THE TWISTING, WINDING ROAD
Looking out over the Puget Sound, I stared out at the low hanging clouds that drifted over the water. I had received some unexpected revelations from my daughter, which in turn caused me to reflect on my life. The seven-bedroom home above the Sound was a lifetime away from the simple four-room frame house and the life that mother and I had shared there so many years ago. Along that twisting, winding road, I had traveled to this point in my life where I was a widower now faced with explaining the past. But perhaps, as they say, I should start from the beginning.
I grew up poor in a small town in Kansas, the only child of the church secretary, a position that offered just enough money to support both of us. Widowed at a young age, she was a pious woman whose life revolved around the church and my upbringing. The frame house that we lived in was a two-bedroom, one bath home on a corner lot just a block from our church. My earliest memories were of me sitting in the front row of the church while mother played the piano for every service. We lived very modestly, and in many ways, it was mother and I against the world. It was always just the two of us as we continually struggled financially every day. As soon as I was old enough, I took on various odd jobs to supplement our meager income. We were effectively alone depending on each other.
Not that mother did not have any suitors. I remember many times an admirer would try to win mother over, only to be rejected outright. She had only one purpose in life: to raise me as best she could. Any suggestion by a friend that she needed to find a husband was ignored. Her favorite line to curb these suggestions was that I was the only man she needed in her life.
A simple beauty, mother was shapely, but thin, had light brown hair bordering on blonde, and a smile that would light up any room. She always seemed younger than her actual age, and her modest demeanor would never allow her to wear any type of revealing clothes. I never saw her in anything other than a dress that hung to her knees, or a full robe loosely fit so that it that covered up her entire figure. There was never any hint of sexuality or immodesty. Her dresses never showed any hint of cleavage.
Fiercely determined to raise me in accordance with the commandments of the church, she would tolerate no transgressions on my part. Although she was only 5'3" tall, she could easily intimidate me with a single glance. Even as I grew to my eventual 5'7" height, any hint of anger in her eyes would quiet any rebellion that I might harbor. I was expected to attend every church service, and no deviation from the teachings of the church would be permitted.
Until my late teens, I knew very little about my father. I knew that he had gone to seminary school where he met mother, and that both his parents were now deceased. As I grew old enough to be aware, I began to ask mother about my grandparents. She explained that she was orphaned and that we had no other relatives. I accepted that explanation and never pried any further into that arena.
As mother was very religious, our lives were intertwined around our church. We attended every service, and I always sat on the front row just across where mother played the piano. Our daily routines always revolved around the church, prayer, and the congregation. Every step along the way was her reminding me that of the importance of me walking the righteous path. And for the most part, I obeyed mother.
As much as I tried to obey mother's wishes, boys will be boys. In the summer of 1961, I turned eighteen and began to stray just a little from the righteous path. I had acquired a full-time job at a local grocery store to contribute to our living expenses, out of which mother allowed me to retain a small allowance. Like any other eighteen-year-old, Saturday nights were always the time for a night out with my friends and drinking a little beer. I tried to hide this activity from mother, but I knew she always suspected. My only physical contact with any girl was Susan Wright, one of the local "easy" girls. In the back seat of a friend's car, I had a brief liaison with her one night that was over almost as quickly as it began. I instantly felt the guilt of straying from the teachings of the church and decided that the best course of action was complete abstinence until after marriage.
Mother insisted a 10:30 p.m. curfew on weekends, a rule to which I faithfully adhered. When I returned, she would always be in her room with the door closed, prompting me to go straight to my room to keep mother from smelling the beer on my breath. I always knew that mother was quite aware of my arrival, but I still crept into the darkened house as quietly as I could.
The single bathroom that we shared was between our bedrooms, with the doorway leading to the hallway. Either one of us could simply step out of our room, take a couple of steps, and turn into the bathroom. Although somewhat small, one of the unique features of our house was an oversized claw-foot tub, with the old-fashioned shower curtain around the top. It was wider that most claw-foot tubs, almost three foot in width. It seemed to be a small luxury that we somehow acquired.
This routine changed in a dramatic way one Saturday night. As usual, I quietly entered the darkened house and went to my room. The night was a little warm, and I completely disrobed and laid down on my bed. Once on my bed, I realized that my need to urinate was very strong. I quietly got up and walked to my door. Opening it just slightly, I saw that mother's door was closed. Thinking that I could quickly step into the bathroom, I decided I could do so nude. It seemed so simple in my eighteen-year-old mind. Stepping quietly into the hallway, I turned into the bathroom and quietly shut the door. I finished quickly, walked back to the bathroom door, and opened it.
As I opened door, I suddenly collided with mother who was apparently reaching for the knob at the same time. As she reached for the knob, my opening the door caused her to lose her balance and she fell into me. Trying not to knock mother down, I shifted my weight backwards and began to stumble back towards the tub. Instinctually, mother had grabbed my shoulders to keep from falling, which resulted in our both falling through the shower curtain into the tub. The last thing I remember was slamming my head into the side of the tub. Then, nothing existed but empty darkness.
As I began to regain consciousness, I remember hearing mother's voice saying my name over and over. Suddenly, the fog in my brain lifted, and I realized that mother had fallen on top of me and that the shower curtain had likewise fallen on her. The shower curtain had formed an effective net that trapped both of us under it.
"PAUL, ARE YOU OKAY?" mother asked anxiously. "PAUL!!"
"Yes ma'am" I replied groggily. "I'm fine. My head hurts but I think that is all."
Then the recriminations began. In a stern whisper, she said "GREGORY PAUL THORTON, HAVE YOU BEEN DRINKING??!!! I SMELL BEER ON YOUR BREATH!!"
"No ma'am, I mean yes ma'am" I replied. "Just a couple", I continued.
"What have I told you about drinking alcohol? You know how I feel about such sinful activities." She then gasped, "AND WHY ARE YOU NAKED???!!!"
I began with a rambling explanation of trying to go to the bathroom without dressing, but that only made things worse.
"Young man, we can talk about your behavior in the morning, but for right now, help me out of this tub." She tried to raise herself from me, but the curtain rod had become wedged underneath the tub faucet and would only allow her a couple of inches before it forced her back down on top of me. She attempted to push up a couple of more times before she asked me to push up on the curtain. I tried but I had no more success than she had.
"What are we going to do?" she asked. I responded that I could yell for help and maybe someone would hear. "You will do no such thing! Can you imagine the scorn and ridicule that would come our way? No sir, we will find a way out of this predicament ourselves."
As she began to ramble about how to get out of the tub, I began to recognize that not only was she laying on top of me, but that her customary robe had parted during the fall and that her nude body was lying directly on me. I had never even seen mother in any form of nudity, and now I felt her naked body against mine. I distinctly felt her breasts on the lower part of my chest and her stomach lying over my groin area. Her legs were straddled over the top of mine. I had never thought of mother in any sexual sense, but nevertheless, here I was with my nude mother's body pressing against my own nakedness.
Trying a different plan of attack, she then began to pull herself forward toward my head. As she continued to pull herself across my body, her pubic hair began to pull across my semi-erect penis, which in turn began to respond. Before that time, I would have never thought of mother in any sexual way, but once I felt the sensation of her breasts against my chest and her pubic hair against my cock, I instantly hardened. My mother or not, my biological urges began to arise with a fury.
She was able pull herself to a point where we were face to face, but her robe, caught on the curtain rod, continued to grip her shoulders. She soon reached the limit of her ability to move forward. The cloth of her robe had somewhat of an elastic effect, and as she relaxed, it pulled her back across my chest to a point where my cock was pressing against the entrance of her pussy. Feeling her pressed against the tip of my cock, I involuntarily arched my back, but as I relaxed slightly, I pushed sightly inside her.
Instantly, I heard mother gasp. In a quiet, yet stern voice, I heard mother say "PAUL! Are you... in me?" I tried to respond, but my confused state of mind would not allow it. I felt her try to move forward again, but the curtain rod acted like a ratchet and would not allow her to move forward. She began to desperately struggle to free herself from my intruding penis, but the more she struggled, the deeper my penis forced its way into her.
All my brain cells became focused on the warm, moist sensation that surrounded my member. As she continued to struggle, I noticed a change in her movements, a slow, subtle shift from chaotic struggles to rhythmic movements. I felt her breath on my chest begin to grow hot and measured. Soon, she began to work her hips to allow my cock to penetrate her even more. Mother's pussy was incredibly tight and wet, and the sensation was something that I could never imagined.
"Son, this is wrong. We can't be doing this," she whispered softly. "Please stop." But she continued to drive my cock in and out. "This is wicked, we have to stop," she said softly without any conviction. "Oh, Paul, this is so wrong." Despite her words, she continued to fuck me with her whole body. Freeing my right hand, I was able to grab her waist and help her ride my hard cock.
