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Nmom controlled clothes me and all

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Nmom controlled clothes me and all

Postby mymothersmike » Tue Oct 23, 2018 1:58 am

I hope this is in the right forum. It's my story of abuse that while no where near as bad as many and sort of incestuous in a way.

I had a narcissistic mother. Intense but not angry out of control. Doggedly persistent. Intensely controlling. Her main area of demanding was in controlling my clothes. This was in the 1970’s. I’m now 60 so a long time ago. Perhaps as part of my middle age I am doing too much reflecting back over my life. Anyway as you may know in the 1970’s boys and men wore pretty short shorts. Well my mom was anal about it. My shorts not only had to be short but tight. They had to be tight across my bottom. From as young as I can remember and right through my teen years she would get the advertising catalogues and look through them and then take me shopping to buy the exact outfits she had seen in the catalog. She would get me to try on shorts. She would choose smaller and smaller sizes until I could only just wiggle into them and then she would pat my bottom and make comment about how nice it looked. It’s not like any of my clothes were kept long. She was always buying new clothes.

She also required long socks held up by elastic garters to just below my knees and also muscle shirts. Muscle shirts are like tee shirts that are again tight fitting and have the sleeves chopped off. Like a singlet but where the shoulder strap is wide and goes just slightly down your fore arm.

She also spanked with the wooden spoon. I don’t remember her ever actually loosing her temper. I think I was pretty compliant. Actually I know I was compliant. When we were out I always had to stand beside her. Whether shopping or at one of her friends houses, I had to stand beside her. She would even point out how well trained she had me and I just accepted it. I would smile and go and do whatever little errand I was assigned to demonstrate my compliance. Having shown me off to her friends I would be dismissed to play.

If I challenged her authority though she was sure to ensure that was dealt with. When we were out she would whisper in my ear to wait till we got home. At home I would be sent to stand in the front hall with my nose to the wall. Just stand there until she was ready. And I would just do it. Then she would call me in. When I was little I would have to lie across her legs. When I was older I had to stand up and bend over. She always told me the reason I was to be punished. By the end of the lecture she would have me agreeing that I had been totally rebellious or disobedient or of bad attitude or whatever and that I actually needed punishment. I don’t recall rebelling. I just did it. I remember it hurting like hell. I had to stand there bent over while she gave me the “attitude correction” with the wooden spoon.

Dad seemed distant from this. If he was home he would simply ask her if she needed his help and if he was out, she would inform him over then dinner table. He would look at me and simply say I hope you have learned your lesson.

The really weird thing now that I think about it is that I went along with this right into my early twenties when I was at university. Once I reached puberty at 15, I had to tuck my penis into my undies between my legs facing backwards otherwise there would be this very noticeable bulge diagonally across the front of my shorts. My mother would run her hands across the front of my shorts and comment that its a bit noticeable you should go and tuck it away. As I am writing this I am remembering that there were times when she would run her hands across parts of my body or on and between my legs. I even recall there were times when she would have her friends over and I'd be called over and she'd run her hands over my legs and bottom and my looks would be discussed while I just stood there until dismissed. Sometimes she'd invite her friends to feel the tightness of my bottom and some would also run their hands across it. The weird thing is I don't think any of these women were inherently sick but just odd somehow.

I guess that’s it.
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