It was three o'clock in the morning on a Saturday night and time once again to go out searching the streets and back alleys for Mom.
Mom had a drinking problem and had been battling the bottle for a little over two years now. And being her only son, it was my job to take care of her and make sure she was safe.
Mom's problem with alcohol started right after the divorce. Dad was away from home more than most fathers, due to his work. And Mom spent more nights alone than she liked.
Dad was a good provider for Mom and me, but it took its toll on the family. Mom also had another little problem... she was a bit of a nympho and loved sex. And a lonely, horny woman is a recipe for disaster.
One day, the inevitable happened. Dad came home unexpectedly and found Mom sharing her bed with someone other than him. Needless to say, it was not a pretty scene and Dad, figuring it was better to leave than to go to jail for murder, did just that.
Over the next couple of months or so they tried to work it out. Mom promised that she would stop and Dad said he would try to be home more. But it was futile–neither could hold up their end of the bargain for long.
Dad's work was what it was. And Mom's libido would not be denied. So around three months after "the incident" as we called it, we were all sitting in court deciding who got what and how.
It was shortly after the divorce proceedings began when Mom began her downward slide. She was still in a cold, lonely bed and now there was no husband to warm it even occasionally.
So Mom started going out looking for the warmth she needed. And what better place to find it that the local bar?
Mom became a regular at several of the watering holes around town. And she became pretty well known as being "friendly" to the male patrons as well.
Let's face it; my mother was a slut. An alcoholic, man-hungry slut. But she was my mother, so when she went on a bender it was my job to make sure she found her way home, even when she didn't remember how she got there.
That night, I drove around to her usual haunts, checking the places I had found her before and sure enough, I found her on one of her favorite park benches at the far end of the city park under a tall maple tree.
She had finished off her bottle of vodka (how much she had in it when she started was anybody's guess) and was passed out cold, but at least her clothes looked to be in place. I was thankful for that... it could have been worse.
I picked her up and carried her to the car and put her in the passenger seat to drive her home. We had to stop a couple of times so she could get rid of some of that vodka on the side of the road, but we made it home.
I took her to her bedroom and helped her get out of her clothes, which reeked of alcohol and other unpleasant odors. When she was in bra and panties, I put her to bed covering her and turning out the light.
This was the routine we went through a lot of weekends. There was an occasional one where she stayed lucid all weekend, but not many. During the week she had to work so she couldn't afford to get plowed under.
Being a waitress in a loud, busy diner with a bad hangover is something you quickly learn to avoid! And she couldn't afford to miss any work–we did okay financially, but we didn't have a whole lot of wiggle room with the bills.
This weekend, however, I would change things up a bit. As I sat there alone in the rocking chair with mom passed out in the bedroom, I tried to come up with a way to get out of this cycle of her getting drunk and my having to go find her and bring her home.
It wasn't the drinking that bothered me so much really... I mean if you work hard all week you deserve to knock back a couple to relax and enjoy yourself. I liked a cold beer or two on a Saturday afternoon myself.
And although Mom took that 'knock back a couple' to extremes, that wasn't the worst of it. What really worried me was what could happen to her when she was in that state.
Mom was still a good looking woman–the ravages of alcohol had not yet marred her pretty face and age hadn't lessened her nicely proportioned body too much.
Mom was a looker and she had no problem finding a willing partner with which to spend the evenings. But with that came the very real risk that her Mr. Right Now would be anything but gentlemanly.
I always half expected to come upon her with torn clothes and other signs that the night had not gone according to her plans.
As I sat there stewing on the matter, I examined it almost clinically. Mom was alone without a man. Mom drank because she was lonely.
Mom needed a man who she could depend on to be there for her, take care of her, and give her what she needed as a woman. Mom needed a man who didn't work till all hours of the night and on weekends and was never home for her needs.
And that's when it hit me. She has that man in me! I was twenty-two now, and I had a good job as a mechanic. My job was a regular 9-5 job which coincided neatly with Mom's shift at the diner.
We both went to work and got home at the same time... either I would drive her to work and drop her off, or she would drop me off. And both of us had weekends off. So our schedules meshed perfectly.
Besides, I didn't have a girlfriend or any real prospects of one on the horizon. I had a few friends, but nothing with any kind of commitment.
Plus, I figured I could keep her off the bottle if I could give her what she needed to replace it. Mom was lonely... that's an easy fix.
Mom was also quite horny–that was a bit more difficult to remedy. How was I going to be the warm body she wanted and needed at night?
I knew that I could give her what she wanted if only I could convince her that she wanted me. But first I needed to get her off the demon that had such a hold on her.
To break her of her addiction to alcohol, it was necessary to make certain she had no access to the stuff.
So while she slept, I did a thorough and exhaustive search around the house to locate any stashed bottles as well as get rid of anything like mouthwash and cough syrup.
I looked in the toilet tank, behind the refrigerator and stove, through every cabinet cupboard and closet, under the beds, anywhere I could think of that might hide a bottle. I managed to scare up three vodka bottles and a partial bottle of mouthwash.
Once the house was scoured clean of any temptations, it was time to make sure she had no access to any new ones. This would require a rather unorthodox and controversial strategy. One that in the beginning would test our mother and son relationship.
Let me stop here for a moment and tell you about our relationship. My mother is not my real mom; I was adopted after my birth mother and father died in a plane crash when I was very little.
I was so young when it happened I hardly remember anything about them now, except what Mom has told me. I was put in an orphanage where I stayed for a little over a year until my adopted parents found me and adopted me.
The woman who adopted me and who I call Mom now was not able to have children of her own, so adoption was the only way she could raise a child.
I grew up in a loving home and it wasn't until the divorce that I really felt any friction. And after the divorce was finalized, I lived with Mom to help take care of her. It has been just her and I for the past two and a half years or so.
In order to keep my mother off the sauce, I would have to cut her off completely–"cold turkey". It was harsh and she wasn't going to like it one bit, but it was for her own good.
So while she slept, I got out what I needed to make this possible. I had an old leather belt I cut down to make an ankle cuff out of and punched an extra hole so I could attach a small padlock.
Then I took a piece of nylon rope and made two eye splices, one of them around the D ring in the ankle cuff. To keep her from taking it apart and getting away, I coated the whole splice in a liberal application of white glue to seal the splices from prying fingers.
I attached the other end of the rope around the frame of the bed and then attached the ankle cuff to her while she slept. She had enough slack in the rope to move around and sleep comfortably but she couldn't stray more than a few feet from the bed.
For safety's sake (she was, after all, my mother!) I put a sharp knife a little out of her reach in case I had to make a hasty release.
With the house now alcohol-free and mom secured to the bed and still soundly passed out, I decided to make myself some dinner. I kept the bedroom door open so I would know when she woke up–I was fairly sure I would hear her pissed off screaming throughout the house.
I had just finished dinner and was watching an old TV show when I heard her wake up.
"Huh... What's this? What the fuck?" she said as she woke. At first, she was groggy, trying to clear her head of the fog that still remained from the hangover. But then she realized something was wrong.
"Johnny! Johnny are you here? What the hell is this? Why am I tied to the bed? Johnny!" she called out.
I took my time going into the bedroom. I stood just outside the door for a moment, out of her view, and took a deep breath. Here goes nothing! I thought to myself. Then I entered her bedroom.
"Johnny! Oh, thank goodness you're home. What is this? Why am I tied to the bed? What happened last night?" she asked.
"The same thing that happens almost every weekend, Mom. You went out drinking and partying and I had to come and find you. It was 3 am and you weren't home yet. I got worried as always and went looking for you. I found you passed out on your park bench," I said.
"I'm sorry I worried you. I just needed to relax after work. Now untie me and I'll make you something to eat," she said.
"I'm afraid I can't do that. Besides, I've already eaten. But I will bring you something if you're hungry," I said.
"What do you mean you can't untie me? Untie me right now young man!" she said, sternly.
"No can do. Now, are you hungry?" I said.
"Jonathan Allen Mitchell! You untie me right this minute! I am your mother and I demand to be let loose!" she said, pissed as a wet cat now.
