Our Tattered Lives

*4*

*My story*

My name is Pierce Bridgeport. I am twenty six years old. This is the story of the tattered lives of my mother and me. And of what at the time seemed our final relationship.

I have been working as a deep sea welder on several oil platforms in the North Sea for an American company and only went to shore every fourth week. From the beginning my job has kept me away from the mainland for weeks at a time. I could usually expect to be home (a spacious apartment where I live alone, with the occasional feminine visit) one weekend each month or even every six weeks and sometimes I was able to stay, if things were easy at work, for a whole week.

My eight hours shift at work let me with long periods of free time and after a couple of weeks I realized I could not be more than eight or ten hours a day loitering without doing something useful with my life, so when I returned from my first weekend ashore without a dollar to my name, I realized that not only should I make better use of my free time at sea, I also realized it made no sense to spend, in a few hours of drinking and womanizing, the money I earned with so much effort and danger.

So, very early in my work life I changed my way of life. and decided that to be ten or twelve hours a day playing cards, reading magazines or comics, sleeping, eating and looking forward to my new work shift was not good for my future, so I decided to tell the foreman that I would like an increase in my day workload, and I began to save my money spending as little as possible. As I still had much spare time I became interested in the movements of the stock market and learned how to invest my money.

Working in the off-shore oil industry, I thought that this was the best field in which to start investing my money; working within the industry I was connected to and in which I knew many people, from whom, from time to time, when they were in the mood, I could get some investment tips. So, my life was hard work, study, savings and little fun. I was twenty two and I promised myself to be rich at twenty five.

Of course in a so rough work environment I was the laughing stock of my fellow workers some of whom thought I was a "sissy", their words. I didn't go to town and got roaring drunk or go out with the women. I worked my shot, and afterwards, when I was resting in my cabin I was always reading technical stuff incomprehensible to most of them.

I never went to my parent's home again; I went to the ranch in Idaho to see my maternal grandparents and remember better times occasionally, and when I wanted to see my father I usually took a plane and went to see him at the University. We would spend the day together, and we talked about our lives and other things. My mother was never mentioned, though I saw the pain in his eyes, once I gave him my address and that of the company I work, and my lawyer's phone in case he, (not her), ever needed to contact me.

Beyond that I did not want my mother to be named in my presence, through her memory was my own living hell; I could not rip her from my mind, her memory was an obsession that never left me, and that made me reject other women, I could not have a normal romantic relationship, none of them was my mother, so my contact with them was reduced to the minimum and I looked for sex merely for my sanity (think Oedipus complex.)

I wish I had had the balls to tell her that I was in love with her. But I was young and couldn't. She was the reason I couldn't be with any other woman. Being with another woman after just existing in Mom's world would be akin to living in an efficiency apartment after having lived in a Hollywood mansion. I know, it's a bad analogy, but it's as close as I can get.

Beyond the fact that she is extremely beautiful, what I feel for her is much deeper. It goes beyond the sexual desire, goes beyond wanting to possess her, to own her body. What I want and need is to possess her soul, I think that she still loves me as a mother to her son, but my dream is that I need her to love me like a woman loves her man.

I'm in love with her and I need for her to love me too, because mother is the reason there is no longer a woman who satisfies me. When having sex, I settled for fucking like animals do, instinctively but without love. Today that is no longer enough.

Young girls my age didn't interest me as I found them superficial and immature, so when I need company I contact an escort service and ask for women of my mother's age.

I wasn't a virgin by any means, if by virgin you mean the person who has never had intercourse, but my practice in the fine art of sex was to say the least lacking in everything that makes sex joyful and enjoyable to your partner. I had bedded a few girls before going offshore and several prostitutes when I was far away from home. And my only proficiency in sex was my endurance; I could fuck for hours.

*******

When I was twenty three years old my life was a mess. The only interest I had in life was my work, saving money, the control of my investments trying to make more money for an early retirement, as working for long periods of time under water had begun to affect my health. I had few mundane diversions and no permanent female companionship. I loved and respected my father very much, but I loved my mother with carnal desires and repressed sexual passion.

I was coming to the end of a, three year contract and one day when I was working on a particularly troublesome and dangerous something that was supposed to be impossible happened.I was at a depth of about one hundred feet when the accident occurred. I never knew what happened, if it was a mistake I made in my calculations, if the torch flame cut a supporting structure steel cable, or if it was some other reason. But the fact was the cable parted and swatted my head producing a deep wound from the top of the head down my face to my chin, breaking the oxygen mask and the breathing equipment.

I lost consciousness and the profuse amount of blood coming from the wound began to redden the water around me and shocked my coworkers who immediately called for help to get me out of the water I was flown to the nearest hospital when they saw the wound too severe for first aid aboard the rig

I barely remember the following days; I seem to remember as if I was in the middle of a thick fog, the pounding blades of a helicopter, voices screaming, and a flight of several hours with someone trying to keep my head still. It was a large building with brightly lit corridors, silence, and then nothing. I woke up with excruciating pain in my head and in blind darkness, when I tried to touch my face, a steady hand squeezed my hands and my father's voice was telling me everything was fine, to be careful and I was going to be fine. As in a dream I seemed to hear for the first time in years the voice of my mother, sobbing, weeping and calling me:

"Oh my baby, oh my love, oh my darling son"

Her voice was trailing into the distance as I lost consciousness again. As I awoke the darkness surrounded me, this time, a gentle feminine voice, that of a nurse, told me that I was not blind, I had my head completely bandaged as a result of the surgery to restore my face and close my wounds. I had over a hundred and fifty stitches. After several days they took away the bandages and slowly in a darkened room they uncovered my eyes.

When I saw my new face in the mirror I wanted to die. I was a perfect blend both my parents. I'm quite tall at six foot four and 220 pounds, with an agile, muscular body almost weightless in the water; I have dark blond hair, regular features with dark almond eyes set at both sides of a straight greek-type nose, my skin has a dark golden hue like a California surfer, a direct product of the sun, salt air and time.

Now my face was swollen and deformed, crossed by a terrible wound that went from the front of my scalp, down my forehead, across my right cheek to my chin. I looked like a monster and suddenly I could not hold the tears and started to mourn with grief for the loss of my old face. Doctors and nurses assured me in a few days I would feel better and my face would slowly come back to normal. My daily reminder of my accident would be the long scar crossing my face, but that should not stop me from returning to a normal life. It is easier said than done. In the interim my father managed to transfer me to Boston and got me a bed in the hospital where he worked, so he could take care of my wound personally.

He seemed to have aged twenty years in a few weeks and he asked me if I eventually would like to see my mother.

"You know dad that I love you very much, I love you, and respect you and I'm grateful for all you has done for me, but don't ask me that, maybe some day, but not now and less in the state I'm in, deformed like this I could not stand her compassion and the look of disgust in her eyes" .

"But you are wrong, son, your mother loves you very much. Wouldn't you do it for me?

"Not now pa, sometime later" I answered him tiredly.

Convalescing in the hospital bed, I recalled again and again, my and my mother's sex life - or the lack of it, and her seething sexuality.And still, there was now no question in my mind that my mother, whatever she had said at the moment, had been flirting and teasing with me since I entered puberty and started developing. At first, I thought it was just her way to connect with me, for us to be like pals on our own, then, that I was older. But she'd gone beyond that, directing my attention to her womanly charms, emphasizing her body, and encouraging me to react in a sexual way. The pain killers made me drowsy and semi consciously and I dreamed most of the time. I always dream about her. I only dream about her, my mother.

*********

* Dreaming again*

< Mom was laughing and I heard a commotion in the living room. I finished the dishes in relative disgust and when I came out I saw Mom sitting on Dad's lap; dad was trying to read some medical magazine, she with her long and slim hand grabbing him as she kissed and fondled him.

"Don't forget the laundry in my room," Mom called after me, Dad was trying to dislodge her, and her face was buried in his neck. Her laughing voice haunted me all the way up the stairs to their room.

"Please Natasha, be quiet, it is no way to act this way with our son in the house" I heard my father say.

"Then show me more attention when you are home" was her response.

I was mad at her, because I thought I knew what she was doing; she was flirting with me going heavy like that on dad, trying to interest him in front of me, the age difference between them showing now in all its splendour.

As I was not used to disobeying my parents, I did as I was told. But I didn't like her flirting with me one second and with Dad the next. Because she did flirt with me, didn't she? It just didn't seem right. Oddly, the fact that she was flirting with me at all did not enter my mind as being wrong for some reason.

I gathered the laundry and when I passed the living room, Mom was again straddling his lap not permitting him to read, as he wanted. I ignored them. I heard them whispering and then Mom was laughing again as I made my way down to the basement. It made me angry that just seeing her long legs on him made me hard.

A few days later she was gazing at the pool ten feet away in the shade of the trees as I was again rubbing oil into her flesh, I fantasized watching her jack off my big, hard cock. I had my balls full. I saw her lick her lips and I saw, in my mind, the hot spurts of my cock cream spew from my piss hole... right into her mouth. Suddenly she moaned, the cheeks of her ass bunching as if a small, but nice orgasm had exploded in her cunt. I let my hands pause on her back as she came.

"Something wrong, Mom?" I had asked.

"Mmmm, no darling," she had breathed. "I'm fine," she then whispered.

With my hands at my mother's lower back, I had seen the sudden clutching of her ass, and I stared at it, I was fascinated. The tiny bikini bottoms had drawn up into the split of her ass, exposing her creamy cheeks. I had watched them ripple and contract.

Leaning over, as I was very curious I had glanced quickly at my mother's crotch. I saw a few honey blonde hairs curling from the tight band, and also a trace of moisture there.

I had felt my cock stiffen inside my trunks, and I had sat up straight, my hands now shaking slightly as I continued to rub oil into her flesh. I kept looking at her ass, the backs of her thighs, and realized my breathing was getting louder.

Mum knew, though. She was listening to my labored breathing, and knew the sounds very well. She understood. I, her son, had probably seen her ass cheeks bunch and squeeze, but she didn't seem embarrassed. On the contrary, she worked her ass some more, knowing I was getting a hard-on, and I wanted to take a peek at her. So she flexed her ass cheeks time and again, spreading her long thighs a little wider. She purred softly, and my imagination was becoming wilder and wilder.

Mom is so amazingly beautiful it makes my heart hurt to look at her. I melt inside when she smiles at me and I hate to see her unhappy.

I wheezed and panted, struggling to control myself.

Mom, I have to tell you, I want you. I want to make love to you. I want you in every way a man can want a woman. I want to make you my own.>

*********

That was a persistent dream at night; it was also a day dream. After several months of restorative surgery I left the hospital to go back to work, my face was completely changed, the right side, where I had been hit and wounded, was nearly paralyzed, and the deep wound had left a scar that even the best surgeons had been unable to restore.

I needed to cover the big scar so I started to grow a beard and wear my hair longer; when I left the hospital I had no hair or beard, I looked like a monster out of the depths of the oceans; but, after a couple months back on the rig in the middle of the sea, my beard and hair were long enough to go to the barber shop and arrange them to make me look like a human being again.

The barber and I decided that my beard and mustache would be permanently half inches long, that would be able to cover the scar and the paralysis of that side of my face, at the same time I decided that my hair would reach down to my neck and be worn in a pony-tail

One of the consequences of my accident at sea was that the new hair growing in both my head and beard, was not jet black, my new hair color was less intense black with a wide strip as white as snow where the scar was, and my appearance has totally changed

I didn't dive as much as before, not for so long a time, now I rather performed tasks of control and supervision of other divers and welders, only when they were highly specialized tasks did I go down.

Life wasn't the same, something had broken inside me and I didn't enjoy underwater work anymore. I did control my financial assets and with some good investments, I was in my way to be, if not rich, at least, financially sound.

*5*

* Learning to love *

This is, I thought to myself as I dialed, one of the strangest phone calls I have ever made in my life. What was even more bizarre was that the first strange phone call I had ever made was only two months ago. And this one was related to that one. In fact, without that one this one would not be possible; I thought sardonically that I was breaking personal records right and left.

But how do I go about this thing, I started to wonder; Hang out in single bars? I couldn't do that. I didn't even like bars that much. I mean, my physical appearance is the issue. I'm a twenty four years old guy, I am in good shape. I kept myself pretty fit, and though I had a good muscular body, is my impression my face and head still draw too much attention which makes me very nervous and I feel uncomfortable in the presence of people who I do not know.

Besides, women put as much emphasis on men's good looks, or so I think. So, the bar scene was out. Then what? --do I approach a mature female, and say, "Hey, I want to jump in bed with you because I want to have sex with a mature woman before I die" I'm sure the slap would win a word championship, if only it would just stop there and the police didn't lockup me up and throw away the key

And then it hit me. I didn't want to get in trouble, I didn't want to risk forming an emotional attachment and then leave, but I wanted to feel a mature woman's body, feel what it's like to be made love to and be educated in the nuisances of sex by a knowledgeable female. The only choice was, at first, distasteful, and then, like the evolution of my emotions about living with a scarred face, totally reasonable: A call girl.

With someone who does this professionally, several aspects of my search are eliminated: no hunting, no rejection, no embarrassment and disrespect of anyone I don't know, and no long games of persuasion. It was simple, I pay her, and she comes to me.

I was about to find out, and receive the biggest surprise of my life.

In one of my now infrequent short leaves, I went to talk to my lawyer and stockbroker, now a friend, and we talked about my investments and other particular aspects of my life, my health and the proximity of my retirement and what was I going to do with my life from now on.

"Ok Pierce, now, I'm your friend, you know that, I 'm worried about you. After the accident your life has changed, and except the money part, you are almost rich, your life is in shambles. I think is a good time for you to look for a good girl and get married, or else" my lawyer said to me.

"Is that a legal advice?" said I trying to joke with the theme.

"No Pierce, is a friend's advice, you need a woman in your life, someone who loves you"

"As if that were so easy; Ok, maybe to you it is, you're a brilliant and rich lawyer, and have lots of nice women with a snap of your fingers, but look at me, I'm deformed and I can't go asking women to date me"

"First let me tell you something: YOU ARE NOT DEFORMED, you are a little, very little different from the handsome young man you were. You think you are deformed? Your face has only changed a bit, in fact, you are more interesting and your appearance is manlier now than before"

"Yea, yeah, right, and frogs fly"

"Let me think, maybe I have a solution, a temporary one mind you, but none the less it would do for now, until you get back your self-esteem. Call me in a few days ok, I have to make some calls and try to connect some important people"

A couple months later I called my lawyer and friend; he had a phone number and two names I should contact. It was time to found out if the tip I had received from my lawyer was true or it was a joke. I was making the second strangest phone call of my life, and it was being answered.

"Good evening, International Trade Company, Miss Forrest speaking, how can I help you?" The lady's voice sounded professional and calm.

I cleared my throat. Just be direct, I told myself. The worst think it can happen is they hang up on you. "Hi, I'm Pierce Bridgeport" I said pleasantly, as if I were about to order a gift basket for someone, "I was uh... given your company name by my lawyer Mr. Phillips and I was wondering if I could make use of your services".

"Of course, Sir, in fact Dr Phillips has mentioned your name as a potential customer", she said, not sounding surprised at all.

"I just need some information, Sir. Name, address, credit card number and a sponsor; in this case Dr Phillips recommendation is sufficient, and uh sir you will need a complete medical check-out including blood tests to prevent the possibility of spreading some disease, if there is any; Our ladies are protected, the same as our clients are; ours is a very discreet and careful enterprise"