Mistress Rain

The First Seeds Are Planted

Chapter Four The First Seeds Are Planted

For years we lived in the suburbs in a modest 900 square foot, two-bedroom, one bath ranch style home with a single car detached garage. The yard was less than a quarter of an acre but it was shaded by majestic maple trees. Even though my father was a practicing municipal judge he and my mother were very thrifty and did not want to flaunt his status by living in a large home.

We lived in that house until I was in sixth grade. A few months before we moved I over-heard my parents having a discussion on the back patio, which was off of our kitchen. They had left the sliding glass door partially open and I had gone into the kitchen to get a glass of water when I heard them talking as they sat on the patio bench swing. Eavesdropping on their conversations always gave me a thrill, especially when I heard them discussing one of father’s court cases. This time I saw and heard more than I had bargained for. While I opened the cupboard door to get a glass Mom was saying,

“Tim, you know how much I love horses. I think we should get a farm house in the county with some land so I can buy a horse and go riding. You know how much that would make me happy don’t you?”

Hearing her ask for something for herself was strange but I always thought his response was even more out of the ordinary when he said, “Yes, my princess. Anything to make you happy.”

My parents raised me to be a polite and proper young lady who minded her own business but I enjoyed being intrusive. I remember thinking it was gross to hear my parents talk like this but at the same time I was fascinated. I said to myself, “Princess? Anything to make you happy?”

I quietly tip toed to the sliding glass door and slowly pulled back the curtain and peered outside. What I saw would have been shocking to any kid. My jaw just about hit the floor when I saw my father kneeling in front of my mother with his eyes closed and his head resting in her lap. She gently stroked his head and shoulders. My dad the powerful municipal court judge looked so vulnerable. He laid down the law in our house and never showed any weakness. The man didn’t even cry

at his own father’s funeral. Now, here he was on his knees in front of my mother calling her princess.

Impulsively I decided to barge in on them. I quickly pulled back the screen door and stepped onto the patio and loudly exclaimed, “Mom? Dad? Are we getting a horse?”

There was a look of horror on my mother’s face as my father jumped up from the floor. He fell backwards and knocked our charcoal grille over as my mother shouted, “Barbara! You can’t just barge in on people like that? You were eaves dropping again weren’t you?”

I covered my mouth and laughed a little and said, “I am sorry Mom. I heard you talking about getting a horse and you know how I have always wanted to have a horse.”

“Well, no decisions have been made yet. We were just discussing it.”

“Ok. So, who is princess?” I asked.

My father’s face turned a deep shade of red as he sternly said, “Barbara, go to your room and start your homework. Now!”

I had this feeling of shame combined with exhilaration as I lowered my eyes and said, “Sorry Dad.”

I turned and walked back into the house, slide the screen door shut and retreated to my room. My mind was in a frenzy. What had I just witnessed? Dad on his knees calling Mom princess? I was so confused. From that day forward, I looked at both of them differently. I still respected both of them and obeyed my father but there was a sliver of doubt about the persona that they had presented to me for the first 12 years of my life. Was my Dad a wimp?

When I was in sixth grade, Mom got her wish when and they purchased an old farm house on ten acres of land outside of town. It was an amazing property with a big red barn with a roomy hay loft that I played in all the time. Dad bought mom a beautiful filly. She was an American Quarter Horse that she named Ms. Lady.

After purchasing Ms. Lady, Mom took me to the local tack shop to purchase riding outfits for us both. We got matching skin tight white Low-rise breeches, knee high leather field boots, white short-sleeve riding shirts with rat catcher-style collar. When Mom came out of the dressing room it was as if she had transformed from the boring housewife to the stunning femme fatale. I’ll never forget how she stood there with her hands on her hips as I breathlessly said, “Mom? Is that you?”

To which she replied, “Of course, it’s me! Don’t you recognize your own Mother?”

“Well, you’re usually dressed so plainly. You look completely different. You look incredible.”

“Thank you darling. Go try your outfit on now.”

I went into the dressing. After stepping into my breeches, boots I put on riding blouse and tight black leather dressage gloves. Grasping the riding crop in my hand I looked in the mirror. Admiring myself in the mirror an indescribable feeling of power came over me. The outfit felt and looked amazing. I felt powerful and full of confidence. It felt as if I could conquer anything that crossed my path.

After I exited the dressing room my Mother said, “You look amazing as well. You look strong and all grown-up. I’ll bet many of boys at school would be beside themselves if they saw you like this.”

“What do you mean, Mom?”

“One day you’ll see. Trust me, what you wear is very important when you’re a woman. Different outfits convey different messages. But don’t worry about that quite yet.”

Mom and I took private horseback riding lessons at a neighboring farm. Our teacher was a sweet Hispanic man named Emanuel. As a former jockey he had raced horses for over 10 years but retired after he was thrown from his horse during a race and broke his leg.

After we had become competent riders, Dad bought a filly for me and I named her Rosa. Mom and I rode several times a week. Those cherished moments brought us closer together. One day she and I were on a ride around the farm when I gathered up the courage to ask her about the day when Dad was kneeling in front of her with his head in her lap. The horses were walking in a four-beat gate when I asked, “Mom, I have to ask you something.”

“Sure honey. What is it?”

“Well, don’t get mad.”

“I’ll try not to honey. What is it?

“Well, remember that time when I was 12 and I barged in on you and Dad on the patio, when he was kneeling in front of you calling princess.”

“Yes, I do remember that and I bet you’re going to ask me what was going on, right?”

“Sure. What was that all about?”

“Honey, let’s just say that your father is an extremely passionate and devoted man. We are deeply in love and some-times he tends to fall all over himself when it comes to expressing his love for me.”

“Ok. So, Dad, the man who runs the house with an iron fist gets emotional and calls you princess? Is he a wimp or something?”

Mom seemed uncomfortable looked straight ahead towards the edge of the woods as if she would find the answer in the branches of the maple trees when she replied, “Honey, I appreciate your curiosity. Your Father is not a wimp. He is a strong man. When he shows his devotion to me it does not mean he is weak. His level of devotion to me is immeasurable as mine is to him. There are times he feels week in my presence. He gets overcome with emotion and he showers me with adoration. He’s still the strong man who cares for both of us and has thoroughly provided for us over the years. One day you’ll understand. Let’s go back to the house for lunch.”

After her explanation, we rode back to the house in an extremely uncomfortable silence. From that day forward, I was constantly analyzing their interactions with each other and searching for some clue that would tell me what was going on between them. Nothing materialized until I came home from school early one day a few months later. What I saw that day is forever burned into my mind.

Dad’s car was in the garage which was unusual since he was never home before 5:30PM. When I walked into the kitchen I noticed his shirt, pants and underwear were neatly folded on the kitchen counter. His black dress shoes were on the floor with his black dress socks tucked inside. It was the strangest thing because that was the outfit he was wearing when I left for school that morning and I couldn’t figure out why his cloths were in the kitchen.

As I stood in the kitchen staring at my Father’s size eleven dress shoes on the floor in front of the kitchen counter I could hear cracking and groaning sounds coming from upstairs. My parent’s bedroom was directly above the kitchen and I could hear what sounded like Mom walking in high heels on the hard wood floors in their bedroom, she was shouting something but I couldn’t make it out so, I slowly crept up the stairs and walked up to their bedroom door. As I pressed my ear against the door I could hear her sternly berate my Father with insults, “You’re a b***h! You’re my b***h and I told you to be here by 12:00PM on the dot not 12:15!”

Then I heard several sharp cracking sounds like that of a whip and what sounded like my Father groaning in pain as he said in a high-pitched pained voice, “Please forgive me princess. I worship the ground you walk on. I would not intentionally disobey you!”

I was repulsed by what I heard but I couldn’t turn away. I pressed against the door a little harder so I could hear more. This caused the door crack open two or three inches. As it opened the door made a loud creaking sound which I was certain would give me away but it didn’t. As I looked in I saw my Mother straddling my Father. He was, naked, on all fours on the floor at the foot of their bed and she was straddling him as if he was a horse. She wielded her riding crop in her right hand which was raised above and behind her head. As she brought the crop down upon his back Dad screamed and I gasped out loud. Mom’s head snapped around and she saw me peering at them through the crack in the door and immediately dismounted my Father and marched over to the door and slammed it shut. Through the door she commanded in a stern voice, “Go downstairs now and do not come back up here. You and I will speak this evening.”

Horrified and repulsed, I fell back onto the hardwood floor of the hallway, quickly got to my feet and ran down stairs to the living room and turned on the television turning the volume all the way up. I fell face first onto the couch and covered my ears so I would not be able to hear another sound. Tightly squeezing my eyes shut as if to erase the horrific vision I had just witnessed I began to sob. Suddenly, I felt a soft hand on my cheek. It was my Mom. She sat next to me on the couch and lifted me into her arms as she said, “Oh, my God honey. I am so sorry you saw that. Are you ok? What are you doing home from school this early?”

I was crying so hard that I was unable to breath. My mind was frenzied. Was I horrified because I had been discovered snooping on them while they fooled around in the bedroom or was it because I saw my Mother beating my father with a whip?

Managing to somewhat regain my composure I asked in between sobs, “Mom, why were you beating Daddy? Is he ok?”

I hadn’t referred to my Father as Daddy since I was ten.

Mom laid her head on my shoulder and in a calm reassuring voice she said to me, “Honey, your Father is fine. I wasn’t beating him out of anger. Sometimes, when you’re an adult, well, two people will play games in the bedroom. We were playing a game that we both enjoy very much.”

Laughing nervously, I asked, “Games? Like Twister or something?”

“Well, sort of. Twister with an edge to it. Let’s get you cleaned up and get dinner ready for tonight.”

“Where’s Daddy?”

“He’s upstairs getting cleaned up. He has to go back to work. He’ll be down in a minute.”

“Ok. Can I see him before he goes so I can make sure he’s ok?”

“Of course. He wants to see you before he leaves to make sure you’re ok.”

As I hugged my Mom I heard my Father walk into the room and say, “Hey there baby girl, are you ok?”

“I think so Dad. Are you ok?”

“Sure am. But it’s more important to both your Mother and I that you’re feeling well.”

“Dad? Are you sure you’re ok? I mean, my friend Sarah, her Mom gets beat by her Father almost every night. The police are at their house almost every weekend. Is that what Mommy is doing to you?”

My Father pulled me close, hugged me as he said, “Darling, your Mother and I were playing a game. She wasn’t abusing me and I wasn’t about to call the police. There is nothing in the universe that I love more than you and your Mother. I would do anything for both of you. Your Mother loves me very, very much and would never intentionally hurt me. You’ll understand as you get older.”

“When I get older do I have to play games with boys like the ones you and Mommy play with each other?”

“Honey, all I can tell you is I am fine and your Mother is fine. Please don’t worry. I will see you tonight for dinner.”

Dad gave me a big hug, got up and left for work.

That day the seeds of b**m were planted deep within my psyche. Over time, those seeds blossomed allowing me to grow into the s****l sadist I am today. That metamorphosis did not arrive over-night and it did not come without pain or sacrifice.