Incest Incest story treasure... from Internet

[usaiha2]

reconciling

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When I woke up, it took me some time to get my orientation.The first thing my eyes focused on was a note taped to the door. I sat up, thengot up and walked to the door. The note was in my mother's neat handwriting,and it said simply, "I have gone shopping. I'll be back to make youdinner. Love, Amma." My eyes blurred momentarily, and I pulled the notefrom the door, crumpling it in my hand. I was confused, worried, is she upset,has she gone off for good. I went inside her room and saw that her things werestill there.

I laughed at myself then, and felt a little better than Ihad all day. My spirits lifted slightly; thinking of my Amma without the sexualcomponent settled me down somewhat. I began to clean the house.

I was washing the dishes from breakfast when I heard thedoor open, and my mother call, "Can you help me, please?"

I dried my hands on a tissue and then walked to the door. My mother wasmaking her way in from the carrying several grocery bags. I quickly grabbedthem from her, and as I walked to the kitchen, she turned to get another thatwas still outside the door. I began putting the food away, seeing lots of vegetables,rice, curd, and fruit. Healthy food. My Amma walked into the kitchen carryingthe last bag, and I turned to look at her.

She was wearing a nice green bordered cream cotton saree,with a dark green blouse. Her hair was pulled up behind her, and her soft blackeyes looked directly at mine. She had strange look on her face, and I could seethe faint wrinkles at the corner of her mouth and eyes. I reached out and tookthe bag from her and without looking away, I placed it on the counter to myleft. Then I took the initiative.

"I'm sorry, Amma," I began. I stepped toward her."I feel like I've been ignoring, I mean trying to avoid-"

"Hey, it's okay," she interrupted. "Don'tworry about it. You've got enough to think about without me messing itup."

I couldn't let her take the responsibility for what we haddone. "But we, I mean I…"

"But nothing." She planted her hands on her hips."I said don't worry. What's done is done."

I froze, then - too late - reached out to her, but she wasalready turning away. I hissed under my breath with frustration, then unpackedthe last bag angrily. As I finished, Amma came back into the kitchen. I turnedto face her, determined not to miss my chance. I lifted my arms, and as shebrushed by me, I turned her to face me, my hands on her shoulders. I lookedstraight into her eyes, waited while she looked away, then looked back. Shelooked sad.

"I really am sorry, Amma," I said. My fingerstightened slightly on her shoulders, but she made no response. "Ishouldn't have done what I- what-" I trailed off. Her expression didn'tchange. I stepped forward and hugged her, but she was unresponsive, and barelyput her arms around me, then pushed me away after a second. "Amma?" Iasked.

"I want to cook dinner," she said quietly."I'm hungry."

I let go of her and walked out of the kitchen. The feelingsof rejection that were running through me were overwhelming. It wasn't eventhat I wanted my Amma sexually right now; I just wanted my Amma. What was goingon? Why couldn't I say what I wanted. Hell, what did I want? What did she want?The questions kept coming. Did she hate me for what had happened? Resent me?Did she want it to happen again, or for us never to speak of it? I feltfrustrated and alone, and the happiness which had briefly sustained me slowlyebbed away.



I sat at the computer and idly played a game. Eventually mymother called from the kitchen that dinner was ready, and I slowly got up, wentto wash my hands, and then made my way to the table. There was a seat set forone, rice and a dry vegetable dish, and nice Sambhar ( a veg curry) some buttermilk to drink, curd, and papad. As usual, heavenly food. I looked into thekitchen, and there was a used plate on the counter. My Amma had eaten beforecalling me, then left me to my meal.

I couldn't take it. I wasn't hungry. I went to the door ofthe bedroom, and knocked. There was no answer. I knocked again.

"I'm tired," came my mother's voice through thedoor. "I'm going to bed."

"I need to talk to you," I replied. "Amma!"There was no answer. I stood there for a minute, and seeing nothing wasforthcoming, I went back down the hall, and sat on the sofa. What washappening? My Amma was only here for a few more days, but I couldn't bear thethought of another day like this one, empty and alone. What could I do? Howcould I make this situation better? How could I fix it? Was it even possible,or were my mother and I destined to part on morose, empty terms, never to evenshare our original mother-son bond? I pulled off my t-shirt, balled it up, andthrew it at the door. The situation felt hopeless. I scrubbed my face with myhands furiously, as if I could wash away all the emotions that churned withinme.

I don't know how long I sat there, but eventually I heardthe door to the bedroom open, and then my mother's steps coming down the hall.I didn't bother to turn. There was a long pause when she entered the livingroom, so long that I began to wonder if I was imagining it. Just as I made upmy mind to turn and look, I heard my mother's clothing rustle as she began towalk again, and I felt her presence loom up behind me. I sat, silent, notknowing what to do.