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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
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Give Me That Old Time Religion Plainsong 2: Oh, May I
Know
by Fowler Gray (fowlergray@yahoo.com)
***
A novella set in the late Sixties 'Give Me That Old
Time Religion,' or OTR for short, tells the story of
how joining the Agapemone Bethel, where sex is
considered a sacrament, changes young Jake Gledhill's
life. (MF, mf-teens, solo, voy, rom)
***
Author Notes:
To quench any flames before they start raging, this is
a work of fiction. The author does not espouse the
pseudo-theology contained in this story nor is he an
adherent to its practices.
All of the usual legal disclaimers regarding the laws
of your jurisdiction apply to reading and/or
downloading this story, which pursuant to the Berne
Convention, is copyrighted with all rights reserved by
its author, Fowler Gray, unless explicitly indicated.
Reproduction except for personal use and reposting
without the author's written permission is prohibited.
This story may not be reproduced on any commercial
site.
Please pay attention to the story codes because they
may change with each Plainsong.
A few readers have commented (complained) some chapters
of OTR move too slow and don't have enough sex. If
you're looking for a quick and dirty stroke story (not
that there's anything wrong with those), OTR probably
isn't for you.
As opposed to a short story, OTR is a novella where the
characters will change and evolve. Some chapters will
be slower and have less outright sex than others.
Some of the women who have read OTR have written to
tell me they have been put off by its religious tenets
and seeming misogynism. Again I can only say OTR is a
story about transformation and growth.
While I hope all of you will stick around for the ride,
I'll understand if some of you don't.
Finally, remember Celeste's Blow Job Principle which
states "If a person expects to get a second blow job,
the recipient should make the giver glad to have
performed the first." Think of this story, or any story
on this site, as the written equivalent of the author
giving you head (a handy, gender-neutral phrase
encompassing both cunnilingus and fellatio) and be sure
to say thank you.
Thank yous for and comments on Gimme That Old Time
Religion can be sent to this email address:
fowlergray@yahoo.com
***
The Second Plainsong: Oh, May I Know
My dad was worried about me.
His concern was the topic of conversation as we sat at
the picnic table in the back yard, brown bottles of
Schlitz chilling in the battered aluminum cooler,
watching the squirrels fight with the blue jays over
possession of the sunflower feeder. Squawking flashes
of iridescent turquoise would plunge from the sky,
temporarily driving away the furry intruders, only to
see the persistent rodents race back to the feeder,
stuffing their pouches with seeds before retreating.
For the past three months, in addition to going to
bethel with Mom every Sunday, I had spent two hours
every Wednesday with the Barbe, a lay preacher charged
with the instruction of "aspirants" to bethel
membership learning the doctrines. Becoming an aspirant
was just the first, easiest level of entry into the
bethel. The higher in the hierarchy I wanted to get,
the more time I'd have to spend studying.
Dad paused to take the wooden matchstick from the
corner of his mouth. Holding it in front of his face he
examined it like a trim carpenter might a piece of oak
molding. Mom had made Dad stop smoking once they got
married. It was the only one of dad's "bad habits" she
was able to change. The matchstick remained.
"Why don't you quit all this tomfoolery before you get
as nutty as they are, three hours of bethel every
Sunday, classes once a week and for what?" he asked.
"Elle's a nice looking kid but I don't think she's
worth all this, especially since you haven't even
gotten as far as first base with her yet.
"There's a couple of girls working at the shop, just
outta junior college. Not bad looking, not that they're
models or anything but you wouldn't have to put a bag
over their heads either. Come on by, I'll introduce you
to them and you can have one, hell both if you play
your cards right. Believe me Jake, I know they're sure
things." he said winking to me as he spoke.
One thing about my father, he never beat around the
bush, no matter what the topic was. For him direct
conversation was the highest form of manners even when
the subject was something others might consider
embarrassing.
Dad's ideas about women were simple to him, convoluted
and confusing to me. As much as he loved my mother, and
he did, he was always flirting with other women. He saw
women, in groups or singular, married or not, as fair
game. He made no bones about it. Dad was a skirt
chaser.
When Dad first started talking with me about sex I was
flattered; he was treating me like a real man even
though I wasn't even a teenager yet. My appreciation
for his frankness and honesty was eventually tempered
when it became clear he was sleeping with other women
besides Mom.
Where we lived spousal fidelity wasn't a requirement
for fathers or even mothers, I knew that. Peyton Place
had nothing on our little town. But I had a hard time
reconciling Dad's devotion to Mom with his lust for
other ladies.
I loved my father and looked up to him, hoping I could
at least come close to being the man he was. At the
same time, I hated the thought he was betraying Mom
every time he had sex with another woman.
Emboldened by my third beer, my newfound religious
fervor running through my head, I bluntly asked him,
"Why are you fucking around on Mom?"
I don't know what I was thinking, the words spilling
out of my mouth made me cringe when they reached my
ears. Christ on a crutch, I thought. Now you've done
it. The old man's going to blow higher than Krakatoa.
I'd be unable to sit for days.
For a moment Dad sat perfectly still as stunned as I
was by my question. Then he slowly put his beer down
turning to face me.
"If anyone else asked me I'd punch 'm in the face. You
get a free pass on this one Jake, because maybe some
straight talk now will save you some pain later. I
doubt it, but you never know.
"As you get older you're going to find there's a
difference between sex and love. A man needs both, not
always from the same woman. Yeah I know you're heads
over heels about Elle right now. Might be love, might
just be you're horny and she looks to be available.
Doesn't really matter. One of these days you're going
to see another girl, maybe even an older woman, your
dick'll get hard, your brain will go soft and you'll
get your first piece of strange. Trust me, nothing
makes you forget about love like sex."
"Is that what happened to you?"
"Don't use that disapproving tone with me," Dad said
sternly. "You don't know shit about sex. You know even
less about love. Whacking your willy every night while
you moan 'I love you Elle, suck me, suck me deeper,'
doesn't mean a goddamn thing. Lemee tell you what
does." As I sat uneasily Dad began to tell me his
version of why he married Mary Anne McClure.
"I know your mom already told you we had to get
married. That's not true. I was only 19, a few months
past turning 18 when Mary Anne told me she was
pregnant. She was 24 then. I coulda said she seduced
me, that would have been close to the truth, although I
like to think we seduced each other. I coulda said she
was the older temptress who took advantage of a young
kid. But that one wouldn't have been true." Dad paused
to take a sip of his brew.
"Driving her across the state line to Robinson County
for an abortion was out, not that I would've, Mary Anne
was determined to have you. I spose I coulda let her
have you then pressured her to give you up for
adoption. There's any number of things I coulda done to
dodge my responsibility to your mother. What I couldn't
dodge were the consequences of dodging my
responsibilities.
"If we hadn't married your mom would still have had
you; I would still have a son. But I wouldn't have been
involved in your life; wouldn't have watched you grow,
wouldn't helped to mold you," he said his voice growing
more calm as he spoke.
"Instead what I woulda done would be to make Mary Anne
a single mom; there was no way she was going to put you
up for adoption. She'd be struggling to raise you on a
waitresses' salary. I may not make a hell of a lot but
it's a shitload more than your Mom earns in the diner.
She might have had to take a second job. She'd be
spending even less time with you. Not the kind of life
I wanted for your mom or you."
"Shit," he said pausing to spit little fragments of the
masticated toothpick from his mouth, "Mary Anne might
even have married someone else; let another man raise
my son. I'll tell ya there was no way in hell I was
going to let that happen."
"But Dad, you dropped out of school to get married."
"Damn it Jake, I'm a mechanic, not a doctor. I'm a
pretty good mechanic. I don't need a college degree to
do what I do. Hell, I didn't even need a high school
degree. My senior year I was just marking time in
school, just going half days, spending the other half
working maintenance at the plant. Quitting early didn't
hurt me. Anyway that's not the point.
"There's only two things only a man can't hide; when
he's drunk and when he's in love. I was in love with
your mother, still am. She loves me, despite all my
faults, and I mean all my faults. I love her despite
hers."
I must have had a disbelieving look on my face because
he gave me a rueful smile before continuing.
"Sometimes things aren't as logical as that Dr. Spock
guy on TV makes them out to be."
"Mr. Spock," I said automatically; Dad never did get
Star Trek.
"Dr. Spock, Mr. Spock, who cares? Point is love doesn't
have anything to do with logic. Your mother loves me in
spite of myself. I love your mother; not only for what
she is, but for what I am when I'm with her. I'm not a
high-browed philosopher or a fancy-pants poet but your
mother makes my heart sing."
"But it's not enough is it, because when you're not
with her, you're sleeping around?"
"You just don't get it do you Jake" he said. "Let me
tell you something about enjoying life; the secret is
in seizing your chances for pleasure as they go by. Sex
isn't only a pleasure; it's a way to kick death in his
bony ole ass before he finally gets around to you."
I was pondering Dad's last statement when he asked me a
question. "You know I don't go to church right?" I
nodded in agreement. "Know why?"
"Because you don't believe in God?"
"Oh, I believe in god, with a little 'g,' but not the
god you find in most churches.
"When I was a kid my mother, your Grandmother Laurell,
used to take me to church. I learned two things on
Sundays. One is God loves you and you're going to burn
in hell. The other is sex is the most disgusting,
dirty, sinful thing on earth and you should save it for
someone you love. Let's see your Spock guy make sense
out of that.
"Listen to the preachers you'd think God created the
torso, head, legs and arms, but the Devil slapped on
the dicks and pussies. They're creating shame and guilt
where they should be celebrating life."
I couldn't let my dad's error stand uncorrected. Even
at this early stage of my learning I knew the
importance of witnessing. Here was my chance to help
bring him to the light.
"That might be true in Grandma Laurell's church but
that's not what they're teaching me at the bethel. Sex
is a sacrament not a sin. Sacraments are meant by God
to be shared for the joy and salvation of all," I said
earnestly.
"Think about that for a second Jake," he responded.
"Use the logic they're always talking about on that
show. You say sex is a sacrament to be shared by all,
right?"
I smiled as I nodded my head, secure in my belief I
could argue rings around Dad. "That's right. It's food
for the soul. The barbe says..."
"Wait, don't get ahead of me here. So if sex is a
sacrament, have you shared this sacrament with Elle
yet? No? With anyone other than your right hand? No?
That's what I thought. So if sex is a sacrament why
hasn't the bethel let you fuck Elle or at least get a
blowjob or two?" Dad sat back waiting for my response.
As he drank the rest of his beer, I explained to Dad
how things worked in the bethel. Once the barbe was
satisfied I was a genuine convert I would become an
"acceptant," allowed to participate in some but not all
of the bethel's sacraments. I didn't admit at the top
of the "not all" list, at least as far as I was
concerned, was theopathy. It was only after the Oblate
Council had exercised its power of advowson or right of
appointment, only after I had knelt on the prie-dieu in
front of the altar and heard Reverend Cassell declare
my status before the congregation as a "sanctified"
could Elle and I enter into a covenant courtship.
"That's bullshit Jake. There's no shortage of pussy in
this world; it's just the delivery system's messed up.
Getting religion to get laid is like buying an airplane
for the free peanuts. It's effective but there's easier
ways to get what you want."
Dad stopped to open two more beers, handing one to me
before taking a swig from the other.
"You asked me how I can cheat on your mother. Well, I
don't think of it's cheating. Neither does your mother.
If you don't believe me and you've got the balls, go
ahead, ask her. Just be sure you're ready to hear what
she tells you."
"Why, what's she going to tell me," I asked."
"The truth Jake. Your mom will tell you the truth.
After she tells you the truth, you come see me and
we'll talk some more."
I stewed for a week before I got up enough courage to
ask my mom. This time I made sure we weren't in Couf's.
It was just the two of us sitting at the formica
kitchen table drinking coffee when I gingerly brought
up the subject of my conversation. Dad would be at work
for at least another three hours, which would give us
plenty of time to talk.
Mom didn't hem and haw or beat around the bush, she
just reared back and let fly.
"First of all Jacob, let me tell you how disappointed I
am in you. Not because you asked your father about our
relationship, but the disrespectful way you did it. I'm
ashamed of you. You ought to be ashamed too. When we're
done here, I expect you to apologize to your father."
I couldn't believe my mother's reaction. Being upset
with me because I stuck up for her was unfair. Fiercely
I asked "How can you sit there and defend him with what
he's done."
Her reply was as cold as my question was hot. "Now I'm
not only disappointed in you, I'm angry with you as
well. I'm not defending your father because he hasn't
done anything needing defending. Maybe you should
reconsider becoming a member of the bethel, you
certainly don't seem to have taken any of the teachings
to your heart so far."
Not softening a bit, Mom continued to correct me, a
basilisk stare locking my eyes with hers.
"When you first asked me about the bethel I told you it
was woman in the form of Eve that led man in the form
of Adam into sin. I thought you understood by our
actions, our subservience to our men, we women redeem
Eve's actions in Eden when she disobeyed the Heavenly
Father. Our willingness to make this sacrifice
preserves our souls and our place in the kingdom.
"Have you forgotten the lesson in Ephesians that the
husband is the head of his wife and wives should submit
to their husbands in everything? Or that Corinthians
calls on women to be obedient with deep respect and
sincere loyalty to our masters, to please them and
wholeheartedly do their will," she asked. "The creed of
obedience is basic to our values. If you don't share
it, I mean really believe it in your heart, maybe you
don't belong in the bethel.'
I felt like a man trying to extract himself from
quicksand. I had to move slowly and carefully or I'd
sink beneath the surface. If Mom thought I was just
pretending to believe in order to get into Elle's pants
she'd tell the barbe. That'd be the end of everything.
As a bethel member almost all of her life Mom had been
expected to marry within the faith. She hadn't. Worse
than the fact the man she married wasn't a member, Dad
was openly scornful of the bethel and most of its
teachings. As a result, I was being treated with more
skepticism than a normal aspirant.
Not only were the sins of the parents being held
against this child, the fact I hadn't shown a real
interest in the teachings of the bethel until I
developed my interest in Elle, just increased the level
of scrutiny I was under.
The ironic thing is they were right; I started all of
this just to get into Elle's pants. But as I sat
through the lessons with the barbe what I was being
taught began to make sense to me. I felt like the slow
student in school who suddenly understands what the
teacher is talking about. God did exist. Living in
accordance with his plan was a life-enriching
experience.
I wanted to become a member of the bethel; not because
of Elle, not because of theopathy, OK not just because
of Elle or theopathy, but because receiving God's word
was filling a spot within me that I never even knew was
empty. Now all that was at risk.
Sliding my coffee cup around the table to give me the
time to choose my words cautiously, I tried to steer
the conversation from my beliefs to Dad's actions. If I
could just get a foot on ground that was firmer not
only theologically but emotionally maybe I could climb
out of this quagmire.
I told Mom I understood her duties toward Dad. I wasn't
questioning her devotion or the teachings. But didn't
my father have duties and responsibilities too,
including remaining faithful to her?
"Jake your father has never been unfaithful to me. He's
never failed in his duties to me, just as I hope I've
never failed in my duties to him."
'But mom," I sputtered, "how can you say he's been
faithful. You have to know he's been sleeping with
other women?"
Sighing deeply, Mom shook her head in sadness at my
ignorance. "Don't equate sex with love. They're not the
same thing. Oh, there's a small element of love in sex,
a degree of intimacy and trust. When we experience an
orgasm, we let our egos die for a moment, giving us the
chance to experience a true connection with another
person. But the connection is Eros, the instinct of
life, not love, just a pale imitation, which is why you
should never believe someone who tells you they love
you while you're having sex.
"Casual sex may be very intimate at the physical level,
but there usually isn't much personal or emotional
depth involved. Even where there is it doesn't come
within a mile of matching what your father and I have."
Mom reached across the table to take my hand in hers, a
beseeching look on her face. "You know King Solomon had
seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines. I
don't think Len has gotten anywhere close to Solomon's
total, although not from lack of trying," she said
making a joke of my father's lust. "While I get us some
more coffee I want you to think about something.
"Your father wasn't the first man I slept with. I was
well into a covenant courtship with another member of
the bethel when I met your dad, who the other man was
isn't important. What is important is I loved your dad,
loved him so deeply I was willing to risk being
proscribed to marry him. I didn't do it for the sex; I
did it for the love."
As she got up, I pondered my mother's words. Clearly
the old man's extra-curricular sex life didn't seem to
bother her, or if it did she was putting on a good
front. But what she told me only raised more questions,
questions I needed answers to if I was to fully
understand what both my parents were trying to tell me.
When she got back, Mom not only had two mugs of hot
coffee, she also had a plate of fresh cinnamon rolls.
Mom was a terrific baker; her pies, rolls and breads
were always among the first to be sold at the local
bake sales.
We sat in contemplative silence as I chewed a roll, its
flaky texture melting in my mouth, leaving behind the
warmth of cinnamon dissolving on my tongue.
Ever since I was a little boy my mother could read me
like a book, no matter how hard I tried to disguise my
thoughts or feelings behind a poker face. This day was
no exception.
"You've been looking everywhere in the room but at me.
I know you're not that interested in the cream pitcher
and even though the pattern on the sugar bowl is
fascinating you've still got things on your mind. Talk
with me Jake. What do you want to know?"
After gathering my thoughts I peppered Mom with
questions that would have been unthinkable before now.
She answered them frankly and honestly, pulling no
punches.
Her acceptance of Dad's sex life outside their marriage
wasn't because of her duty of obedience. Dad had never
once made a secret of his conquests. He had never
ordered her to look the other way or to just accept his
wanderings. To my mother there wasn't a lot of
difference between his golfing with another woman or
going to bed with her "In both cases he's just trying
to get his balls close to a hole," she joked.
More seriously she told me, "Remember Jake, sex is
another way to find God. Maybe your father doesn't
believe the same things we do in the bethel, maybe
those women don't either. But God moves in mysterious
ways. Who's to say these women won't find their way to
salvation through casual sex?"
We talked for another half-hour, sipping coffee and
munching on rolls when I asked the question that would
reshape my universe in ways I didn't fully understand
then.
"Don't you feel left out when Dad's with other women,
when he's sharing things with them he doesn't share
with you?"
Her immediate answer was a deep breath, followed by a
slow exhalation. Now it was Mom's turn to get lost in
an admiration of the kitchen decor. After a few minutes
of silence, broken only by the tick-tock of the tail on
the Felix the Cat clock above the sink, my mother took
another deep breath then faced me directly.
"You're just on the start of the road to becoming a
man; oh I know you think you're there but believe me,
you have a long ways to go. One of the duties your
father and I owe to you is to guide you along that
path. I've talked with your teachers; your secular
schooling is going fine. The barbe says you're as an
attentive a pupil as he's had for years, although he
still wonders about your motive in joining the bethel.
But Jake in your life you're flunking basic sex ed."
The sheer shock of Mom's last statement made me snort
coffee out of my nose. Once I stopped choking and we
got the mess I made cleaned up she continued her
recitation of my deficiency.
"Honey, sex is a body-contact sport. It is fun to watch
but more fun to play. All those magazines and books you
have in your room don't do it justice. They're like
looking at a photo of a roller-coaster as opposed to
riding one. The photo only shows you a two-dimensional
image; being there you get it all, the wind blowing
your hair back, the queasiness in your stomach as you
slowly climb closer to the top; the exhilaration as you
make that first plunge, every muscle in your body
shaking in fear and excitement as you race through
every swoop and turn. Then when you get to the end,
spent and limp you race back to the line to do it all
over again. Even masturbating while you look at those
magazines your father gives you doesn't prepare you for
the real thing."
There was a difference in the bethel between being a
convert from outside and being raised in the faith, Mom
explained. Sex and sex acts weren't secret; they were
an every day occurrence no more hidden than doing the
laundry or washing dishes, although unlike most
household chores it wasn't considered polite to watch
without an invitation.
Parents were encouraged to teach their children about
sex at an early age. "We knew about human anatomy and
sex but it was all conceptual. When I asked my mother
about how babies were made she simply told me. When my
friend Janet asked, her parents took her on what's
called a 'visitation.' They left her overnight with
another couple from the bethel and she got to watch
everything they did. So I was disappointed not to get
the same sort of show and tell."
From that moment on, curiosity about sex blazed like a
prairie fire in my mother; the grainy black and white
French postcards she found in her father's dresser
drawer only whetted her appetite. She began spying on
her parents, trying to catch them in the act.
"They always kept their door closed while they were
having sex but even through that thick old farm house
door I could hear the sounds of their coupling. It
always sounded like they were having so much fun I just
had to see what they were doing."
Mom took to waiting outside her parent's room, using
the volume of the noise to time her reconnaissance.
When the din got loud enough, she'd fling open the
door, asking for a glass of water or claiming she had a
nightmare. After the first time she tried this tactic
she never really saw much. Even the first time she only
saw her mother's back as she was sitting on top of her
father, rocking back and forth.
It didn't take long for my grandparents to figure out
my mother's game, placing a hook and eye on the inside
of the door to prevent its opening while they were in
flagrante delicto, an action that just made my mother
more determined to see what was going on.
Her determination finally paid off in a very unexpected
manner.
"Mr. and Mrs. Wilson from down the street were our
guests for dinner that night. I went to bed early,
right after dinner was done, but set my alarm to go off
later that night. I knew your grandmother would look in
to make sure I was asleep before she and your
grandfather started enjoying themselves. I thought
maybe if they saw I was asleep they might not lock the
door, might even leave it open a crack and I could peep
in," she told me.
The alarm went off as scheduled. Mom snuck down the
hall only to find the door shut. Frustrated, she was
going back bed when she heard sounds coming from the
living room. Naturally she investigated.
"What I saw was my mother on her knees in front of my
father, both as naked as the day they were born. I was
so surprised I knocked a bottle right off the coffee
table.
"After he heard the bottle hit the floor, my father
stopped my mother and whispered in her ear, pointing
toward me. She took him out of her mouth and whispered
back to him. I tell you Jake; I thought I was in for it
then. Your grandfather didn't spank me very often but
when he did it hurt like the dickens," she told me, her
voice seeming to come from some faraway place.
"Looking right at me your Gramma Lindsey told me it was
OK, I should get closer. I knew my Mom wouldn't hurt me
or let me be hurt so I got real close to them. 'This is
a way for us to honor the Lord,' she told me."
"It was over in just a few minutes. My mother told me
what I had just seen was a gift from God.
"While my dad went for a drink of water, my mother took
me by the hand and walked me back to my bedroom. Along
the way she told me how disappointed she was in me; how
all my sneaking around showed disrespect for my parents
and God. I was in tears by the time we got to my room."
The rest of the night my mother spent on her knees,
praying for forgiveness and the gift of obedience in
all things.
"After that I got to do my visitation. Your Grandpa
Samuel took me to spend the night at the Wilsons. They
were both pretty matter-of-fact about the whole thing
since this wasn't the first visitation they'd hosted.
Mr. Wilson made sure I got a good look at everything
that went on. I think he liked being watched and he
knew I liked watching. After that I made three or four
visitations to different members of the bethel, each
one focusing on some different aspect of sex."
I couldn't look at Mom's face as she told me this tale.
Instead I focused my eyes on her breasts, her nipples
tenting against the front of her blouse despite a heavy
fabric bra. She kept squirming in her chair as though
this talk was making her as uncomfortable as I was.
Finally pulling my gaze from her tits, I found Mom's
eyes were closed as she relived this experience from
her childhood.
Those jade green eyes snapped open with my next
statement. "My god, mom that's child abuse. You grew up
with a bunch of pedophiles."
"Put that thought right out of your mind now," she
commanded. "We kids may have watched some adults having
sex but no adult ever touched one of us. That would be
a sin, one that would be unforgivable in the bethel.
Adults other than our parents never even saw us naked,
let alone played touchy-feely with us. Our bethel isn't
some strange child sex cult. No grownup ever had any
sort of sex with any of us. We never had any sex with
them.
"That's not to say we kids didn't do a little
experimenting on our own," she said in a milder voice.
"My first experience with giving oral sex came with my
cousin in his corncrib. Not a very good one for either
of us I'm afraid. Not only didn't I have any experience
but all the dust made me sneeze. I think I bit his
penis three or four times before we were done."
"As kids we were encouraged to fool around with each
other, within the prescribed limits. Petting and oral
sex were acceptable, actual intercourse wasn't. When we
turned 16 all of our sex play stopped, forbidden by the
bethel until we were give the privilege of theopathy."
I thought it was strange enough listening to Dad talk
about his sexual exploits; having my mother tell me
about her's was really blowing my mind.
Putting the question of why I never went on a
visitation aside I asked, "Mom, Why are you telling me
all this right now? It can't just have to do with my
talk with Dad?"
"You questioned your father about us. Now you're
getting the answer. It might not be the answer you
wanted but it's the answer you need. Once you start
asking questions, Jake, innocence leaves and wisdom
begins to take its place."
Brushing a stray hair away from her face, Mom explained
Elle was an "in bethel" child, raised in the same way
she had been, including "all of the sanctioned sex
play."
"You need to catch up with Elle. She's much more mature
than you are right now, not only physically and
emotionally but sexually. She may still have her
maidenhead but she's only technically a virgin. Your
father's right, you need to broaden your experience. I
want you to go out with those girls from the shop and
have fun. Find out what sex with another person is
really like."
"But what about Elle?" I sputtered.
"Believe it or not honey, you're doing this for Elle.
Right now you're infatuated with her, with the promise
of the theopathy to come. Get some experience under
your belt, the experience you would have had if you'd
been raised in the bethel, you might find your feelings
will change, that it was all about getting laid, not
about receiving God's word. I hope not. I pray not. But
better to find out now, before anyone gets really hurt,
than later."
"I don't know Mom, I like Elle, I really do. I don't
want her to think I was cheating on her like..." my
internal censor kicking in just a second to late to do
any good.
"Like your father cheats on me?' she asked coldly
glaring at me.
"No that's not what I meant," I said trying to cover up
for my big mouth.
"Damn it Jake," my mother said more in sorrow than in
anger. "I thought we'd straightened all that out. I
guess you didn't believe a thing I said." Her chair
squeaked against the linoleum floor as she pushed back
away from the table. "I want you to come with me. We
are going to settle this for once and for all."
As I followed her down the hall she told me I needed to
be aware of the full nature of her relationship with my
father, her husband and master.
"You may find it hard to deal with some of the things
I'm going to show and tell you. Being able to
understand things the way things really are is an
important step in growing up, even if things turn out
to be different and much more complicated than you ever
thought they would be."
We went into my parent's bedroom where Mom told me to
sit on the edge of the bed. Turning away from me, she
opened the closet door, rummaging around on the top
shelf until she pulled out a rectangular black metal
box with a miniature padlock. The key to the lock was
in a small covered china dish on her dresser.
Handing me the box and the key she told me to open it.
Even as my hands pried open the top, I knew
instinctively I'd gotten myself into a situation I
wasn't ready for.
The box contained photos; some were Polaroids, some
were taken with a film camera. There were maybe two
hundred or more, photos taken in places very familiar
to me; friends' homes, the Boathouse at Thistledown
Resort, all spots we vacationed at. The loose photos
were organized between tabbed cardboard dividers, each
tab listing a date and place. I pulled the ones from
last year's trip to Thistledown.
These were vacation pictures all right but pictures of
a very different vacation then I remembered.
At first the photos were fairly innocuous. My mother
lying on her side on a bed in the black one-piece
bathing suit she wore at the resort, one hand propping
up her head, the other on her hip as she smiled
coquettishly at the camera. My mother wearing black
shorts and a red tank top, coyly lifting the tank top
to expose the lower curves of her breasts.
The next set was more salacious, with my mother wearing
her sheer lime green sundress but without anything
underneath it, her breasts clearly visible through the
clinging translucent fabric.
Soon my mother was nude, leaning slightly forward, her
blond hair falling over her shoulders, its ends
brushing the slopes of her breasts. When I was younger
and could get away with it, I used to find excuses to
go into the bathroom when my mother was taking her
bath, just to get a glimpse of those breasts; each one
the size and shape of a small cantaloupe, their areolas
like dark gingersnaps cookies topped by a ripe red
currant. Now here they were immortalized in overlapping
layers of photosensitive dyes bonded to paper.
It got bad after that.
My mother giving a handjob to a strange cock, a perky
smile on her face. My mother wearing only white panties
and black knee-high mesh stockings, bent over a man
lying on his back on a bed the tip of his prick between
her lips her cheeks collapsing inward from the force of
her suction, right hand on the shaft, left hand cupping
his balls in her palm. On her knees another dick deep
in her mouth. Lowering herself onto the rampant cock of
a man sitting on the edge of a coffee table. In the
doggie position getting it from behind.
Even as anger and bitterness flowed through my body,
souring my stomach and sending tendrils of nausea
creeping up my throat, a rush of blood engorged my
penis causing it to throb painfully with sexual
excitement.
I felt like a naive simpleton; so concerned about
defending my mother's honor against what I saw as my
father's besmirchment I never considered the
possibility they were two peas from the same pod.
For my father was in these photos too. Women I had
grown up respecting were slobbering over his dick like
a child eating a Popsicle. He himself was humping away
like a dog in heat with female after female, including
one woman who was clearly pregnant.
I couldn't look at the photos anymore. Faking a
composure I didn't feel, I put them back into the box,
handing it to my mother.
A rope in a tug of war being pulled two ways at once,
that was me. Part of me found these photos and what
they represented repulsive and horrifying while part of
me found them sickly arousing.
After returning the box to its place in the closet, Mom
told me she was going to get me a glass of cold water
from the kitchen, departing to leave me alone with my
thoughts. No matter how I finally felt about what I'd
just seen, and at that moment I didn't know how I felt,
I'd never view my parents in the same simplistic
cardboard cutout way again.
Mom waited until I finished my drink before she took my
hand, leading me out of the bedroom down to the
kitchen.
For close to fifteen minutes, we sat in an
uncomfortable silence as I looked everywhere in the
room but at Mom. Above the table I was stiff as a
board. Under the table I was also stiff as a board,
this time between my legs, which were vibrating like a
Tudor electric football game.
Finally Mom came around behind me and began to massage
my shoulders. "Come on Jake, talk with me. If you hold
it in much longer you'll have a stroke." This time I
knew I wasn't imagining things; those were the rock
hard nubs of her nipples rubbing themselves against my
back. Was sharing her secret sex life with me turning
my mother on?
"Don't make me get on my knees and beg Jake," Mom said
in a soft low voice, the phrasing of her request
filling my head with a vision of her naked, on her
knees begging for a cock to fill her mouth and not just
any cock.
Peter van Gulik High may have been a rural school but
we studied classical literature as well as farming. I'd
read Sophocles' Oedipus The King. I knew how that one
turned out for Oedipus and Jocasta, even if the tent in
my pants didn't. Sometimes there's a very good reason
for fantasies to be forbidden.
Pulling my mind out of the gutter, I tried desperately
to regain my composure. Surely, Mom wasn't coming on to
me. It was just my overactive teenage imagination
transforming her from a loving mother to object of
sexual desire. Well, my imagination and those
photographs.
"Why," I asked her in a thin reedy voice.
"Why what, Jake?"
"Why were you having sex with all those people. Why did
you let them take photos?"
Without a hint of embarrassment Mom told me why she was
having sex with people other than my father was a
question she wasn't going to answer for me, at least
not right now.
"Oh, I could give you an answer Jake but you don't have
the experience or knowledge to really make sense out of
it. It'd be like trying to teach calculus to someone
who hasn't had geometry or algebra yet. You'd just get
more confused. You're already confused enough," she
said her massaging hands having moved from my shoulders
to my neck. "You're so rigid right now it's a wonder
you don't pop something."
The feeling of her hands rubbing up and down my neck,
coupled with the memory of those photos had me on the
brink of blowing my wad into my shorts. To avoid the
humiliation of making her last statement come all too
true, I started to stand up, only to realize such a
move would expose the raging hard-on between my legs. I
sat back down with an audible thump.
Voice tinkling with amusement, Mom stepped back and
said "Jake, I need to go to the bathroom. You need some
time to get a firm grip on yourself. So here's the
deal. You go out with the girls from Len's shop and I
don't just mean one girl on one date. Have a good time.
Get yourself some experience. Then you come back to me
and we'll have that calculus discussion. Now I have to
go relieve myself before I burst."
Straightening up she began to walk out of the room,
pausing at the door; my mother was big on the whole
pausing at the door bit, a regular Lauren Bacall.
"Pay attention to what I'm telling you Jake. Before you
go on those dates it wouldn't hurt you to talk to your
father about how to read the signals women give off,
but only after you've apologized to him," she said
stressing the last portion of her advice.
I must have sat in the chair for at least five minutes
before my dick got soft enough to let me walk without
pain. Passing the bathroom door I could hear Mom
humming to herself and, underneath the murmur, a
fainter fleshy sound, liquid and languorous. I thought
I recognized the sound; I made its frenetic male
counterpart almost every night.
The suspicion Mom was masturbating in the bathroom led
me to take my first bite out of the apple. Silent as a
snake, I slid down the hallway slithering into my
parent's bedroom. Fearful of discovery, I took the
photo box out of the closet as quickly and silently as
I could. For a moment I was torn by indecision, not
about my actions but about which photos to take.
Quickly I took five pictures out of the box, all of my
mother, all from earlier vacations, all action shots
that also showed off her beautiful full breasts.
Tucking my plunder into my pants pocket, I cautiously
returned the box to its former position in the closet,
replacing the key in the china dish.
Retreating from the scene of my crime, I managed to
hide the snapshots between the mattress and box springs
of my bed before Mom got out of the bathroom. I'd find
a better hiding place later.
I went through a half box of tissues that night.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 46