Waltz Time

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Moondrift
Moondrift
2,277 Followers

That may sound ridiculous, for how could someone who had been part of my life since my birth – no, even before my birth, since conception – not be known to me. Of course she had been known, but it takes a degree of maturity to be able to identify the things you love in that person.

Even after all these years I still find it difficult to describe those aspects of her. It's like trying to enter into the infinite depths of a person; but try I will.

A patience and loyalty that had been honed on the whetstone of the misery my father had brought upon her; love that had born my insulting, abusive behaviour, and my constant rebellious conduct at school and its consequences; an intelligence that was never used to strike another down but always to try and build up; sensitivity that gives rise to a compassion for those caught up in consequences of actions, whether self generated or not.

A female paragon? Perhaps. If you wish you can put it down to my prejudice; I only state what I have experienced with mother.

That particular evening, as mother bent over looking at the photographs, identifying this or that person or scene, I began the journey to a whole new way of looking at her.

After the first flush of the merry widow and that evening at the theatre, we started to spend increasing amounts of time together, and I was proud to be seen with her at the theatre and concerts.

********************

When I finished high school and went on to major in sociology at the university I was even prouder. On several occasions we met up with some of my fellow students. They didn't know she was my mother, and I always introduced her simply as Aurora. I could see the looks of envy in their eyes; no doubt they thought I had got myself an older woman whose body I was enjoying.

Aurora, the goddess of the dawn; she was certainly the goddess of my dawn, leading me out into that glorious day we call "Love."

It took me a long time to identify the meaning of that love. It was a love that worshipped the goddess; a love that, like the courtly love of the Middle Ages, would have made any sacrifice for the loved one without asking anything in return except to be allowed to be in the presence of the beloved.

How foolish this seems when written on the page, but it was how I felt then, and have in modified form continued to feel to this very day.

When looking back I suppose most of us can identify certain moments in our lives that have been turning points. Some of those in my life I have already written of. Now I must relate at least two more.

The first of those occurred after mother and I had been out together to see Oscar Wilde's play "Lady Windermere's Fan."

Arriving home we had a nightcap before going to bed and mother asked, "Bruce am I being selfish?"

I was a bit taken aback by her question. "Selfish, how are you being selfish?"

"Well, I take up so much of your time. It can't be all that much fun taking your mother out."

It was really the case that she took me out since she paid for everything, but after digesting what she had said I replied, "I like being with you so why should you think you're being selfish?"

Mother had never really questioned my relationships with girls; not that there would have been much to relate, Mercy being my sole and hardly successful date; but now mother probed a little more.

"Surely there's someone, a girl you'd rather be going out with?"

Now like most young guys I didn't like to admit I wasn't regarded by the girls as God's gift to them, and it was true that had I not been spending so much time on – what shall I call them, dates with mother? - I might have overcome my reticence and tried to date girls; I might even have started to get some sexual experience.

Trying to avoid the matter of the non-existent girl I'd rather be going out with I replied, "As long as I can go out with you, why should I look elsewhere."

Mother looked at me quizzically her head tilted slightly to one side, and then simply said, "Oh." She continued to look at me for a few moments as if trying to determine what I was really thinking, and then kissing me on the cheek she said, "Well, goodnight then."

That seemed to end the matter, and certainly she never questioned me again about the girls I'd rather be going out with in preference to her.

The second turning point came some months after mother's suggestion she was being selfish.

Mother was having one of what she called, "A clear out." This amounted to a couple of days of an ever increasing pile of redundant household detritus – the sort of stuff that accumulates without you really noticing it – plus outdated files from mother's study.

I had taken over what had once been father's study in the days when he still had a use for one. I was sitting there one evening trying to write a tutorial paper which I hoped would solve all the world's social problems.

Mother came in carrying what looked like a black box. "Look what I've found," she said excitedly.

"Ah, a black box," I responded without too much interest.

"No...no, it's and old nineteen thirties portable gramophone," she said triumphantly, putting it down on my desk and opening the lid.

I looked down at a turntable covered with some sort of green cloth. There was a speed regulator and what I later discovered to be a brake, a little box of needles and a thing that looked like a small old fashioned car crank handle.

I remembered seeing something like it in pictures but had no idea how it worked.

Mother demonstrated, putting the handle into a hole in the side of the box and winding it. She released the little brake, and after a moment of hesitation the turntable groaned into life.

"Where did you find it?" I asked.

"It was in that old cupboard in the shed. I think it belonged to your father's grandparents and when they died it somehow got left to us. I'd forgotten all about it; it's almost an antique; and that isn't all I found."

"What?"

"I'll go and get them."

Mother left the room and I wound the handle again and experimented with the speed regulator. After a few minutes mother returned carrying a dozen or so old records. They proved to be dance music, waltzes, fox trots and other dance styles of the past.

Mother put on one of the records and for a while we listened, amused, to the squawk of old time music.

Mother seemed to be captivated by her find and as the first side of the record came to an end, which it did after a few minutes, she turned it over and played the other side.

"You know," she said, "Your father and I used to go ball room dancing when we first met."

This was news to me. "Is this the sort of music you danced to?" I asked.

Mother laughed and said, "Well, some of it, but there was more modern music as well and the sound reproduction was much better, and often there would be dance bands."

We listened to a couple more records; that was when I heard the song, "You Always Hurt the One you Love," sung by a group called "The Mills Brothers."

Mother said, "I haven't danced for a long time, dance with me."

"What?"

"Dance with me."

"But I've never...I can't...I've never..."

Mother looked at me thoughtfully; "You've never...that's something I hadn't thought about, but of course, they don't dance like that anymore, do they?"

My knowledge of dancing was extremely limited but I'd attended one high school dance in order to sit bored and lonely throughout the evening. From what I could see the pairs danced a couple of metres apart - some of them danced on their own. They shuffled their feet, waved their arms in the air and pulled strange faces at each other, including poking their tongues out.

It reminded me of the New Zealand Maori Haka I'd seen the New Zealand rugby team perform before the match begins. I gathered it was intended to intimidate the opposition.

It was me who was intimidated when mother said, "Come on, I'll teach you."

I felt a strange paralysis creep over me and I protested, "I can't...I can't..."

"Of course you can," mother said, "I'll show you how to waltz, it's easy, now stand up."

For the next half hour it was slow-slow-quick-quick-slow without music. I'd more or less got the hang of it and wasn't feeling so embarrassed, and then mother put on one of the records and we danced to that – well mother danced while I shambled.

The style of dancing was very different from what I had seen at the high school. Instead of dancing far apart you held your partner in your arms with a space of about twenty centimetres between you – or at least, that's how we began.

After a while I actually started to enjoy myself, but mother said that one of the problems was the carpet on the study floor. She suggested we transfer our activities to the lounge. It had a rather nice parquetry floor which lived most of its life under a carpet, but the carpet was one we could roll up.

We carried machine and records to the lounge, moved some furniture, rolled up the carpet and set the records playing again. I was getting into the swing of things and was not treading on mother's feet too often and I could see mother's face was flushed with pleasure.

We had maintained a twenty centimetre separation from the beginning, but suddenly mother pulled herself close to me and said, "It's nicer if our bodies are touching."

It was nicer in a provocative sort of way.

You must have gathered by now that my Aurora goddess worship had an element of the sensual about it. I suppose a lot of the guys in ancient times got a bit horny over their goddess worship, but the goddess was not their mother except in a metaphorical sense.

Ever since that time when I had been looking at the old photographs and I'd first really become conscious of mother as a woman – as a desirable female - I'd been playing my solo horn almost nightly, but in my fantasies it had been mother who accompanied me, and in those fantasies we made very sweet music.

With our bodies virtually locked together, what had been incipient for some time during our dancing, now came to full and throbbing maturity.

Mother, who was about five inches shorter than me laid her head on my shoulder. Her pelvis pressed tightly to me as our dancing was reduced to little more than shuffling on the spot. I could smell the fragrance of her hair and she was softly humming along with the tune.

"She'll feel it...she'll feel it..." I told myself, "she can't help but feel it."

I tried to pull my lower abdomen away and for a few moments we must have looked ridiculous, our upper bodies clinging and our lower parts arched away from each other.

Mother protested, "What are you doing darling, it's uncomfortable like this," and she pulled me back to her.

"Mum," I panted, "don't you think we should stop now, we've been..."

"Why, I'm enjoying this?"

"Well, it's...it's...I..."

"I know darling, I can feel it."

We stopped shuffling, but mother still clung to me.

She touched my face with her hand and smiling said, "It often happened like that in the days people danced like this."

"Der-did it?" I stammered.

She laughed softly and went on, "That's what it was about mostly, a preamble to mating."

"But I thought people didn't do that sort of thing back..."

"In the Dark Ages," she laughed. "You know one of the troubles with people your age is that you think you've invented sex."

"I don't think like that," I protested, "but...but..."

"But the magic's worked for you, hasn't it my love?"

"Magic?"

"Yes, the magic we call sexual desire."

"But with..."

"Your mother? There's nothing to be worried about darling, nothing to feel embarrassed about; I'm not embarrassed, it's perfectly natural."

"Is it?"

"Of course it is; it's rather flattering and exciting really, my son getting sexually aroused over me."

"But you're not like that."

"Aren't I? I'll let you into a little secret; mothers can get sexually aroused too."

"But not you."

"Oh my dear Bruce, I've known for a long time you've had me stuck up on a pedestal of your own making, but now I'm jumping off it. Now how do you know I haven't been trying to seduce you all evening?"

"You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I?" she said with a sly twinkle in her green eyes. "Let's dance again."

She left me for a few moments and put on another record and then came back and pulled herself close to me again. We started that shuffling on the spot once more.

She'd admitted she knew what she was doing to me, and the renewed dancing was making it worse. What enjoyment I'd had from our dancing started to diminish in the face of my ever increasing arousal that mother seemed to be deliberately fostering.

I got the distinct impression that she was slowly gyrating her pelvis over my hard manhood as if to tease me, and I could no longer stand it. I broke away from her and said, "I've had enough, I'm going to bed."

Mother looked disappointed and said, "But darling, you were just starting to really get the hang of it, and it was getting interesting."

I was incensed at her apparently deliberate and careless attempt to sexually provoke me, so I said abruptly "Goodnight," and left her.

She didn't need to jump off the pedestal I'd allegedly put her on because by her behaviour that evening she was a fallen idol as far as I was concerned; she now ranked along with Mercy as a balls breaker.

I undressed and got into bed. I had some horn playing that needed an urgent performance, but before I got started there was a knock on the door. It had to be mother since there was only there two of us in the house. I was inclined to tell her to piss off, but despite what I perceived as her inexcusable behaviour she still retained some aura of "mother," so I yelled out irritably, "Come in."

She didn't come in, but stuck her head round the door and asked, "Are you all right darling?"

"I'm fine," I growled, "why do you ask?"

"Oh, you left so abruptly just when we were having such a lovely time, and you seemed upset, so I wondered if..."

Not willing to admit that she'd got under my skin I said gruffly, "I just felt tired."

She looked me in silence for a few moments and then said, "As long as you're sure you're all right, it's just that you seemed..."

"I'm perfectly okay," I said, not too politely, "I just want to sleep."

"Oh, goodnight then."

Her head disappeared and she shut the door.

Alone I set about the task of relieving my complaining testes of their burden – another solo performance. I don't think I'd ever been so fired up before. It was worse than with Mercy. I had to perform twice more that night, and despite my efforts to eliminate mother from the fantasies, at my climax she kept coming back.

********************

I slept little that night, and in the morning didn't feel in the least like facing mother. I had a late lecture that day so I stretched out showering and dressing as long as I could.

When I look back now I realise that I had constructed a totally unfair and impossible image of mother. I had no right to place her above other mortals and then blame her because she wouldn't stay there.

She had her needs, as we all do, and that first night when she taught me to dance had awakened in her memories of happier days when she and father had danced and loved together. I, spoilt brat that I was, wanted to deny her those happy memories and the emotions that went with them.

By the time I got to the kitchen mother had gone, much to my relief. I had no appetite for breakfast, and settled for a cup of coffee and a slice of toast. As I left the kitchen I had to pass through the lounge and I noticed that the gramophone and the records were still there.

My first inclination was to smash the lot, but as I stood there looking at them a feeling of sadness came over me. God knows mother had always asked so little of me; she had loved me and protected me from some of the worst times with my father, and one of the few times she had asked something of me I had behaved like a petulant child.

So she had aroused in me sexual feelings for her, was that really so bad? Most probably as she danced with me she remembered when she and father were in love and when the dance was over they would go off somewhere and fulfil that love.

I knew for certain that they had been lovers before they got married because I'd once come across their marriage certificate along with my birth certificate, and they told the story.

That love between them had run out into the desert sands of sorrow and death, and I had denied mother that brief time of happy memories.

I felt sickened at my behaviour; a son who had claimed to adore his mother, and he couldn't bear a little sexual frustration for her sake. I wanted to cry at my lack of sensitivity, my selfishness and uncaring for her. What a pathetic return I had made for all she had done for me.

These thoughts continued to plague me during the day and I resolved to do better in the future. I would show her how much I loved her, no longer as the impossible goddess, but as a real human being.

Actually I didn't acquit myself very well that day; going to sleep in one of the lectures and making the most ridiculous contributions during a tutorial.

When I got home mother was already there preparing a meal. She obviously hadn't believed my claim to be tired the previous evening because she was rather wary.

We usually gave each other a peck on the cheek at such times, but we didn't this time. We were both uncertain of each other just then.

"Did you have a good day?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, I suppose so," I lied, "what about you?"

"The students seemed to be particularly obtuse today, but perhaps it was me."

I tried to make a joke of it and said, "Aren't they always obtuse?"

She smiled sadly and said, "The trouble is, most of them don't really want to an education, what they want is a degree with the minimum of effort."

She shrugged and went on, "But there's always the compensation when you get one that loves what they're doing. That makes it all worthwhile."

"Suppose I try to cheer you up tonight?"

She laughed and asked, "And how do you propose to do that?"

"You liked it when we danced last night, even when I trod on your feet. Suppose we dance again tonight."

"But I got the impression you didn't like it Bruce."

"Oh, it was just a matter of getting used to it; what about teaching me some of the other dances?"

"Would you really like that?" she asked, looking somewhat surprised.

"Yes...yes I would, I'd like to try the tango, that record of "Jealousy" you played sounded really sexy."

I regretted that word sexy as soon as I'd said it, but it didn't seem to register with mother who laughed and said, "Oh no, no, that's very complicated. You can learn some of the other dances first."

"Right, you're on," I said, returning her laugh, "Nine o'clock and we dance for an hour."

"Nine it is then, now sit down and eat your dinner."

In my be-loving-to-mother mood I even volunteered to do all the clearing up after the meal.

Almost every evening, unless we were going out to a theatre or concert, we both had preparation work to do. Mother retired to her study and after the clearing up I went to mine.

At nine sharp we were both in the lounge ready for our dancing. We started with the only dance I'd learned, the waltz, but then mother started to teach me the quick step and the fox trot.

We went on for more than the allotted hour, and I was really beginning to enjoy myself.

At one point mother said that I might meet a girl who would like to go ballroom dancing, but I told her it was unlikely and I'd rather stick with her. Mother looked at me a little oddly, but said nothing.

For most of the time I think I was so focused on learning the dance steps that my sex organs remained calm. But towards the end mother put on a couple of waltzes and we started the body clinches again.

Moondrift
Moondrift
2,277 Followers