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Saturday, October 11, 2008

Women; the fairer sex...when there's nothing fair about them.

It has been 42 years since the following incident and it is time I put it to rest.

The psycho babblers would say I was looking for my Mother in all my relationships, and they may, or may not be right. All I know is this...I learned something about women, and my place in their world a long, long, time ago...and it was not from my Mother.

We were living in Las Vegas and I was six, maybe seven years old. It replays in my head like some weird loop of a grainy surveillance video, and it is time it stopped.

My Mother had farmed me out to a friend of hers- a showgirl- who was between shows. She knew my Mother was incapable of caring for me as she showed up one day at our trailer and I was on the front step, playing in the dirt with a stick and my Mom was passed out, naked, on the toilet.

She bundles me up, and takes me to her house, where she has a pool and a poodle and real food and a color t.v.

I am wary, as I know this won't last and I will eventually be returned to the trailer, where I live on cheese sandwiches and my Mothers voice echoes in my head from the bedroom, while I try to close my ears and eyes, in a small ball on the couch- "When you fucked me did you mean it, huh, cowboy, did you mean it...?"

She lets me take a long bath, and makes me spaghetti and meat balls and has bought me a pair of real pajamas.

She lets me watch t.v., anything I want, and I settle on 'Gypsy"-with Rosalind Russel- the story of a famous stripper, the irony of which is not lost on me...but not until later.

I'm engrossed with the colors and the beautiful women, Natalie Wood to be exact (Rosalind was a little long in the tooth for my seven year old taste.)

She calls my name from behind me and I twist and look to see what she wants.

She's wearing nothing but a pair of panties and her breasts are, in hindsight, spectacular. I have very little to compare them to as my Mom was a hard A cup at best and my only real knowledge of the female form came from a Playboy I found folded up on my way to first grade.

( I kept it in my plaid winter coat pocket and Mom found it. I was grounded, as well as confused, but I wanted to see them again, that was for sure. I never went through the stage I hear of, where boys find girls gross, or have cooties. I found them behind the bushes at school with their panties down and I was enthralled.)

She sat on the couch and asked me if I wanted to touch them. All I could do was nod. If I said no, she might get mad, and I couldn't swim in the pool, and I did as she asked. The experience left me flushed and her breathing hard and she suddenly stopped me and said that was enough, and left the room.

The movie ended and I went to bed, in her room, and she tucked me in to her big bed, with the fluffy comforter and she gently kissed me on the forehead, and I smelled scotch. She left the door cracked so the light from the hallway shone in, like a triangular night lite.

She returned a few minutes later and slid her hand under the covers, touching me, making me grow.

She put me in her mouth and I felt her tears on my stomach.

She told me I was a good boy...a very good boy.

I drifted off to sleep, confused yet knowing something had happened that would forever change me.

I learned to be a good boy with all the women in my life.

And all of you wonder why it hurts so much when you leave...?

Because I wasn't very good, after all.

No comments:

My new disclaimer...yeah I know.

Okay, the old disclaimer was tired. The ideas were outdated and keeping me stuck in a place I don't want to be now for something more refreshing.

I have recently changed my views regarding women. Seems I had some issues with the fairer sex due to past pain and self- centered fear. (Yes...duh applies.)

I'm done with that.

Being in recovery has helped me change my entire life, perceptions and attitudes. I cannot change my history but I can change my today and my future.

I recently realized that the women I know in recovery are some of the strongest, bravest, most gentle and kind teachers I have ever had. You exemplify integrity and spiritual growth, and I hope you know who you are.

Some may know of my past marital and relationship history and been a participant in them as well. It's past and that's where it the past.

I own my part in those failures but claim no more responsibility in any misery you may be experiencing. I am sorry, but it's time to get off the cross. We need the wood.

Thank you all...