Dad went on his way back to town, no doubt sated after our sexcapade that evening at the adult theater. He had given two loads while taking four or five through a glory hole. I had taken three and shot two. Now home I followed my mom into the kitchen and there behind a wine bottle and a glass sat the last female in the world that I wanted to see at the time. It was Donna Jean from next door my lifelong flame—or at least since 2 nd grade.
I became aware of girls and love at a young age. My mother was a huge soap opera fan and then would watch “Afternoon Delights,” the romance movies on local television. On bad weather afternoons I would sit on the couch with her and be spellbinded by the interactions between men and women.
We’re talking about age 8.
I identified with the men and yearned for the women. I’d say I was normal then, except that most boys my age were interested in anything but girls. I could tell you who all the pretty girls were at school and I fantasized about kissing most of them.
That was before I learned about other things you could do. And in those days you weren’t likely to learn it from television.
Donna Jean Sullivan had always been the cutest in my class. But as we got deeper into elementary school I fell victim to the gravitational pull of her girlfriends, notwithstanding the fact that by the time we got to Grade 5 she was a full head taller than me. Now, almost a decade later I had pulled even in height but had long given up the ghost because she was sent off to private school while I wallowed in the local public high school.
Thanks to my parents I became a sexual Ping-Pong ball in the meantime.
My sex life got off on the wrong foot when I got drawn into activities with my father starting with viewing porn together and doing each other. Mom knew that Dad was queer for men and she found out about us fooling around. I was their only child and mother feared never having grandchildren so she did all she could to foster an interest in females, including actually teaching me hetero sex.
It was a joint effort, really. Mother constantly shamed dad, he became a cuckold, and in typical fashion she would occasionally stray. She began getting most of here jollies elsewhere. Elsewhere included me and I can tell you it was great.
My had served in the Royal Air Force during World War II as a mechanic on Spitfire fighter planes. He used to say that mom spit fire just like the famous airplane, but I my opinion she also breathed fire. She could heat a room simply with her presence. She was not striking in the classic sense but she had something. Her hair was the color of creosote usually worn up in some kind of bun and she had a warm, toothy smile with which she could be stingy. But with mom it was the eyes. They were narrow and deep set, and as she grew older she began to look more and more like the actress Kathleen Quinlan. By this time she was in her forties, but other than some bagginess and very subtle crow’s feet, she was still a vision and very appealing.
Mom was a wonderful lay and I credit her for keeping me from going completely gay. She rationalized our sex play as “mother’s love” and since she had didn’t have a husband to please (by then they were divorced) I became the recipient of her physical gifts.
Despite mom’s best efforts I still got into cock after dad.
I was surprised that I reacted when I saw Donna. From my bedroom I would watch Donna in the backyard sunbathing every summer. I would often run to the window when I heard her voice through the walls. She would politely wave if she saw me and we would chit-chat at neighborhood functions but I never knew how to spark her. I was blessed to not feel shame about my bisexuality, partly because I was dad’s bitch, but also because I still acted like a normal kid. I just had little experience with women and by then I was in college and had the freedom to explore. I was playing with guys mainly and since it was the 1970s I was having fun with sex like everyone else those days.
As I listened to dad confessing our transgressions I suspected that my night was not over. That was mom’s pattern. Anytime dad or I crossed the street she would unleash her body on us. But after this night’s adventure I wasn’t interested in any more sex. However, within ten minutes I had changed my mind. I was flummoxed by Donna’s presence but astute enough to realize that here was the potential to change the course of history.
Donna was a stone beauty. You would suspect that she had her hair coiffed in a French weave, but it was just naturally curly. Her face was essentially flawless. Everything was just right. She had incredibly dewy skin, pretty hands, a well-proportioned body, and happened to be wearing Birkenstock-like sandals—the style they wore those days—with the thin strip running vertical into a T-strap at the ankle. Since I have always had a foot fetish I care about the feet and hers’ were incredible.
“Donna here shares my disappointment that you have gone gay, Michael.” Mom got right down to the point, as always. I felt my face warm from flushing. Next came a shot of adrenaline.
“Mom, I’m not gay I’m bisexual.” I was hardly in the mood for being badgered especially in front of Donna. It was humiliating and I felt threatened along with utter embarrassment.
Donna’s eyes feigned concern. But I knew mom was just being her usual dramatic self.
“We’re not so sure.” Donna and I exchanged glances as mother continued. There was a hint of concern on her face, but mostly I saw compassion and a measure of understanding. This was no longer the 1950s and we lived in Chicago.
“And that’s OK, Mikey” Donna leaned forward and touched my hand.
“How does she know?” I responded with an inquisitive look and a hard stare at mom.
“She has always wondered why you have never asked her out.”
Donna raised her eyebrows and smiled sweetly in agreement. I immediately felt my heart slow and my hand stop shaking. I caught my breath only after she gave my hand a gentle squeeze.
“She never showed any interest in me, mother.” I was barely able to get those words because I choked up and tears began to drop. I grabbed a Kleenex and dabbed my eyes.
She moved in closer, slid her hand up my arm, and softly murmured: “I got very interested in you when I learned you like to suck cock.” Time stopped momentarily as she continued to peer into my eyes, transfixing me, until I was finally able to pull off her eyes and bow my head and collect my thoughts. The words “suck cock” coming out of that sweet mouth were a shocker.
“When did you find out...How did you find out?”
“This afternoon, your mother was certain that if you were going out with your father there would be sex. She told me all about you two.” She appeared to be warming.
“What’s it to you, Donna?”
“Michael, I love you. I have always loved you” Hearing those words brought more tears to my eyes. She paused and then her words took on an empathetic tone.
“And…I also love your mother.”
“Since when have you loved my mother?”
“Since I was a little girl.” They moved into our neighborhood when I was around seven. After that declaration she leaned to the right and planted a kiss on mom’s lips. It was not just a peck or a social buss. It was a lover’s kiss. Its duration alone spoke of physical involvement. I started doing calculations in my mind. Not only was mom sleeping with me, but she had managed to seduce Donna—who knows when or how?
Their lips eventually parted and almost in sync they turned their eyes to me. By then nothing my mom did surprised me, but Donna? She managed to seduce Donna?
“There is no reason why you have to be just one way or another.” I really wasn’t proud of my twisted sexuality at that age so her expression of acceptance rang hollow.
