Chapter 1
I was supposed to go to the CIA. No, not that one, the other one--the Culinary Institute of America, the foremost cooking school in the country. I had been cooking for years for free, and I felt sure that's what I wanted to do for money for the rest of my life. It would be my ticket into the world, and introduce me to all the amazing things out there, things that weren't available to me in the backwaters, one-horse town I grew up in, Coolidge, Indiana. Or "not cool" Coolidge as we semi-smart kids called it.
I only applied to two schools—the CIA and the University of Indiana, just because my guidance counselor told me I had to. So when I got the acceptance letter from the CIA, it was one of the happiest days of my life. The only thing that stood between me and the school was money. My family had none, and the CIA costs almost as much as Harvard. But the CIA promised me a scholarship, once I shared with them my financial situation.
So you can understand my horror when I learned from my mother that she never mailed in the financial information that the CIA required. I had asked her numerous times if she was doing it, and she always said yes. Which, if you knew my mother, was par for the course. That's why I kept asking her. But she not only said she'd do it, she said she HAD sent it in.
And then the deadline passed, and I kept not hearing from the CIA, so I picked up the phone, called them, and learned they never got it. I asked my mom again, and this time she admitted it. She never sent it in.
"Why in God's name didn't you mail it in?" I screamed. "You promised! You knew how important that was for me!"
"I'm sorry," my mom responded, not seeming all that sorry at all. "You know, me and my depression."
Yeah, I knew. Mom was clinically depressed from the day I was born, and probably from before. She was the world's worst mom—lying in bed for days on end. Not holding a job. Not making any money. Not having any friends. Not putting food on the table for me, or my younger sister, Drieka. She said she loved us, but her actions didn't match her words. And even when she said it, the emotion didn't match the words either. When she said she loved us, it had all the emotional heft of asking for another bowl of cereal. No wonder my dad left even before Drieka was born. If it hadn't been for Uncle Pat, who slipped some money our way from time to time, I think we would have frozen to death some winters.
What do you do about a clinically depressed mom? Well, you try different things, and none of them work. You yell at her. You cajole. You beg. You try being good. That doesn't work. You try being bad. That doesn't work either. You try to get her attention, but even when you do, it doesn't last. Meantime, you grow up fast. I had to take care of myself from a young age, and when Drieka came along, I had to take care of her as well. And when Mom took to bed, who else was there to take care of her too?
Still, I shouldn't have done it. But I was miles beyond my boiling point. "I know why you didn't send it in!" I yelled, as the insights poured through my brain. "You don't want me to leave. You don't want me to have success. You want me to hang around here, taking care of you, rubbing your forehead when you have a migraine, or bringing you breakfast in bed when you're too lazy to get your ass down to the kitchen. You don't care a rat's ass about me. You just like having me around to cater to your needs."
"Griffey, that's not true. I...I...I just couldn't do it."
"You promised me you would. And you swore to me that you had done it."
"I know, I lied. That was wrong. I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't cut it. You've ruined my life for 18 years, and now you're trying to ruin the rest of it as well."
"I'll make it up to you."
"How?"
"I don't know."
"If you don't know how, then how'll you do it? How exactly are you going to make it up to me?"
"I don't know."
"I'll tell you how. The first thing you do is contact the CIA and apologize to them and try to figure out how to make things right."
"OK, I will. I'll call them Monday."
"No, next week, tomorrow, Friday."
"I can't tomorrow. I have a doctor's appointment."
"Fuck the doctor's appointment. At nine o'clock in the morning, you'll call the CIA, and tell them about what a fucked up, depressed bitch you are, and apologize, and beg on your hands and knees for an extension."
"OK, OK. I'll do that, I promise." A shiver went through me, as I knew how much meaning her promises had. "But I don't think it'll do much good. Usually, colleges plan how they're going to spend their scholarship money right away, because they want to land their best students as quickly as possible."
That was my mom in a nutshell there too. Always the good reason why something wasn't going to work, and why it wasn't worth trying. You see what I was up against, my whole life? How amazing it was that I had succeeded at least this far, with a mother always trying to make sure you never got anywhere?
And with that last comment of hers, I lost it. I grabbed her, and picked her up. She weighed probably 160 pounds, and I wasn't that much more than that. But my adrenalin was surging through my veins, I can tell you that. I picked her up, sat myself down in the distressed leather chair in the living room, and put her across my knee. And I started to spank her. Spank her just the way she had spanked me when I was nine and left my bike out in the rain. Spanked her the way she had spanked me when I was six and had knocked over a lamp.
"Oh, oh!" she cried, and flailed. She wasn't entirely trying to get away, but she was trying to get me to stop. "You're hurting me."
"What's your penalty for ruining my life?" I shouted. "All my friends will go to college in September, and I won't, thanks to you! You worked it out just perfectly, didn't you? You'll have me all to yourself, to wait on you, and bring you breakfast in bed. And if something goes a little wrong, you'll just say you're sorry. Well, that's not enough. Not even remotely."
I had no plan. I had no idea where this was going. All I knew was that I was as angry as I had ever been in my life, and I felt entirely justified in my anger. I felt like I WAS my anger. I was beating my mom, and it felt good. I was shouting at her, and making perfect, total sense.
And then I realized something else. I was getting off on this. I was watching her kick her legs, trying to avoid the next spank. But my every blow fell true on her ass. She had a fat ass, thanks to her years of lying in bed, getting no exercise. I didn't think I was really hurting her. She was just surprised, and maybe shocked to find herself across my knee. And then I thought that actually, none of this was really getting through.
"Come with me," I said, and I dumped her off my lap.
"Griffey, I'm so sorry," she said, looking up to me.
"Your apologies don't mean anything to me anymore. I've heard them too many times, and things never get better. They only get worse. Well, I'm not letting that happen anymore."
"What do you mean?"
"Come with me." I roughly jerked her to a standing position, and hurried her down the hall to her bedroom. I was now thinking with the wrong head. Yes, while spanking my mom, I noticed I had gotten hard. And I was in no mood for a cold shower.
"What are you going to do with me?"
All the protests she had launched when I was spanking, about my hurting her, that was just bullshit.
"I'll show you." We had gotten to her bed. "Stand here. Bend over. Put your elbows on the bed." I spat out my directives.
"Why? What..." she asked. She seemed suddenly quiet.
"DO IT!" I screamed, an inch away from her face. She quickly turned, bent over and put her elbows on the bed.
Looking back at it, I'm surprised I didn't hesitate. I'm surprised at a lot of things I did and didn't do. But like Caesar at the Rubicon, I knew what my decision was going to be, and I just did it. I pulled down her jeans roughly to her ankles. "Step." She stepped, and I pulled one leg off. "Step." She stepped again, and the other leg came off.
I looked down, and saw she was wearing red panties. I don't know why, but I was surprised by that. But it didn't slow me down. I grabbed them and yanked them to her ankles as well.
"Step," I said, and she lifted one leg. I didn't care that they remained circling her other leg.
I pulled down my zipper, and freed my long, hard cock, which had been straining inside my jeans for too long.
"What are you doing?" Mom asked, without turning around. As she said this, I knocked her left leg far from her right. She had to catch herself to prevent from falling over. As she did, I spat on my hand, and rubbed my cock. A second later, I had it lined up against her slit.
"No, no, Griffey! You can't do that! I'm your mother!"
For the first part of her remonstrance, I was having a hard time lining myself up. But on that last word, I figured it out, and pushed myself in.
'AAAAH!" She screamed, but I'm not sure how much I heard it. I could just hear the blood lapping at my brain. The animal part of my brain now ruled. I never let that part of my brain get dominance. I always paid too much attention to teachers and Sunday School and covering up for my mom's depression, and trying to run the household in her absence, and raise a sister who wouldn't be too deformed by all this as I was. I was the good kid, who never got rewarded. The responsible kid whom nobody noticed or thanked. I didn't get in trouble. I didn't have much pleasure in my life either. I just sort of was trying to get by without things getting worse.
I didn't have a lot of sexual experience. OK, let's be honest. I was a virgin. I had fondled the breasts of two girls in high school, and received one blow job from a girl I didn't even date. I helped her with her math homework after school, and she sucked me off. I offered to go on a date with her, but she already had a boyfriend. With such little experience, and feeling like somewhat damaged goods, I also didn't feel confident around girls.
But something in me knew how to fuck, and I was immediately busy fucking my mom. After my first penetration, she fell on her knees, but I fell with her, still inside. I needed several pushes to get fully inside her, as she was tight and dry. But then didn't slow me down. We were copulating like dogs. I was hunched over her, thrusting and thrusting.
I slowed down for a second. I realized something extra was strange. Not merely that I was fucking my mother. But she was quiet. After her initial protest, she wasn't saying anything. She wasn't crying. She was just letting me.
And I realized something else. I was enjoying it. It felt great. It felt like I had wanted to do this for years and not known it. I small voice was saying this was taboo and I'd regret it. But a larger voice was shouting, this is what I needed. I continued to fuck.
So in that second I took to take in the moment, I also realized that being in mom's pussy absolutely felt great. I didn't realize it till later, but she lubricated fast. Now I started to understand why people are so mad about sex.
