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I am in a one-sided relationship. Nope, I am the dark cloud obstructed his obliviously sunny sky. Unless he needs something. Then he pours it on.

And I feel like a door mat. From shoulder to foot, I felt the heat of his body and mine; and in a flash, I remembered everything… the longing I felt for him to come into my life, the preciousness of his growth inside my belly, the tenderness with which I anticipated his newborn needs, the day-to-day companionship of our early years at home together.

I felt a stabbing pain in my third eye as I returned my attention to the computer in front of me where my 17 year-old was sharing a cover of one of our favorite songs, sung by a group of Norwegians with bad haircuts :.

I noticed that we raised our eyebrows at just the same time, and then grinned in the same moments, and then turned toward each other and nodded, just as the voice of the last vocalist swept it away.

I always thought of this song as epic, as biblical, as archetypal—between a man and love. And I feel the excruciating finality of what has been a soul-consuming journey….

Motherhood is such holy work, and I fail, again and again, to keep the sacred front and center. Does the sun know everything?

Well your faith was strong but you needed proof You saw her bathing on the roof Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya.

She tied you to her kitchen chair And she broke your throne and she cut your hair And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah.

This is labor, I think. This is the ripping apart of two souls. Just a s it was at birth…. And remember when I moved in you?

The holy dark was moving to And every breath we drew was Hallelujah. I remember the first time he moved in me, and how we became one, until he grew so large inside that he began to press under that same right rib, until it hurt so badly that I could hardly breath, and I wanted him gone, and when he was, I ached that he was no longer there, inside me….

Well it goes like this: The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift The baffled king composing Hallelujah.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah Hallelujah, Hallelujah. I love you, Lloyd. Dad, sorry for playing the piano that night beneath your bedroom.

My mother had bitterness deep within her heart that she never faced. She hated authority, she hated men, she hated almost everyone and she delighted in the downfall of others so that she might feel good about herself.

She should never have married my father and he her. They were very incompatible, my father sometimes being angry all of a day.

My mother had no chance to introduce me to her body until I was around five. This was because of the people that were around us continually in the early years.

For about three months she was able to introduce me to her body in privacy. Then it was that my father decided to remain at home to do all of his studying.

It was a strong emotional relationship. I was her confidante and sympathizer. I thought that my father was an evil, awful man.

I felt that I was closer to my mother than he was. I would tell my mother what to wear, what to cook for supper, what to say etc. I was always complimenting her on her looks and her person, demeanor, etc.

She wanted this from me she needed it from someone , and in return for this personal attention she would pay attention to my wants not needs.

If I wanted a chocolate bar she gave it to me. If I wanted pizza, she made it for me. She spoiled me and made me first in her life.

This, of course, created tension with my father who was supposed to be first in her life. The problem was that he wanted me to be with her because he knew it made her happy he even told me this and so for the most part I spent time with my mother and he left us alone.

My mother, before and after the actual incest, did dress in a revealing way toward me and would allow me to see her in her lingerie.

Who needed Playboy when I had my mother? She was not interested in my body; she only wanted me to be interested in her body. I call what happened with my mother incest and not rape.

There is a big debate among psychologist as to whether a man can be raped. Perhaps this is true but for me it was incest.

My mother waited for me to take the first move. She did, of course, present herself to me in an attractive way but in waiting for me to make the first move she smeared me with the guilt.

If I had not made the first move then she would have ignored me and eventually I would have been homeless.

But in the process of becoming homeless my mother would have insured that my father and all others around her would have thought it was my fault.

My mother, in public, is a regal figure and has fooled most people and her opinion holds weight. And I needed female attention so why not pay attention to my mother.

The rewards were great-up to a point. I was spoiled and spoiled and spoiled.

Mother son incest impregnation story

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