SERIOUS TRIGGER WARNING for abuse. John's early life is traumatic, so if you're sensitive to sexual abuse triggers, this is NOT your story!
John tried not to fidget while the doctor checked the data on his screen. Pre Adolescence Identity and Orientation Screening - probably the most important day in John's life so far. Mila was practically bursting with curiosity. She'd made him promise to contact her immediately after they were done at the doctor's office. John took a breath when the doc looked from the screen to him and then to his mother.
"John's bi, with a high probability of poly, and he's a strong nine for kink."
"Preference?", John's mother asked, her tone perfectly neutral.
"Natural switch, with a distinct tendency for both submission and masochism."
John grinned at the doc, blue eyes sparkling.
"That pretty much means I can have them all, right?"
The man let out a small laugh.
"You're a little young, but yes, basically, you could put it that way."
John glanced at his mother, and the smile vanished from his face. He had just turned thirteen, but he'd always been good at reading people. Especially his mother. Right now he could tell from the way her usually full lips tightened, and how that little muscle in her jaw twitched, that she was not impressed. He knew she wouldn't voice that feeling in public – but then again she didn't have to. She knew he'd sense it. And they both knew there would be consequences.
They didn't talk on the walk home even though John's mind was going a light year an hour. There were a million things he wanted to say, but what kept circling in his mind was that his mother wasn't happy with his results. The one person on the planet that had always taken care of him suddenly didn't like what he was anymore. She didn't approve of what he was about to become. That felt scary, and it hurt. Maybe he could do something about it? They always said those screenings weren't 100% accurate at such a young age – maybe some of it wasn't true?
And then he realized that no matter how irritated his mother might be – he himself was actually happy about his results. They fit, they felt right, and he was excited about them. Like he was stronger and more grown up than when he'd woken up that morning. He smiled when he imagined Mila's reaction. Oh she was going to like those results...He wanted to call her right away, but he was scared that it might set his mother off even more. And besides he didn't want her to listen in when he had that conversation with his best friend.
The nice warm feeling disappeared when he thought about the kind of conversation he would have with his mother once they were home. What if she didn't want to talk about it at all? Maybe she'd make him take another test, see another doc? A little nugget of irritation formed inside him. What his mother referred to as his Temper, capital T, flared to life. Those were his results, and they felt right. He hadn't chosen them, they were facts.
For the first time in his life he felt like he was his own person. An independent being, not a part of his mother.
It felt good – and scary; like losing something that had always been there, and he wasn't sure yet if there was anything to gain in return. He kept looking at her from the corner of his eyes, and she felt distant, as if she was drifting away from him. Or more like he was drifting away from her. If that happened, he'd be utterly alone, and it scared the hell out of him.
Right there, on the streets of his home town, walking beside his silent mother, he made a decision. He would find a way to prove to her that he was still her son, loyal, loving. That side of him she didn't like? He'd lock it away where it wouldn't bother her. He'd explore it, maybe even embrace it eventually, but he'd keep it out of her sight. He took a breath and straightened his shoulders. From now on, he'd be two different people.
When they finally made it home John looked up at his mother. Keeping his voice low he asked her:
"Are you mad at me?"
She let out an irritated sound and threw the envelope with his results on the kitchen table. Turning to him she said:
"Well, let's face it. Basically you're a slut. Greedy and indecisive. Not what I expected from my son."
He flinched. It wasn't fair. But she was his mother, and he needed her. So he took a step towards her.
"I'm sorry, mother."
She sighed:
"I guess it can't be helped."
Pulling him close with a surprisingly strong grip on the back of his neck she murmured:
"Which means we'll have to find a way to make use of it."
Her words made him uncomfortable, but her warmth, the strength of her embrace, felt good. Safe. She loved him. He wasn't what she wanted him to be, something about him was wrong, but she loved him anyway.
"I love you", he said quietly, grateful, relieved that she didn't raise her voice, didn't push him away.
She smiled against his hair.
"I love you, too, beautiful complicated child."
They stood like that for a few minutes until his mother drew back.
"Did you understand everything the doctor told you?"
He looked up at her, noticing the light reflecting in her short brown curls.
"I think", he said, his voice a little unsure. "We talked about that stuff in school."
"Theory", his mother said.
He swallowed.
"Well, yeah."
She looked at him with a small smile, gently stroking his hair. Her fingertips ghosted over his cheek, lifting his chin.
"I think a person needs more than theory to understand their true self."
She leaned towards him, holding his gaze, chocolate brown eyes meeting his, and brushed a gentle kiss against his lips.
"Do you trust me, John?"
He swallowed again, his throat suddenly dry, an uneasy, ugly feeling spreading from his stomach. He knew the right answer to that, but it took him a few seconds to actually say it.
"Yes, mother."
"Good boy", she all but purred. "Prove it."
He looked at her, blue eyes wide, unsure what she expected him to do.
"Give me your hands."
He was confused, but he held out his hands to her. She closed one strong hand around both his slender wrists.
"Submissive, the doc said. Do you understand what that means?"
A wave of contradicting emotions washed over John. They had talked about that in school, and the teacher's explanation, the pictures she had shown the class, had stirred something in John. That same feeling hit him like a ton of bricks now, a lot stronger than in class. And at the same time he felt like jerking his hands away from his mother in disgust.
He resisted that impulse, reminding himself that he was trying to be a good son.
"I think...some of your clients are submissive, right? It means they want you, or one of your people, to do stuff to them. They...like it."
"Call it what it is, John", she reprimanded him, "words hold power."
He refused to meet her eyes.
"It turns them on."
"Exactly."
He could hear the smile in her voice. She let go of his wrists and stood behind him.
"Cross them behind your back."
He trembled as he obeyed, very slightly, but she was used to noticing these things, and her smile widened.
"Good boy", she said once more, her voice like silk. A tone of voice he had never heard from her before – at least not when she was talking to him.
"Kneel", she said, and her voice was still soft, but it held a power he couldn't resist. So he obeyed her again, the trembling getting stronger, his cheeks burning. He felt like breaking away from her, running from the room; he thought this couldn't possibly be happening – and still it felt intriguing, like an adventure, exciting and intense. He felt shaky, and he was almost grateful that he didn't have to stand.
"Tell me what's on your mind, John", his mother said, not touching him, but so close. His face felt even hotter and he had to swallow a few times.
"I – don't know."
A moment later he felt her grip on the back of his neck, strong, hard, bordering on painful.
"Unacceptable. Try again."
John felt tears well up in his eyes.
"Please, mother", he begged her, overwhelmed, unable to handle the situation. She let go and stepped around him, pulling his head against her hip. She held him for a moment, and then she said:
"Look at me."
He searched her face, trying to read her, but she looked entirely alien to him.
"Try. Again", she said, voice cold, face set in stone, and he realized he wouldn't get out of this unless he told her what she wanted to hear. So he did.