A few days after March 21st, when Mother’s Day is celebrated in this part of the world, I lost her. That was ten years ago. I remember the last thing she told me very clearly, as if it happened only last night. She had spent the last few days of her life mostly unconscious. She would wake up, open her eyes briefly and repeat the same phrase over and over then pass out again. “Don’t let them take my ring away from me.” She was of course referring to her wedding band as she was worried that after she dies the golden ring will be removed from her finger as per religious tradition. She was an avid believer in the afterlife and keenly practiced her spiritual duties. Yet she was even more devoted to the love of her life, my father. Her last thought, her final worry, her ultimate wish on the face of this earth were to keep his ring with her forever. And we made sure she did. My farewell memory of her was of her feet. As soon as she passed away I knelt by them, I held them in my hands then I kissed them and cried for a long time.
Happy Mother’s Day to all of the breathtaking women out there and please cheer up. I’m not going to embark with you on an emotional story. I was merely introducing you to the first love of my life, my mom.
From word of mouth, I know that I was a naughty kid. My fascination with women came very early on in my life. When I was still in kindergarten and my mom had her morning guests for a Sebhieh (a morning get-together for women where they drink coffee and eat chocolates and sweets) I would sit in the middle of the room underneath the larger coffee table. I would scan the legs around me and locate the best looking pair and train my sight to get a glimpse of laced panties. How exciting it was, especially if one of the guests was skinnier than the norm for those days and pretty. I continued with this hobby of mine until I was too big a boy to be allowed to stay and listen to the women talking. But I didn’t have to worry much about it as by that time Lillian became my school teacher. We’re talking about the late sixties; the miniskirt was the revolutionary vogue of the time. Lillian had long and supple legs and she often wore very short skirts. She had great boobs as well and one of my favorite blouses was a tight one she wore and which seemed to be begging for mercy. Her hair brownish and permed, her eyes shaded with immaculate mascara and her large loop earrings contrasted beautifully against her sinuous neck, she was the reason behind my choice of sitting in the front row in class for the only time in my scholastic life. We sat in pairs on the wooden desks but sometimes, when my stars were perfectly aligned, the boy next to me would stay at home sick. Lillian would sit on my desk facing backward and I would be mere inches away from her sensuous body. She would occasionally catch me staring in awe at one particular schwerpunkt of her anatomy. She would flick my ear, look at me straight in the eye and order me to “stop what you’re doing right now.” She would then resume her teaching, the remains of a faint smile at the corners of her lustful lips. That’s how it all started and that’s how it still is. Well, of course, I don’t sneak looks beneath women skirts anymore… unless they were climbing a flight of stairs ahead of me and their legs happen to be remarkably graceful.
I will forever be in love with women. In fact it’s this love in me which makes me tense when I come face to face with the mindless men who believe that they have the right to hold the slightest control over them. But that is an entirely different subject, one which I plan to go into sometime in the near future. For now my only intention is to celebrate Mother’s Day in my own guileless way as an eternal picaro. Happy Mother’s Day to all! I will always love you.