Madam’s crazy notebook

This is a new story called “Madam’s crazy notebook” let’s begin….

It had been nearly two years since I’d left, going straight into the service out of high school. It felt good to be home again, though it was still going to feel different even then.

For one, dad had died the year I had graduated. That alone had made my leaving all the harder on mom, but she at least had a sister she was very close to, who had seen her through much of that difficult time. Though she lived an hour away from where we did, mom never failed to at least travel to see her once a month, sometimes spending the entire weekend with my Aunt Maria and my cousin Mia.

The fact they had named me George wasn’t by accident, though at the time it didn’t really dawn on me that my mom and dad had thought it funny to name me George, after my aunt and uncle had decided to name my cousin Mia. It was only later that Mia and I realized they had done so on purpose, seeing as we were born during the same year, and only a couple of months apart.

Still, even then I looked forward to our monthly visits, which most of the time was only mom and I making the trip up to visit with them. It was something I remembered fondly doing while growing up, and had always looked forward to it whenever we went. My cousin Mia, also an only child, though I never knew the reasons why the two of us were, only that’s the way it happened to turn out. Because of that perhaps,

neither one of us having siblings, Mia and I had grown especially close as kids, more like brother and sister as opposed to just being cousins.

Now home from the service, I hadn’t yet begun looking for a job. I’d decided to spend a couple of weeks just getting used to civilian life again, along with helping mom out around the house, getting things back into shape again for her before looking for work. Something I was in the process of doing now.

Unbelievably, mom hadn’t gotten around to boxing up most of dad’s things. Much of which, I would be taking down to the donation center after going through them, keeping some stuff to actually use or wear myself. Other things, going up into the attic for storage until such time as mom decided what she actually wanted to do with them.

Away at work herself, I had gotten an early start, wanting to dispose of as much as I could as quickly as I could before she returned home. I knew it would be a lot easier on her if things weren’t still lying around when she got home. Hard enough how different it would appear when they were gone, harder still to see them sitting there in preparation of being given away or even stored.

I’d been at it pretty much all day long, just then taking the last few stored boxes up to the attic. Needing to make a bit of room and keep things orderly and neat, as there was no telling how long things would be up here, I decided to combine those boxes with a few others that were sitting there.

Most of those I noticed were some of the moms, things she’d kept for whatever reason. Mostly old photograph books and memorabilia from the years that she and dad had spent together. I had taken a small break to look through a few of them, which is when I came across a couple of old worn leather strapped books.

I immediately recognized them for what they were, diaries. The little locks on them had been broken a long time ago as I picked one of three up out of the box, curious about it, but hardly expecting anything electrifying or major in reading any of the passages. Mom had been writing in diaries for years, and as mundane as her life seemed to be, I hardly expected to read anything more other than a few private thoughts perhaps, or how she had spent the day working out in her garden.

Boy was I in for a big surprise.

I noticed the one I was holding was dated 1975. I smiled thinking back how I could have only been around thirteen or fourteen years of age at the time. The first few entries in fact were indeed pretty mundane, just as I’d suspected, with little being said except for what significant occurrences mom felt had happened that particular day.

I was just about to put the diary back when one entry caught my eye. It was dated on a Saturday, one I was particularly familiar with as it was also my Aunt’s birthday, and I clearly recalled the day we had taken up the bus to visit with her on that particular weekend. I continued reading, remembering back, and then things got really interesting.


Though we had been planning on going up there for my Aunts birthday anyway, there soon was a second reason for mom’s going and needed to be there. I didn’t know it then, and wouldn’t for a time afterwards, but Aunt Maria and my Uncle Stephen were getting a divorce. She had discovered he’d been having a long-term affair with his secretary just two days before her birthday.

She and mom had been on the phone together for hours, though she had locked herself inside her bedroom. I knew something was going on because she had, but beyond that, I knew very little else.

All that I remembered as mom once again briefly mentioned their conversation in her diary. But then I read:

“I knew you needed me emotionally, and physically just as much as I needed you. It had been so long since the two of us had been together, not since before our weddings anyway, and I missed that. After we had gotten the kids down to sleep, I remember coming into your room, you…naked lying there on the bed waiting for me. You looked so vulnerable. I knew you were hurting inside, and yet,

I saw the desire in your eyes as well, hopeful that by your being there like that I would come to you in the way that I most certainly did. For me, it was as though we had gone back in time, back to those days when we used to share a bed together and began to experiment. I knew then, I never wanted to stop sharing the intimacy we once had.”

To put it mildly, I was shocked. I had to reread the passage twice in order to ensure I hadn’t misread it. I kept thinking the intimacy she spoke of wasn’t sexual, but as much as my mind tried to interpret it any other way, I just couldn’t. Especially when I read on after that.

Mom wrote of their encounters together, things they did after that, the time they spent. And it wasn’t in general details either, but very explicit in nature, the way she described my Aunt’s naked body, how she looked, felt, smelled and tasted as the two of them played together.

I sat back trying to digest all of this. Words mom had actually used, written down in her book, were words I had never heard her utter before. “Sucking her… your clit,” words like “fuck” which again I’d never heard her use, and yet in her diary, she used them repeatedly, though the tone of their use was indeed far more erotic, needful than ever being used in a derogatory way. At first I sat there confused.

Learning something about your own mother that’s completely out in left field left me wondering if there was indeed a side of her that I didn’t know, would never come to understand. On the other hand, it made her even more real to me, more human for some reason, and in a very big way, even more vulnerable herself.

It took me a while to wrap my mind around all this, but when I did I found myself smiling at the thought. After all, who was I to judge my own mother when I’d been harboring my own dark secrets. Curious, once again looking back, I rummaged through another box discovering even more diaries, looking for one in particular. It was the year I had gone into the service,

remembering another weekend when I had actually driven mom up to see her sister, and where I of course had gone in order to say good-bye to everyone as I would be leaving the following week. I had gone with the expectation of spending some time with Mia, a continuation hopefully of something we’d almost done, but had suddenly gotten guilty feelings about prior to anything actually happening the last time we had visited. As I rummaged through the box, my mind went back to that particular date in time.

As we always did, we arrived very early that morning just in time for breakfast. By now, as we’d been so comfortable doing whenever we did come for our visits, my Aunt Maria was still wearing her night shift beneath the thin robe she had on. It wasn’t at all unusual for her to do so until after breakfast was finished before she usually got dressed for the day. I took those moments to secretly look at her,

Ma’am’s crazy notebooks will continue on the next page

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