A Watch & A Clothespin
When I lay claim that my mother robbed me of innocence and trust I reflect on a simple story involving a watch and a clothespin.
When I was three years old as a form of punishment my mother put a clothespin on my penis for a minute, making sure through use of a watch that a full minute would pass before removal. No matter how much I screamed in the pain my mother was inflicting upon me, or tried to remove the clip myself, my mother would not subside or oblige to my pleas of mercy.
It began when I started a habit of running up to my dad and hitting him in the crotch to watch him react and it would make me laugh. I did this a few times until maybe the fourth my mother told me that if I did it again she would impart the aforementioned punishment upon me. I being three years old forgot, and one evening when I saw my father in the living room I ran up and punched him and ran away. He told my mother and she decided that it was time to inflict punishment.
The rational thing to do would be to sit me down and talk me through the reason for my behavior and explain what pain is and not to hurt others. Instead I got a clothespin on my penis. The final time I hit my father it was a Friday night, my mother purposefully waited until the next day, Saturday morning, because that's when my father would be at work, my brother spending the night at a friend's house, and I don't know where my six-year-old sister was, not inside the house or she would have been subjected to the act.
So Saturday morning my mother gathered the necessary materials. A towel for me to sit on, a watch to make sure a full minute down to the second had passed, and a clothespin to inflict the torture. I'm not sure why exactly, but my mother decided the best setting was in the front room in view of everything, open windows, the front door, anyone could have walked in and seen what was happening, unfortunately no one ever did.
Regardless, my mother called me into the living room and she laid the towel in front of the couch and sat down with her back to the couch and the towel in front of her. She told me to pull down my shorts and sit down, and spread my legs. I being three I didn't know I could say no, and so I did as I was told. She then grabbed the clothespin in one hand and grabbed my penis in the other, opened the clothespin and proceeded to let it close and stay compressed on my penis. I screamed in pain, I tried to take it off but she would swat my hand away. I begged and pleaded for it to stop but my mother's only response was "it hadn't been a full minute." She didn't look at me or acknowledge my pain or the reality of the act, she just kept her eyes on the watch making sure a full minute would go by before she would take the clothespin off. After a minute had passed she removed the clothespin and I sunk off to my room crying.
Later that day my mom took my sister and I to go pick my brother up from Ryan's house where he had spent the night. I think I was so used to thinking what happened to me was normal that I didn't really break down mentally after that, so rode in the car as if nothing happened but again I was only three years old. Once we got to Ryan's house my brother got in the car and as we made the first turn towards home my mom asked "Michael, do you want to tell your brother what happened to you?" I was in the back seat, he was in the middle and I told him "that you put a clothespin on my pp." I was fucking three years old, remember that. After she made me tell my brother what she did to me she took pride in her behavior and accomplishment. As in she relished that she could brag about ruining her child's life before it had even begun.