Anonymous

“This is my story of mother-son incest” via MalesSurvivor.org

I was born into a religious family, into a family, though, with many problems. We were one thing on the outside and something else on the inside. Within the family, there was no peace. My father had turned to religion when he was eighteen but with little effect other than to quit smoking and drinking.My mother had come from a strongly religious family whose father was quite well-known as a preacher and she had learned how to act in such a way as to receive the admiration of all around her. My father envied his father-in-law and so with the condescending help of my mother, he tried to become like his wife’s father but rather unsuccessfully.

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. At around five we moved to a more isolated part of the country and had less visitors and people who “hung around”. 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. I can only thank God for that decision because at this point in my life I couldn’t handle any more of the physical.

The nature of my mother’s relationship with me was like that of a husband and wife. 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. If I didn’t want to do the farm chores she would help me to get them done. 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. Yet my father’s own needs for honour and respect would arise at times and then there would be
jealousy and trouble.

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. But my mother would sometimes have to stop spoiling me because the situation would be too obvious to everyone else. She had to hang on to my father’s arm every once in a while because the public needed to see this. Though I gave her emotional security, my father gave her financially security (to a point, but much more than I could) and so she had to please him for this reason also.

My mother taught me adultery. This was the worst thing about the incest. If I had not been emotionally involved and had somehow just remained aloof then it would have been different. My parents taught me to go into any other relationship and stick my noise in where it did not belong. I would go into other marriages and start talking deeply with the woman about very personal things concerning her husband-things that were none of my business. I was very critical of men and always took the woman’s side. Again, this caused many problems with others and sometimes men would become very angry with me. There were women, as well, who would avoid me, who knew what was in my heart.

Sexually I went far beyond women, for my mother had introduced me to enough feminity for a lifetime. I was not only revolted by women-I was bored! But that is another story.

All that I have said I learned over the course of many years for at the age of eighteen I was still my mother’s slave. Life, though, teaches us many things and with the help of my God, a different kind of father than my own, I have straightened my life out. I no longer speak with my parents. They want to continue in the old patterns. I am finally, in my late thirty’s, getting back to women again. Someday I will marry and be devoted to one woman and reap the benefits of a healthy relationship. I wouldn’t want to live my life over again for it was painful, very painful (at one point I nearly became mentally insane). But I am thankful that I have changed and I am thankful that at least my mother let me live.