whisper to her.

"Yes," she calmly responds. "I took a knife from the kitchen."

"Holy Shit Mom," I gasp. "Why in the hell ..."

"Only punks go around without weapons," she explains.

"We'll talk about your parole violation when we get home," I threaten her. She smirks. I can tell this is going to be a wonderful relationship.

I survive the first day with my Mom sanity somewhat intact. I've gotten to bed without too much drama and left Mom watching TV because she has this overwhelming desire to stay up her first night out. I'm not sure whether nor not I'll be disappointed if she's gone in the morning. I shouldn't have been worried about that. I have other issues to deal with.

It is a little past two in the morning when I feel someone nudge me strongly.

"Move over," comes this voice reaching through my foggy mind. I roll over from my back to my side and someone gets into my bed with me. I'm now wide awake and looking over my shoulder. Mom has crawled into bed with me.

Now, she doesn't do it like she's about to jump my bones. She moves to the half of the king sized bed I've just vacated and flops down on her stomach. I roll over until I'm now on my side facing her but she doesn't respond.

"What the fuck Mom? You have your own bed," I remind her.

"I'm not used to sleeping alone," she mumbles. "Now stop being a baby and go to sleep." I'm like 'WTF?' This is wrong. I'm no five years old anymore so I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be sleeping with my Mother.

"Go to your bed Mom," I command.

"No," she grunts. Okay, I'm in boxers. Do I really want to get into a wrestling match with a woman twice my age? I'll be damned if I'm going to give up my own room. In the end I'm too damn tried to get into this tonight. I have a project to get to in the morning. I will deal with this shit then.

(The next morning)

I wake up and there is a warm presence next to me. My eyes pop open when I realize who it is; Mom. Mom is lying there, still on her stomach with her head turned toward me, eyes closed, with her closest arm folded beneath her. She has this confident smile on her face, undoubtedly having some kind of happy dream.

She's has on this white t-shirt that does nothing to hide her breast pushing out along the sides or the thickness of her waist. As if my nightmare wasn't disturbing enough, she's also has on these thin cotton panties covering her broad, meaty ass. I can tell it is a nice meaty ass because my hand is resting on half of it, fingers gently pressing into her cleft.

I try to gently pull my hand away but somehow I end up giving her magnificently shaped ass a good squeeze. Sienna moans and shifts her ass beneath my touch. This time I move my hand away successfully and roll onto my back. What the hell was that all about?

"Time to get up already?" Mom mumbles. I nearly jump out of my skin.

"Yes," I say cautiously. Mom groans and pushes herself up on all fours then yawns. I look at her somewhat amazed. Her breasts seem huge hanging pendulously down and her shirt has risen up so that I can barely make out the bottom of each tit. Her stomach has some flab to it but that's not a turn off and the way her spine curves down from her shoulders to her waist and then up to her broad hips before curving around to that ass.

"Good God Mom, put on a bra," I gripe as I look away.

"Ha," she laughs. "You've never seen tits before? Besides, I only have one bra and it's pretty ratty."

"No clothes -- got it. How about I finish up with my work and we got out around one this afternoon to get you some stuff," I suggest.

I get out of bed clearly uncomfortable, sporting a flag pole and Mom can't stop chuckling at me for it. As if that wasn't bad enough, Mom enlightens me on a matter of family genetics and morning wood.

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