Losing the House but Winning Mom 01

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Mother and son share a motel room as their temporary residence after losing their home to a bank foreclosure on Halloween.

"Trick or treat. Trick or treat," the children running from room to room could be heard all over the motel complex.

Only, the trick was on Jennifer and Michael when the Sheriff was at their door with a court order to evict mother and son from their home. After threatening them for months, Bank of America finally foreclosed on the mortgage they took out with the now defunct, Angelo Mozilo's, Countrywide Bank. They were losing their beautiful four bedroom and three bath home. With all of their possessions out in the street, they rented a truck to move everything to storage and were now officially homeless. Having purchased their dream house nearly four years ago, they never thought they'd be homeless but they were.

Saturday, Halloween, the last day of the month, with tomorrow November 1st, the bank wanted Jennifer and Michael out of their house today. Slated for eviction by the Sheriff, the bank finally foreclosed on their 3,000 square foot house. The bank didn't care that tonight was Halloween night, the day that Jennifer planned her big, Halloween party all year. The bank didn't care that tomorrow was Sunday, the Lord's Day, and the day of rest. The bank didn't care that mother and son were homeless and had no place to go other than to rent a room in a seedy motel on the other side of town.

This human tragedy played out every day to someone else, somewhere else throughout this great country, supposedly the greatest country in the world. Why did this happen? How could this happen? Not fair and not right, they were sold a mortgage that the bank gambled that they couldn't pay. With the bank having bought insurance in the form of derivatives, junk bonds, the bank won and they lost.

Moreover, the bank didn't care that the government had already reimbursed them for their loses, pumped up their bottom line, and made them whole again with the TARP bailout monies they received from Secretary of the Treasury, Henry Paulson. Refusing to refinance anyone's mortgage, not wanting to take those bad mortgages back, the banks still foreclosed on people's homes. After receiving TARP money and still selling foreclosed homes on short sales, in effect, the banks were paid twice for the dubious and sometimes illegal mortgages they wrote. Even after the financial meltdown, the banks, insurance companies, investment houses, and car manufacturers still paid out their six and seven figure bonuses to those men who caused the financial crisis and who stole money from the American middle class.

Not allowing them to refinance, with their house now worth much less than when they bought it and what they owed was so much more than what their house was worth on the market, they were underwater. Not wanting to hear it, the bank didn't care that their adjustable rate mortgage that ballooned their mortgage payment out of reach was the reason why they could no longer afford their mortgage payments. Having given them enough warnings, more time, and second chances to come up with all of the back mortgage payments they missed, all the bank knew was that today was the last day of October and they wanted them gone from their property.

Having tried everything, pleaded with the bank, written to their Congressman, and participated in groups who protested the banks unethical banking practices, there was nothing more they could do but to obey the Sheriff's order to vacate. The banks, insurance companies, and investment houses were the ones who caused the financial markets to collapse and yet were the ones to reap the rewards of TARP money bailouts. That's not fair. That's not right. The banks, insurance companies, and investment houses were the ones who caused the financial meltdown but it was the middleclass that had to pay for the financial fiasco with job loses, home foreclosures, and 401K devaluations. Yet, rubbing their dirty deeds in the faces of people everywhere who lost everything and who had nothing, the banks still paid out their multi-million dollar bonuses to those most responsible for the financial collapse.

* * * * *

There was something always so eerie about Halloween night that the rest of the nights of the year didn't have. Halloween was actually spooky. As if expecting a ghost, a ghoul, a monster, or a witch to pop out in front of them, a day before the time change, the night felt darker on Halloween. Every corner they turned, there were kids in costume with bags of candy. Every corner they turned, whether it was kids in costume or homes decorated for the holiday, there was a reminder of Halloween.

With a full moon just a few days ago on Tuesday, October 27th, Michael still felt the effects that the full moon seemingly always had over him. Always making him nervous, jumpy actually, full moons unsettled him. More sensitive to full moons than most people, there was something about a full moon that unsettled and unhinged him. As if he was about to go crazy, he had this impulsive reaction to howl at the moon. As if expecting something bad to happen and as if the full moon was his visual omen, something bad did happen when the bank foreclosed on their house just a few days later.

It was a cold and windy night and it was already dark, so very dark when they parked their truck in the motel parking lot. They carried what few possessions they didn't put in storage to the motel, mostly food, clothing, and toiletries. Sadly depressed, a whirlwind of a day, Jennifer and Michael walked to their motel room, room #13, as if they were walking to their deaths.

Normally not superstitious but with tonight Halloween night, Michael suddenly had a bad case of Triskaidekaphobia, the fear of the number 13, or more specifically, the fear of the 13th person. Related to the Last Supper with Jesus and his 12 apostles, Judas, late for supper, was the last one to attend. The fear of the number 13 is also related to the fear of Friday the 13th, called Paraskevidekatriaphobia. Put the room number 13 in combination with Halloween and with a full moon just a few days before and anyone would be jumpy.

"I'm glad I changed out of my short skirt to wear jeans," said Jennifer giving her son a sexy look. "If I had worn my short skirt while carrying boxes, with the wind whipping like this, I'd be exposing my panties to everyone. I'd be exposing my panties to you," she said looking over at him again to give him another sexy look along with a naughty laugh that was almost a dirty laugh.

Jennifer gave her son an image that he would no doubt not forget to masturbate over later. Suddenly, the image of imagining seeing his mother's white, bikini panties gave him the start of an erection. Ever since he turned 18-years-old four years ago, he had always been sexually attracted to his mother. A pretty woman with a shapely body to match, she had long, sexy legs. Imagining a gust of wind blowing her short skirt up to the middle of her back while he walked behind her, he would have loved to see his mother's sexy, white, bikini panties. Giving him a prolonged and uninterrupted view, imagining a gust of wind blowing up her short skirt while he walked behind her up that stairs as she carried boxes, he'd be in voyeur heaven.

Normally a back breaking chore, there was something sexy about moving to a new place with his mother, especially when that new place was a motel room instead of a nine room house. There was nothing sexy about loading a truck with the possessions to unload the truck to put it all in storage. Yet, somehow he felt closer to her, not just physically closer to her but emotionally closer to her. They were going through something together that was as emotionally charged and devastating as a job loss or a divorce. Albeit a bad memory, a nightmare, this would be a disturbing memory they'd remember for the rest of their lives.

As if living in a prison cell with his mother, with not much space to get lost in, there'd be no place for either one of them to hide from one another while living within four walls. The only difference between their motel room and a prison cell was there was a door on the bathroom. With them having no privacy but for the bathroom, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd be seeing more of his mother's hot body than he had never seen before.

Imagining sleeping with his mother, holding her, hugging her, cuddling her, and spooning her, he wondered if the room had two beds or just one big bed. If the room only had one bed, he wondered if he'd be sleeping in the same bed with his mother. He imagined his mother's nightgown moving higher than her shapely hips. He imagined dry humping his mother while sticking his hand down her nightgown top to feel her breasts and finger her nipples. Now, with his incestuous imagination running wild, he imagined seeing his mother topless. He imagined seeing his mother naked. He imagined his mother seeing him naked. He imagined having sex with his mother. Only, nothing more than just a sexual fantasy, he knew that none of that would happen.

'Oh, my God! I'd give anything to see my mother topless. I'd give anything to see my mother naked.'

With the wind really whipping and blowing up more than just dust, now he wished his mother hadn't changed out of her short skirt. He would have loved to have seen her shapely ass cheeks filling out her white, bikini panties. Now relegated to only imagining her sexy panties, giving him something to masturbate over tonight, Michael would have loved to see the wind blowing up his mother's short skirt and her exposing her panties to him. Other than a few, quick flashes of up skirts peeks between her legs, he had never had a good look of his mother's panties. Going a step further, going where no son should ever go with his mother, he wondered if his mother's cunt was trimmed, shaved, or bushy.

* * * * *

Unprecedented weather for California this time of year, it was in the 90's just a couple of days ago. It was so dark that it was difficult to see more than a few yards. Had it not been for the motel lights illuminating their way, sucking them in and beckoning them to walk closer, they'd be tripping over curbstones and tripping all the way up the stairs. Their room was the corner room on the second floor. A three story motel, every floor had 12 rooms and all the rooms looked the same on the inside as they did on the outside too. In the way the motel looked, with it lacking in style, character, and personality, it could have been a minimum security prison or a halfway house.

With the wind blowing the branches of the trees as if they were long, scary arms with long, scary fingers, the shadows created by the moon made the trees look like scary monsters. Once in their room, closing the door from the wind blowing in leaves and trash, Jennifer sat on the bed, the only bed, while obviously listening to every noise and every bump in the night. No doubt, even the wind blowing the leaves across the parking lot made her wary of what was lurking out there and what may happen next. Suddenly, as if she had willed it to happen, there was a light knock and voices next door.

"Trick or treat. Happy Halloween. Trick or treat."

A minute later, there was another light knock and another light knock. Someone was at the door on the floor below them and at the door on the floor above them. Already on edge, not even thinking that it was children trick or treating, she was scared. Her nerves were shot after the Sheriff threatened to breakdown her door and drag her out if she didn't open it. Never had she felt as violated as she did then when forced out of her home in front of her neighbors and those she thought were her friends.

"What was that? Did you hear that Michael? I heard a knock and then a bang."

Fortunately for her, her son was there to comfort her, console her, and protect her from harm.

"It was nothing Mom," said Michael getting up from his chair to go to the door and squint out the peephole. "It was just the people next door closing their door."

Normally, they'd be home decorating their house in preparation for Halloween. Normally, they'd be home passing out candy to the trick or treaters. Normally, they'd be hosting their yearly Halloween party but tonight they were huddled against the cold in a seedy, downtown motel room. Normally cleaning the house after the party and relaxing before going to bed. Normally Michael would be in his room masturbating over the imagined thoughts of his mother topless, naked, and having sex with her topless and/or naked body.

Suddenly, it didn't feel like Halloween. Then again, suddenly, it most certainly did feel like Halloween. With no treats in store for them, the trick was on them. Out of their house, the bank got the last laugh and the better of them.

* * * * *

A relatively safe haven for drug dealers and prostitutes, the police left them alone to do their thing as long as they stayed within the confines of the motel and as long as there were no shootings. The motel was filled to capacity with Welfare mothers and others who had lost their homes to foreclosure too. Part of a bigger complex, there were two more motel additions with each housing 36 rooms, 108 rooms in all.

The place took on more the feeling of an inner city, affordable housing project than it felt like a motel. With each room sheltering four or more residents and more when counting all of the kids, there were 600 to a 1,000 people residing there in such a small, cramped space. Then, between the drug dealers hanging around outside and the prostitutes going from room to room, there was a constant flow of cars and people at all hours of the day and night. Now with the trick or treaters in the middle of all this lunacy, there was a constant and continual knocking and opening and closing of doors. To go from living in a nice house in a good neighborhood to living in this slum environment and criminal atmosphere was shocking.

Normally, as they did every year, opening their home to neighbors and friends, they'd have a Happy Halloween party. This would be the first year since they moved into the neighborhood four years ago that they wouldn't be having a Happy Halloween party. Now with no friends and no family by their side, they were alone. Mother and son against the world, after learning a valuable lesson in not trusting anyone, especially the bank, albeit a bit too late, they now made a good team. Suddenly, in the way that the Sheriff knocked at their front door and banged at their front door with a court order in hand to evict them, there was another knock, a louder knock this time at their motel room door.

"Mom? There's someone at our door," said Michael.

Already gun shy, Jennifer muted the TV, stood up from the bed, and took a step back to stand in the corner as if someone was going to barge in her door and evict her again.

"Don't open the door," she said in a panic while clutching the television remote control in her hand as it was a gun or a Taser.

Michael stood and peered through the peephole again.

"It's just some kids trick or treating," he said seeming ready to open the door.

"Trick or treat. Trick or treat," said the kids in unison as if they were part of a Halloween choir. "Trick or treat."

Jennifer sighed a big breath of relief. She sat on the bed more relaxed and turned off the television. Suddenly but for the bathroom light that illuminated half of the small, gloomy room, the room was dark, dingy, and depressing. Seemingly the darkness from outside had somehow seeped in the room to make it feel just as gloomy. Only, it was more than just the dark. The room was nothing like being at home. A tenth of the size of their beautiful craftsman style house, this 300 square foot, 15' by 20' rectangular room was a much smaller than the beautiful home they had been evicted from and had become accustomed to living in.

"Don't open the door Michael," ordered Jennifer. "We don't have any candy to give them. Pretend we're not here. Besides, I don't want to meet our neighbors. With the element who live here, I'd rather not meet any of the people who live her. I don't want anyone to know we're living here in this run down, rat, and roach infested motel room," she said with false pride while looking around the room as if looking for rats and roaches. "I'm embarrassed enough as it is," she said pulling her sweater tighter across her breasts and wrapping her arms around herself against the cold.

Only, with Michael there with her, she needn't worry about roaches. Not afraid of bugs, he used to have a job in pest control. The first thing he did when entering the room was to remove the bedspread from the bed, the biggest germ collector, and check the bed for bedbugs. He had already seen some things that average people never see or experience. Most people don't even know that big roaches can fly short distances, especially when launching themselves from high places, such as trees and ledges, and silently gliding down. Yet, whether they were eight legged, six legged, four legged, crawling, jumping, or flying bugs, her son would protect her from all insects. Even if they were two legged parasites, he'd protect her from human insects too. No harm would come to his mother as long as he was there with her to protect her.

"Trick or treat," more kids were knocking at their motel room door hoping for candy. "Trick or treat. Trick or treat." There were a big bunch of kids outside their door.

* * * * *

It was just them against the world was something his mother always said when things were bad and at their worst. With them out in the street and homeless, things were pretty bad now and couldn't possibly get much worse. Yet, at least they had their health and they still had one another. With them cast out of their home and thrown out in the street with their possessions, Jennifer put on a strong face when she was humiliated in front of her friends and neighbors. The events of today obviously took a toll on her. With her always being a bigger than life image to him before, Michael stared over at his mother sitting on the bed suddenly looking so small and so scared.

Seeing her looking like that made him want to hold her, hug her, and protect her. Seeing her looking like that made him want to take her in his arms and kiss her. Seeing her looking like that made him want to part her lips with his tongue and French kiss her. Seeing her like that made him want to feel her through her clothes while kissing and kissing her. Seeing her like that made him want to undress her, actually strip her naked. Seeing her looking like that made him want to have sex with her, his own mother. Seeing her looking like that made him what to strike out against the army of faceless old, white men who hurt her and who did this to them.

As far as he was concerned, all of these white, old men were all the same. Whether they were accountants, lawyers, and/or politicians, they were all guilty of committing horrific crimes against modern society for the sake of money. Money, money, money, everything was all about the almighty dollar. Only, with them no one and nobody, they were powerless to do anything but to suffer the consequences of the greed of others. They were just pawns in a bigger, more powerful game of us against them, the rich against the middleclass, a middleclass that is now poor and an upper class that is now superrich. Now with the middleclass dissipated and bogged down by unemployment and underemployment, there was just two classes of people in America the superrich and the poor.

They had no money to fight the good fight and to fight the wrongs of the rich and powerful in a court of law. If they tried to fight those old, white men who had all of the power, all of the influence, and all of the money, if they weren't massacred now, they'd be crucified then. In the way of Cervantes' Don Quixote on his horse with his sword, they had no hero to come to their rescue and to defeat their giant windmills. They had no beacon to summon Batman to make those bad men who rigged the financial system and forced foreclosures demand that the big, bad bank give them back their home. With no friends and no family there to help them, comfort them, and support them in their time of need, alone with their bad selves, they had no one but themselves.