My mom is a very good mom. Caring. Devoted. But, my mom is also a very bad mom. Overly caring. Overly devoted. Case in point; the time she heard about my active, and what I believe to be healthy, sex-life, but my mom believed to be a blooming sex addiction, which she blamed solely on my girlfriend at the time. Shortly after, my mom started nagging me to come back home for a visit, stressing how lonely she was since, well, basically everyone left her, including my dad some years back. So, feeling a little guilty, I acquiesced, and came back for a short visit.
As far as visits go, things were going as normal, and as boring, as ever. However, when I was ready to crash, and headed upstairs, my mom offered me her bed. Admittedly, it was quite an odd offer, but ultimately, I think out of sheer politeness, I accepted.
When I woke up the next morning, well, I couldn’t move. Literally. Well, most of me couldn’t move.
-Oh, did I happen to mention my mom was an anesthesiologist, a good one at that, specializing in localized anesthesia, able to numb basically any part of the body, while not numbing any other part of the body. What I’m trying to say is, well, I was screwed - excuse my language.
I’m not sure exactly what possessed my mom to do it. I guess, at least the way my mom saw it, if she couldn’t convince me to turn my life around, well, she was gonna have to turn it around for me, by, basically, removing me from it.
That’s all wonderful and good - not really, but now that she had me, and I mean had me, as I was completely and utterly incapacitated, and wholly at my mom’s mercy, after the initial panic dissipated, my one single and solitary question was what the holy hell - excuse my language, was my mom going to do to me?