Chapter 1. Early Days.
I was in a dilemma. It was not so much what had happened, as my reaction to it that was troubling. It had been almost nothing in itself, but…
…But I should begin at the beginning.
My name is Troy Cummings. Married – or I was – to Doctor Tony Cummings, General Practitioner Extraordinary, or at least, he thinks he is. He works in a group practice where I first met him when I was a young, newly graduated podiatrist.
Tony was handsome with a dynamic personality. He was the popular idol of the women patients, and the bane of his colleagues. I went for him in a big way and after a painful deflowering in his flat one night, and the resultant pregnancy, we married.
The romance had been so hurried I barely got to know him. It was after we got married I began to discover that beneath the scintillating exterior, lurked a man of straw.
Despite his being a doctor, Tony lacked sensitivity when it came to female needs. He was rough in the expression of his own sexual urges, and had no interest in fulfilling mine. I believe some women like this caveman approach, and while I don't mind some vigorous coupling, I do like to end up gratified.
It took only three years before Tony's sexual interest in me began to fade. It did not happen all at once, but gradually tailed off over the next couple of years until it reached vanishing point, at which time we agreed on separate bedrooms. I was not unhappy about this because when he had coupled with me he had constantly left me unsatisfied.
The decline in sexual interest on Tony's part seemed to coincide with the time I left the group practice, and set up in partnership with Pam, a girl I had become friendly with on the podiatry course. Like me, she was married and had a son. Her husband, Ben, also a doctor, worked in the same practice as Tony.
My son, Miles, was one of the things I had reason to be grateful to Tony for. Perhaps it might have been the same with someone else, but he inherited his father's good looks, but fortunately, not his character, if one could say that Tony had any character under that bright personality.
As far as Tony was concerned, Miles was a disappointment. He tried hard to draw him into his own interests, believing that he must "make a man of him". This meant taking him off to football matches. Tony was president of the local club and at the age of four Miles was carted off clad in a beanie, scarf and socks that sported the club colours of red and black.
Miles' response to these outings was at first one of disinterest that gradually turned to dislike. Tony grew angry when Miles said he did not want to go to the match, and made pointless comments like, "The boy's a bloody sissy."
The direction of Miles' interests started to emerge when he was five.
One day when Miles was playing with a toy train on the floor, I was listening to a piece of music by Bach. I had no idea Miles was listening to the music, but when it finished he said, 'That was pretty, Mummy'."
"Did you really like it?" I asked.
"Yes."
I was both surprised and gratified that he felt that way about so complex a musical piece.
At about age seven Tony gave up trying to draw Miles into his world of sport. Saturday afternoons became my special time with Miles. The State Festival Centre began to hold a series of concerts, plays and similar entertainment's mainly for children. They were called, "The Alternative to Sport."
Miles and I went along to many of these, and in addition, I took him to places of historical and natural interest.
The bond Tony had tried to make with Miles began to loosen, and Tony became less and less interested in the boy. I, on the other hand, found myself drawing closer to Miles.
Even when he was in my womb, I felt that I loved him. In the early stages of his life I tried hard to help him bond with his father. It was not my choice to be the main influence in his life and suffocate him with mother love. Once, however, it became clear that Miles was not going to follow in father's footsteps as far as sport went, and Tony lost interest, I not unwillingly took over.
When he was seven Miles decided that he loved me, and informing me of this important decision, announced that "When I grow up, mummy, I'm going to marry you."
I'd read my share of Sigmund Freud, and although he is out of fashion these days, I think he was onto something when he wrote that little boys have an erotic attachment to their mothers, and see their father as a rival. He goes on to reassure the reader, that all turns out well, because the boy learns that father is too powerful as a rival, so he eventually turns to other females to find his soul mate.
I therefore felt safe in responding to Miles' declaration by saying, "I'm sure that will be lovely, darling."
Chapter 2. Storm Signals.
As the years went past and Tony and I became increasingly two people in the same house but living separate lives, so the attachment between Miles and I grew.
Tony and I never went out together except when we had been invited to some social gathering, and we needed to put on a bit of a show of togetherness.
It was Miles and I who accompanied each other to concerts and theatre, or what Tony called, "Effeminate time wasting."
I sometimes thought that Tony's eyesight must be defective, as he evidently failed to see that Miles was growing into a more powerful version of himself, physically. With no particular interest in team sports, Miles took to track and field activities.
Miles did seem destined to follow his father's example and become a doctor. Yet, even this did not seem to spark any interest in Tony.
When Miles entered his teen years, doctor though he was, Tony left it to me to give the boy sexual instruction. This consisted mainly of information about contraceptives, and dire warnings about sexually transmissible diseases. Fortunately, the outrageously expensive school he went to had an excellent programme on sexual development, so I was saved the task of explaining some of the more intimate details.
In his early teen years, Miles and I went out increasingly together, but our roles began to change. From me taking him out, he became more akin to my escort. He noticed what I wore, how I had done my hair and whether or not I had too much makeup on.
He was inclined to comment on these matters, saying things like, "You are looking lovely tonight, mother." At first I assumed he was merely repeating what he had read in some novel, but after a while I began to understand he was serious, and found myself deliberately trying to make myself look attractive for him.
Then when he was sixteen, he started to change. He found reasons for not accompanying me and disappointed though I was, I assumed he had entered that Freudian stage of seeking other female company.
That he was engaging in some sexual activity became clear when, putting away some handkerchiefs in his drawer, I found a packet of condoms.
"Well, at least the boy is playing it safe," I thought. At the same time, I felt a pang of regret that my "little boy" was growing up.
I became somewhat alarmed when this growing up process started to include a widow living in the next street. I would have known nothing about it but for the local gossip. She said with an ingenuous smile, "Isn't it nice that Miles visits Mrs.Vawser so much. She must have been so lonely since Mr.Vawser passed away."
Ivy Vawser might be a widow, but she was also a lusty dyed blonde who married Tom Vawser who was fifteen years older than her. She was about eight years older than I was, and, I thought, a very dangerous woman where a young fellow like Miles was concerned.
