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Ever since I was sixteen I had known I was adopted, my adopting parents believing that it was better they told me so that, should I in later life learn of my adoption, I wouldn’t think they had deceived me. I was told that it was impossible for my adopting mother to get pregnant and so they had gone the way of adoption.
I’ve heard it said that many children, on being told they were adopted, become very distressed, but perhaps I have a more pragmatic view of things. Mum and dad had always been mum and dad as far as I was concerned and very loving parents. I had been given the best education available, and that had led to my being admitted to the medical school. If my father was a little disappointed that I didn’t follow his footsteps into the legal professional he never said so.
Unlike many children on being told they are adopted I had no burning desire to know who my birthmother was, and even less who my real father was, and in any case my parents didn’t know who she or he were. That information was apparently locked away in some bureaucratic file where I was content to let it remain.
It might have remained a secret but for an unfortunate event. Three years after being told that I was adopted my father developed a serious bronchial ailment which, after treatment, got no better. He was advised to seek a warmer climate.
This led to mum and dad deciding they would move north to Queensland. The only problem as they saw it was me. I was part way into my medical course and it was felt that it was not wise for me to move on at that stage. The upshot was I would go to live with Aunt Jude.
I wasn’t too happy about parting from my parents, but living with Jude was fine. She was my mother’s youngest sister by about twelve years, and as my father said, “A free spirit.” She had never married and always seemed to have a lover in tow. This didn’t bother me, or mum and dad, since we took the view that how Jude lived her sex life was her business, not ours.
And so I moved in with Jude, and much to my relief she took the same attitude to my sex life that I took to hers; if a wanted to have a girl stay the night with me that was okay.
As for Jude, well, my father was right, she was a free spirit. Usually she had a lover stay overnight two or three times a week.
* * * * * * * *
It was about four weeks after I moved in with Jude when one evening we got around to talking casually about my adoption and how I felt about it. I told her it didn’t really bother me, but I sensed that Jude was edging towards something. My feeling was right because out of the blue she asked, “Have you ever felt you’d like to meet your birthmother?”
I laughed and said that from what I’d heard the bureaucratic administrivia you had to go through to learn who your birthmother is and all the arrangements you had to make if you wanted to meet her, hardly made it worthwhile.
Not expecting any startling answer I asked why she had asked the question. She hesitated and then said, “Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked it.”
That answer made me curious and so I said, “But you did ask it, do you know something?”
“No…no, forget I said anything.”
“Hey, you can’t drop it like that,” I protested, “You do know something.”
Jude sat silent and I said, “Look you’ve got me wondering, you can’t leave it there, so tell, I shan’t have hysterics.”
Jude heaved a sigh and said, “I know you’re birth mother.”
I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t that and it stunned me into silence for a few moments. Recovering I said, “You really know her?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know her, it’s supposed be a great secret?”
“She’s been my friend since we were at elementary school together.”
“She’s been…so how is it mum didn’t know?”
Jude shrugged, “Your mother is so much older than me; she never knew who I associated with.”
“So you’ve known all these years and never said a word?”
“What would be the point,” Jude said, “you seemed quite happy and never said anything about your birthmother, at least in my hearing, so why stir up something that didn’t need stirring.”
“So now you have stirred something up,” I said.
From being quite laid back about my birthmother I now became intrigued and asked a question that I suppose most adopted people ask, “Why did she give me up for adoption.”
“Are you sure you want to know?” Jude asked.
“Of course I’m sure,” I said with a vehemence that surprised even me.
“She was only fifteen…” Jude began.
“Fifteen!” I said, “my God she was still only a kid.”
“Yes, that was just the point. She went to a birthday party and met up with a guy in his twenties, it often happens you know, and…well she believed all his crap about undying love and…and then you came along and his undying love expired. She didn’t even know she was pregnant until it was too late for an abortion, and so it was adoption.”
“Great to know how much I was wanted,” I said sarcastically.
“You’ve no cause for complaint,” Jude snapped. “Just look at Eskişehir Escort how well you’ve done, you’ve been…”
I felt ashamed and butted in, “Sorry Jude…sorry…it was stupid remark.”
“Okay, so that’s the story more or less,” Jude said dismissively.
“Come on Jude,” I objected, “there’s got to be more.”
“Like what?”
I thought for a moment and then said, “What does she look like, is she married, has she got other kids, where does she live.”
“For someone who said he wasn’t concerned about his birthmother you seem to be taking a lively interest,” Jude said mockingly.
“Well you started it,” I retorted.
“All right,” Jude agreed, “I started it, so, to answer your questions in order. What does she look like? That’s hard to say…I mean people have different ideas about how…”
“How tall is she?” I cut in impatiently.
“Oh, about five feet six — she not got a bad figure in a…er…in full figured sort of way, if you know what I mean.”
“You mean she’s fat?”
“No, not at all, she’s…er…what’s the word?”
“Sonsy?” I supplied.
Yes….yes, that’s it, and she’s got quite a nice face but a bit severe…oh I don’t know, she was a nice looking girl and she’s quite an attractive woman now, and no, she isn’t married…never has been and there are no children.”
“Nice looking and she’s never married, is she gay?”
“I’ve never married,” Jude said reproachfully.
I thought that the conversation might end there because Jude would get in a huff over my faux pas but she went on, “She lives in the city…”
“You mean Adelaide?”
“Yes.”
I laughed and said, “Then I might have seen her without ever knowing she was my mother.”
“Possible,” Jude said. “She’s an eye specialist — quite an eminent one and…”
“You don’t mean Laura Drysdale by any chance?” I interrupted.
Jude looked startled. “How do you know?”
“Easy,” I replied rather truculently, “she was being interviewed on television a couple of week ago about some new eye treatment. She’s quite a looker for her age, really sexy.
“Greg, she’s only thirty six, the same age as me, and…and we’re talking about your birthmother and not some girl you’ve just picked up.”
Another near faux pas, so I hastened on; “Does she know you’re my aunt?”
“Of course she knows,” Jude said with that sort of patience that implies you’re an idiot. “She’s sort of kept in touch with you through me, and it’s not always been easy, especially lately.”
“Why lately?”
“Because she’s started to talk about you a lot; almost obsessively.”
The light suddenly shone. “Aha, so that’s why you’ve raised the subject.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been wondering if I’d be prepared to meet her.”
“Yes,” Jude said trying to sound offhand, “I suppose that has been on my mind, I mean, a lot of women who’ve given up a child for adoption do start to get…well, as I said, obsessive about the child, it seems to come back to haunt them, especially at Laura’s age.”
“So she’s neurotic about me?”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, but she does wonder. Would you be prepared to meet her?”
I laughed and said, “If it’ll stop her being obsessive I don’t mind.”
“So I go ahead and arrange a meeting here?”
“Yes, why not, but the thing is, I’ve occasionally watched those TV shows where they bring long lost people together. They slobber and weep all over each other; revolting; I want none of that. I often wonder how they feel after a few weeks and they’ve got to know each other. I’ll bet a lot of them wished they’d never met.”
“Damned cynical aren’t you,” Jude said acerbically, “Are you sure you want me to make the arrangement?”
Trying to sound as if I didn’t really care one way or the other, I said, “Yes…yes go ahead.” I must admit that Jude had got me really interested in meeting Laura Drysdale.
* * * * * * * *
Next day Jude told me that she’d arranged the meeting between me and Laura for the following Sunday afternoon. I thought of her as Laura Drysdale because I couldn’t bring myself to think of her as mother.
That Sunday afternoon was four days off and I admit that for a young man who thought he was cool about his birthmother, I found myself getting somewhat wound up about meeting her. Would she like me and would I like her; would we get on together; would our acquaintance extend beyond this meeting, and if so in what form?
One request I made of Jude was that for the time being mum and dad wouldn’t be told about this meeting, and she agreed it might not be a good idea if they did know at this stage — one more secret for her to keep.
Throughout Sunday morning I got really stirred up, and by arrival time I was actually trembling. The sound of the front door bell sounded like the clap of doom to me. This was it, but I wasn’t sure what “it” was.
I’d picture myself casually sitting in the living room as Laura entered, and rising to say a friendly but relaxed “Hello.” Eskişehir Escort Bayan It wasn’t like that at all. True I was sitting until that front doorbell rang, and then I leapt to my feet as if I’d been bitten on the bum by a viper.
Jude left the room, I heard her open the front door, there was some whispered conversation in the entrance hall and then she came back into the room followed by the women who must be my birthmother.
Jude looked a bit more than slightly embarrassed as she said, “Greg this is your…your…this is…er… Laura Drysdale; Laura, this is Gregory.”
Yes, it was the Laura Drysdale I had seen on television but perhaps not quite so attractive — they do a lot with makeup, lighting and camera angles on TV.
Laura came over to me, there was a moment of awkwardness as if neither of us knew what to say or do next, and then we shook hands and said “Hello.”
I looked into her face and saw her eyes fixed on me, dark eyes with an oriental upward slant at the corners, her nose short and slightly upturned and her plump lips and that hair, dense glossy jet black hair.
Jude had been quite right when she described Laura as full figured. Even the sober business trouser suit she was wearing could not hide her impressive bust and rounded hips. Her legs were concealed by her trousers but at least they looked long.
When she said “Hello” her voice was soft and low, and when she smiled uncertainly she looked positively appealing.
It was like the coming together of opposite poles of a magnet, or a jolt of electricity, and then the very things I had said I didn’t want and certainly had been determined not to experience myself happened. I was drowning in an irresistible flood of emotions; it was like those love at first sight experiences one reads about; the need for closeness for an intimacy.
Jude, who had been the author of this situation either from delicacy or cowardice said, “Well…I’d…I’d better…er…leave you two alone to get to know each other.”
“To get to know each other”! I felt as if I’d know this woman all my life, she had always been there as part of me — an unacknowledged part of me. Physically I was very different from Laura, and I assume that I look like my deserting father, and yet it was as if I was seeing myself in Laura.
That Laura was also experiencing profound emotions became quickly obvious. “Oh…oh…I told myself I wouldn’t,” she said, and I could see what she had told herself she wouldn’t do because tears were starting to run down her cheeks, and then I was crying.
We came together embracing and somehow I managed to ease us to the sofa where we sat down. We were clinging to each other weeping and then I smelt a heady aroma, not perfume, but something dimly remembered that I couldn’t identify, as if from a long ago past. It was then that I experienced something that was about the last thing I expected or wanted; an aching sensation in my testicles and my penis hardening.
The shock of sexual arousal was so great that I felt a sense of shame and guilt and knew that I should try to disentangle myself from our embrace, but I didn’t want to; I felt as if I could have held her forever.
Laura began to recover from her initial reaction to our meeting, and taking out her handkerchief wiped her eyes and blowing her nose said, “Oh dear…oh dear oh dear, I’ve made a fool of myself, haven’t I?”
“Me too I said,” starting to wipe away my own tears, and then trying to smile, “I don’t know what to call you.”
“I understand,” she replied, still sounding husky, “You’ve got a mother and…” She started to sob again and haltingly said, “You’d better call me Laura.”
That seemed to set off another a train of emotions as she sobbed, “I shouldn’t have done it…I shouldn’t have done it…”
“Met me?” I asked.
“No…no,” she wept, “I shouldn’t have let you go, I’ve always regretted it.”
I felt somewhat guilty that I couldn’t say that I’d regretted it too, at least, not until this meeting with her.
“I suppose you want to know why I gave you up for adoption?” she asked.
“It’s okay,” I replied, “Jude has told me the circumstances.”
Laura told me anyway, and it was as if she was making a confession that she had to get out of her system. She added something that Jude had not mentioned; “It’s as if half of me has been missing all these years.”
“Twenty years,” I added superfluously.
“Yes,” she said, “and you’re so like…like…”
I knew she intended to say “like your father,” but she didn’t seem able to say it, and simply added “him,” as if to say otherwise might defile the moment and only add to the emotions already in play.
Her head was resting against my shoulder and she reached up and started to stroke my cheek and I had an urgent the need to touch her skin and so I risked taking her hand in mine; is was small but it conveyed a feeling of strength.
“Do you think we shall like each other?” she asked.
I realised that her real question was, “Do Escort Eskişehir you like me?” because this was the question I was asking myself, “Does she like me?” It was a ridiculous question really because how could we tell if we liked each other after only a few minutes, but it somehow seemed imperative.
We seemed unable to physically disentangle ourselves, as if we were making up for the lost years. Laura started to ask me about how my life had been and about mum and dad, and I answered her as truthfully as I could. I got the impression that she knew a great deal about me via Jude, but she needed to hear it from me.
After a while the matter of the future arose; were we to keep in touch? My answer was a clear “Yes.” I know that I felt a desperate need to be with Laura, and I got the impression that she felt the same way. My problem was that I didn’t believe I could share the emotions I was feeling, not even with Laura; to my mind they were too prurient and unacceptable but I didn’t seem to be able to stop them.
We arranged to meet again, this time at her place, and the address she gave me indicted a very upmarket suburb.
Jude entered with an anxious look on her face.
“Well, how are you two getting along?” she asked.
“Great,” I said, and Laura echoed, “Wonderful.”
Jude looked relieved and laughing uneasily said, “I think you’ve been alone together long enough.”
I glanced at my watch and saw Laura and I had been together for more than two hours but it had seemed to be no more than half an hour.
Laura said she hadn’t realised how long we’d been talking and reluctantly said that she had to go. With Jude still with us we hugged. I wanted to kiss Laura on the lips but deciding to play it safe I kissed her on the forehead. She responded by kissing her hand and placing it on my cheek.
When she had gone Jude asked, “Well, did I do the right thing?”
“You did very right,” I replied.
* * * * * * * *
It was another two days before I was to see Laura again for an evening meeting, but it seemed like an eternity. I wanted to be near her, to touch her, to hear her voice and to smell that allusive fragrance that I couldn’t quite identify. To my surprise she rang me the day after our Sunday meeting. My first thought on hearing her voice was that she was ringing to tell me our next meeting was cancelled, but not so.
“I was just wondering what sort of day you’ve had?” she asked, rather like a mother might ask a son, but what followed was not so son and mother-like. It was more like lovers who sought any reason not to end the conversation and if the talk flagged we found any topic we could to keep going.
When we finally ended the call I felt as if I was in love. I’d thought myself to be in love several times before, but nothing like this, nothing so intense. I told myself it was crazy; here was a woman who for twenty years had meant nothing to me and after one meeting I was desperate to be with her.
I tried to stir up negative thoughts about her: “She deserted you, she gave you up for adoption, she didn’t want you, she hadn’t bothered for more than twenty years to try and contact you,” but it didn’t work.
The most disturbing aspect was my sexual response to her and I told myself that this sort of emotional response was because we had been separated for so long and it would soon pass, but I wasn’t convinced. The mere thought of Laura had me sexually aroused, and as I was now thinking of her most of the time I was constantly horny. She was an attractive woman, but I had known attractive women before – women more physically attractive than Laura if looked at objectively, and they had not aroused me with the same intensity as Laura. So what was it that gave rise to such strong emotions in me?
I wondered how Laura would feel if she knew how I was responding to her; would she be disgusted and end the relationship that had barely begun? I decided that I must conceal those feelings at all cost because not seeing Laura again was unthinkable.
The evening I spent with Laura was one of the most beautiful and frustrating I’d ever known. She showed me over her house which was, as I’d anticipated, elegantly furnished. She had cooked an excellent meal and had a fine taste in wines. Relaxed we sat together on the divan in her living room, and without even thinking about it we held each other close.
Quietly she started to tell me about her life as I listened intently; I wanted to know everything about her that I could. After that she questioned me, wanting to know every little detail about me.
Other meetings with Laura followed and we would have made it every day if it had been possible, however brief the meeting. When we couldn’t meet we talked on the telephone. It seemed that we couldn’t leave each other alone we had become so wrapped in each other. It was worse than when I had been in pursuit of a girl I fancied. I simply knew I wanted to be with Laura; I belonged with her and I had never experienced this desire before, not even with the one I still called “Mother.”
I was not really confused about what I wanted, that was all too clear, but it was what I wanted that troubled me, but to try and persuade Laura into letting me make love with her seemed to be out of the question, it would be incest, and even if I could cope with the taboo, could Laura?
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