I was terrified. But below the level of terror the leopards, roused from the beginning, still prowled, hungry. And I feasted my eyes on the forbidden flesh of her. It was all I could do not to touch it!
I could hear her low, soft voice coming from a distance:
“Is that what you wanted so, Lars? Or do you need more? Are you still unsatisfied? Are you greedy to see my privacy? Is it more that you want to see? Is it this?” She squirmed her body slightly and pulled the skirt up almost to her waist. “There are my legs for you. What you wanted. Does that satisfy you, Lars, now that I’ve allowed you so much of me? But perhaps you want more. Did you see enough before, Lars, when you dropped your spoon? Imagine if you dropped it now with my skirt out of the way. Do you want to drop the spoon now, Lars?”
She was staring at me and speaking in the same tone, but something else came into her voice now, and the wildness was back in the edges of her eyes. I was helpless. I didn’t understand anything. Terror and desire fought wars of carnage in my blood. I could not speak. I could only stare at her and shake.
“Do you want to drop the spoon now? Do you want to see everything?” Her legs began to open a little, and a little more. I looked up. Her mouth opened slightly. She slid down in her chair. Her legs opened more. My eyes were devouring her. But I still couldn’t see all the way. “Still not satisfied, Lars? My legs are bare completely, and open. You still look hungry. What if you dropped your spoon now, Lars? Is there anything you wouldn’t see? Do you want to, Lars? Remember what you are doing. You are looking up your mother. Do you think that’s right? Do you think it decent? Don’t you think you should respect your mother, Lars? Should you be looking at her with her dress pulled up like this?” My mind was tearing itself apart. Here was Mother trying to give me a last chance to prove there was something decent in me. Despite all I’d done, she would still forgive me. If I would just look away. There she lay sprawled in the chair, her legs open, nude. Even more nude because of the long silken stockings. And the high heels. Her skirt was gathered in her lap, just concealing where her panties would be. If she was wearing any!
“It’s wrong, Lars. Very wrong. Sinful. It is not fit for a little boy to sit looking at his mother like this. And yet you are still not satisfied. You want to see her most secret part. The part that no man but a woman’s husband is allowed to see. And certainly a part of his mother that no son should want to look at. But you do want. Well, why don’t you, Lars?” A great waterfall plunged through me. I turned the spoon round and round. It was impossible. Now that she knew, now that she was watching me. I couldn’t.
“You want to, Lars. You want to look at your mother’s most secret body. Well, Lars, why not? If you want to, why don’t you? Drop the spoon, Lars!”
The mechanism was jammed in my brain. But my fingers opened of themselves-and the spoon dropped on the rug. Neither of us moved. We stared at each other with a strange intensity. Nobody spoke. Then I reached down for the spoon…
Something was telling me to retrieve the spoon without looking, but just as my fingers touched it, my head of itself turned and my eyes searched deep to the source of my mother’s privacy. There were the legs, the soft flesh, white. Moon flesh. Goddess flesh. And the slip pulled away-pulled even more away as I looked! I saw the shadows on the upper part of her thigh. The sheen of flesh on the soft inner sides of her thighs. How the skin darkened subtly just before her crotch… before the mound of the white panties at the end, where her cunt was. Mother’s cunt under Mother’s cunt hair. Her legs were a reversed telescope looking into paradise-the panties the silken gate which closed me out. Then my eyes raised to meet hers.
For an instant a veil was torn off from between our eyes and we met directly-looked directly into each other. She started to speak. In my blood was the death struggle of mating minks. The scream. I dropped my eyes. I was on my hands and knees frankly looking under her dress. I felt an impulse to crawl forward. Did I dare? Could I? What would happen? Just before I decided there was a blur of flesh and silk and whites. Her legs closed and her skirt was pulled down.
“It’s wrong, Lars. I am your mother. I must think! I must!”
She got up and hurried out.
It is not easy to describe the insane excitement. Everything lent to it: the abnormality, the ambiguity, the permissiveness (with the restraint!) the raw act of seeing, the terror (yes- that too). I still didn’t know whether it had been my last chance. Tomorrow I might be sent back to the gray orphanage. But over all there was still an incredible sense of corruption and real power. As I remained there a moment, on my hands and knees, I knew that I had found my vocation no matter what happened. I knew the feast that my life was to be. A steady joy filled me like French horns. And always I would have that sight of Mother in me.
Chapter Nine
I went out and walked around the house. And again. Several times.
But I couldn’t calm down. How do you get calm after all that? I walked with the image of her looming in my stomach, aching in my groin. The things she had said were serpents squeezing my brain till the dizziness and the ringing were absolute. I had to have more! Had to! Even a little piece of her would do, but I had to have it. I went in and started up the stairs. I would go to her room and get something-a stocking, a brassiere, a pair of panties-then lie with it in my bed. Sure she was my mother and it was wrong, but I had to have it!
As I went up, I heard her talking to Gunilla in the living room. I was safe. I went to her door and paused a moment. Did I dare? Yes… I opened and went in.
For the second time I had entered paradise. The silk everywhere. The whiteness. The sense of woman. Of luxury. I remembered the bureau where she kept her underwear and stockings. The top drawer was handkerchiefs and lace. The second had panties and stockings. Thousands. Pink panties, violet, black ones. And white, white. I plunged my arms in until my face was buried in the silk. It was the flesh of goddesses. And their smell. It was the stuff of angels. Moon-cloth, and the smell of twilight in heaven.
I took a black pair and a white, started to close the drawer. Then I heard voices outside in the hall. Coming to the door. I was trapped. I whirled. Across the room was a closet. I dashed to it soundlessly on the thick rug, entered, and closed the door to a crack. I had barely concealed myself among the coats and dresses when the door to the room opened and Mother and Gunilla entered.
“Come in, dear,” Mother was saying. “I have some things that may help. You can try them on and see.”
“Mainly what I need is a bra that gives me better support,” Gunilla said, “and a black slip to go with my new dress.” She stood in the middle of the room by the end of the bed while Mother passed out of my view towards the bureau.
“Funny, this drawer is open. Annie must learn to tidy the rooms better.” I could hear Mother close the drawer and open another. “The trouble is that your breasts are getting larger than mine now and I fear none of these will fit you. Take off your blouse and we’ll see, but I really think I must go to town and order some for you that fit.” She came back into my range of vision carrying several brassieres and smiling lovingly at Gunilla. She put the brassieres on the bed and selected one, which she held to the light, turning to the window. Both their backs were towards me, so I carefully pushed the door open a little more. I wanted very much to be able to see. The scene which was developing promised to be interesting. Little did I know…