Was This Too Abuse?
I remember my mother kissing me once. It was the only time I can remember her kissing me. I was in the kitchen doing dishes in my underpants. When you don't have any clothes you spend a lot if time in your underpants. And when your mother's a drug addict, there isn't anybody else to do the dishes.
She came up to me and kissed me on the lips. It was so strange. Not only because she literally had never kissed me before, I was 13, but it was the way that she kissed me. She took too long, she stood too close. I was big for my age, and gone into puberty 2 years before. I must have looked like a man outside but I assure you inside I was a little wounded boy. She put her hand on my chest and let it rest there, then she leaned in and kissed me. When I pulled away she said "What's wrong, can't a mother kiss her son."
Some weeks later, I was in my bedroom with the door shut. (Or as shut as it could go). My room was at the very back of our ranch style home. It was late that night the house had gone quiet. It was as much privacy as I could manage to find in our dysfunctional house. I was in my bed and was masturbating, with the sheet pulled down. I was about to reached climax when I heard a sound at my door. It was my mother who pushed the door open and the hinge creaked. She had been looking through the opening of the door. Her hands were at her side and I can only surmise that she leaned forward to see better and her head pushed the door further open with a pop.
Startled, I stopped and covered myself. She, through the partially open door, made a half hearted apology and nothing more was said. She went back into the bathroom. Thirteen year old boys don't bring up the subject of their mothers catching them jerking off, so the likely hood of me bringing the topic up with her was zero. The next day she said nothing and was probably drunk, high or both, per usual. Nothing was ever said about either incident.
These two events had remained separate and unconnected in my memory, until now.
Recently I was lost in thought when both of these incidents came to surface together. I felt nausea. I had never questioned the abuse I suffered at the hands of my brother and uncle. I clearly remember the neglect, hunger, shame and -frankly-dirt. But I had never considered what she did as abuse. Perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps I am being over sensitive and misreading. But the memories are sure, no fantasy or delusion. It's the connection between the incidents that has troubled me.
Was my discomfort with the way she kissed me just normal teenage angst, or was there a reason for my wariness? Did she just stumble upon my nighttime adventure or was there more to it? And if she ran across me by accident, why did she wait and watch until I found her looking? And I am sick and frightened at the thought that this was abuse.
She came up to me and kissed me on the lips. It was so strange. Not only because she literally had never kissed me before, I was 13, but it was the way that she kissed me. She took too long, she stood too close. I was big for my age, and gone into puberty 2 years before. I must have looked like a man outside but I assure you inside I was a little wounded boy. She put her hand on my chest and let it rest there, then she leaned in and kissed me. When I pulled away she said "What's wrong, can't a mother kiss her son."
Some weeks later, I was in my bedroom with the door shut. (Or as shut as it could go). My room was at the very back of our ranch style home. It was late that night the house had gone quiet. It was as much privacy as I could manage to find in our dysfunctional house. I was in my bed and was masturbating, with the sheet pulled down. I was about to reached climax when I heard a sound at my door. It was my mother who pushed the door open and the hinge creaked. She had been looking through the opening of the door. Her hands were at her side and I can only surmise that she leaned forward to see better and her head pushed the door further open with a pop.
Startled, I stopped and covered myself. She, through the partially open door, made a half hearted apology and nothing more was said. She went back into the bathroom. Thirteen year old boys don't bring up the subject of their mothers catching them jerking off, so the likely hood of me bringing the topic up with her was zero. The next day she said nothing and was probably drunk, high or both, per usual. Nothing was ever said about either incident.
These two events had remained separate and unconnected in my memory, until now.
Recently I was lost in thought when both of these incidents came to surface together. I felt nausea. I had never questioned the abuse I suffered at the hands of my brother and uncle. I clearly remember the neglect, hunger, shame and -frankly-dirt. But I had never considered what she did as abuse. Perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps I am being over sensitive and misreading. But the memories are sure, no fantasy or delusion. It's the connection between the incidents that has troubled me.
Was my discomfort with the way she kissed me just normal teenage angst, or was there a reason for my wariness? Did she just stumble upon my nighttime adventure or was there more to it? And if she ran across me by accident, why did she wait and watch until I found her looking? And I am sick and frightened at the thought that this was abuse.
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