That’s a sentence that doesn’t compute for an adolescent male. Sex isn’t a big deal? At that time, in my testosterony fog, it was the only deal. Women’s bodies… faces… legs… they crowded out just about every thought. My mother’s was no exception. Especially when I found out.
The snow was coming down in chunks the day I saw her naked breasts. They weren’t where I wanted them to be. I had come home early when band practice was cancelled and went behind the house to see what I thought of as the ‘Winter Wonderland.’ That’s when each branch has a thick coat of white on it and everything is still. I passed by a window and Paul and my mother were kissing. They weren’t only kissing… mom’s dress was down to her waist and her tit was in Paul’s hand.
I watched in frozen fascination as he felt the tits I had fantasized over. The nipples looked big from where I stood and the youthful form of her breasts awed me. My brother brought my mother’s nipple to his lips and started sucking on it. She just sat there almost immobile, staring off as he fondled her. He took her hand and tried to put it on his crotch but she took it off obviously saying “No.” I was frozen and if they weren’t so occupied I’m sure they would have seen me.
I walked for an hour in the cold, shaking. I was upset and by the time I got home, I knew why. It wasn’t complicated; I wanted it to be me… kissing her… touching her.
That evening was surreal… because everything was so normal. They were both exactly the way they always were. So how long had that stuff been going on between them… how far had they gone… how could I have not known? Those were three of a thousand questions. It seemed like I came all night thinking about what I saw.
When I got up the nerve to tell Paul what I saw he sort of smiled and said, “Old Robin has a great rack doesn’t she?” She did, but I didn’t like the way he said it. I also didn’t like that he always called her Robin.
I pressed him to tell me how it started and he said, “I don’t know… one day I was rubbing her legs while she was laying on the couch you know… and I just kept going over her ass you know? And she said, ‘why did you do that?’ and I said, ‘I wanted to’… and she didn’t say anything else so I kept doing it…you know?” Paul didn’t think any sentence was complete without saying two or three times, ‘you know?’
He told me that he started kissing her and touching her whenever he felt like it and she let him. I couldn’t understand the ‘why’ of any of it and was almost afraid to ask what was really on my mind… but I did. “Did you…?” I almost said ‘you know’.
He knew, and he said before I finished the sentence, “Naw… she won’t let me screw her… but I’m working on it… you know?” I could have smacked him for that last one but that wasn’t our way.
It took me days to digest it all and the best I could come up with was, maybe the pills… maybe she was lonely… maybe he was just taking advantage of my mother. That’s how I started thinking about her; mine not his… I decided that Paul didn’t really care about her.