Date: Wed, 9 Apr 2008 19:55:41 -0400 From: Sean E Subject: My Road of Life's Discoveries - Ch 1 Discoveries on My Journey of Life EKidKy - :o) I guess I should put a disclaimer here - you know, like the usual ones about if you shouldn't be here, then go away or get out. Thing is, as I do this, there will be sex stuff, but just not as much as is the usual I guess, or at least, not until some of the later chapters. Instead, this is a true account of me - my journey, as a kid growing up alone, in a confusing world with a lot of confusing feelings and the things I've faced over the last dozen or so years of my life. If you want to read, go for it - for all I know, there are other peeps it might actually help somewhere along the way. I guess we'll find out, right? So, here you go - enjoy. ---------------- --- Chapter One --- I think any part of a journey has to start at a beginning. Well, other than for the obvious reasons - I mean, that sounds kind of cliche, right? - how can anyone really convey how they grew, how they overcame obstacles, how they lived their life, their ups, downs and everything in between, unless their was some beginning that made it all kind of tie together. For me, its not the kind of journey that is easy to just write down into a simple paragraph and then get on to the good stuff. I guess that's what most people on here look for, their here for the things that get them off, or make them experience the perverse pleasures that come from seeing in the minds eye of another individual, what someone else has written, someone else has made, whether it be fantasy or fact... I'm sorry guys, but thats not me. I've wrote this story a lot of times in my years growing up, so it's not like I'm without some practiced hand at doing it. Yeah, it has the "good" stuff in it, but it's not one of those things I'm just going to throw out there to stand on its own. I kind of figure this is probably the last time I will ever try to do this, and if its something I'm going to do, I guess I'm hoping that it becomes more than just the simple things, that maybe if someone reads it to the end, they'll find a lot of things to share - you know, the kind of things that let them know they aren't alone. This is a true story, with names being pretty accurate. The only thing I will change, to sort of protect the people I was around in all my years growing up is, well, the place I grew up. Other than that, I don't know how long this will be, but I hope it is long enough to provide some of you with something more than just entertainment. It all started in a small town in east central Kentucky, not exactly at the foothills of the mountains, but it was close. We were far from the flatlands that sort of separated the east and west of the state, but to say we had big, high hills or grades would not really be that accurate. I know that because, of the few trips I ever took outside my county in those early years, the Smokey Mountains was the one place that truely showed me the definition of "mountains", and the flats of southern Wisconsin showed me the other extreme. Still, it was a cool place to grow up mostly. I rode my bike over those endless rises and twisted country roads, underneath a lot of skies that mixed rain and clouds to sunshine and humidity. Kentucky is a temperate state, meaning it had a mix of all kinds of weather. Winters were cold, but not brutal; snows were not uncommon, as we had our fair share of them, mostly 2-3 inches at a time for 4-6 times a year or season, hanging around a few days and then melting off. Summers would put the temperature in the upper 80's, maybe low 90's for 7-8 weeks of the year, and were it not for the humidity, they would not have been that insufferable. Still, the rest of the year the temperatures were pleasant, and we got more than enough of our share and mix between rains and sunshine. Living close to the mountains, we had plenty of tree's to keep shade in abundance, and their only downside was when fall came the leaves would stack high, leaving many of us kids grumbling about keeping them under control... I lived on the ouskirts of town, probably less than two miles from my school, an old set of disconnected buildings that lay on the north side "campus" as the townsfolk called it. Where We lived, Mom and I were the tennets of a house that sat at the edge of a 120-acre farm, with probably 30 or so acres covered in timber. Those woods held a lot of fun for me walking thru some days when I got old enough to stray out on my own. They backed up to our back yard, and supplied us with plenty of fuel for heat in the winter months. We had a two-story house, one we actually was buying, so I guess you could say we were the banks tennants; actually, it had belonged to the farm that surrounded most of our area, and the farmer and my Dad had known each other for a long time. He had no use for it and had been interested in selling it, so he gave them a fair price and the rest was history, I guess. The house had white clapboard siding that wasn't in bad shape at all, with a metal roof that had no rust, but yet had been there for a long time anyways. Inside, it was basically two levels, the downstairs made up of a living room/kitchen and master bedroom (with a bathroom off in the back corner of the floorplan); and it also had a partial screened in back-porch off the back, where mom kept her washer and dryer. The back yard there backed up to the woods, not large, but large enough for a couple of well placed oak trees to partially overhang the roof, yet still have plenty of growth all around for years to come. The house sat probably a third of a mile off the main road, down a winding gravel driveway that pulled up to the side and stopped. No carport, no garage, just a line of firewood that warmed us much of the winter, cut every spring and summer from the backyard woods and piled high so it would season before the cooler days of fall hit. The tin-roofed house had a front porch that spanned it's width, with an old vinal love-seat next to the front door on one side, and the other a two-seater porch swing, which hung lazily from chains attached to the ceiling. I spent many a day there, propping a bean back in one corner, and climbing in it with a good book to read - initially comics and Archie funnies, but eventually it grew into other areas of more fictional value. Tom Clancy was a favorite of mine, John Grisham, lots of Star Wars and Star Trek novels, and other science fiction and fantasy books too, some noteworthy of the most celebrated literature classics, such as Clarke's Rendevous With Rama, Brooke's Sword of Shanara series and so on. Make no mistake about it, I was a bookworm - and most kids in school saw me as such. I was the quiet, shy boy who sat in the middle of the class, always off to the side, and stayed out of trouble - well, mostly anyway. If you looked at me, I was a mostly skinny runt the whole part of my early life. It wasn't until I was maybe 16 or 17 did I finally get some size on me to fit my age, and (thankfully) let me fit in with other kids in my class. I wore glasses, thin plastic lenses most of the time (Wal-mart cheapies), with thin wire-like frames - not the colored plastic stuff that make them stand out like on some people's faces. At times I could go without them, for my eyes were not in that bad of shape, but my vision was weak enough to warrant their necessity in school - for that I had no choice. It never bothered me much, as I was never the brunt of the jokes that I saw a lot of kids face when in my classes, or on the bus. I think that's because they just weren't that noticable - something I am forever grateful for with my Mom, who let me usually get the frames I wanted within a certain budget. Other than that, I was just a skinny runt, short for my age, with a mix of hair styles that just stayed cut - not short, not "skinnish" like some, but more crew-like than anything, with some length to it. Mom cut my hair most of the time; between her and Grams, they didn't know much about styles, but they knew enough about how to keep it shaped up for a kid and teenager I never had to worry about it any. No one made fun of me about it, so I guess it was as normal as kids would expect it to be. So me, I was a short kid, skinny... nothing fancy, no pecs to flex or ribs that showed up, not really anyway. I had a tight tummy, and "innie" for a navel... Most years I had little peach fuzz-like hairs on my arms and legs. My arm muscles were not flabby, but they also were far from being anything to show either. In fact, the only thing that really showed any kind of tonement or anything was probably my legs and thighs. I mean, when I said I rode my bike a lot, yeah, it was really a lot. I could not be a bookwork all day in the summer, staying around the house glued to a TV with only a few stations to watch (it was a while before we ever got cable). So, I rode, all over town, and all over back roads around the area. Never going anywhere, except I might stop occassionaly for a soda or something, but mostly just getting out a riding whereever the road took me. Mom and I had an agreement around when I turned 12 or 13, that as long as she knew roughly where I was going, or at least when, and as long as I let her know when I got back home, she was okay with it. It was the mid 1990's, and although we heard the horror stories of kids getting kidnapped, or hurt and such in the bigger towns and cities, around there it just didn't happen. Plus, I always stayed in the more populated places, never the back alleys or anything. As I got older, I rode in places a little bolder, but mostly it was safe, and no one ever bothered the short, shrimpy kid flying by on the old 10-speed. I didn't bother them, and they didn't bother me... How short was I? Ummm... I think up though my first 9-10 years or so, I was about like everyone else my age around me, but then they started shooting up and I - well, I didn't go anywhere. By the time I was 12, I was still around 5'3" to 5'4" or so, and a lot of the boys were hitting 5'9 or more. This one kid - a bully if you ever met one - was towering everyone at over 6', maybe 6'1" or so, and he made sure everyone knew it. He loved to taunt the guys who didn't want to join his inner circle, and to be honest, he didn't have to be the bully over many of us - just standing next to him, and having to cran your neck upwards to keep any kind of eye contact was withering enough. I had done it a few times, but fortunately I never had but one actual half-fight with him (more of a curse-trading event than anything); he was a butt-ugly customer, with withering eyes, and always a stale, rotten-esque breath that emitted when he breathed or screamed in anyones face. I never understood how anyone who obviously never (or at least hardly ever) brushed his teeth, kept such white teeth in the end. He was muscular though, and strong, and in the end yes - he could pulvarize anyone - period. The horror to it all was he knew he could do it, and his skill at keeping from being caught almost became legendary in itself. So I was short, kind of puny, skinny - but far from boney or anything. And I had some decent muscles in my legs - after all, like I said before, I rode my bike a lot. Where we lived, few kids my age were around; in fact, the only boys period were the two sons our landlord had, but they were about 6-7 years younger than me, and although I sometimes did play with them some, basketball and stuff, it just wasn't close enough to feel right about, you know, being close to anyone. Plus, they had this thing about them - rambunctious, mischevious, totally hyper at times - it was hard to keep up with them sometimes as they were. They were the pick of the litter more or less for several miles, except for a couple of girls that lived a couple of miles down the road. They were girls that I was always hesitant around, because they were troublemakers, not far from my age; they got into smoking and who knows what else. They didn't "look" bad, but it was obvious they didn't have the being-a-lady part down. For all I know, they could have been screw happy with the guys - in fact, I may have even heard that once, I don't remember exactly. Still, they were not any type for me (not that I was into girls or anything) and for the most part I just ignored them, and they did the same in return, and that suited me just fine. As close as I was to town though, even to the school, you would think I could have done better. The truth is though, I didn't really try much. Here is where I admit it: I guess I was somewhat of a wimp. See, most of the guys my age, they grew up with interests like cars, fishing, hunting, sports - or rather jocks, I guess. And if you know how tweens and teens can be, if you didn't share their interests, you were automatically on the wrong side of the boat. Oh - and girls too. How many times I sat on the bus - even for the short rides to or from home - and listened to how someone scored, or watched everything - from some of the guys sticking their hands up between the legs of the girls as they went by, getting a "handful" (outside their clothes, of course), to actually peeking and watching one guy get his hand under the shirt of a girlfriend and coping a feel. To me, it was astounding watching what they could get away with; but it was something that also made me pretty sad. It's not that I disliked it, or disliked girls; sometimes I found it interesting and amusing to listen how they did this or that. One guy would boast of this and another would try to top it - and a lot of times I think they just were bull-shitting around, but some, I don't know. I knew a few of the guys, and they were always pretty straight shooters I think, and to hear them score the wet one and stuff was pretty believable, especially the jocks. I guess for me it was just that I was brought up to respect things a little differently. To say I was a religious kid, I would have to say I really wasn't that much. We went to a missionary baptist church, and yeah, for those of you who will understand such, I was saved and baptized when I was 10, and yes it instilled some moral value to me I won't try to preach or describe here. But I wasn't a hard-core Christian, mostly because I was so young, and mostly because it would be years before I came to appreciate or understand what some of those beliefs would entice me to take to heart. Still, it gave me a certain perspective on things at the time, and I guess I just sort of held back, didn't really get that interested in doing the things the others were doing. For a while it was okay, but eventually some of them noticed, and although they sort of respected me in a way, they also left me more alone, and that made me feel more like an outsider. And the more outsider I got, the more alone I became, and the more I became alone, the more the insides of me were hurting to have a friend, anyone, I could talk to or just be around, you know? Sometimes the guys around would tease or taunt, asking me what I dreamed of or thought of doing, had I ever coped a feel or held a girl's breast or tit... I think the big joke of the day was when they went around and asked every unsuspecting kid they could fine - young and old - if they ever had a pussy stretched over their head (forgive my language, I'm just trying to reflect how we/they thought in those days, I guess.) Of course, when they said 'NNnnoooo...', they got double-whammied: 'Hey look guys, we got a queer-born alien here' or some such crap. 'What, you were never born asshole!' 'Was too!' they would argue back and forth, until finally someone had to explain to them when they were born what happened. For the older creeps it was a big laugh; for the younger kids who maybe didn't know anything about that stuff yet - I imagine a lot of nights with moms or dads (if they were brave enough) were filled getting it all sorted out... Most of the time I could turn around and ignore them, but it still bothered me - so much so I was almost turned against sex of any kind or nature. It wasn't until I watched a movie once - and I think this is the first time it really hit me at home what kind of feelings I was or might be developing - I saw this scene that made me laugh. I think the movie was 'Taps' (although I'm not totally sure), about kids at a military academy, and the adult commander had a nervous breakdown and died. The kids vowed to keep the academy going though, and they baracaded it up, so much so the govenor called out the national guard (or some military group) to come get them out, because the school was being shut down. They were at a standoff - until one scene came when the eldest kid there, who was in charge of the other kids, is standing under a tent and being barked at by the adult commander, and he was chastising him about kids being put in a situation that they didn't have any business being in, who (if I remember the words right) "...didn't have hair one between their legs...". I laughed, then right after, I felt bad about laughing, I think because it was right then I had just started to maybe get some pubic hairs myself, and for some reason, it made me feel sad and sorry and ashamed. Shameful because for a minute, okay for a few minutes, I had actually tried to picture some of the guys in that movie - especially some of them in the shower scene - with and without "hair one". I know now, and would eventually come to know then, it was just curiosity, but I didn't understand it for a while. Remember, I grew up isolated, alone, and very much without any friendships or companionships to speak of, period. And after that scene, and for the rest of that evening and night, I guess I was just curious. I had never taken a bath with anyone, our school didn't have showers for after PE or anything - and up to that point I had never been around anyone period even in their underwear, to look or see or anything how other guys were compared to me at the time, given the way I was just starting puberty and beginning to "grow". There was one other thing that contributed to my odd feelings about sex and stuff too, and it wasn't pretty in any sense of the real word. One night when I was about 8-1/2 or so, we had someone in the family that had passed away, and I had some distant relatives to come into town for the funeral. One of the families stayed with us, since with just me and mom being in the house, and we had an extra twin-size bedded bedroom, and a pull-out sofa downstairs. They had one kid, Jeremy, about 15 or so, I think - because he kept talking about getting his drivers permit on his birthday the next month, and we got along okay, playing around outside with basketball and stuff. But he kept really close to me sometimes, seemingly hugging on me, or touching me physically I mean - a lot, like bumping around and stuff, a lot of physical contact. After supper we even got into a wrestling match, one which he let me whip up on him a lot it seemed, with me pinning him down more and more, my body just laying on top and pressing him, and all he would do sometimes was like hold me in place, the big bear-like hug. At the time I didn't think anything of it, really - but as I look back, I think he did a lot of it on purpose for whatever his reasons. To me he was like a playmate, someone to do stuff with that was very rarely afforded to me, so I liked the attention, I liked the feeling safe I guess. Anyway, after it started getting late, mom told me I needed to take a bath that night - there was no shower that worked in the house at that time, just a big, oversized old porcelain tub that thankfully was all mine, upstairs at the other end of the hallway from my bedroom. I pouted, of course, like many kids would do - I was having fun, and the emptiness I had been feeling was seeping out for a little while with my new "friend" who was at least willing to play with me and not ignore me. Still I eventually gave in, and headed upstairs... Now, you have to understand something - the upstairs was "my floor". It had two bedrooms, mine plus a guest room that was not very big at all; in fact, it had just enough room for a twin bed and a chest of drawers in it. No closet, but it did have a window overlooking the front yard. It was one of those bedrooms that really wasn't a bedroom, more originally like a storage room I guess. The only person who ever really stayed in it was my Grams a few times when she was sick and needed someone to look after her. Anyway, at the top of the stairs, if you turned right you walked straight into my bedroom (I'll describe my room some other time); if you turned to the left was a short hallway, with the guest bedroom doorway located immediately to the left. At the end of the hallway, next to the outer wall was a small closet on the left, kind of like a linen closet I guess, and then a door to the right was my bathroom. The door was old, like a lot of doors in the house, and it did close just fine, but it had no lock or anything on it; the door's handle was an old-fashioned hook knob, not like what you find common now. That was alright with me though, cause like I said, it was my bathroom, on my floor, and nobody ever bothered with me or it or anything upstairs much. That door opened into a pretty good sized bathroom I thought. I never understood the logic of how it was laid out to begin with, the upstairs, I mean. It was just a big bathroom, probably big enough you could have fit two tubs, to vanity thingy's, and more, and STILL had room to dance around if you wanted (not that I ever did, but you get the idea). There was a window over the toilet that overlooked our backyard, and as you entered there was my tub to the right, like I said before, just big and old I guess; I don't know, just the usual stuff you would find in a bathroom was where everything else was left. The vanity cabinet thingy was pretty big and it ran along the left wall as you walked in. There was an overhead light, but I seldom used it; instead I had a nice lamp that did most everything I needed. It was perfect for me, it was my private little place away from everything, you know? So anyway, this was my floor, my bathroom. Mom had her own bedroom and bathroom downstairs, fixed her way; this room and my bedroom were mine; I can be honest in saying the only time Mom ever really came upstairs was to collect my dirty clothes (if I forgot to bring them down in time when she was planning to wash and stuff), or to just the occasional clean up or stuff (which was pretty rare, really). Even when it came time to put clothes away, she usually put mine in a basket and just set them at the bottom of the steps. Sometimes she would bring them up and put them away for me, but I learn early on to be pretty good about doing the stuff right "the first time"; she knows I'll take care of my room - for the most part anyway. So in the end, I kept my room and bathroom in pretty good shape, all on my own. I did my own basic cleaning and stuff, somewhat to please her, but also mostly so that I could keep it my way, make it my rooms, something that was my private space, I guess. By doing that, I was able to keep as much privacy as I could for myself. So, that night I went up and undressed and climbed into a tub of suds and water and just lay back for a while. It wasn't till a couple years later we got the shower fixed, so back then, baths are all I had - and I really didn't mind it. At some point, I started getting my water hotter and hotter each time I climbed in, and during the winter months, it felt so good to be warmed up, and I came to start reading a lot while in the tub, or laying back and just watching the sky and tree's through the window; sometimes it even put me to sleep. That night wasn't much different - as excited and dejected at the same time of Jeremy being there, I lay back for a few minutes just relaxing some, and I don't know, maybe 5-10 minutes went by before I heard my cousin come upstairs and go to his "room". I didn't think much of it, until the next thing I heard was a knock at my bathroom door. I never heard him come down the hallway, which kind of creaked some when someone walked on it so yeah, it startled me. I either just didn't pay attention, or he had sort of sneaked some way, you know, real quite. Anyway, I sat up and looked over at the door and saw it was cracked a little, and then I could see he was peeking in. He asked, kind of like in a hoarse whisper, if he could come in and pee, making like he had to go bad, and the bathroom downstairs was being used. At first, I thought it was kind of odd, but then looking down at myself, I was covered to my lower belly with suds hiding my privates and stuff. I remember thinking yeah, its okay, so I shrugged my shoulders and told him sure, go ahead. He came in, he was in boxers - and that, in all honest truth, is something I had never seen before. Most all the kids I dressed out with in PE at school wore briefs - I don't remember any of them ever wearing boxers - so it was a big curiousity to me just then. At first I thought they were just shorts or something, but the material was really thin, and they had this weird red-black check design thingy that I knew would garner some snickers probably from some people I knew. I remembered wondering if they were pajama bottoms or something, they looked like that cotten stuff like my pajamas, just - you know - not pajamas. He walked over to the commode and with his back to me, he stood there and I could see the motion of him pulling the front of his waistband down. I looked and watched as the boxers fabric was like, sticking up in the lower part of his butt-crack, you know, showing the outline in detail. Hey, I was 8 yrs old, and seeing that I sort of snickered a little, but then I got scared he heard me and dropped my eyes in shame. Still, after a minute, I looked at him again and watched; he stood there a really long time, not doing anything, but finally he let go, and a steady stream started, relieving his bladder. As he finished, I notice him kind of shaking his thing or something in front, because of the way he was moving even though I couldn't really see. Then as he was pulling the band back up, I looked away, not wanting to get caught, and just lay back and slid back into the water more. He turned around then, and with a smile on hist face, came over to the tub and at my feet, put both hands in and then rinsed them off. At first it was odd, but I giggled and understood, I think - it was his way of washing his hands I guess. Then suddenly he reached to find my feet and grabbed andgrabbed one, and started tickling the bottom in the arch. I gasped "Hey!" and started twisted and squirming a little, forgetting all pretense of hiding myself for that few seconds as he lifted it higher and started on me more, making me laugh trying to get away from him. I was also trying to keep from being too loud, too, because for some reason or another, I didn't want my mom or anyone finding out I had let him into the bathroom with me. He also was very hushed, and after a few seconds (which still seemed like a long time to me) he stopped and let go of my foot, letting it drop back into the water. Now, I had reacted to the attempt like any 8 yr old I think would have done, kicking and twisting and laughing and whatever, and I am sure in the squirming and fussing caused my 8-year old dink and balls to not stay completely hidden from his eyes; I saw him more than once looking at my crotch as it bobbed up and down back into the water. When he let go, he only re-affirmed it, coming up to the side of the tub and watching me, got one of these little devious grins on his face. I stopped squirming, and watched back, impassive I guess, curious as to what was going on, but at the same time I was getting nervous. Still, I said nothing, and he leaned in and whispered to me "You got weird balls man..." My face scrunched up, like "Huh?", and then he just reached one of his hands in, straight to where my privates were and pushed it down between my legs, cupped my nuts and lifted them up - and me - just above the water line. I sat back a little more - heck, I didn't know what was going on - so I just sort of "floated" a little better I guess, and using his other hand he pushed the suds aside, and then there I was, in plain glorious view to his eyes and mine. He played with me for a few seconds, my nutz sort of just floating in the cup of his fingers as he moved them around some, then nodded and said "Yep, these are cool marbles, I never seen any like this!" Like this? I didn't know what to think of that - at first, I remember thinking well, something was wrong, that I wasn't "normal" I guess; maybe its because I'm such an oddball, or at least always felt that way, but then he left them and started touching my "other", and for a sec it started getting hard. He was like glued to me, whispering then, something like 'And this is cool...', like something different. The whole exchange lasted 20, maybe 30 seconds and then I started feeling very funny about it and I frowned. I mean, up to that point no one had ever saw my privates in my life, I think, unless it was my mom or some babysitter I had when I was really, really little. And here he was not just handling them, but fondling them too, and when I looked at his face, it wasn't just curiosity I saw there. There was more, and the more I watched him, the wierder it felt. I finally pulled back and sat up, sinking my bottom to pull away, but he didn't let go. When he sort of held on, and I thought to myself 'What the..', and I started getting scared, really scared. I don't know why, just to the mind of a kid it was weird, and well, somehow just wrong. At first I know I didn't think a lot of it, maybe because that curiosity side of me let me think it was okay, but when I saw the look in his face and saw his eyes and how he was doing me? Moving up and down, pulling my skin back... it just, I don't know. Maybe at first okay, yeah, but then I didn't like it, and I didn't like him. I just started getting more scared so I pulled away even more. I was getting ready to say something when we both heard his dad calling him from downstairs; Jeremy whipped his hands away and stood up fast just as we heard footsteps start up the stairs. Talk about getting out of that bathroom fast, he booked it to the door and was out, closing it at the speed of light it seemed! I wasted no time either, because I felt angry, guilty, and yeah - still scared. When he was through the door, I knew it was my chance to get out fast and get some clothes on, so I drained the tub and rushed out, drying off and getting some briefs on. I heard voices at the end of the hall, and could make out enough that his dad seemed to have brought him up some fresh clothes or something for the next morning, which made me sigh a little with relief. I also heard him tell Jeremy to get some sleep and not be keeping me or anyone else up. As I finished getting my pajams on, I heard Jeremy go into his room and close the door, and his dad head back downstairs. I quickly went down the hall and into my room, closing the door. A minute or two later I heard a little knock, and Jeremy call out to me, but I ignored him. Finally I heard him call out 'Night Sean', but I still didn't reply, I just went and crawled into bed under the covers. It was a long time before I fell asleep that night, feeling weird, even crying sometimes. By the time I did fall asleep, it was only from exhaustion. I hated Jeremy at that moment - someone I found I could play with finally, and then he did this to me, making me feel weird, and ... dirty. He didn't hurt me physically, but to someone who just didn't know or see these things any better back then, or know how to feel about them, it made me feel weird and ashamed. The next day I avoided him as much as I could. He never said anything at all about the night before, and when we were together a few times in the car and whatever, he tried to say something at first, but after awhile he just took this whole different attitude like, I was some kind of creep or something. I didn't give him the satisfaction of getting me off to myself anywhere, and I clung to my Mom or other grownups for a long time. When the funeral was over, they went home, and I was only to see him one more time, a couple of years later at a family reunion or something, at which we skillfully ignored each other yet again. I still think to this day I would have been alright with all of it, if it just hadn't been for the way he did it, the way he handled everything, and his cocky attitude and lust. If he had just talked to me about it, I might have been a lot more accepting then, you know? But he didn't, and then it just all went to pieces... I never got an apology, never got an explaination - anything. The last I heard a couple years ago was that he had gotten some girl pregnant, and they were having to get married - unplanned, but whatever... All this happened on my so-called road to discovery, I guess. My feelings were always one of being alone for a lot of years, and I didn't really know any better, because to me it was just normal life seen by the eyes of a kid, me mostly growing up and living with mom. My parents divorced when I was 6 or 7 - I don't always remember the exact year, knowing I could probably look it up if I wanted to sometime, but also never really caring that much. I think that its by choice though - when my parents separated, it hurt me, really really bad. I was young, and I could not understand the why's of how people who loved each other initially could fall out of love so easily. Not until a couple of years ago did I ever find out the truth behind what happened and why, and no, I won't go into the gory details of it here; just suffice it to say, my parents had a falling out, and one thing led to another, and although initially they just separated, it eventually became permanent. And for me - it was like my whole world was shutting down. In fact, I did shut down - hard. School became an antagonistic environment for me, where even though I was small, I wasn't that much smaller than the other kids around me, so almost anything they did playing around or taunting me cause my fuse to ignite, setting me off in the wildest moods. I became an antagonistic brat; I cursed - not really uncommon (I heard a lot of other kids swear a lot worse than me at times), but still bad enough - and not only to the other kids, I cursed at the teachers too. Sometimes I initiated it, other times it was someone doing something to egg me on. One year, I was in third grade I think, the teacher had her back turned, someone flicked my ear; I was already in a bad mood then, so I just turned around and punched the living snot out of the kid behind me. Of course, she (the teacher) only "magically" saw me and nothing else, so she took me to the principals office, who in turn just shook his head and put me in a corner seat. About an hour later Mom showed up walking through the door, and she and Mr Newberry (I think that was his name) went behind closed doors and quietly talked for a while, then she came out, and the look on her face told me not to say a word. We went home in silence and I was sent to my room. The next day was Friday, and I didn't go to school; I had been expelled for the rest of the week. I knew I was in trouble, moreso than usual, and all the while I kept getting more and more scared. No one would talk to me, and I kept regretting what I had did, kept feeling sorry for myself and why I couldn't keep control anymore. All I could get through my head though was how unfair all of it was - like it always was - and then how stupid I was becoming about it all, making it my fault and mine alone. That evening Dad came to visit, and you talk about getting scared, I was at an all-time low. See, I loved my father, I respected him more so than a lot of kids would ever do, I think, even though he left us. He never gave me a rough time about anything, often trying to console me, help me, cheer me up or cheer me on, especially when he and mom were going through their problems. He never beat or screamed or mistreated us - unlike some of the stories I heard kids tell from divorced families; but that night, he put the fear in me like I had never had before. When he came to my bedroom door, I could see "the look". My eyes were filled with tears, my face stained; I had already earlier tried to sober up, be brave, be a man I guess, but that one look at him withered me and everything around me came to a stand-still. I look back at that now, and I knew it was for my own good, and not just because as I got the whipping of my life. It wasn't the pain that hurt me so much as the sound of his voice as he had to do it. That was a changing moment for me, above and beyond anything I had ever faced before. I went back to school on Monday, very much like a puppy with his tail tucked between his legs. The kids jeered me, taunted me like crazy, for weeks, the broken bad ass I was then was no more; I took it in stride, not because of defiance, but because that event changed me inside. As much as that whipping hurt me physically, I somehow saw the pain it had brought to his eyes, to his heart, like it was all equal for both him, mom and me; and the hugging and holding he gave me afterwards for what seemed like hours, somehow let me let out all the anger, let me cry it all out, at the both of them. It didn't just happen overnight, but in the weeks that followed, I learned there was nothing I could do that was going to change anything, and I got to realizing just what it was costing my Mom. I vowed never to break their hearts again - something I think now, looking back at then, to be pretty amazing for a 7-year old, you know? It changed me, made me the quiet kid I grew up to be. The school kids were pretty bad at first, but that got better, as I stayed in touch with my quiet side, they eventually left me alone. I only had one other fight in school, and it would not happen for several years, and thankfully, it happened in a way that was so much for the better. I stood up for myself, for a whole lot of different reasons... and no, I didn't get expelled that time. And no... I didn't get another whipping either. :o) ---------------- End of Chapter One; before anyone asks, no, I don't know how many chapters this will take. My best guess? Probably 4 or 5, maybe more, but thats beside the point, really. As I stated in the beginning, I've done this a few times in my life already, but considering where I am now - I'm soon to be 22 years old - I want to take the time once more and try to do it right. As any self-described journey can be had, you can probably imagine it's not going to be pop-had-sex-pop-be done; nor is this some made up story thats going to go on and on and on and on. I like writing - I'm working on other stuff, something that may someday make its way to a publisher and make it out in print (wouldn't that be great?), but this is a story thats different - it's not fiction, it's my story, and at this point in my life, I want to record it for others to see, hear and - for lack of a better word - feel. I guess somehow I got the idea it might help someone out there some day, in some way. So, if you want to blast me, go ahead, I don't care; just don't be hurt if I ignore you. :-P If you want to leave comments or anything though, you can do that too - I would welcome them, and you never know, I might actually read and respond to some of them too! :o) You can send them to EKidKy@Hotmail.com. Until the next chapter though, I wish all of you the best, and thanks for reading this far, okay? :o) -- EKid