She will, I know,soon change out of her smart, dark-coloured business suit into somethingless formal for the evening. Usually, that is the first thing she doeson arriving home. But now she takes me by the hand and leads me intothe sitting room and looks me in the eye with a concerned expression.Her striking blue eyes are half hidden behind hooded lids. (I rememberher wearing striking blue eye make-up.) "What did Lisa say to you?" sheasks.I recount the conversation, word for word as I. In my left hand I cradled a thorny thistle pod. I clenched it and clenched my teeth in response. My cock demurred to the sudden distraction of pain, barely. I sat on the couch cushion farthest from my mother."Honey?" Mom tilted her head at my pained expression."This is going to sound..." I began, stalled, gulped, and proceeded. "This is going to sound like total horseshit, but before you get up and walk away, I'm going to prove to you that neither you nor I are crazy.The word stung her. I could. That gave him enough time to easily grab my ankles and duct tape them together, also. Then he got his heavy leather belt off the wall—he had started keeping it on the wall down there a while back—and beat me with that until I was almost choking on my own tears. It was hard to breathe through my nose, because it had gotten stuffed up from crying. I was starting to panic. Then he switched back from the belt to the wire. It stung horribly on the welts the belt had raised; everywhere it struck. Amelia would come around from time to time usually with a shopping bag full of food, to see if everything was Ok or if there was anything we needed. It was on one of those visits, that things changed between us. Amelia was in her early forties double my age, married with two c***dren. I had been fighting with my brother and his friends and they had pissed off in a scream of noise and burning rubber from their bikes. Amelia arrived at the house as the bike disappeared down the road.She came.
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