Extreme Naivety.

“Well, well, well. Mother, Annabelle was saving it for the one she loved. I just guess it wasn’t me? Was I going to be like my father, short of ‘home-nooky’ as you were actually saving it for my mother? In 20 minutes I was going to be hitched to someone who actually preferred to bat for her own side. At least you needn’t have been so open with you smooching, I can take it, I’m a professional, but the ordinary public couldn’t, I think. Are you pair just lip kissers or is it tongues down the throat which I told is delightful to some poor people. You are in a church and both of you have your breasts exposed; have you no shame?

“So, who’s on top with you two? Which one of you wants to borrow my suit and walk down the aisle. I guess we can scratch my name off the marriage certificate and put Mum’s on it? Oh, I forgot, you’re still married to Dad.”

Oh, the relatively chaste kissing I endured. My erections were always unattended by Annabelle. She was obviously keener to attend to an indentation rather than a projection. What would have happened this night if we had pursued our course of action; a headache? I’m of a solicitous nature, I would have accommodated her temporary incapacity. But what of tomorrow night? Would she have feigned a tumour? Would I ever have gotten into the hall of delight? I’m starting to think she and my mother had better use the honeymoon bookings that would have taken the pair of us to Paris.

To say I was humiliated, was just half of it. I loved Annabelle in my way. Okay, it wasn’t the mind-numbing way portrayed in Harlequin books and films, but I loved her, you could say, gently. As I said, there was no nooky and hardly ever a groping of a covered breast to tease up the old organ. However, I wasn’t one of this over-sexed cave-men that I hear bragging in the changing rooms of the gymnasium boasting about five times a night. Three or four would be quite adequate for me, at least I think it would, I haven’t had the chance to find out yet.

If Mother and Annabelle think I'm going to throw a tantrum, then they have another think coming. I don’t do tantrums, it’s undignified. Plenty of others will throw one when they realise they laid out good honest cash for presents that they have possibly thrown away the receipts for, that’s if they remember what they purchased.

I’d caught them ‘in flagrante’ and they still didn’t uncouple. They stood there looking at me with blouses undone, and thank goodness they did have a little bewilderment about them. That may have been because of the offer of my wedding suit to clothe one of them more suitably. I just turned and walked out of the side door of the church. I say walked, I mean really I sneaked out using the abundant tombstones as my cover and also to hide my shame.

I couldn’t go home to stay there, I would not be able to get rid of the sight of the kissing and the fondling of bare breasts; that should have been my job. Not my mother’s breasts, of course, that would be icky. Annabelle was my first girl-friend. Well, truth be told the only girl I’d been out with other than when I was in first grade at school. Mitzi, her name was, and she definitely was more inclined to the protrusion type of anatomy, she kept trying to grab hold of my whatsit and usually succeeded. I really didn’t mind too much except she would often run when she had it in her hand. She could run much faster than I and I was scared that it would finish looking like a piece of string rather than a daub of plasticine as is usual. I suppose you could say, she was my first date.

However, would Annabelle now plead with me for forgiveness? Somehow I don’t think so. She would no doubt talk to her weightlifting friends and those in her rugby club whilst they quaffed their jugs of beer. I’m picking she’ll just write me off as a failed experiment and introduce my mother to that barbarous sport. I think I overlooked a few clues in our relationship. Poor dad, he’s hopeless around the kitchen and has absolutely no common sense about food, he’ll just eat at McDonald's 24/7.

My shame is that I didn’t spot this lack of rampant desire sooner than this. For God’s sake, it’s 2020 and everyone’s at it, well except for me. I fear I might have to resign my post as an Organisational Psychologist. Look at me, a psychologist not getting nooky and not suspecting anything was wrong. Just how many of my consultees have slipped by without my realising that they are in my office because they are in trouble of some sort? I thought my soothing words did the trick in most cases, but who knows, maybe there’s an epidemic out there of parents cuckolding their offspring.

I resolved to be more forthright in the future. I will ask straight away if they suspect that their parents may have designs upon their intended spouses, or even actual spouses. No, no, that would never do. I’m over-compensating, I must not do that. I’ll just keep my ears open to this possibility. Obviously, I found a small chink in my sagacious probings of my patient’s psyches. Perhaps this unfortunate happening between Mother and intended spouse is a blessing in disguise. A whole aspect of human behaviour appears to have eluded me. I will certainly be much better able to take care of the difficulties between parents and their children’s partners of every description. I’ll make a note to look into it.

Not only did the young then Wilberforce McKenzie look into it, but he also became a professor of some standing that children from all over the world came to when they realised their parents were up to ‘hanky-panky’ with their intended and actuals. From being one that failed to see what was right under his nose, he became one of finding out about infidelities before they had even been contemplated by the would-be perpetrators. 

Awards were strewn in the path of Professor Wilberforce McKenzie issued from the pharmaceutical industry. He was praised for liberally prescribing medication in great quantities to quell the ardour of parents that might just initiate undesirable advances towards their children’s partners.

He often thinks of Mitzi with a tear in his eye, either of remembrance of things past, or the pain he put up with in his educating process and to his slim member.