Converting My Religious Mother
Growing up in a small, midwestern town, my mother dominated every aspect of my life. An extremely religious woman, my mother was deeply consumed by her religious upbringing. She was always conservatively dressed and never exhibited interest in "pleasures of the flesh" in any way. Modesty was her watchword and piety her motto.
I attribute this attitude to her late father, a minister in the church, who strictly adhered to the tenets of the Bible and allowed no deviation from its teachings. That point of view was ultimately passed from father to daughter. She would not allow anything sinful or in breach of biblical doctrines. She even enrolled me in a church school so that I would be exposed to outside influences. She made a point to make every church event, with me in tow, of course.
In many ways she was the proverbial church lady. Her standard fashion was plain cotton, floral dresses that fell below her knee. Her dresses were never tight or form fitting and always covered her breasts. Mother never showed any cleavage, either in public or at the house. Nevertheless, it was obvious to anyone that mother's figure was somewhat voluptuous. Even with the modest dresses that she wore, her breasts pressed outward and filled the top of her dresses quite nicely. Although her dresses fell loosely from her frame, her hourglass figure was plain to see. She wore no makeup and kept her red hair pulled back into either a bun or, if she was at home, a simple ponytail. Her only indulgence was the simple perfume that she sparingly but constantly sprayed on her delicate neck. Standing 5 foot 4 inches tall, she was a simple beauty, unadorned with jewelry or other trappings of wealth.
Nevertheless, mother was one of the angriest people that ever knew. I rarely saw her laugh or even smile. Frivolity was not in her nature, and neither was any hint of sexuality. Sins of the flesh was strictly forbidden in her world. Sex was strictly for procreation and nothing more. Looking back, her anger grew from year to year after my father left. She just seemed to be consumed with wrath and resentment.
As for my father, I never really knew him, having faint glimpses of memories of when he was with mother. He simply left one day when I was four, and I never saw him again. I remember distinctly that he and mother had a huge fight. Walking out the door to his car, he glanced my way for a moment and then drove off. Anytime that I had asked about him, mother would simply say that he was a sinful, wicked man and that I was better off without him.
And so, as I grew older, mother seemed constantly in a state of agitation. I was the dutiful son, always careful to obey her wishes. She was the stern, but loving mother who would not allow me to stray. I was always careful not to antagonize her in any way and to avoid any conflicts with her whatsoever.
During April of my senior year in high school, my relationship with my mother took a severe turn. Arriving home from school, I walked into my bedroom to find mother standing at the foot of my bed with her hands resting on her hips. Her stance immediately told me that she was angry.
"WHAT ARE THOSE?" she asked sternly. She then pointed at the Playboy and Penthouse magazines lying on my bed. Although I had hidden them in the back of my closet under a suitcase, they were not hidden well enough from my snooping mother.
"Whhat?" I stammered. Continuing her inquisition, she repeated, "I SAID, what are those?" She continued to glare at me, one hand on her hip and the other pointing at the magazines. No matter what I said, there was to be no good answer. I opted to remain silent.
Pointing her finger now at me, she continued. "So, young man, you like looking at dirty pictures of naked harlots? Have you learned nothing in church? Those pictures lead to wickedness and sin." Returning both hands to her hips, she narrowed her gaze into my eyes and glanced downward. "Have you been touching yourself... down there? Don't lie to me. Well, speak up, young man."
Looking downward, I said sheepishly, "yes ma'am." I could feel her eyes burning through me as I stood there, my face flushed with embarrassment.
She continued. "I will not allow this smut to be in this house. They are going straight into the trash. I just hope that no one finds out that MY son is looking at such filth. NOT TO MENTION TOUCHING HIMSELF LIKE SOME PERVERT!" Her voice ended in a crescendo.
"Well, this type of conduct will not happen in my house. Furthermore, there will be no more secrets that you keep from me. If you think you must touch yourself, you will do so in front of me. If I embarrass you enough, perhaps you will stop this foolish and wicked behavior." She sat down on the bed and pointed to a spot on the floor about two feet in front of her. "Stand here, young man."
Without knowing what was next, I walked over and faced her as she sat on the bed, her legs crossed.
Folding her arms across her ample breasts, she continued her tirade. "Pull down your pants."
"Ma'am?" I blurted out.
"You heard me. Pull down your pants," she demanded. Thoroughly humiliated, I began to fumble with my belt. "For heaven's sake, can't you do anything right?" she growled. Reaching out with both hands, she quickly undid my belt, unbuckled my belt and pants, and pulled them down, leaving me standing in my underwear.
