I’m going to talk about my mother and things will get a little dark, depressing and uncomfortable. I can promise you there is a happy ending but if you choose to skip all the nastiness then I don’t blame you. I think there should be places where you go to escape the worse of everyday life. If my blog is one of those places for you, then feel free to skip this post.
If you are curious about my mother, my childhood and where I started writing erotica, then click Whole Post.
My mom came from a military family. She was the second youngest and terribly jealous of her youngest sister. I think that’s why she got married at 16 to Vietnam vet and had me by the time she was 17. If you look at those photos, you can see how happy and radiant she was to be the center of attention.
The marriage was over by the time I was four. I have almost no memories of my father but the stories my grandparents tell me are chilling. He was into drugs, and some days he would get out of his mind and beat up my mom. He liked to teach me to be afraid of things by doing stuff like burning me on purpose, holding my head under water during baths and dangling me from heights. Considering I am still dealing with phobias regarding all three, I believe their stories.
What I do remember is living with my mom in an apartment. She was a single mother and she was my best friend. She didn’t have many friends and so neither did I but it was cool. I loved my mom like crazy because she was my idol. She was mother and father figure to me.
Because of that, I always saw women as equals if not better. I never teased girls in my nursery homes. I always got along with girls and I would fight any boy that made a girl cry. That attitude has stuck with me all my life.
My mom married my step-father when I was 7. He was okay to me. In fact, I got spoiled a lot. Star Wars had just started and for my 8th Christmas, I had every single damn toy Kenner put out for Star Wars. My cousins on my step-fathers side hated me and his family saw me as a spoiled brat. I probably was.
Things changed when my brother was born. I was eight. The spoiling transferred to my brother and I was jealous. What really hurt though was the attention focused to. In our photo albums during those years, the only pictures of me was when I was in the shot with my brother.
I complained to my mom, who was still my best friend. You may be surprised to find out she agreed. My brother was more important than her now to our step-father. As a 9 year old boy, I should really not be aware that my mom was jealous of my brother but there you go.
Then my sister was born when I was ten and my mom picked her as the favorite child. It’s really that simple. Sure they were young but my brother and sister never had a single whim go unserved. If a two year old wanted to switch bedrooms, then my parents seriously considered it and called me selfish for wanting to keep the place I slept. It was a crazy time.
Puberty gave me an escape though. My parents never discussed sex or for that matter, allowed me to listen to the radio for fear of hearing about sex. Lucky for me, I found my step-father’s old Playboy and Penthouse stash from the 70’s. I would get up at five in the morning and raid the storage room for porn. I was 13 or 14 at the time.
Penthouse was my favorite because they had Penthouse Forum. This is where allegedly readers wrote in about their sexual adventures. I know now that paid writers supplied all the porn but to a kid who lived in a household where we had to call Dolly Parton’s movie,’ The Best Chicken Ranch in Texas’, finding out that others had sex and enjoyed it was an amazing discovery. I felt less like a freak and more like a normal person.
Porn however became the front line in my fights with my parents. When my parents discovered my porn stash, they at first thought it was hilarious. They took it away and laughed about how I didn’t know what to do with it. The second time they discovered it, it turned into a serious contest of wills. They told me no, and I still was disobeying them?
Raiding my bedroom became such a common occurrence that my brother and sister, barely 6 and 8, would help out. I remember very clearly my sister, maybe 4 or 5, stomping into the living room holding a Playboy and punching me in the leg screaming, “You get no allowance!”
It became the family narrative. Shon was a dirty disobeying liar and thief who stole stuff that didn’t belong to him from a virtuous step-father who worked so hard at his job and came from simple farmer background. Mom was the sainted mother with a pervert for a child.
My friends could never understand how a straight A nerd could be grounded so many times. I used to tell my friends’ parents how I was grounded because I got a single B. It was a petty thing to do but I got my joys where I could.
So in this tense family situation, my mother and I were no where as close as we used to be. Then her father was diagnosed with Lou Gehric’s disease. This guy was a veteran of WWII, Korea and Viet Nam and now he needed help being rolled over in the middle of the night. I worshipped my tough mean as hell grandfather and so did my mom. When he couldn’t take care of himself, my mom had him live with us.
My mom and I took care of him as he degenerated and it will have to deserve it’s own post in the future. As hard as it was to wipe your own grandfather’s ass, I can’t imagine what it was like for my mom. My grandfather did not become one of those sweet crippled people who spouts wisdom. No, he got more and more bitter. He demanded, complained, bitched and critiqued every step of the way. I don’t blame him for doing that, but it just made things even harder for my mom and me. Though, in taking care of him we became closer again.
I was still stashing porn from my step-father and it was still pissing him off. I didn’t care though. He hated my grandfather and wouldn’t have anything to do in the taking care of him. I really started to hate my step-father and I couldn’t understand why my mom loved him. I figured it was because my stepfather was a hard worker honest man like she always said.
My grandfather died. My aunts and uncles who had nothing to do with his care, showed up to split his inheritance. My stepfather was their biggest opponent, fighting to take as much as he could too. It was disgusting all around.
My grandfather died when I was 14. Life went back to normal. I kept sneaking porn from my stepfather’s stashes and I kept getting punished for it. My mom withdrew and from me and joined my stepfather in demonizing me. I started writing my own porn as a way to do something that wouldn’t be recognized as porn. I wrote long notebooks about silly adolescent fantasies and it kept me going. I never shared those stories but I was still proud of them.
When I was 18, my parents stunned me by divorcing. My mom explained that she caught my stepfather on his third affair and he was out of chances. She then recounted every scummy thing my stepfather did which included molesting one of my female cousins, embezzling from the last three jobs he had and sleeping with every one of my mom’s female friends.
It was one of the weirdest moments in my life. I went from being the demon pervert child with angelic parents to being perhaps the most honest one of them all. I see now how my bad behavior was something they could distract themselves with, but at that moment I realized all the suffering, shame and punishments I went through was just to cover for their lousy marriage.
My mom had intended to live in our house with me and my siblings. That didn’t work out because my father had embezzled again and our house was being seized. My mom had a brilliant plan though. She wanted me to join the marines, and then I could support her and my siblings. I shit you not. Instead, I scrambled and got a scholarship to go to a university far away from home. I wanted my own life and I just didn’t trust her any more.
I tried staying in touch with her over the years. She remarried another guy who this time was a super conservative right wing nut. I tried to visit her every few months but she would change so much between visits. I remember discussing Star Trek Voyager once and she said it was a stupid show because they had a woman captain and women just aren’t strong enough to be in charge. My mom, who raised me as a single parent and taught me to see women as equals, now saw them as inherently inferior.
My sister came out of the closet as a lesbian and my mom disowned her. I still can’t rationalize that.
When I moved to Atlanta, it was right after the 2004 elections. I tried to make peace with my mom one last time. We had a great lunch and actually had a good time. Then she wanted to know who I voted for, and then spent the next hour bitching me out for voting Democrat. This was the last time we were going to see each other for years, and she wanted to demonize me one more time for voting for a guy who ended up losing.
Through my brother I found out my mom joined a religious group in the mountains. They raise foster kids in some sort of Christian boot camp. My latest stepfather reluctantly went with her where they live on some commune now.
When I heard that, I realized that my mom craved having someone in charge. She adopted their personalities, their values and their rules no matter what. I also had a creepy realization that she was very submissive and that should would go from one abusive relationship to the next.
My own wife who I adore, is exactly what I misperceived my mother to be. My wife is stubborn, independent, strong, a dominant personality and will stand up to me on anything. My wife is my partner and no matter if I am writing porn, staring at someone as trashy as Carmen Electra or enjoying a guilty pleasure like mud-wrestling, she doesn’t judge me.
I still need a submissive in my life though. Trust me, I have spent a lot of time wondering if my need for a submissive comes from some strange wish to be the one my mom loved instead of my asshole stepfather. Therapy had already been spent on the subject and I can say, with professional level medical opinion proof that my need for a submissive stems from a creative sexual power dynamic desire. I want to live my own erotica. I want to continue my love of being erotically creative that I started when I was a teenager and apply that creativity to a BDSM relationship. Being erotically creative has been my comfort food for close to 20 years now. Having a submissive is a lot like having a canvas.
So, here’s to my mother. She is most likely in need of a lot of therapy and I really wish she would stop being a bitch to my sister. I think she was a lousy parent but somehow through it all I am who I am and I know I wouldn’t be me if it wasn’t for her and her mistakes.
If you have a mom that loves you, nurtured you and didn’t make shaming you a hobby, then you better damn well let her know how much that means today. If you manage to read through all this, thank you for letting me vent and share my frustrations. I hope in some way you found it helpful.