My memory got a new detail--Mom touched me

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My memory got a new detail--Mom touched me

NewGerasene

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I've remembered this for a long time, but the other day a new detail just came out of nowhere. There is a lot that I'm angry about myself for in the story, starting from the beginning. (There's other stuff in my overall story, but this is specific incident.)

It starts out when I'm maybe 11 or 12. I'm learning about my body and understand very little about sexuality, and, for some reason, one thing I'm curious about is what it feels like to be naken in an open space. One day I'm at home alone, and I decide to go to the living room naked, just lying on the floor. I have a blanket under me. I'm just feeling what it means to be me in my body. I have an erection, but I'm not sure I even know what that is.

Then I hear Mom's car pull up, she's back, and I'm exposed. I quickly jump up and wrap the blanket around me, but I don't get back to my room before she comes home. She's in the kitchen, which was where we normally entered the house, so nothing unusual there, but by being there she's blocking my path between the living room and my room, where my cloths are. I just sit in a chair, wrapping my blanket around me, hoping she won't notice.

But she asks for help bringing groceries in or unpacking them or something. I don't remember what I say, like I need to go to my room quickly or something. She's confused very breifly and then realizes what's up, looking at my holding that blanket with clinched fists. When she catches on, she start's laughing and making fun of me.

This is uncomfortable for me, naken with only a blanket protecting me from her eyes. I feel my nakedness and my erection.

She comes towards me, making fun of me. She's laughing so I'm laughing. I guess it is kind of funny.

Then with her hands she starts reaching through the blanket. I keep adjusting, trying to back away farther in the chair, pulling my knees up, folding my arms around me, but there are no buttons or zippers to hold a blanket closed, just my two hands, and no matter where I hold the blanket she can get through. I remember being very hard. I'm squirming, which might make things worse, I don't know.

She reaches through to reach me or poke me or get a peak. All I want is to be covered and to go get my clothes on, but she's playing this game and it keeps me totally blocked in that chair with nothing but a blanket to protect my dignity and she's getting through that no problem.

What I've just remembered is that in her teasing and tauning, at one point she grabs my erect penis, close to the tip, and is repeating, "What is this? Whatcha got there? Whatcha got there?" In it's erect state, and in that chair the way I was, and with her coming from different angles and me trying to stay covered, there was no way I could cover my penis, too. I was trying to keep the blanket over me, and that took both hands. I didin't know what she was going to do. Once she gets through, my genitals are totally exposed to her touch, and it really must have been just a matter of some centimeters between wherever she got through and my penis.

This is an old memory. This summer it has been bothering me more. For some reason this summer what is vivid is how hard I was.

What is new about this memory is her touching me, not just reaching or poking through, but actually gripping it as she asked, "Whatcha got there?" All of that is new to me, and came to me a few days ago.

I am angry at myself for putting myself in that position. Whatever exploring I wanted to do could have been done from the relative safety of my room. By choosing a more open space, I set this up. Or I should have been quicker ot leave, though I don't know if that was possible. I don't think I blame myself for laughing and playing along. I was just trying to stay covered, and standing by that point seemed riskier, not to mention I wouldn't leave the room while Mom was talking to me.

I hate that whenever I remember this now I get an erection.

I hate that now I will wonder if this memory is real or whether I made it up. If I get hard when thinking of this, maybe it's a fantasy rather than memory. I must be careful to show respect to my dead mother, who was a good person who happened to molest me. If this is real, why did I not remember it before?

I was totally compliant in this
 
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