Everyone has there own story, it was their uncle whom they've only seen once. You know, a fucked up sort of appeal just to build that one more meaningless connection to the people you had only called friends for so long as you were confined together.

Well, sometimes it isn't so much a story. But, we learn to adapt to it, subtle and not so subtle mannerisms the hide the reality behind it. The uncle only guilty of staring too long when you bent over.

Well, mine wasn't an uncle. It was worse, it--

It was my mother. 


It was five years after the divorce, I was thirteen. July, it was a Thursday since that was when we only ever had money. If there was one saving grace while growing up, it was that our only shared vice was alcohol.

Mom never had a chance to talk about why she divorced my dad, I moved out when I was sixteen-- Aptly, ran away. She ended up dying of hypothermia when she was found sitting on the bench where she met my father in the middle of winter in just an iced over bathrobe. 

Father wasn't so lucky himself, at least his death wasn't ruled a suicide leaving with absolutely nothing from either of them. Rear ended into oncoming... It was closed casket, I thank my aunt for letting me say good bye one last time. 

But, I've gotten side tracked haven't I? It's late, I'd have hoped to have been in bed horus ago and well, something about putting words down and being able to do what you will with them takes away the power of the events that were so tangled together

I had gotten home from school, you could only run track for so long afterwards before you're told to go home. Even if home is where you least wanted to be. It was expected, regardless of circumstance. 

But that's painting school too harshly, I loved it. It made dealing with my mom's advances easier. Afterall, you can't be cornered when you're physically removed from someone for ten hours a day.

Sorry, sorry. I know I'm being side-tracked. Everytime I relive this brings back all those sensations and everytime I pick it apart until it's orderly, almost unnoticeable... A small blemish in the dun on dun tapestry that is my life.

 It was cool for July, barely in the double digits. The walk home had eased the strain on my muscles from earlier and the sweat that had begun to stink by then was a fortunate repellent to my mother. So, I took comfort in it and repeated almost a mantra that I'd be clean soon.

She had obviously been paid, there was a bag of chips and a couple cans of pop and two ten dollar bills for pizza. It was obvious she was going to be out late tonight. Which meant I'd have to shower, we never were able to keep food int he house.

Small things like that reminded me mother was still a person. She on some level cared about me as a son and not some object of lust. The extravagent snack was hard to resist when you had learned to love greens, beans and rice.

I'd save those for after that night. But until then, I put down my backpack. A tan canvas affair with several folders and books for homework-- I never got how carrying around twenty kilos of paper was considered 'easier'.

Even as I peeled the shirt from my body, the figure hugging fur spiked with oils and sweat. Below it was the beginnings of a masucline figure. Defined pectorals, boop-boop-boop over the abs and the sinewy figures of a youth that ate poorly.

Well, at least it was healthy. I'd keep my laundry as long as I could before it began perfuming everything. The shorts came next, looser like what I normal wore... It hid everything easier.

Below that was my running shorts, they clung to me as I pulled them free, my balls and sheath finally free from the necessary confines. I don't know why. But, I sniffed them to my own distaste and after pulling my shoes and socks off, headed up to my room.

It was nice being alone, I felt so free and every moment I could, I took full advantage of. Once there I found a serviceable towel. Laid it out on the bed and myself afterwards. Heaven to be relaxed and free.

I regret that decision, I was always a light sleeper and in the dead silence the only sound I had to wake me up was the drunken stumblings of my soused mother. My door was open and because lethargy had it's clutches on me I had no way of repelling her.

She stood in the doorway, hair disheveled, clothes similarly so. Drunk and seemingly resistant to my usual after school odour saw on me like a cat. Her long, slender face smelled of vomit and cheap alcohol.

It burned more than what I could ever muster up. Further betrayal of my body was what we were all prone to as young, hormonal boys-- I was stiff as a rock. To my horror my handsy mother took full notice as she kissed my neck.

Her shirt had come off, I don't know when. The bra along with it... If she had even worn one. I could feel both of her breasts against me... Around me as she pressed into me. They were humid with who knows what. Beer, or sweat. Both perhaps.

I didn't know any better to be truly repulsed by her actions. I was strong. But, she was a head and shoulders on me and if she had tried the stunt by that fall... Maybe, maybe I could have stopped her. 

But, I didn't... Couldn't stop her. My feeble at first pushing only incited her. She knew what she was doing, knew what she wanted and with unadulterated courage coursing through her veins and on her stinking breath she pressed forward.

I should have fought back. Maybe I'd have found my own courage sooner. But, she was physically stronger than I was and after one swipe she had me pinned beneath her while the pants came off. If her breasts were humid. She was soaking down below.

It stank of urine, I found myself wondering at it, anything to remove myself from the reality of it. My revulsion was overpowered by baser instincts and I still feel the clench in my stomach as I felt my muscles pushing.

It was too much for me to handle for that first time. I take solance in the bruises she gave my wrists as she forced me to handle her breasts. Eyes closed I have no frame of reference to my efficacy.

It didn't seemingly matter to her. She was making noises that still make me flinch during play, even during the experimental stage I had with other men. Her husky voice had a wide range so.. I at least have that going for me these days.

Time had become meaningless after a point. The mantra of 'I'll be clean soon' pounded through my head with every strained heart beat. The terror, my horrified psyche and an uncontrolled homral boy all enhanced the tiny of minutiae.

The alcohol had flushed her skin, surely. The heat I felt and perhaps circumstance of had me wondering why everyone felt so cold by comparsion for years after. All of it I want to say couldn't bring me over. But, I'd be lying then.

Her clumsy movements were practised and the sound of a bottle being turned upside down and the shift in movement changed enought hat I had lost myself in her. 'You really do love me...' in her skewed sense of reality made it a victory for her.

'I didn't notice you had been I'll be cumming soon'. I hadn't. I was sobbing, the faint light from the landing our only illumination hid my weakness from her... To my detriment. She didn't stop. She hadn't finished.

This somehow further encouraged her, the bottle thudded to the ground. I found out after that it was mostly empty and the stain it left small. But, a reminder none the less. She had dropped it to take over from my wooden movements.

I had briefly forgotten my task during it all and by then she was breathing as though she could fuel a bellows and the fumes that came with every gust would have been a welcome accelerant surely.

She was writhing all over shortly after and it was then that I learned what a truely selfish orgasm felt like. The quivering flesh and the heavy breathing... She wasn't a cuddler, she had used me and discarded me for the time being. The stumbles and snoring told me everything.

I couldn't move, I was paralysed as I filtered it all out. The grossness of our coupling, the stink of bourbon. That pervading scent of urine and sweat that wasn't my own. Most of all, the horrid sweet-chemical potpouri of both of our cum.

She had left her clothing, to my mistake I wiped down with hers, something i had no control over and did my best to blot it all from fur and mind. 'I'll be clean soon' I kept muttering, the salty twang of tears and sweat as I cleaned it all up. 

My soiled towel would never give me that feeling again. I bundled it up, the booze and grabbing my only remaining towel stumbled to the downstairs shower.

The bottle of bourbon was on the vanity sink when I got out, I only vaguely recalled downing it and how good the fire felt as it burned deep into my chest. A feeling I too would come to relish in those coming years.

I got into the shower, the water was cold at first. But, then it was warm, scaldingly hot. The blisters on my hands were worth it and by the time I had actually begun to feel clean again, it had cooled down to a comfortable level.

Everything about me was desirable I later came to actualise. The cut physique, the effeminate jaw. Broad shoulder, long legged... It all filled out. The horns up top I kept purposefully short too. I never got the appeal of having a large rack.

I laugh now. I wasn't laughing then. I felt raw from the water, alchol, and the heat of my mother. She never seemed to get pregnant. So, she was perhaps barren. I wouldn't ever be sure. I had no clothing, the towel and sitting on the toilet waiting for the world to stop teetering had me damp by the time it all subsided.

I stumbled up on weak legs, collecting my books and the bag my mother had given me. 'She rally did love me' I remembered muttering. The bag of chips devoured and the cans of coke were empty by the time I managed to work through my nights homework. 

Drained and dead it was all I could do to haul myself into bed a few feet away, the sky was faintly blue and the silence only broken by a distant siren. 'They're coming to save me' I muttered and blacked out for the first time.

My mother didn't bother me, avoided me like the plague for days after. Nearly two weeks without so much as a 'hello'. That stung, she had loved me at some point. Now, now I was all her regrets. Not her shining gift to the world.

I didn't see her that next time she got drunk, school was out by then and I did everything I could to only appear at night. She accepted this, we both did until I was back at school and caged by it for a different reason.

She really did love me, I'll be clean soon.

Sincerely yours, 

Me.