OK, I’ve been holding-out on this little story for a while.
But, thanks to the support of all my family and friends I think I can finally say it and be OK.
Hi, my name is Why Is Daddy Crying and I’ve been caught by my mom jerking off.
There!!! I said it OK?!
And the words I yelled immediately after?
“Damn it Mom!!!!!” as I quickly arm-swept my old school 1980s Playboys off the bed and into my lap hoping they’d cover my little chubby and whisk me back in time 5 minutes so I could make the decision to not pull on my pud that day.
Let me set the stage.
It’s afternoon. I can’t remember where my brother is, but I’m alone in the house with the mom. She’s downstairs doing whatever it is moms do in the late 1980s.
I’m approximately 12-years-old and, thanks to my older brother, have become quite the expert of making oh sweet sweet love to my hand.
I’m in my room. Hormones are raging. And, for the 12th time that morning, the “feeling” hits me.
So, I drop trow, grab one of many Playboys my brother and I have skillfully stolen from our grandfather’s collection in his closet, and settle in for teenage bliss.
But here’s where I make the critical mistake. Instead of heading into the bathroom that’s private and attached to my bedroom, what do I do? I decide to knock-it-out in the middle of my room in broad day light.
My thinking at the time, “I’ll be able to hear mom coming up the stairs, so I’ll have enough time to pull the pants up, tuck the magazine, and be all ‘hey, what’s up mother? Ready to go to the store?’”
Some psychiatrists and people like my wife might say, “you wanted to get caught you pervert!”
“Not by my freakin’ mother!!!” has always been my response.
So, I stand at the edge of my bed, centerfold presenting itself, pants dropped, and I’m whaling…I mean I’m going to town like I’ve never done before.
In fact, I’m going so hard and fast that when I hear my mother say, “are you ready to go yet?” she’s already climbed all the steps, seen her son pulling on his Johnson, and made it halfway into her room.
I’ll never forget the feeling of going from pure bliss to absolute shame within 0.0008ths of a second.
“Damn it MOOOOOOMMMM!!!!” I screamed, like it was her fault.
To make it worse? I had to get in the car with her immediately after and go to the store.
It was horrific.
Walking down the stairs and getting into the car was in my mind far far worse than the last walk any death-row inmate had ever experienced. And, of course, I’m mad as shit at my mom and not at myself for spotlighting my pre-teen horniness.
“Honey, everyone does it, you just have to find a private place to do things like that, or simply shut your bedroom door. It has a lock on it you know…”
“MOOOMMM!!!” I yell. “Just promise me you won’t tell dad or my brother!! Please mom!”
Despite her promise I got called downstairs later that night. I immediately knew what was up because as I entered the kitchen, my mother whisked my brother away so I’d be alone with my dad.
This next part was almost as bad as my mother catching me as I charged my laser.
My father begins to not only explain how “natural” this is, but proceeds to tell me how he regularly masturbates himself.
“Oh sure, I do it all the time! Usually in the bathroom or shower, but it’s a normal process.”
I can only imagine the look on my face was one of absolute horror.
It’s the same look I’d imagine having if I woke up at the age of 6 hoping to find money left by the tooth fairy and instead found my hungover father passed out next to me in bed while holding a half-full beer and wearing fairy wings and dry-humping my most prized sock monkey stuffed animal “Mr. Monk-A-Monk.”
Yeah, THAT look.
I was never quite the same again after that “talk.” I put a ban on touching myself but waved the white flag after 14 hours had passed. I was proud of my restraint.
But a piece of me died that day as the first of many sheets hiding the realities of life and my parents were lifted.