Truth and Surrealism


My mother was a bleached blond with Marilyn Monroe sex appeal and big nipples. All my life I have loved big nipples and those out of the ordinary 36B tits and smaller. I know she had a close relationship with the political leaders of our community. It was 1970 and she talked forever of meeting John F. Kennedy at the Teaneck NJ armory during a political fund raiser at the most exciting political race of my life.

Jane and Mom sizzled. Mom's best friend from High School had married a soon to be famous screenwriter who was one of the creators of the most famous science fiction epics on TV. Not Roddenberry. Every Trekkie would know his name, but I knew him for what he wrote for Wagon Train and Rawhide.

When I was 16, Sexy Jane of the LA jungle kissed me hard on the mouth with tongue, fingers on my ass, and pull on my joint and told me that I would be a humdinger and that I should not tell my mother that she had felt my ass. I told her mother wouldn't mind. She said, yea, she had a taste for boys back then. I do too. Nothing much happened. They left for LA the next day.

Jane, my mother's friend became my best friend for a night, and we would sneak in my mother's bedroom and try on her bras. Later, I learned Mother knew all about it, and the two of them giggled.

Jane would ask me if they fit, and would I help her snap and unsnap them. I remember she told me that I was learning an important fact of life ... how to take a bra off with one hand and do it smoothly.

She was amazed I did it so well, and I lied, told her no, I had not practiced. She immediately said I was a great liar.

Jane was pleased that my mother and her had the same size tits, and then she sat down and gave me a blow job while I in awe of her husband's fame as a professional writer (not yet famous to everyone) simply let her whimper as she sucked my cock.

Jane and JC made a big deal of inviting me to spend the summer in LA with them, and I laughed, for I was more interested in swimming and playing life guard, and what would I do with these old bits, but I laughed, and the writer told me that he felt I could write, but of course all he had read were snippets of prose from my Jr. year in High School, and of course I thought they were talented, but he carefully said, it takes more than talent. No, I haven't changed, but my writing has. I also had a smart slightly older girl in love with me. She could speak Russian, and that was almost treason in the summer of 1969 and 1970. I am always seduced by smart older women, but now as I get older Smart is the operative word. Woman is the other great word for worship.

Earlier, much earlier, in this collapsed time recording, out of synch, my sister and I would play Dr and kiss the boo boos. My mother's bed smelled of my father's semen and Trojans. I would blow them up and she would laugh, crawl under the covers, fondle my cock, so tiny, and like a pencil, but it grew fast, and when she sucked it, I would shiver. Mother kissed my hands and my breasts, and called my sister and my self little girls. She said you are not a boy Edward. I will not have it, and she would bind my little cock and balls with an elastic panties dress me in a silk nightgown, make me up with lipstick, and inside on kissing me and my sister for hours. We laughed. Once when my father came home on leave, mother fucked and then climbed into my bed and insisted I was he, and that I had not done a great job of fucking her. I was 12. She put my cock inside her mess. It was cold and clammy and I kept asking won't daddy know? No, do not worry. He is drunk. 

Just keep rubbing, and I sucked her pussy, fucked her and the taste of my father was present in every part of my mind. The details of sexual abuse are staggering. Once, my mother's girl friend, Margaret, gave me a bath after a little league game. I was a catcher and like many, a catcher had a thin veneer of baby fat on my belly. I remember that Margaret told me I was pretty like Jesus and that when I grew up I would love little boys like those that she did. She came easily. All I had to do was kiss her pussy for five minutes with her hands on the back of my head. I was a cute boy and had many girlfriends. They would come over in the summertime and swim with me. I belonged to the YMCA and swam on the team and raced and raced and all the little older girls would ask me to touch them, and I did, -- they asked me one said, because I was like a girl friend. I loved it.

They asked me I suspect because they learned I didn't talk about it, or brag to buddies, and my one male friend, John, and would go over to Joyce's house after school and she who was 16 would fuck us and her brother who was three years older and a senior in High School.

The brother died several years later of drug overdose. He actually became a gay pimp in Vegas where Faith worked as a dancing girl and prostitute. They both lived shorter lives. John and I laughed all the time. He had no idea that I was fucking my mother. I would not let him fuck my sister, but I did let Margaret give him a spanking beating while I watched. John almost died in Vietnam. Walter was a flight controller on an Air Craft Carrier in the South China Sea. He told me he failed to earn his wings because looking down at the deck of the rocking carrier and felt the mouth of the ocean swallowing him. We both felt death many times in our life, and all I can remember are Joyce and Margaret beating his ass, and my mother, drunk, begging me to come to bed. I was thirteen. This all happened between 5 and 16. I can remember how every woman tasted in my life. I can feel that taste like refreshment mints used to mask the taste of the other themes lurking in my fingers, sticking to my thumb plastered inside pussy on the way to Mars.

Learning the facts of life is a magical, obscene progress humped with indecent lies told to the self and decent "find 'em fuck 'em feel 'em forget 'em" ripples transfigured into sexy tales set in the poetry of Canterbury but without redeeming social values. Birds and Bees are simply the push and hump, buzz and cry of children walking under showers of semen dancing on tables with their sexy butts exposed waiting for Bardot or Marilyn Monroe.