Martin’s Journal Pt. 02

As I write these words, so many years afterwards, I can still picture those events as if they had only happened yesterday. Even so, they strain credibility. Did they really happen, or did I just imagine the whole thing? Surely my imagination cannot be that vivid.

Through a two-way mirror, that my father installed in their bedroom wall, I had watched my parents have sex. They had known I was there … and had let me watch them. Unknown to me, they had also opened the two-way mirror on their side and watched me masturbate while I watched them. My head reeled as the implications hit home.

‘So, you’re not angry with me?’ The question sounded so lame.

My father handed me a gin and tonic. It was strong, thankfully.

‘No.’ He joined my mother on the sofa in the lounge room, and pointed me to an armchair. ‘Sit down, Martin. No, we’re not angry. Disappointed, though, that you felt the need to snoop around our house. That was an uncalled-for invasion of our privacy.’ He shook his head and took a swig at his gin. ‘But once we knew you’d found the mirror, very careless of you not to shut it properly by the way, what should we have done? Told you what it was for? We’d still have to have this conversation.’

I glanced at my mother. She met my eye and smiled. How could the two of them sit there so calmly, while my insides were churning like a cement mixer? I felt as if I was standing on the edge of quicksand. One false move and I’d be sucked under.

‘I don’t … understand,’ I said. ‘If you knew …, why did you let me watch?’

‘To see if you would.’ My father’s laugh was even more disconcerting. ‘You might have decided not to. That would have been the right thing to do. The mirror was none of your business, even if you did work out what it did. But you couldn’t resist the temptation.’ He paused to take another sip. His eyes narrowed and I felt the power his gaze. ‘Tell us, son. Be honest. Did you like what you saw?’

I blushed scarlet and my cheeks burned.

‘Cat got your tongue, all of a sudden?’ asked my mother. ‘Have you watched a couple have sex before?’

‘Yes. In a club in Panama.’

‘And did you enjoy that?’ she asked.

‘Erm, I was with a group, and we were drunk.’

‘That’s not what I asked. Did you enjoy watching them?’

‘Yes.’ Up until the previous day, it had been the most exciting thing I’d ever seen.

‘And did it turn you on? Did it make you hard?’

‘Mum!’ I hung my head and cradled it in my palms.

‘What are you ashamed of?’ asked my mother.

‘This! Everything! Being asked these questions.’ I felt I was going to be sick.

She laughed softly. ‘You’re ashamed because you’ve been found out. But you weren’t ashamed when you watched me have sex, and when I saw you ejaculate. Because you thought we couldn’t see you. But we did, and it looked like you were enjoying yourself to me.’ She sighed. ‘Look at me, son.’

I raised my head. Despite the interrogative edge to her questions, she was still smiling.

‘You enjoyed it. You watched a couple have sex and you enjoyed it. Admit it.’

I nodded.

‘That wasn’t so hard, was it. And I’m guessing you’re not a virgin. You’ve had sex?’

‘Yes.’

‘With a girl?’

‘Mum!’

‘What? Girl or boy, or both, it doesn’t matter to me, or your father. Look, I can well imagine what sailors get up to when they go ashore in all those exotic ports. What I want to know is, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of, even if it is your mother asking, have you had a woman give you a hand a job?’

Why had I ever gone snooping in their bedroom? Why hadn’t I just stayed in bed and enjoyed a quick wank while fantasizing. And how come my mother wasn’t showing the slightest embarrassment in asking such personal questions, and in such a frank manner? My father seemed equally at ease. I took a deep breath.

‘Yes, Mum.’

‘And you didn’t die of embarrassment when you ejaculated?’

‘No. Mum.’

‘So why are you so embarrassed about it now.’

‘Because it was you and Dad that saw me.’

‘Okay. But do we look embarrassed that you watched us? As I recall, I climaxed at least twice, and your father once, while you were watching that is. We’re not ashamed of it.’

I still couldn’t get my head around what I was hearing. They had known I had found out about the mirror. They had continued to have sex when they saw me watching through it, and they weren’t ashamed of, or embarrassed by, it. In fact, from the smug smiles on their faces, it seemed I was the only one with the problem.

My father’s grin widened as he saw me wrestle with the implications.

‘Let me spell it out for you son. Your mother and I are disappointed that you went snooping, but we’re not worried about your having seen us having sex. You enjoyed watching us. Where’s the harm?’

‘But isn’t it wrong?’

‘There’s nothing wrong if all parties consented and enjoyed it. We didn’t mind you watching us, and we enjoyed seeing you climax. Okay, you didn’t know we were Didim Escort watching you. But come on, would you have stopped if you had?’

I thought for a moment. None of it seemed so terrible, hearing my parents talk about sex so calmly. They weren’t worried about what had happened, so why should I be? And he was right, I wouldn’t have stopped if I had known they were watching. The idea was suddenly very arousing, and I felt my cock stir. But was he also right that there was no harm in what we had done?

‘No, I suppose not. But … watching your parents have sex …?’

“Unusual, perhaps, but it’s not illegal.’ My father rose from his chair. ‘How’s that gee and tee. Ready for a refill?’

My mother also stood up. ‘I need to fix dinner. I’ll call when it’s ready.’

The two of them disappeared into the kitchen. I levered myself out of my chair and opened the French door leading to the patio. It was still daylight; the mid-summer sun would not set until after 9pm. It was also very warm; the country being still gripped by unusually hot, dry weather. I pulled the packet of Rothmans out of my pocket, lit one and paced up and down the patio trying to make sense of the situation.

Not only were my parents not angry that I had watched them have sex, but my father had also said that they didn’t mind me watching them. The only point of a two-way mirror was to watch what was happening on the other side, without being seen. My father had installed one in their bedroom. To allow people to watch them? Which people? Why?

‘A new pence for your thoughts, son.’

My father handed me a fresh gin and tonic and accepted a cigarette in return.

‘I’m confused, Dad. I just … don’t understand.’

‘What don’t you understand. I thought it was pretty clear.’

‘About the mirror. Is it really for …?’

‘People to watch your mother and me have sex … apart from you.’ He chuckled, took a deep drag of the cigarette and blew smoke rings into the still evening air. ‘You’d better sit down.’ He placed a hand on my shoulder, and I joined him on the wooden bench. ‘We’re agreed that it can be exciting watching a couple have sex. You admitted that, right?’

I nodded.

‘So, what if I told you that some people get just as much pleasure from being watched, as they do from watching. Had you considered that?’

‘I thought the women in the clubs did it because they got paid.’

‘Your mother doesn’t get paid … but she enjoys it. And so do I.’

‘So, the mirror is there so that–‘

My father raised a hand. ‘Shut up and listen for minute. Sex is about a whole lot more than just the birds and the bees. Your mother and I discovered years ago that a weekly bout in the missionary position was not going to cut it for us. It’s a long story, but the upshot is, yes, I installed that mirror in the wall. We sometimes like to be watched while we have sex. There’s a name for people like us, exhibitionists. And I like to watch your mother through it, having sex with other people. That makes me a voyeur, amongst other things.’

‘Jesus! Dad?’ I took a large gulp of my drink to steady my nerves. ‘You like to watch Mum fuck … other men? Christ!’

‘There’s no need for blasphemy, Martin. Look, I know it’s shocking and there’s a lot to take in but, yes, I like to watch her have sex and she likes me to watch. But that doesn’t make us bad people. The wowsers might preach that we’re irredeemably immoral and destinated for damnation and hellfire, but we don’t give a toss for their opinion. And neither do the many people like us. Surely, you must have read about similar things in the News of the Screws?’

I had. The News of the World, to give it its correct title, was a Sunday broadsheet full of titillating stories about suburban love triangles and the sex lives of the rich and famous. It had never entered my head that my parents’ own sex life could just as easily feature in its pages.

‘Er, yes. And in Penthouse Forum, but I always took the stories with a large pinch of salt.’

My father chuckled. ‘Believe me, your mother and I have seen and done things most of their readers wouldn’t believe.’ He took another drag of his cigarette and crushed the butt against the patio’s stone wall.

‘Anyway, now you know the truth about us. Martin. Well, some of it anyway. The question is, what do we do now? Your coming home like this was a bit of a dilemma for your mother and me. We wanted to enjoy some time with you, obviously, but we knew it would be hard to keep our sex life a secret. We’d no intention of turning celibate just because you were here. The question we wrestled with was how to tell you, and when. Your discovering the mirror, resolved that question for us. If you hadn’t decided to watch us through it …’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘But you did and that gave us the opportunity to get things out in the open. We might not have shown it, but it was almost as difficult for us to have this conversation as it was for you. But there it Didim Escort Bayan is, we’ve laid our cards on the table. So, what do you want to do? If you want to find digs of your own, we’d quite understand. I’ll help you if that’s what you want. Or you can stay here until you pass your exam and go back to sea. It’s your choice, but, and it’s a bloody big but, if you do decide to stay, we’re not going to change our behaviour, you’re likely to see and hear things that … well all we ask is that you’re discreet. What happens here … stays here.’

He drained the last of his gin and tonic and stood up. ‘You don’t have to decide immediately. Think about. Right! Let’s go and see if your mother needs any help with dinner.’

That dinner was one of the strangest of my life. I’ve eaten countless dinners since and forgotten most of them. But I can remember every detail of that one, right down to the taste of the grilled fish and the hollandaise sauce. We sat around the table exchanging polite pleasantries, acting as if nothing had happened. Nothing? Nothing apart from the shared knowledge that my father liked to watch my mother have sex with other people. It was totally bewildering, but also very exciting.

Nothing further was said during the meal and, when I announced my intention to go to my room, my parents calmly wished me good night. I shut the door, lay on the bed and reached for a book. I must have read the same page of ‘Anna Karenina’ five times, before I realised it was hopeless. Down the hall, my parents were getting ready for bed. Would they make love again? Were they expecting me to be on the other side of the mirror. If they enjoyed being watched, why shouldn’t I watch them again? It was crazy. They were crazy. Parents didn’t behave like this in front of their offspring, did they?

I stayed in my room. Whether or not any of it made sense to my overexcited brain, it all made perfect sense to my penis. I unbuttoned my jeans and unzipped my fly. My cock sprang out, stiffer than I had ever seen or felt it. I wrapped my palm around it, delighting in its girth and hardness and the anticipation of making myself come.

Masturbation was normally something I performed in the darkness, under the bed covers with ears pricked to avoid accidental discovery. Not anymore. I stripped off the rest of my clothes, left the light on, pulled down the covers and lay back on the crisp white sheet. My mother had watched me masturbate, and apparently enjoyed it. So what need was there to hide. I gently stroked myself, imaging the door opening and my mother smiling at me as I went to work with my fingers.

Of course, I had fantasized about her before while masturbating, every young man does; conjuring up lurid images of what he imagines she looks like naked. I didn’t need to imagine. I had seen her and watched her climax. The images replayed in my head; the most erotic porn movie I had ever seen. I tried to make it last, stroking my glans with the lightest touches of my fingertips while raking my nails over my tightened scrotum. Pre-cum oozed and trickled down my shaft. My breathing was ragged, and I opened my mouth to allow the escape of unsuppressed moans. If they heard me, so much the better.

Fighting the mounting craving for release; the effort bathing me in a sheen of arousal sweat, I built myself up to the climax as slowly as I could. By the time I allowed myself to come, my body was screaming with desire, all feeling centred in the head of my cock. As I tipped over the edge, there was the overwhelming, glorious rush from deep in my loins, a groan burst from my lips and warm jets of sperm splattered my belly.

I relaxed as the euphoria subsided. Normally, I made an effort to clean up the mess. This was no mess. I was proud of my ejaculation. I traced my fingertips through the drops of sperm on my belly and chest, massaging it into the skin. For the first time, I was free of the worry that someone would find out that I had indulged in the sin of Onan. There was no sin. No guilt. No fear of discovery. Only self-pleasure. Already my cock was stiffening again. I smiled broadly and stroked myself with my fingers. I could make the next one last even longer.

The following day was a Friday, and at college the principal topic was ship stability. With visions of my naked, climaxing mother still whirling around in my head, it was hard to concentrate on the differences between KG, KB, GM and GZ. At lunch, I ate a sandwich sitting on a bench in Trinity Square Gardens beside the Merchant Navy Memorial. The continued heatwave had brought the women out of their offices to sunbathe on the grass, stripped to their underwear. My concentration was further distracted by a fellow student who had recently married his childhood sweetheart. He was boasting about the nude photographs he’d taken of her on their honeymoon. I was tempted to tell him about what I had seen but recalled my father’s warning and kept my mouth shut.

Lectures finished early that day and Escort Didim I returned home in a much more relaxed state of mind, to find my mother bringing in the washing.

I helped her fold the sheets and we then sat down to a cup of tea.

‘Nice day at the college, dear?’ she asked.

‘Lectures were a bit of a struggle, It’s a long time since I sat in a classroom. Lunch was interesting, though. Lots of girls sunbathing in the park in their underwear.’

‘Well, they can’t blame you for looking.’

Was that a wink? I grinned back. ‘How was your day, Mum?’

‘Oh, just the usual. Clearing up the mess you men make, changing the beds, doing the washing and ironing. This is the first sit down I’ve had.’ A sly smile crept across her face. ‘It has its compensations though. It’s nice to think I might have been the subject of your fantasies while you masturbated.’

‘Mum!’ I felt my face redden.

‘My you do blush so charmingly. And don’t look so surprised. I can tell semen-stained bedsheets when I see them. You obviously had a lot of fun between yours.’ Her laugh had a wicked edge to it. ‘Ours were no better, mind you.’ She reached across the table and patted my hand, the contact raising the hairs on the back of my arm. ‘You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about, son. All men masturbate and all mothers know their sons do it. The women who did the laundry at your boarding school would have seen everything. The probably kept a tally of which dormitory was the most prolific.’ She looked me in the eye. ‘Honestly, Martin, there’s no harm in it and no need to feel ashamed. Women masturbate too, and we all have fantasies that we use to help us get off. I don’t mind if yours’ include imagining your old saggy, baggy mother. It’s rather a compliment actually.’

‘You’re not old mum, and you’re not saggy. I think you look terrific, as good as any one of those girls down the park.’

‘Flattery might get you somewhere,’ she replied, chuckling. ‘Anyway, there’s clean sheets on your bed, and I’ve left you a present. Something to help you while away those long, lonely hours. Why don’t you go and have a look.’

I went up to my bedroom to check. When I returned, my face was as scarlet as the flimsy pair of red, lace trimmed panties that had been laid on my pillow.

‘Don’t you like them? Would you like a different colour?’

‘Come on, Mum! It’s not that. I can’t masturbate into your panties. Shit! We shouldn’t even be having this conversation.’

‘I’m sorry? Apparently, it’s okay for you to ejaculate fantasizing about me, but not onto my panties.’ My mother’s laugh was unnerving. ‘Stop being so hung up about these things. You need to lose some of those Anglo-Saxon, puritanical inhibitions. I’m telling you that it’s okay for you to masturbate and I don’t mind you including me in your fantasies.’ Her eyes twinkled with mischief. ‘I’ll make you a deal. You masturbate into them tonight, and I’ll wear them tomorrow. Think of that, your mother shopping at Sainsburys wearing panties stained with your cum.’

Her laughter was infectious. ‘Honestly, Mum. You talk dirtier than any seaman I’ve ever met.’

‘Listen, son, I learned a long time ago that life is too short to be burdened with religious or moralistic concepts of guilt. How sad it would be to go to your grave wondering about all the opportunities you missed, because you were too scared or embarrassed to ask. You won’t always get what you ask for, you might even get a few face slaps along the way. But if you’re polite, non-threatening, amiable and above all clean and presentable, you be surprised how many yesses you’ll get. How’s that for a mother’s wisdom. You just need to practice your lines.’

‘And have someone to practice them on.’

‘Go on! Good looking young man like you, shouldn’t have any trouble pulling a bird.’

Five years in a boys’ boarding school, followed by a further five years in the semi-monastic environment of a cargo ship, had hardly been conducive to gaining confidence interacting with the female sex. Most of my encounters with woman had involved payment. Those that hadn’t had been rapidly exchanged passions under the influence of drink or marijuana. Not exactly an enviable track record. So, no. I could hand, reef and steer, splice rope and wire, and work out a Marcq St Hilaire sight reduction, but pulling birds, as my mother had so cutely put it, was not among my seamanship skills.

She correctly interpreted my silence. ‘Well, we’ve got the next few months to put that right.’

‘We?’

‘You can practice your techniques on me. You can ask me anything. I can’t guarantee I’ll always give you the answer you want.’

What did she mean by that. Ask her anything? Was she serious, or just teasing me? Don’t be afraid to ask, she had said. A week ago, I would have thought the idea of asking such a question was lunacy. Now? I reached for my teacup, trying to appear casual, and took a sip.

‘Would you let me watch you again?’

The corners of her lips curled up into smile. ‘Whoa, you’re a quick learner. Just like your father. You’ll have to ask him, though. He makes all the decisions on matters like that.’

My mind raced. She hadn’t said no, but would I have the courage to ask my father such an impertinent question.