By the time I was eighteen, my friends and I had taken to drinking on the weekends. It escalated to a point where we got blasted beyond repair every Friday night. I hid it pretty well because mom didn’t give me a hard time about coming home late on weekends, and I slept late enough the next day for it to wear off.
On the worst of these nights I walked into the house crunked in a stinking stupor. Mom was asleep on the couch with the TV on. I stood over her and looked while a current of electricity ramped up inside me. Her skirt was hiked up, displaying most of her creamy thighs. Her breasts were pressed together and some of her tit-flesh overflowed her bra. In reality, I wasn’t seeing a hell of a lot, but it was enough to make me hear my own breath.
I wanted to reach in and take out her tit so I could suck on it. I wanted to take out my hardened cock and put it in her mouth. I wanted to push up her skirt and pull her panties down. And fuck her. I wanted. And there was a part of me that was telling me to take what I wanted. I walked away with the TV saying “Act now,” because there was only one minute left to buy whatever they were selling.
After that night, I became wary of my own feelings, I started to think that maybe I was losing control of my fantasies. I wanted her so badly; I wasn’t sure what I could do to make them come true. In that alcohol fed state all I could think of was taking her. The thought of hurting my mother or forcing her to do something she didn’t want to, was enough to scare me. I didn’t get drunk after that night, but I knew I had to get away.
The next day I said to mom, “I spoke to Roy and he said that I could stay with him; that’s what I want to do.”
She said, “Don’t do that honey, just because we had a little fight, it doesn’t mean anything, and he can’t take care of you.”
“I don’t need him to,” I said. “I only need a place to stay. One way or another I’m leaving mom, so you can be a pain about it, or just let me go.”
She started to cry and said, “I can’t do anything right; I can’t even be a mother.”
I felt like a shit, but I knew I had to leave. I said, “Mom, it’s not because of the fight, or because of you. I just need to be alone for a while, away from this house. Look, I’ll come over and see you; I’ll only be across town. And anyway, I know how tight things are for you with them cutting back your time at work, and Roy said he’d pay for my stuff until I graduate.” She cried. I wanted to hold her. I saw myself kissing her, caressing her, fucking her. I knew it was time to go.
Not living with Camilla made some things easier and some more difficult. I looked forward to seeing her and spending time with her, but I knew I couldn’t be that close to her all the time. She didn’t. She always hinted at how well we were getting along, and that I should think about moving back. I always equivocated.
I think I started growing up at Roy’s because he gave me my independence, as long as I was responsible. I also grew up because of Bunny Spane. Bunny was a photographer that had an on and off thing going with Roy. She was probably a few years older than my mom, with tits too big to be real. She stayed over a lot and liked to talk all the time. Roy said it drove him crazy, but I liked that about her, because she would talk about anything and everything, and I learned a lot about women from talking to her. And since she was bi, I got different perspectives from our conversations. She even got me a few dates with some of the models. Nothing came of it but I definitely got comfortable around women, even if it was just to talk. The most serious I got was with a girl named Carol that I was with for five months who said I was never really ‘There.’ I guess it was true that I wasn’t with her the way she wanted me to be, and so we broke up.