“Mr. and Mrs. Matthews, the tests have come back. You’re pregnant.”
Groggy, having just woken up 10 minutes earlier, from fainting, after saying my ‘I do’s’ to Marc, I found myself in a hospital bed.
Not fully understanding the situation, I was looking around, IV in my arm, beeping sounds periodically displaying my heart rate, my nurse’s fingers pecking away on the keyboard next to my bed, I asked, semi consciously, “I’m…. I’m pregnant?”
My nurse, hearing my soft, hoarse voice, turned to me and confirmed the question I was asking. “Yes, Mrs. Matthews, all the tests we took when you arrived show no health issues other than you are now with child.” She continued, “the dizzy spells you encountered, according to your husband (she glanced at Curtis), are ominous signs of pregnancy. So being at the advanced age you’re at, in regards to child birth, means you’re going to have to be very, very careful as you move forward with this pregnancy.”
She then turned her attention to Curtis, “Mr. Matthews, I’m sorry your wedding had to end with you and your new wife in the emergency room, but we recommend keeping her here over night for observation. We are concerned with trauma to her vaginal area.”
Hearing this, and slowly starting to come out of my fog, I was going to correct the misconception that Curtis and I were married, until I looked at my left hand and saw it. The 2 karat ring, 4 hours old on my finger that Marc put on my hand.
The nurse resumed typing away on the computer and proceeded to leave a few minutes later.
After the door closed, I looked up at my son, caressing my hand. Giving him a tired, yet concerned smile, I asked, ” Where’s Marc? Why isn’t he here?”
“Just relax mom, you’ve have a traumatic few hours”, Curtis had responded, completely side stepping my question.
Not satisfied I perked up saying, “Honey, where’s my husband? Is there something wrong that youre not telling me?” Pressing the issue.
The monitor, next to my bed, sensing my tension and anxiety, started beeping a little more frequently. “Curtis, WHAT’S GOING ON!” As my hoarse voice started ramping up.
“He ain’t here mom, he ain’t gonna be here,” Curtis opined, with a clearly indifferent look on his face. “He knows, ok?,” Curtis continued.
As soon as he said ‘he knows’, my face went even more pale than it already was. “OMG! How!?,” I muttered, completely unaware of all that had happened after I fainted.
For 15 minutes Curtis explained how they both were görükle escort tending to me, there on the floor. How, when the ambulance and paramedics arrived, Marc, was trying to take complete control of the moment, completely ignoring Curtis. And when Curtis finally got mad, how he shoved my husband and a minor tussle occurred. When some people at the wedding broke them up, Curtis admitted, in a fit of rage to have been “fucking my mom all throughout your engagement.”
After he finished, I was silent. Softly, I was crying. What was suppose to be the happiest day of my life, suddenly became the worst.
After a few minutes, I looked at my son, the father of the baby I’m confirmed to be carrying, and in a firm, but calm voice I said, “Get Out!” pointing to the door.
Once he left, I broke down in tears, staring blankly at a ring, that was suppose to be the culmination of a journey between two people, that now, had absolutely no meaning whatsoever.
……………..
After being released from the hospital, I was angry, upset, and full of shame, knowing my dream of being married was now just a bitter memory. I tried phoning Marc, left messages, wanting to explain, but for obvious reasons, never bothered returning my calls.
Days passed, weeks passed. No response. I received a certified letter just alerting me the marriage certificate, was never signed, and that my marriage was not valid. Curtis, had tried getting me back in bed, which he succeeded at. But as he would pump me, I somehow managed to piss him off from my lack of passion. I would just lie there under him, hands on his shoulders, looking, blankly, at the wall to the left of our bed. Not showing the passion I had shown, prior to my wedding, virtually non existent now, the sex we had was just more of the “pump and dump” variety. I was nothing more than a receptacle, a release for his animalistic needs. Eventually, as time moved forward, I reluctantly accepted my new reality.
I was now 5 weeks along, and was sitting in the waiting room, silent holding Curtis’ arm. The nurse called my name and we went into to our examination room. Lying on the table, the technician began doing the ultrasound.
About 10 minutes into it, her face was contorting with a ‘hmm’ or ‘interesting’ breaking the, otherwise, silence of our examination room. Putting the stethoscope around her neck and. turning her attention to me and Curtis, she broke the ice saying, “Well I have some good news and some bursa eskort bad news,” she said, with a look not of worry, but of trying to bring a little light into the room.
“The good news”, she quipped, “The heartbeats are indeed very strong.” Hearing that I immediately cut off any continuance of what she was saying. “Heartbeats?” I queried, trying to understand the plurality of her statement. “Yes Mrs Matthews, HEARTBEATS, you’re carrying twins.”
Feeling the oxygen leave the room, I looked over at Curtis, a look on his face, of accomplishing the mission set out from the first time we were intimate, even with 3 other pregancy scares beforehand, I continued, sighing, “OMG, ok then, what is the bad news?”
Trying to lighten the obvious tension, now hovering in the air of the office, the technician smiled, saying, “You and your husband will need to figure out a sleep schedule with the twins.”
I had given up on correcting anyone who misconstrued our actual relationship, as the shame, judgment, and vitriol I was afraid to encounter, would have more likely unfolded.
Now graduated from high school, Curtis and I ended up putting the house up for sale. We had purchased a home two cities away, in hopes of a fresh start. Reluctantly accepting this new normal in my life, Curtis and I had a long discussion in bed one night, acknowledging the need to hide our true relationship. We decided it would be better to live as a couple, as I still had the ring on given to me by Marc.
……………
I tried returning the ring a week after the wedding, sending it to him certified mail, only to have it returned as “Not a valid address” Marc must have, himself, left the area. I assume, learning your new wife had been in an extremely torrid incestuous relationship with her own son, under his nose, cuckolded for 5 months, unaware of the lewd, vile, people they were, was too much for him to handle.
I learned, through a friend, who was one of the very few, that had not distanced themself from me, that Marc has indeed moved on, has a new girlfriend, but lives in a different state. Asking about his daughter, Wendy and son, Kyle, they still lived in the area with their respective families.
One evening, Curtis and I were out at a restaurant having a quiet dinner at an Italian place I found, when a commotion started to fester. “OMG! the incestuous bitch is here!”
Looking at the entrance to the restaurant, Wendy, a fire in her eyes, and like a whirling bursa escort dervish, stormed towards our table. “YOU FUCKING NASTY WHORE! MY FATHER LOVED YOU! I CONSIDERED YOU AS MY MOTHER!” Her husband, now standing in front of her, vainly, trying to pull her away, she continued, “YOU WERE FUCKING YOUR SON WHILE ENGAGED TO MY FATHER! HOW DARE YOU LEAD DADDY ON, YOU LEACHEROUS BITCH!”
Suddenly, all eyes in the restaurant were on my table and the scorned woman, screaming at the top of her lungs. “I’M NOW CONVINCED YOU FUCKED HIM THE MORNING OF THE WEDDING. I KNEW SOMETHING WAS WRONG WHEN I CAME TO YOUR HOUSE! THE ROOM SMELLED LIKE SEX!
After Pulling her away from our table, I put $100 on the table and we, shamefully, left.
As we were getting in the car, patrons were looking at us, and while waving her arms frantically, continuing her berating of us.
“THAT BITCH IS AN INCESTUOUS, VILE, NASTY WOMAN! AND THE GUY DRIVING THE CAR IS HER 18 YR OLD SON!!,” Pointing in our direction.
Finally speeding away, the shame I felt, I cried all the way home.
………….
After arriving home, I got out of the passenger side and slammed the door, hurrying inside. Curtis, hot on my heels, scoops me off my feet and starting climbing the stairs to our bedroom.
UNGH! UNGH! Ungh!! AHHHHHH AHHH!! THUMP! THUMP!! The bed slamming into the wall, the moans and grunts filling the air. “Curtis.. baby!! nooo!!.. unhh! unhh!! stop.. you’re…. hurting…. mama!!
The anger in my sons eyes, the now, pregnant mother of 16 weeks, pinned down under her sons weight, the bed literallly bouncing, lewdly off the hardwood floor, my dress torn, hanging off me, eyes rolling behind my head, every thrust, rattling my insides.
Just outside the window, the birds chirping, little children riding their bicycles, people mowing there yards. “unhh! Ungh! Ungh!!.. Curtis.. our…. babies!! I’m.. Sorry…. we’ll… get.. through…. this!! “Fuckin bitch!,” Curtis screamed, trying to destroy my cavernous hole.
After 35 excruciating minutes, he flooded my vaginal cavity, got off me, put his sweats on and left our bedroom.
…………
After that day our relationship was not mother and son anymore, nor was it incestuous. mother and willing son. Curtis became the final decision maker in our home. Luckily, our 2 boys, Curtis Jr. and Marlon, were healthy. They were born via C Section as they were declared too large for a natural birth, from my small body. We ended up having 3 more kids by the time I was 45.
Curtis ended up being shot to death at age 24, a week before the twins 6th birthday. Leaving me a 47 yr old, single, mother of twin 6 year olds, a 4 yr old, a 3 yr old and an 18 month old.
I never heard from Marc or his family, ever again.