I cherish my mother dearly. What an astonishingly selfless lady she is; full of unconditional love and unshakeable loyalty. On occasions too numerous to list, when things have appeared decidedly bleak, she has constantly fought my corner, sheltering me from harm out of natural instinct. From the very first grazed knee to the time she caught me spanking my monkey with her cheese grater, she has known what to say and do to keep me unruffled; always putting the smile back firmly on my face. I recall one particular drama when I was around ten years old after I acquired some frothing blood capsules from the local novelty store. It seemed an ingenious master plan to masticate said lozenge at the specific moment that I knocked on the door. When it opened and I lunged in like a bloodthirsty zombie she very nearly vacated her skin. Whilst seeming like a cunning plan at the time, I instantly lamented my actions the very second I witnessed my mother’s mortified reaction. You see, a young lad strives above all else to please his mother, no matter what.
Norman Bates is no exception to this rule. A grown man already way past the point of male menopause, Norman still shacks up with his dear old mother, tending to her every whim. She sits in her rickety old rocking chair barking out instructions and will not, by any means, allow him to have another woman under the same roof as she is insanely jealous of another bidding for her precious son’s affections. In her eyes (sockets at least) he’ll forever be mother’s little boy. Some separation issues potentially but nothing too abnormal right? Wrong! I had negated to mention that she has not stirred from her comfy chair for many years; not bathed, not a lick of make-up since Norman pilfered it, and it is fair to say that she has withered away a little through lack of a healthy balanced diet. It’s not Norman’s doing though; he takes her milk and cookies on a tray every evening like clockwork so he’s making every effort to oblige.
Maybe she is just agoraphobic and a home visit from the local physician could break the old girl free from her emotional shackles? Negative. Mother’s not interested; there’s not a doctor for miles and, besides, her son needs to be on hand should she require him to soak her bunions. So Norman does what any young entrepreneurial eternal adolescent would do in his predicament. He opens a Motel on the grounds. Perfect.
Now he can keep some income rolling in and prevent unnecessary trips to the benefits office. As long as the pantry is full, then it should all work out fine and dandy. Thankfully, Norman is making a modest success of the family nest egg. He doesn’t get many guests nowadays (though Janet Leigh was rumoured to have stayed a solitary night back in the sixties) but so long as he can offer warm shelter and hot shower to any weary passing travellers then he is more than happy.
It is twenty two years since the motel last opened its doors and much has changed in that time. Much to mother’s disgust, Norman has found it necessary to resort to moonlighting at a second place of employment just to make ends meet. The price of milk has doubled over the past couple of decades you see. Norman has found himself a nice little earner in the bustling local diner working for that nice Mr. Statler. He has also found himself a nice catholic girl; down on her luck and needing some place warm to lay her head. May I suggest Norman’s lap perhaps?
It would only be right if he were to offer her the warm towels she needs to lather herself up and wash that soft supple body somewhere safe. Mother doesn’t need to know a thing; it’s not as though anything untoward is going on after all. She could even help out around the house; perhaps help to prepare mother’s supper while Norman gets on with some of the odd jobs which have stacked up over the years. Who can find the time? Life happens and if you don’t stop and take it in on occasion it may pass you by.
About those urges though. Norman is a red-blooded fellow not too far from his peak of sexual prowess and it is only natural that he will have certain needs. The pages of the lingerie catalogue beneath his mattress have long since merged together and the brain is, after all, a muscle like any other. It needs daily exercise or else a man like Norman could go doolally. It just so happens there is a small hole in one of the walls which needs filling and it leads to some place rather delightful. Close enough that, should she fart whilst drying herself down, he will catch the full nasal bouquet of her rectal aroma, it’s ideal for stress relief after a hard day being incessantly nagged by mother.
Everything is really starting to work out for Norman Bates and his mother will be so proud once she hears most of what he has been up to. It feels just like how it did back in the day. You see, Janet Leigh paid well for her stay.
Sure, it’s over twenty years later but things seem just as groovy as they were then. Norm (I’m sure by now he wouldn’t object to me calling him by a more affectionate mantle) is really beginning to perk up (pun marginally intended) and, after a decidedly lean period, the motel is thriving once again.
But what’s this…Blood? Mother? Blood!
Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
First Knight of TOK
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Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2013
Bates Family Album