Therapist

His entrance into this world was not without its troubles. First, there were problems with the delivery. He was a breach baby and the obstetrician had to perform a cesarean. His mother didn't like that one bit and complained bitterly about the scar that it would leave.

Then just as the nurse was handing him over to his mother she slipped and fell on the floor with the crying baby still in her arms. Luckily no one was hurt. But that didn't stop his mother from screaming out loudly about the incompetence of everyone present.

If that wasn't enough, it was soon discovered that the child had infantile hypertrophic pyloric stenosis; he threw up almost immediately every time she nursed him. The problem was solved with surgery.

That night his mother watched a documentary on television about John Edgar Hoover. The program interested her so she named the baby after the famous director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. His father is also a distant relative of his, or so her mother-in-law told her soon after their wedding.

But all that was ancient history.

Today the quiet, shy Edgar is a freshman attending Louisiana State University on a four year science scholarship. He has come home several days early for the Thanksgiving holiday. It is Monday evening. He is having supper with his stern-faced authoritarian mother. They are sitting at the kitchen table.

Edgar tells his mother that he is getting high marks in all his subjects except English literature; he has a C in it. He tells his mother about a coed he met who is helping him with his English compositions. She is pretty Edgar hesitantly says to her but immediately regrets giving this information to her.

He winces as his mother slams her hand on the table, pauses and then coldly, calculatingly asks him to tell her more about the girl.

He lies and tells her that they are not serious, that he is only using her to help him with his studies. He continues the lie and says that he won't see her again, that he will get another study buddy from the dorm. But she doesn't believe him. She insists that he tell the slut to fuck off and that he get someone else to help him with his studies.

"She's only a friend mother. I don't know why I can't continue to let her help me?"

"If you don't get someone else for a study buddy then I'll take you out of that stupid college," she barks.

Edgar can live with his mother not believing him. He has lived with it for eighteen years. He can live with her beating him, belittling him, cursing him even molesting him. He has also lived with that for as long as he can remember. But it is when she threatens to take him out of college that he snaps. It is when she threatens to take away his only refuge from her that he fights back -- for the first time in his subservient life to her.

Donna, sweet lovely Donna, has that much influence upon him. She is the first girl that has ever taken a romantic interest in him, tells him how strong he is, how beautiful his long blonde hair looks. She is the only girl that he has ever kissed, the only girl that he has ever loved. She is the only person who has ever loved him. They held hands walking from the library.

It is when his mother threatens to take that away from him that he finally acts in his own defense.

"You can't do that. I'm old enough . . ."

"That's it!" she yells at him. "You're not going back to that school just to fuck some whore who'll only give you some kind of disease."

"We haven't had sex mother. I'm still a virgin."

"Don't you talk back to me, you little bastard." She slaps him hard across the face, leaving the imprint of her hand on his cheek. "And don't you lie to me. Don't you tell me that you're still a virgin, because I know you're not. I know you've fucked all those high school whores you went out with. I ought to cut it off. You're just like . . ."

"Mother you know I never went out with . . ."

"Don't you interrupt me when I'm talking to you, you little bastard." She hits him again. He puts his hand to his cheek and cringes away from her. "You're just like your father. He was always interrupting me when I was talking to him, till I threw him out."

"I wasn't interrupting you mother. I was just trying to remind you that you wouldn't let me date any girls when I was in high school," he says to her. "And I thought dad left you because he couldn't stand your hollering at him and belittling him any more?"

"What!" She screams at him. "Did that college whore teach you that? Did that college bitch tell you to talk that way to me? Now I know you're not going back there. You're not going to talk like that to me and get away with it you little bastard."

She grabs him by the hair -- the way she has always done -- and drags him down the hall to the punishment room. Her combat boots make a loud thump with each step she takes.

The room is bare of all furniture except a vintage sewing machine, table and chair. Hanging on the wall above the sewing table is a large picture of her from the waist up. She has a cold, enigmatic smile on her face and her blonde hair in a bun; her arms are folded across her large bosom. Her piercing blue eyes follow the viewer to every corner of the room. She is everywhere and nowhere. In this room Edgar has no respite; he cannot hide from her.

Near the far corner is a set of leg manacles. The manacles are attached to a two meter chain that is bolted to an eyebolt in the floor. There is also a pair of handcuffs that are fastened to a steel cable running through an eyebolt in the ceiling. This latter cable runs across the ceiling, through several eyebolts and then ties off near the entrance door of the room.

There is an old, yellow stained sheet from Edgar's baby bed covering the only window. The room is dirty, not having been swept or cleaned in over ten years. There is a thin coat of dust on the floor except for a small circle surrounding the chains with a path leading to the entrance door and another path leading to the sewing table.

Finally, there is her Whip, her precious leather Whip with a brass handle. It's lying on the floor next to the sewing table coiled up like a snake waiting to strike.

Edgar thinks of fighting back. But he has a small frame, is shorter than her by at least fifteen centimeters and only weighs about 155 pounds. No match for her large frame, 210 pounds. Besides, he knows it will only make her angrier. He knows too what his punishment is going to be for his insolence. It is what his punishment has always been when she is angry at him. He resigns himself to her brutality.

Through his thoughts he asks, no begs, "Donna, where can you be? I'm left all alone all by myself. I need you. Sanctuary of my life, love of my life help me; I don't know what I'll do. Please tell me what to do."

But Donna might just as well be on the moon. She cannot help him now. Nor are his thoughts of her going to help him now. He resigns himself.

She drags him across the punishment room to the sets of chains. Then she punches him hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him and sending him to his knees.

She stands over him. "You know the rules. Take off your clothes you little bastard or I'll rip them off you."

She has always referred to him as her little bastard. In his entire life, whenever she is angry, he can never remember her referring to him by any other name.

"Mother, please." He can barely whisper. He is on his hands and knees, trying to catch his breath.

She kicks him hard in the side; her combat boots leave an ugly bruise. He falls face down onto the bare floor. "I said take off your clothes you little bastard." Then she stomps across the room and picks up the Snake.

"Mother, please. I'm too old for this."

"Shut up you little bastard," she barks.

She hits him with all her strength across his back with the Whip. He cries out in pain. He can feel the welt rising across his shoulder and down his back. She strikes him two more times across his back, tearing his T-shirt.

He tries to get up but she kicks him again in his ribs. He goes down in excruciating pain, grabbing his side. Then she kicks him in his left temple, knocking him unconscious.

She stands over him momentarily just staring down at him. Next she grabs his LSU T-shirt at the collar -- the T-shirt Donna had bought for him -- and rips it from his back, revealing three deep red streaks running diagonally from his left shoulder to his waist.

When he comes to he is lying naked on the floor; two old, healed small scars can be seen on his left buttocks and another one on his right thigh, just below his cheek. There is another old ten centimeter long scar just below his right shoulder blade.

His wrists are shackled to chain that is attached to the cable hanging from the eyebolt in the ceiling. His ankles are manacled to the chain that is connected to the eyebolt in the floor.

His left eye is swollen and closed. His head is swimming. It is dark and the room is empty. Through his good eye he can see by the moonlight filtering through the sheet on the window that the Snake is laying on the floor next to the sewing table where she threw it. It lies where she has always thrown it -- just beyond his reach.

The LSU T-shirt that Donna had bought for him is lying next to him. It is in shreds. He does not know where the rest of his clothes are; they are not in the room. His back is burning.

He has no idea what time it is or how long he has laid here. He figures that it has probably been just a few hours. His side aches. He is hungry. But he knows better than to call out. He knows that he must sit in silence and wait for her to bring his food to him. He learned that lesson when he was only in the first or second grade. Or was it earlier. He can't remember; it has been too many years.

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

"What do you mean asking me to fix you something to eat? Can't you see that I'm watching television you little bastard?"

Six-year-old Edgar looks across the room at his mother. He is standing in the doorway to the living room. Suddenly he is scared. She called him a little bastard and she only does that when she is angry. She calls him a little bastard whenever she hits him.

He tries to think if there is anything he has done to make her angry. He can think of nothing. He has stayed in his room all day quietly playing with his toy dinosaurs . . . staying away from her.

She hasn't come out of her bedroom all day. Not for breakfast, nor for lunch. She has stayed in her bedroom watching television. She has been watching her video of a woman tying up a naked man and beating him. Every now and then she would moan and yell out. Whenever she is in her room watching her video, moaning and yelling out, he knows better than to disturb her.

He also knows better than to fix his own meals because she beats him whenever he does, especially if he spills something. He cannot ask his daddy to fix him something to eat. His daddy left early this morning to go deer hunting, saying he would be back tomorrow night. So, he has gone hungry.

When she finally did come out of her bedroom, she went straight to the living room to watch the evening news. Edgar heard the television blaring and walked toward the living room. As he walked down the hall past her bedroom, he saw a large flesh colored object lying on her bed. It looks just like his penis only much larger. He does not know what it is. Upon coming to the door leading into the living room he told her he was hungry.

Edgar just stands in the doorway into the living room. He does not know whether he should repeat his statement or remain silent. He is scared.

"Come here to me you little bastard! Get over here!" She is sitting on the sofa. The only thing she is wearing is a torn slip. He can see her large right breast through the tear in it. Her legs are open wide. Edgar can also see her dark pubic hair.

"Are you going to hit me?" he asks timidly.

"Now why would I hit you Johnny Boy? The only thing you did was to tell me that you're hungry. I'm sorry I yelled at you. Would you like some milk?"

She calls him Johnny Boy whenever she has a treat for him. Seldom are the times though. He wonders what the treat is. "Yes Ma'am," he says hesitantly, nodding his head.

"Then come over here and sit in mommy's lap."

He cautiously walks over to her. When he gets near enough, she picks him up and sits him on her left thigh. She smiles at him and says, "Here, mommy has a lot of milk for her little Johnny Boy." Then cupping her exposed large right breast she shoves it into his face. But he jerks his head back, looses his balance and falls to the floor between her legs. He looks up at his mother in fear and astonishment. He does not know what to do.

"I said suck my tit you little bastard." She grabs him by the hair and pulls him into a standing position. She wraps her large legs around his little body, holding him in a vice-like grip. While holding him by the hair with her left hand and cupping her right breast with her other hand, she shoves her nipple into his face. She again orders him to suck her tit.

He dare not disobey her. As he begins to suck her she closes her eyes. His eyes are wide open, watching her face. He continues to suck her nipple.

She lets go of her breast and grabs his left wrist. She puts his hand between her thighs. He can feel her hair, her wetness. She rubs his hand against herself and begins to moan. It is the same moan he heard coming from her bedroom several times earlier today. After several minutes her moans become louder and she begins to thrust her hips against his body. Then she screams out, scaring Edgar.

He stops sucking her and pulls his hand out from between her legs. He then tries to wriggle out from between her legs but she is too strong. She yanks on his hair.

"I thought I told you to suck my tit you little bastard. Now suck it!"

He again begins to suck her right nipple, keeping his wide open eyes fixed on her face. He dare not disobey her.

Through a newscast and a game show which followed it she holds him between her thighs while her left hand clutches tight onto his hair. For over an hour she forces him to suck her nipple while she massages her vagina with his hand.

When the game show is over she drags him by his hair into the punishment room. Once there she throws him across the room and pushes a love seat in front of the door, blocking his escape and revealing an eyebolt driven into the floor.

Next she does what she has always done when she is angry at him. She rips off all his clothes. Then she takes some leg manacles out of the closet and shackles his ankles to the eyebolt. Next she ties his hands in front of him with a cord. Then she holds him by the hair and beats him with one of his father's belts. All the while she is beating him she is screaming at him that he shouldn't wet the bed. She beats him until he has numerous welt marks on his back, buttocks and thighs.

Then she leaves him lying on the bare floor and crying. She takes his clothes with her when she goes.

The next afternoon she comes into the room and takes off the shackles and unties him. She drags him to the bathroom and orders him to relieve himself, watching him the whole time. When he is finished she sends him to his bedroom with a warning that if he tells his father about anything that happened she will kill both him and his father. She tells him to get dressed. Just before his father comes home from hunting, she brings him a cold bowl of oatmeal to eat. It is the only thing he has eaten in two days.

That is the way it has been all of his life. The only memories Edgar has of his mother are of her sexually molesting him, ripping his clothes off, and then tying him up and beating him.

His father left the day after his ninth birthday, telling her that he had had enough of her nagging and hollering at him. The following day she removed the love seat and a cushioned swivel chair from the punishment room, leaving her sewing table and chair as the only furniture. Next she fixed up the cable hanging from the ceiling and running through eyebolts across the ceiling, tying off near the entrance door of the room. That's also when she purchased her Snake.

Then she chained him up, beat him and fed him cold oatmeal for three days.

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

The next afternoon she comes in with a large stainless steel chamber pot. She says nothing to the naked man sitting on the floor. She just stands over him . . . waiting . . . waiting.

Edgar has been sitting on the floor in the fetal position with his arms wrapped around his legs, trying to keep his naked body warm. The torn T-shirt is lying on the floor next to him. There is neither heat nor air conditioning in the room; she closed the vent years ago. She did however add a small desk fan. It's on the floor near the sewing machine.

But he knows what his mother is waiting for. He feels ashamed. He silently hopes that she will just drop the pot within his reach and leave. But she does not. She just stands there and waits.

After several minutes he opens his legs so that she can see him. He is embarrassed. He closes his good eye; he doesn't want to see her face.

"The doctor made a mistake when he circumcised you," she says in a belittling tone. "He should have cut your weenie dick off you little bastard. Maybe then you wouldn't be running after every whore you meet."

He does not answer her. He knows from experience that it would only get her angry again and lead to more insults, more beatings. He bows his head and silently prays that she just goes away.

"I guess you didn't lie to me after all. I can see that your dick isn't big enough to fuck anyone."

She throws the chamber pot at him. But her aim is bad. It hits him a glancing blow on the shoulder and bounces to near the wall. Then she drops a roll of toilet paper within his reach and walks out of the room, closing the door behind herself.

He is glad when she leaves. For when he is alone he can regain some measure of dignity for his naked body. Now too, he can relieve himself in solitude. He knows better than to soil her floor, the floor that is stained with his blood.

She doesn't return for several hours, by then it is dark. She puts a bowl of oatmeal on the floor just out of his reach -- the only food she has ever given him after chaining him up. Then she gets her Whip and stands over the bowl with her arms folded. The toe of her combat boot is just a few centimeters away from it.

After several minutes, she nudges it forward with her toe and waits. Edgar waits too. He doesn't know whether to reach out for the bowl or to wait for her to leave before retrieving it.

Sometimes she orders him to retrieve the bowl. Sometimes she doesn't; she just leaves. Sometimes in the past, she would allow him to get it without incident. At other times, she would hit him with the Whip when he reached out for the bowl of food.

What she would do now he does not know. So, he waits. She stands there for thirty minutes with her arms folded and the Snake in her hand, looking down on the naked young man. When the oatmeal gets cold she throws the Whip across the room and leaves.

Edgar retrieves the food and scoops it out of the bowl with his fingers. Then he licks the bowl clean so as to get every morsel of food. He knows from experience that it might be a long time before she brings him anything else to eat.

He is there for several days. Once every evening she has brought him a bowl of oatmeal. Each time she has stood over him with her Snake in her hand and waited in silence until it is cold before leaving.

She has picked up the chamber pot only twice and returned it without incident. Now it is nearly full and it stinks, but he is thankful that she has not whipped him any more.