So whenever I go to mausoleum for my father, I also stop by the crypt of my deceased former mother in law. She was more of a mother to me than my own was, and she represents the definition of a woman to me if only in memory. She helped teach me to be a man in many ways, life lessons and relationships. She knew what kind of mother I had, and how those abuses and molestations affected me and made me act out in the most ugly ways. But she was the one who was able to keep an eye on me and see all those things when they started to simmer, and like a true mother tool the upper hand and stepped on to make sure I did not destroy myself along with her daughter. It was so horribly crippling and embarassing when she caught me constantly m*********** because of the helpless urges I could not get rid of. She knew me far too well for me to get away with anything. I could never hide my perversions from her. She offered me a balance, to go to her proactively when I felt my control slipping. She would simply hold me while allowing me to deal with it, and would reward my abstinence with her own hand if I lasted at least a month between the other times. But as insightful as she was, she knew the m*********** was just an act out in the absence of what I actually needed, the simple nurturing. She gradually weaned me from m*********** by by own hand entirely, and taught me the true solace and peace I needed was actually to be found latched onto her breast. She taught me to allow that time being nursed by her to ease my inner struggles, and occasionally rewarded me with her hand when needed. When it started, she had simply said she knew what I was doing to myself and what was wrong with me and that she would help so that it saved her daughter from having to deal with my problems. But as time went on, and I adjusted to her managing the ugly side of me, it became something that was about the intimacy with her, for me.
