Not Tattered But Torn
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Our Tattered LivesChapter 4 free porn video
My story
My name is Pierce Bridgeport. I am twenty six years old. This is the story of the tattered lives of my mother and me. And of what at the time seemed our final relationship.
I have been working as a deep sea welder on several oil platforms in the North Sea for an American company and only went to shore every fourth week. From the beginning my job has kept me away from the mainland for weeks at a time. I could usually expect to be home (a spacious apartment where I live alone, with the occasional feminine visit) one weekend each month or even every six weeks and sometimes I was able to stay, if things were easy at work, for a whole week
My eight hours shift at work let me with long periods of free time and after a couple of weeks I realized I could not be more than eight or ten hours a day loitering without doing something useful with my life, so when I returned from my first weekend ashore without a dollar to my name, I realized that not only should I make better use of my free time at sea, I also realized it made no sense to spend, in a few hours of drinking and womanizing, the money I earned with so much effort and danger.
So, very early in my work life I changed my way of life. and decided that to be ten or twelve hours a day playing cards, reading magazines or comics, sleeping, eating and looking forward to my new work shift was not good for my future, so I decided to tell the foreman that I would like an increase in my day workload, and I began to save my money spending as little as possible. As I still had much spare time I became interested in the movements of the stock market and learned how to invest my money.
Working in the off-shore oil industry, I thought that this was the best field in which to start investing my money; working within the industry I was connected to and in which I knew many people, from whom, from time to time, when they were in the mood, I could get some investment tips. So, my life was hard work, study, savings and little fun. I was twenty two and I promised myself to be rich at twenty five.
Of course in a so rough work environment I was the laughing stock of my fellow workers some of whom thought I was a "sissy", their words. I didn't go to town and got roaring drunk or go out with the women. I worked my shot, and afterwards, when I was resting in my cabin I was always reading technical stuff incomprehensible to most of them.
I never went to my parent's home again; I went to the ranch in Idaho to see my maternal grandparents and remember better times occasionally, and when I wanted to see my father I usually took a plane and went to see him at the University. We would spend the day together, and we talked about our lives and other things. My mother was never mentioned, though I saw the pain in his eyes, once I gave him my address and that of the company I work, and my lawyer's phone in case he, (not her), ever needed to contact me.
Beyond that I did not want my mother to be named in my presence, through her memory was my own living hell; I could not rip her from my mind, her memory was an obsession that never left me, and that made me reject other women, I could not have a normal romantic relationship, none of them was my mother, so my contact with them was reduced to the minimum and I looked for sex merely for my sanity (think Oedipus complex.)
I wish I had had the balls to tell her that I was in love with her. But I was young and couldn't. She was the reason I couldn't be with any other woman. Being with another woman after just existing in Mom's world would be akin to living in an efficiency apartment after having lived in a Hollywood mansion. I know, it's a bad analogy, but it's as close as I can get.
Beyond the fact that she is extremely beautiful, what I feel for her is much deeper. It goes beyond the sexual desire, goes beyond wanting to possess her, to own her body. What I want and need is to possess her soul, I think that she still loves me as a mother to her son, but my dream is that I need her to love me like a woman loves her man.
I'm in love with her and I need for her to love me too, because mother is the reason there is no longer a woman who satisfies me. When having sex, I settled for fucking like animals do, instinctively but without love. Today that is no longer enough.
Young girls my age didn't interest me as I found them superficial and immature, so when I need company I contact an escort service and ask for women of my mother's age.
I wasn't a virgin by any means, if by virgin you mean the person who has never had intercourse, but my practice in the fine art of sex was to say the least lacking in everything that makes sex joyful and enjoyable to your partner. I had bedded a few girls before going offshore and several prostitutes when I was far away from home. And my only proficiency in sex was my endurance; I could fuck for hours.
When I was twenty three years old my life was a mess. The only interest I had in life was my work, saving money, the control of my investments trying to make more money for an early retirement, as working for long periods of time under water had begun to affect my health. I had few mundane diversions and no permanent female companionship. I loved and respected my father very much, but I loved my mother with carnal desires and repressed sexual passion.
I was coming to the end of a, three year contract and one day when I was working on a particularly troublesome and dangerous something that was supposed to be impossible happened.I was at a depth of about one hundred feet when the accident occurred. I never knew what happened, if it was a mistake I made in my calculations, if the torch flame cut a supporting structure steel cable, or if it was some other reason. But the fact was the cable parted and swatted my head producing a deep wound from the top of the head down my face to my chin, breaking the oxygen mask and the breathing equipment.
I lost consciousness and the profuse amount of blood coming from the wound began to redden the water around me and shocked my coworkers who immediately called for help to get me out of the water I was flown to the nearest hospital when they saw the wound too severe for first aid aboard the rig
I barely remember the following days; I seem to remember as if I was in the middle of a thick fog, the pounding blades of a helicopter, voices screaming, and a flight of several hours with someone trying to keep my head still. It was a large building with brightly lit corridors, silence, and then nothing. I woke up with excruciating pain in my head and in blind darkness, when I tried to touch my face, a steady hand squeezed my hands and my father's voice was telling me everything was fine, to be careful and I was going to be fine. As in a dream I seemed to hear for the first time in years the voice of my mother, sobbing, weeping and calling me:
"Oh my baby, oh my love, oh my darling son"
Her voice was trailing into the distance as I lost consciousness again. As I awoke the darkness surrounded me, this time, a gentle feminine voice, that of a nurse, told me that I was not blind, I had my head completely bandaged as a result of the surgery to restore my face and close my wounds. I had over a hundred and fifty stitches. After several days they took away the bandages and slowly in a darkened room they uncovered my eyes.
When I saw my new face in the mirror I wanted to die. I was a perfect blend both my parents. I'm quite tall at six foot four and 220 pounds, with an agile, muscular body almost weightless in the water; I have dark blond hair, regular features with dark almond eyes set at both sides of a straight greek-type nose, my skin has a dark golden hue like a California surfer, a direct product of the sun, salt air and time.
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