Mommy-And-Me Sodomy

My mother and I had errands to run and goats to feed, so we climbed into our old truck for a day of pushing around awkward sixty-pound hay bales.
"We have to buy cat food first," she said. So that's just what we did.
I was idly perusing the chip aisle when I slowly became aware of the background music. There was something a little disconcerting about it...
Wait, I thought, This song sounds familiar. Could it be...?
Sure enough, there was the chorus: "Jesus Take The Wheel..."
This song has always made me laugh. My cousin used to sing it in a high-pitched falsetto whenever his dad drifted in the lane. (Even while getting the link for this article, I heard the verses for the first time: A woman hits a patch of ice, her baby in the back seat, and literally throws her hands off the steering wheel while screaming the chorus. This is the exact opposite of what you're actually supposed to do: steer into the skid, with your hands on the wheel, and chant "Hail Satan, Lord of Darkness" six times fast. There is also usually an "end" to the skid too, meaning Jesus didn't have to actually do anything to save her.)
But this time it was even funnier, because I was an atheist and I had just gotten my driver's license only a few days before, after years of not thinking myself capable of getting it.
This wasn't some Christian-charity-owned thrift shop, but a real store which I assume was playing a country music or easy listening station. Since realizing I was an atheist, seeing "God" in things seems much more frequent, and more amusing, than ever before. I think God is most likely not to exist, but occasionally I get a feeling like I saw something out of the corner of my eye, and I don't know if it's really there, or an illusion.
I cracked a smile and shook my head at thought of God nagging me. "You can't drive without Me!" I imagined him saying, "You can't drive."
"I can do a lot of things that I didn't know I could," I would lift my head and proudly say, "Things that are 'dangerous.' You have to go to your own 'death' sometimes to even live. You have to make foolish choices, do stuff you think will kill you, you have to risk terrible consequences. I'll run the risk of your hell, if it means my freedom, and I will drive wherever I please, even if I crash!"
"Foolish girl!" God thundered like a supervillain. "You will pay for your insolence! You will paaaaaaayyyyyyyy.....!"
As "God" was banished into the furthest recesses of my mind, I grinned and reached for a box of crackers.
Our next stop was getting the hay for our goats.
"Climb up there and push the bales down," my mom said, as we loaded it into the back of our truck. As I scrambled up, she gave me a push on the buttocks to help me up.
Afterwards, as we drove down the highway, she asked me to get her purse and find one of her supplements. "Can you find my 'thymus?'" she asked.
I leaned over and pointed to her sternum, where I have read all mammals have their thymuses. "It's right here," I said, helpfully and cheerfully.
"Hey! You touched my boob!" she feigned offense.
"I did not, and you touched my buttocks without even saying, 'Here's your anus,'" I tried to reason with her.
"Fine," she said, pointing to an invisible point in the air, "Here's your anus!"
"Don't sodomize me with your finger!" I shrieked. "Why do I have to say that to my own mom?"
We laughed hysterically and had the "you're sick--no, you're sick," argument that is sadly typical of our relationship.
"Want to stop at a couple of thrift shops?" she asked.
We parked the truck and walked down the street, arm in arm, enjoying each other's company.
"Do you think people think we're lesbians?" she asked contemplatively.
"I don't know." I recalled the time we actually had been mistaken for a lesbian couple. Walking out of a restaurant, holding hands, in a nearby city known to be quite liberal, a teenage boy in the parking lot had shouted, "I spy, with my little eye, someone gay! I spy, with my little eye, someone gay!"
At first I had thought he was playing some weird little game with his own boyfriend. It took us both a minute to realize that he was talking about us. My dad was even with us, though walking a few feet ahead, and he hadn't figured it out.
At that moment, years later, we were both thinking the same thing, and said it in unison:"I spy, with my little eye, someone gay!" We shared a laugh at the fond memory.
"I'll be a lesbian with you," she said affectionately.
"Okay," I agreed. We already had everything but the incest.

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The Ragged Dick, Struggling Upward: A Sexual Horatio Alger Story

 (For those unfamiliar with Horatio Alger, he was a nineteenth-century novelist, who wrote about poor boys finding success through hard work and perseverance; and a suspected pedophile. Here are links to the stories I'm referencing. They're also available for free download here and here.)
 This is the story of a good Christian boy I knew who managed to break free of his super-strict upbringing, with an interesting (sexual) twist at the end. I'll call him Peter. My parents went to church with and were friends with his parents since he was a fetus. When he was born, I've heard, his dad asked the doctor to "make her tight again," which caused difficulties in subsequent pregnancies. That probably should have been a sign as to what kind of man was raising him.
I was basically brought up with Peter for a few years. I am told that I once refused to share my can of peas with him, shaking my head emphatically and saying, "Uh-uh! Uh-uh!"
We watched Power Rangers at his house, played with his castle and soldiers, and once I ran out of his bedroom shouting, "Mommy, I'm peeing my pants!"
"I tried to warn her, but she wouldn't go!" Peter said, following me. I really hope he doesn't remember this incident, though every time I meet one of his friends, I imagine him secretly telling them, when I'm gone, "She peed all over my bedroom."
He is about a month older than me, and my mom has a picture of me kissing him on the lips when we were three. I've heard that our moms bathed us together, which surprises me now, considering the way his parents were many years later.
When I was about five, his parents started going to a new church, and pressuring my parents to go. When my parents stayed at their current church, they stopped being friends with my parents.
Years later, my mother and I ran into his mother and him in town. His mom kept using the term, "my husband," rather than her husband's name, even though we knew him quite well. I also noticed that every time I saw her, she was wearing a skirt.
Sarah (not her real name) mentioned that they had a teenage girl living with them who had a bad home situation and needed them. She and "my husband" had sat her and their son down and told them that "we trust you, but something could happen, so you two aren't allowed to be alone together." I'm not sure how that worked, given that they lived in the same house.
They lived in the country and had goats, like us. My mom mentioned that she had some leftover fencing, and invited her to our house to come and get it. About a week later, she showed up with her three boys (who were home-schooled, like me, and so went with her everywhere).
I invited Peter to a swing-dancing class I was taking, but his mom said, "Sorry, he's not allowed to touch girls."
Touch girls? I was taken aback. She had somehow managed to make dancing from the fifties into a creepy juvenile feel-fest. She apparently had a very dirty mind.
There didn't seem to be a problem if I went somewhere alone with him at my house that day. Somehow we managed not to rape each other, and they went home. A few days later, my mom said that she had tried to call Sarah to get together again, but she wasn't answering her phone. "I feel like she just wanted the fencing, and now she doesn't want anything to do with me," she said.
We chanced to see his parents again during this time. "Our boys aren't allowed to date anyone until after college," Sarah bragged, obviously proud of herself.
"But you have to trust your kids until they prove untrustworthy," my mom reasoned.
"I would trust her," M.H. said, meaning me, "but not the boy. There's nothing preventing them from finding somewhere to park." He said "park" like he was saying the word "fuck."
"But I'm sure some boys aren't like that," I said, trying to be respectful to my elders but frustrated at his ridiculousness. "There are nice boys..."
"Listen! If any boy, including my son, takes you on a date alone, he's only after one thing," he replied, intensely.
I was too shocked to say anything. That he would not trust his own kid...I hadn't heard that the kid had done anything, and I thought what M.H. had said was the saddest thing I had ever heard.
A few years later, my mom called Sarah to catch up. She talked to both his parents, and they seemed glad to hear from her, less judgmental. "So how's Peter? I heard he got married," my mom said casually.
"Oh," Sarah said in a strange voice. "Peter left the family. We haven't heard from him in years."
"Sarah, I'm so sorry," she said. Then later, to me: "How can someone 'leave the family?' That's impossible! I'll bet they disowned him." She had always told me that I was her kid no matter what.
A few days ago we saw Peter and his wife in the grocery store. They mentioned that they had been married almost three years now, and were thinking about having kids. He looked very happy, happier than I'd ever seen him.
The next day my mom got curious and typed his name into Google. "You've got to see this!" she said. He was on a dating website, looking for a "third person" for his marriage, a girl who "wants to be loved by two people, not just one." He listed his religion as Wiccan.
"Hey," Mom suggested, "why don't you do it?"
I had thought about it for a second, but I didn't find either of them sexually attractive. Wicca is my favorite religion, though, with the earth goddess, and being one with nature, and casting spells for peace and prosperity. Too bad I don't believe in it.
I am really surprised that he reached escape velocity from his religion and sexual hangups. I guess this story goes to show that, even if you have the shittiest parents or family imaginable, you can still end up with a wonderful life, full of love and happiness and magical three-ways.


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