Mr Mascellani's Musings

Some Mothers

Joe's mother was a small, slight mean Polish Catholic woman who was feared by everybody in Joe's neighborhood. Joe was a school friend who didn't live in our neighborhood. He lived in a neighborhood filled with criminals. And, for some reason, even the most hardened, vicious criminals who lived there, men who feared not the police, jail, death or even God himself, feared Joe's mother.

John's mother was a big fat matronly biscuit and cake-baking mother whom everybody loved. She'd always bring in a tray of her biscuits and cakes into the living room while John and I and few other guys would be watching 'z grade' horror videos, and she would ALWAYS look in horror at the blood and the guts and the gore that was filling up the TV screen and say: 'Oh, Johnny, can't you and your friends watch something a little nicer!'


Albert's mother was young (ish) and sexy and everybody had a crush on her. She was perfection. One day we were trying to find some, any flaw in her beauty - but one guy summed it up:

’Man, even her thumbs are beautiful!'

Neither Albert nor his mother ever knew that she was the main star in many a young boy's masturbation fantasies.Steve's mother was very cultured but not at all snobby. Everybody loved talking to her. She was never condescending or patronizing. She had the unique ability of being able to talk to you at your level whilst simultaneously raising you above it.

Mario's mother was a cheery, motherly, voluptuous Greek woman Everybody wanted to be mothered by her. Everybody wanted to lay down his head on her bosom and have her stroke his hair and sing him to sleep with a lullaby- because she had the most beautiful of singing voices. She would sing as she did the housework and we'd say ' You should be a professional singer Mrs. X' and she'd always smile or laugh. But it was true. She was that good.


Frank's mother was dirty alcoholic slut who everybody hated because of the way she used to psychologically abuse Frank. One night when we were about 14 years old, Frank and I and a couple of guys were watching TV and chatting when his mother came home, staggered in to the lounge room, didn't say one word, preceded to squat in the middle of the lounge room floor, pulled down her panties, and began urinating on the carpet. She seemed to be pissing for an eternity. We tried to ignore her. But have you ever tried to ignore a woman in her late 30's who's pissing in the middle of a lounge room? Believe me, it’s very difficult to do.

Then she stopped. She removed her panties and threw them into one corner of the lounge room and again without saying a word she got up and staggered into the bathroom from where we could hear her heaving up her guts. We were all feeling sympathetic embarrassment for Frankie, and he must have beenfeeling something that was beyond embarrassment. For what seemed to be ages, but was probably only a couple of minutes, nobody spoke, nobody looked at any body else. Then I noticed that tears were running down Frank's face and I put my arms around him to try and comfort him and he put his head on my shoulder, and this sweet, decent 14yr old boy who had taken so many a beating from his father that he could take them without even flinching, he began sobbing like a baby.

Steve's mother was a pretentious snob who everybody despised. We never wanted to go to Steve's house. She was the type of woman who was always having afternoon tea and scones with the local priest. Now, there's nothing with that in itself but add that after 25 years the leather lounges in the lounge room STILL had plastic covering on it, and she had a fruit bowl filled with fruit that was for display and 'NOT FOR EATING' and she had one of those display rooms that NOBODY save perhaps the Pope, Queen, or the Prime Minister was allowed to enter- and you get an idea of what type of woman she was.

Peter's mum was in her mid-forties and she was lovely and everybody felt protective of her. One day when we about 15 years old. Pete said to me, 'Hey, Dave watch this.' Then he proceeded to go to his backyard and find a small rock, an unremarkable small rock. He took it inside and wrapped it in some old gift-wrapping paper and made up a small card on which he wrote: To Mum loves Peter. And then he gave his 'gift' and his card to his mother, and she opened and read the card and then began to cry as she hugged and smothered him with big motherly kisses. And he say: Ma, it's only a rock from the backyard, don't make such a fuss!' and she said 'It doesn't matter! It doesn't matter what you got me all I care about is that you think about your mother' Then she opened her 'gift' and put the rock on display as though it were a diamond.

Later on I said to Steve' 'Steve, your mother is so lovely and loving that its hard to belief that she gave to birth to cunt like you.' He agreed.