When I finally arrived home that summer I couldn't have been more tired. My first year of college had flown by, but dealing with my overly dramatic, narcissistic parents was killing me. I'd never really thought of them as narcissists before, but after taking a couple psychology classes and thinking I could diagnose anyone anywhere, I figured them both to be narcissists, intent on fulfilling their own desires at any given time, no matter who it hurt.
The strange thing about narcissists, is that they can't even conceptualize they are truly hurting another person. That person is simply a foil to their great and important story. That person is just another tool on their way to self-gratification. It's sick and I was done caring about what shitty parents I had when I walked through the door of my childhood home, the June after my freshmen year at college.
"Hellllloooo," I said laconically, throwing my bags on the ground and expecting the usual raucous welcome. Nothing.
I knew my father was in Atlanta, doing a "summer lecture series," which probably meant doing some girl enrolled in one of his lecture classes for the summer. At least that's what my mom told me when she'd call up drunk and lonesome all 2nd semester. Either way, I knew he wasn't home. My mom was probably home, as he BMW X5 was in the driveway, but I didn't hear her, which was unusual as she should have been expecting me. Normally, I'd be worried, but after all of the marital turmoil she'd been drinking more, going out less, getting dressed, seemingly just to Skype with me. She was lonely.
"Mommmmmm," I yelled, But again. Nothing.
I walked up the stairs slowly, thinking that maybe something weird was going on, but trying not to believe it. I had on a pair of black swim trunks and a white v-neck shirt, my blue eyes still hidden behind dark glasses. I tiptoed up the stairs and took off my glasses when I reached the top.
I heard something coming from the 2nd bedroom, my room, the one she said we were going to rip apart and turn into a sauna and work out room. Something "we can all use" she'd said. Yea right, I thought, something you will use and, again, I will be the one who loses out. With that thought in mind, I picked up my pace and walked toward the second bedroom at the end of the hallway.
The door was slightly ajar and I was just about to burst in, push the door open and deliver an impassioned speech about my rights and how it's my bedroom and how I needed to be listened to, when I heard what sounded like crying on the other side of the door. I took a step back and almost pushed the door open when I heard between tears a loud, visceral, shaking groan, that only a grown woman can make. I shuddered and my cock pulsed at the animalistic sound. I heard the bed creak and the groan turned softer and into a light moan.
"mmm...mhmmm..mhmm." she let out, as my old bed creaked back and forth.
I couldn't believe my ears. She has the whole fucking house to herself and here she is in...my bedroom...masturbating. OMG I couldn't even think it, my mother masturbating, and in my bedroom. The whole thing was a lot to take on after being in the house for about 2 minutes, so I took another step back and surveyed the situation.
"mmmhmmm...hmm..hmm..hmm..hmm.hmm...ohhhhhh yessss," her groans and moans were quickening, the rocking creaked the bed and it sounded like it was going to crack. Fuck! Do I just walk away, will she hear me? Should I put a stop to this, I mean it's my room, WTF!? Ughhh!
I froze. I didn't do anything. I listened.
"hmm..hmm..hmm..oh yea, fuck your sluts, Bob, you fuck your sluts, I'll get mine..mmm..mhm..hmm...hmm...hmm..oh YES AN..!" She screamed.
Creaking, groaning, angry, vindictive sexual energy swirled around my childhood bedroom. My mother releasing her anger at the world, at my father, at herself, on my childhood bed. I didn't know what to do, so I tiptoed back downstairs, hearing her a bit fainter with each movement. I walked carefully back down the through the entryway and opened the front door, stepping back outside.
I rang the doorbell 10 times at least. I knocked as loud as you can knock, I rang the bell again and then I called her phone. I didn't know what else to do, but I knew I couldn't hear those sounds anymore, not coming from that person, sitting in that place, doing those things on my childhood bed.
