Date: Mon, 20 Aug 2007 06:57:59 -0500 From: J.J. Subject: Understanding Sex-Part 2 I really don't know why I'm even bothering with a disclaimer on this chapter, since you probably could find worse at Waldenbooks. Although you would be surprised at what you can FIND at Waldenbooks. At least I was. (And so were the Concerned Citizens For Decency.) Well all right then. The following contains naked people and one wet dream. If naked people and wet dreams are illegal in you current place of residence, you have my deepest sympathy. But this chapter is important, because it sort of establishes my character. And it's not that long anyway. And if you've liked the other stuff I've written, then this should be OK. Even if most of it was written before I decided to stop pretending. Understanding Sex-Part 2 Naked People J.J. the Vampire Sex Made Plain For Christian Young People and other stuff May 2...Maybe now would be a good time to throw in a little autobiographical information, because I think most people would like to know more about a person than just what his sex fantasies are. I know I would, anyway. To be honest, sometimes writing about sex gives me an upset stomach. So OK, I'll write some stuff for Dr. Danko then. Write, talk, whatever, he'd just like to have a little more information. He's a Christian psychiatrist. I really don't think I would be having all these problems if it weren't for my adoptive parents, but see, he seems to think that most of the accidents which have been happening to me ever since I was around eleven weren't REALLY accidents. So I'll work on that for awhile, then after awhile, I'll get back to sex. I don't ever talk to him about sex, by the way. There are probably some things he THINKS we should talk about, but I think I'll just pass. I broke my foot playing croquet when I was twelve. Which definitely was an accident. I can hear you asking, "CROQUET??" Well, in my neighborhood croquet could get pretty vicious, like for instance in one game I sent Ellis Kinney out the back gate into a rose bush and Eddie Hayworth's ball up the driveway and it kept rolling out into the street and didn't stop until it got to the corner of Crestview and Briarwood. So they didn't do anything to get even with me then, but the next morning Eddie sent my ball to the bottom of a five foot hole. Which they'd dug after I left the day before. I guess it took them awhile. I really didn't think that was funny and I didn't think it was fair either, but they thought it was just hilarious and they didn't care WHAT I thought. Well, with a standard K-Mart mallet you canNOT blast your ball out of a five foot hole, but I was trying anyway, and you see, it's very important that throughout the stroke you keep your head down and not move off the ball, just as in regular putting; well actually I guess if you're trying to just knock the living hell out of your ball, it is DOUBLY important; but I didn't know that then and that is how I broke my foot. And they thought THAT was funny too. I also broke my right arm playing football when I was twelve. Officially, I was trying to tackle Donnie Hundle, which in my case was a very brave thing to do. Although it was also a bit foolhardy if not downright suicidal. So OK, in that case maybe suicidal and/or self-destructive isn't always redundant then. Although I still say suicidal AND self-destructive IS, but then I'm not supposed to waste time playing semantics here. So OK. Well, if you want to know the truth, at the very last instant I had changed my mind about even trying to make it LOOK like I was trying to tackle Donnie "Mad Dog" Hundle, but I think he veered or something. I'm really not sure WHAT happened. But it was AWFUL. Compound fracture, mild concussion... but it wasn't on purpose. I broke my LEFT arm when I was eleven. Back then we were living in eastern North Carolina, forty miles from the coast out in the boonies. Me and Kelly; who was six months younger and lived half a mile down the road; were playing naked Amazon headhunters up in his hayloft. So I was going to ambush him by jumping off a large stack of hay bales onto a smaller stack and then right on across the canyon and if it had worked out like I'd planned, I would have cut him off at the pass. (The canyon was the large opening in the floor with the ladder down to the ground.) It really seemed like a pretty good plan, but unfortunately the smaller stack shifted or something and with an AIIIEEEGH!! and a KAWHOMP!!! all at once I found myself down on the ground with my arm broke. Then Kelly asked if I was OK. What kind of dumb question is that? I mean how COULD I be OK? So anyway I answered no, I was NOT OK. And yes, we were naked. Exactly how else are you SUPPOSED to play naked Amazon headhunters anyway? Then just past thirteen I gashed my right eye open. Actually, it was just above my eye. This was right after I made the ultimate bike-stuntrider jump over a ramp, a twenty foot embankment and almost across a small ditch at the foot of the bank. And while I didn't mean to wreck, I have to admit that I thought the scar looked pretty cool. Come to think of it, I still do. I guess I can see how right after all that my mom might've wondered if I really WAS trying to break my neck, but the deal was Ellis (the former record holder) said my jump didn't count because I wrecked. Well, since I also bent my front wheel, I borrowed my sister Mandy's bike which is better for stunts anyway since you don't have to worry so much about wracking your balls; but as fate would have it, before I'd even finished my warm-ups my mom appeared with a switch because Mandy told on me. "You.. GET... your.. little... hind-end.." (the pauses are for where she was switching me. Now that you have the rhythm, I'll write normal.) "..HOME and when your FATHER gets home, you'll be doing good to sit down for a WEEK! You think all we got to do is just pay your doctor bills? Well, ANSWER me! And you better just HOPE you haven't tore up your sister's bike! Ohhhh, you had better just PRAY that you didn't! Now git home!..." and so on. Needless to say, I was pretty embarrassed. And me with a big gash over my eye. She didn't even NOTICE that until we were home. Although at least " J.J.! What happened to your eye!" put an end to the switching. While my mom doesn't make me drop my pants and all, she IS bad about hitting just about EVERYWHERE. Only she doesn't whip me that often, mostly just when she loses her temper. Although now that I think of it, once she DID lay it on my bare behind, but that can be explained by the simple fact that I didn't have any clothes on to begin with. Which can also be explained. I was five. I was playing by myself under the house and at some point I decided it would be fun to take all my clothes off. It was OK, I guess, at least until my mom started calling me. Then it wasn't. Well, if I ever have kids, and one of them for some reason decides to take his (or her) clothes off, I'm just going to explain that he or she mustn't do this in front of company or at say, Wal-Mart, but beyond that, I'm not going to let it bother me. But to tell you the truth, I DO have a well developed sense of modesty and you know what? I hate it. Well, I want to have enough modesty that I don't get myself arrested, but going into the seventh grade when I was looking forward to gym with about as much enthusiasm as I would've normally reserved for a trip to the guillotine, I was being just a wee bit overwrought. I know that, you know that, and truthfully I knew that THEN, but do you think that for one second I could just go ahead and act normal? No I could not. It just wasn't possible. (I realize I've wandered away from the original subject, but it seems like I would still rather write about naked people. So possibly I'll get around to the rest of my accidents later.) (And I don't guess I'll be letting Dr. Danko see this after all.) I really think the first day of seventh grade p.e. was the worse. I mean it was a close call because on the second day we actually had to dress out, but it was on the first day that my imagination ran totally amuck. Not only did I have to dress out, I also had to wear an athletic supporter! And it got worse. I also HAD to take a shower, even if I didn't so much as break a sweat because nobody ever bothered throwing the damn ball anywhere near my direction anyway, I still HAD to. Now don't get me wrong, I had nothing against showers. I took one every day, but I like a little privacy. I've heard newer schools usually have individual shower stalls, and there's lots of places where you don't even dress out period, but what we had was one of those communal jobs, sixteen shower heads nakedly ringing the walls of one not nearly big enough room. And it got worse! There were THIRTY-FOUR kids in my class! Oh NO!! We weren't expected to SHARE were we? And let's see, sixteen times two equals thirty-two... no, that wouldn't work, like if you had fourteen being shared by two each, that would leave two being shared by THREE... and knowing my luck, I would be one of those six people and to make matters even WORSE, there was this really GROSS kid in my class, so what if... oh SHIT!... I was already under a shower and here HE came? And I just KNEW he would, it just HAD to happen that way, and you know, I couldn't hardly go, "Shoo! Shoo! Go away!!", now could I? But actually it wasn't all that bad. If you didn't make it in among the first sixteen, you just stood around and waited until a shower came open. Although you waited naked. And there was some bumping. And towel popping. And I was never any good at towel popping. And occasionally some goosing. This usually happened when you were bare assed at your locker and squatting to open it... see, we had these combination locks with long hasps, so some guy would flip the open end out from the lock and ZAP! First time I guess I jumped about five feet. Second time I jumped even higher. But it only happened to me those two times. Just jocular horseplay, I guess. I mean it was mostly the jocks who went in for that sort of thing. And it really wasn't a good idea to start calling them names. I know. But after a week or so, I got used to it and it wasn't that awful. (I am referring to nudity, not the lock hasps.) It was sort of interesting, really. For one thing, I definitely wasn't the only one who hadn't started. At least half the boys in my class hadn't started. So I didn't have to worry about it anymore. So that being the case, you could check out those who HAD started to get an idea where you might be headed. So sure I looked. I mean we had almost the entire spectrum of development represented in that class. And I wasn't unique in this checking out everyone else, either. I mean the only weird people were the ones who did just about everything in their power NOT to look. Well, I take that back, because there were two or three who were EXCEPTIONALLY weird, but aside from them; I mean you had to be cool about it, you didn't go, "Damn! Would you look at THAT! Damn boy, you got a right nice 'un!"; of course you didn't do that; you just acted like it wasn't a big deal. A casual glance, that's all. The IDEA of running around naked, not caring who saw what has always been attractive to me. When I was seven or eight I often went to sleep literally praying my folks would be called to be missionaries in the Amazon and I could go with them, but the deal was I wanted to be kidnaped by natives and raised as one of their own so I could go naked all the time. Let's see now. (No, I'm not done. I'm not even close.) It was the summer I was released from the fourth grade that I first read "Tom Sawyer". So you want to know what my favorite part was? It was where Tom, Huck and Joe ran away and ended up on that island and ran around naked. And my LEAST favorite part was where they went back home again. Also I found out that boys used to go skinny dipping all the time. If they went swimming, they went bare, it was that simple and I do recall wishing it was still that way, which is pretty damn interesting considering how later on that same summer I got my chance, I mean my father even SAID it was OK, and I flat out refused. What I did was I just flat out made a fool of myself. Without getting into genealogy, I should explain that on my foster-mother's side I have eight aunts and uncles plus my grandmother living in and around southern Minnesota and we visited up there about a week or so every summer. The summer I was ten my grandfather was still alive. He had a farm near Waseca and this is where everybody gathered together on a Sunday afternoon. In this horde of in-laws were ten boy cousins all around my age. And possibly it was because I only saw them once a year, but usually we got along OK and had a pretty good time. At home I can't hardly do anything on Sunday, but these restrictions were relaxed a little during family reunions, so while demolition derbies were out, the apple fight was OK. Why, I have no idea, but it was. Running around getting hot and sweaty was also OK. But I still had to go to church, and that included the evening services. So around four my cousins decided to go swimming in the pond. But even without asking, I knew I couldn't because it was Sunday. I mean they'd gone swimming at the city pool on a Sunday before and I couldn't go, so there was no reason to think I could then. Which was just as well because I didn't have my swimming trunks with me. Only my father said I COULD go, because I needed to get cleaned up before we went to church. But I didn't WANT to go because I didn't have my trunks with me, so in as low a voice as was possible, I mentioned this to him. To which he replied jovially in a voice probably heard over the entire front yard and inside the house as well, "Most of your cousins don't have their trunks either, but you know where the pond is. Nobody else is going to see you." All my cousins were staring at me by then, but in spite of that I quavered, "But I just don't WANT to go." I do not know WHY that happened. It is downright inexplicable, since only a week or so prior to that when at a church boys and girl's camp, I changed into my trunks along with a whole dorm full of boys I hardly even knew; at least nine times I had gotten into and out of my trunks and I never batted an eye, not even the first time, so why oh why oh WHY was I so suddenly and with so little prior warning stricken with terminal modesty? Well, acute then. WHY??? I do not KNOW why. I WAS aware I wasn't doing a whole lot for my image, so why did I obstinately CONTINUE digging myself in deeper? And WHY when my father almost NEVER gives in to me, did he drive me back to Aunt Julie's so I could GET my trunks? If I wasn't already the center of attention, you better believe I sure was by the time I got back. Shit, a year later, I STILL was. My cousins hadn't forgotten a single detail. I suppose it's entirely possible that they haven't to this day but at least I didn't see them last summer and maybe I won't this summer either. I sure hope not. And actually I guess that's all I'm going to write today. More later. (Well, shit. I can't THINK of a good way to end today's entry, OK?) May 4... So today I want to talk about that Christian academy I have to go to because of the Secular Humanists taking over our public school system. Or at least I would like to tell you about the "headmaster". Brother Jack Furnier. Brother Jack believes in discipline. Offenses of a minor nature are handled by the teacher, but HE takes care of anything deemed major. He has this paddle. It's about eighteen inches long, at least two inches thick and has several holes drilled into the paddling end. So I've been at that school for less than five months and already I've lost track of exactly how many visits to his office I've made. I don't know, I just have trouble keeping my mouth shut, is all. I mean, one day I made THREE trips. I've heard he can lift you right off your feet with that paddle, but on a scale of one to ten; ten representing the worse whipping I've ever endured; I'd say he rates about a seven, possibly seven and a half at the very most. Although a seven is noticeable. Actually, I guess my first visit to his office had to be the worst; on that day it almost went off the scale; but that was because I wasn't recovered from my old man's ten and at least a nine which followed shortly afterwards. The ten was after I got my ass busted for possession. Two frigging joints. And THAT'S when it was decided that I was going to a Christian school. It was a very bad night all right, but what REALLY pissed me off was not being able to look up Heidi's skirt in French class anymore. So I decided it was time I saw the world. I was headed for Australia. I'm serious. I guessed it would take a few years, but sooner or later I'd get there. Shit. I didn't even get out of my own damn neighborhood. Which would explain the nine. So at any rate, that first day when I couldn't hold my tongue during Bible study, well, when he added his ten licks I almost passed out. But it never was easy for me to hold my tongue in that class. That was what did me in the day I made three trips to the office. The THIRD time I showed up, Brother Furnier went, "Land sakes, you are one tough little cookie aren't you? We just can't seem to get THROUGH to you." I shrugged. "Well, we'll have to see if we can't find a remedy for that. Turn around and drop your britches." It was the first time it had gotten that serious. He ended up giving me TWENTY-FIVE licks. So possibly that was the worst. From Furnier I mean. I guess it rated maybe about eight and a half. By the time he was finished, I thought for sure he'd worn a hole in the seat of my shorts. It sure felt like it. And all this was on top of ten licks the first visit which was because somebody overheard me say "Shit", and ten more the second visit which was for chewing gum. And then after it was over he told me to sit down, we were going to have a little talk. I sat down gingerly. Furnier chuckled. "Tell you something, tough guy. You don't straighten your act up pretty quick, you just might be having a LOT of trouble with your little sitter." (He has a gargantuan sitter. I wouldn't mind firing a bazooka up it though ... but I digress.) He leaned back, crossed his hands on his fat stomach and gazed at me for a few seconds before asking, "You think you're REAL tough, don't you?" Not feeling too tough at that moment I answered, "No sir." "Oh yes, you think you're REAL tough." (So I suppose it was a rhetorical question.) "Well, I got news for you, you're not at ALL tough. Fact is, I think we'll break you in less than a month's time. How much you want to bet on that, J.J.?" Which sure sounded like a challenge to me, but not feeling like getting any more licks, I kept my mouth shut for a change. And so he sat there with that self-righteous smile for just awhile longer, then he said, "I think we've already broke you, tough guy. Now get your tail back in class and I better not see you in here again." He had a glass window in his office door. It wasn't safety glass. I know, because I just shattered the FUCK out of it and that would be how I almost severed a tendon in my left arm. Blood was gushing out like you would not BE-lieve. Then I looked at him and said, "Screw you." Then I blacked out. But to tell you the truth, I don't think I'll EVER do anything like that again, because it HURT, but then I didn't really think it over before I did it either. I was lucky though and didn't sever a major anything, just a spectacular rush to the emergency room and about eighty stitches. Then I was at some family-oriented, Bible-based treatment center for substance abuse and other types of emotional problems. Including rejection rightful authority. Attempted or otherwise. And they also had me down for suicidal and/or self-destructive behavior. So they figured I needed to stay with them for at least six months, but my old man wasn't too sure about their values so he had them recommend a good Christian psychiatrist I could see as an out-patient which would explain Dr. Danko. But he's not all that bad really. I mean I can even cuss around him as long as I don't get carried away with it. So what do we talk about? Oh, I don't know, I guess you could say we talk about whatever I feel like talking about. And you know, it's good to be able to talk to someone, even if he's always reading extra stuff into what I say. I'll give you an example, OK? Not too long after I started seeing him, I had a run-in with a skinhead named Bill Brumner. So since the next day when I went in for my appointment this was still on my mind, that's what I ended up talking about. My old man says the best way to handle a bully is to just haul off and bust him in the nose, then maybe next time he'll think twice before he starts messing with you. Yeah, right. Occasionally that might work, but in Bill's case, well, he'll think it over and then he'll just shoot your ass. Only he wouldn't really need a gun. He'd just kick you to death. I don't think it would be a particularly good idea to bust Bill in the nose. Bill Brumner is slightly over six feet tall and probably weighs in at around 190. But believe it or not, I actually TRIED to knock his damn head off. Really. I am not making this up. And I don't think I was trying to get myself killed, either. It all started when Bill yanked Aaron off his bike and threw him into a trash pile. See, I happened to be with Aaron when this took place. He'd been helping me with my paper route that day, so we'd just finished and we were sort of dawdling home. Anyway, we'd just cut behind Ace Hardware when all at once, there he was. Bill. Who was looking for Aaron. Because Aaron had insulted his girlfriend. So right at first I was just standing there slack-jawed watching poor Aaron fly through the air, wondering if I was supposed to try to help him out and if so, exactly how, when Bill hauled off and hit ME. Knocked me and my bike flat. Stars and everything. And I didn't do a damm THING to Bill's girlfriend. Then Aaron, who sometimes is totally crazy, got up and CHARGED Bill. Aaron's no bigger than me, but when he gets mad, that fool would charge a Mack truck. So fine, Bill just started beating the shit out of him. So I've been known to do some fairly stupid things myself; like I've already mentioned a few; and I felt real bad about Aaron what with him being my best friend, and now he was being killed. So I spotted a board. It was... oh, three feet long I suppose, and I was going to HIT Bill with it. Bill BRUMNER. When I think about it, I STILL cringe. If I had hit Bill with that board, he really would have killed me, like dead. I'm serious. Oh, I swung it all right, but I guess he saw me out of the corner of his eye or something, so he ducked real quick, then grabbed me by my neck, threw me about ten feet and started kicking me. But then Aaron jumped on his back so Bill stopped kicking me so he could throw Aaron into a dumpster. Then he threw me in as well. Then he said if either of us EVER messed with his girl again, he WOULD kill us and then he left. Then after about a minute I let go of Aaron. He was STILL trying to get at Bill. And they think I'M suicidal. Although at least he didn't go out looking for Bill later that on evening. Once he calmed down he was OK. But like I said, I didn't mess with Bill's girl, Aaron did. He called her a whore. I don't think she really is though. She DOES screw like a rabbit, but she does it for free. With big dumb macho types. I'd like to tie her and her boyfriends down naked in a field full of fire ants and then video tape it. Before they all died, I'd probably need four or five six-hour tapes. If my old man ever heard me say something like that, he'd knock me clean across the room. But that's almost exactly what I told Dr. Danko and he hardly even blinked. He just said, "Good. Good." I'm serious. Then after he worked on his pipe trying to get it lit for a minute, he added, "That's real anger. Now we need to work with that", then he worked on his pipe some more, then finally he wondered, "Now what do you REALLY feel?" Well I am just sorry as shit, but I cannot DEAL with that question. What does he mean, what do I REALLY feel? I HATE that question, so I said to him, (and this is almost exactly what I did say); "I feel I'd really like to be a vampire. Only I wouldn't just go around biting people randomly, the only people I'd bite would be people like Bill and his skinhead friends, so OK, I'd be sort of like a vigilante vampire. Now if I didn't personally know the people I bit, say I just saw them on the news and figured they deserved it, then I guess I'd simply be a bat and bite them and they would be dead, I don't mean living dead, I mean dead, period. They'd never even know what hit them. But if it was somebody I DID know, like Bill, then I think I'd want him to know EXACTLY who got him. J.J. Janicki the vampire, that's who. Like I would've already changed into a bat and I'd spot Bill walking over to his girlfriend's house on a dark deserted street, so I'd get up far enough ahead of him that he couldn't see me change, then I'd swoop down and change back to my human form. Then Bill would come walking up and I'd step out of the shadows, for all the world like I was just J.J. and most likely he'd ask me, `What in the fuck are you doing here?' But then again, maybe not. Maybe he'd be wondering why I didn't have any clothes on. Well, naturally when I changed into a bat, I'd fly right out of my clothes, so you think I packed a suitcase or something? Anyway, at that point I'd just tell him to suck on it, so of course he'd charge, only THEN I'd show him my fangs. And I'd hiss and start levitating, then I'd SWOOP down on him with incredible speed. But then again, maybe I'd chase him for awhile, just for the pure hell of it. You KNOW I could catch him anytime I wanted to, but I'd want to see him run screaming bloody murder at least until he started waking people up or I saw a car coming, then I guess I'd have to do him in." Then I stopped to see if Dr. Danko was taking all that down. And he was. Honest. And he finally had that pipe going too. To tell you the truth, I have no idea WHAT he writes down, he won't ever tell me. I do know I have a lot of internal anger built up (well, no shit) and I have difficulty expressing this anger and thus dealing with it in a constructive manner. Furthermore, I have displayed self-destructive and/or suicidal behavior, I resist treatment and I often attempt to employ humor which is inappropriate to my situation. Which apparently is pretty damn serious. And not only that, I wouldn't even TRY to make breadbaskets out of Popcycle sticks when I was at that treatment center, and I have made all of my psychologists cry with the exception of him. Although actually there've only been three, unless you want to count the guidance counselor at Spring Creek, then that would make four. They don't have psychologists and guidance counselors at Furnier's school. He SNEERS at such things. MOLLYCODDLING, that's what it is. Secular Humanist indoctrination. And that's somebody else I'd get. Brother Furnier. Oh yes I WOULD! I'd flap up to his door, then after making sure nobody else was around, I'd change into a vampire and without even bothering to knock, I'd bust into his office. So he'd exclaim, "Janicki, what's the meaning of this and where are your clothes?!", then he'd grab his paddle. Which of course wouldn't help him one bit. A crucifix MIGHT help, but he thinks it's a papist symbol, so he doesn't have one. Me, I'd just go "Hsss". "It looks like we're still not ready to work" Dr. Danko said. Well, seeing as how I've gotten off on Bill Brumner, this would probably be a good time to mention what his kicking our butts led to. Right after our run-in, Aaron paid a visit to the library and checked out a book on self-defense. What he had in mind was something like "Hidden Secrets Of The Ninja Revealed" but they didn't have that one, so we ended up with something called "Practical Self-Defense". Well, lesson number one was simple and to the point; if at all possible, you should avoid confrontations. Like for instance, one should not call Bill's girlfriend a whore to her face. But before long it got to some good stuff. Like off-hand I recall that I could stomp on my adversary's instep, kick him in his shin, knee him in the GROIN and GOUGE his EYE with a ballpoint pen. Now admittedly this would be painful. But exactly what do you think is going to happen when Bill finally stops hopping around? I'll tell you what will happen; he'll stomp and kick and gouge and bite until he has flat out KILLED me, THAT'S what will happen and he KNOWS where I live. So I mentioned this to Aaron. So finally he had to agree that I probably was right, but then he said, "We can still practice though." So we did. Although of course we were pulling our punches. No eye gouging was allowed. And just step on the instep, not hard enough to hurt, just know you COULD if you wanted to. That sort of thing. Only that gets boring pretty quick, so before long we were into our WWF wrestling routine. Body slams, sleeper holds, airplane spins, all that. So as best as I can piece it together, what happened was this: I jumped off the rope support (headboard of his bed) intending to land on top of Aaron. But he knew my intention, so he tried to flip, kicking his legs up and somersaulting so I'd land on the bed. Then SPLAT, he'd fall on top of me. You see that happen all the time on TV. But I FIGURED he was going to try that and I tried to catch him in the middle of his somersault. Which was supposed to be a pile driver. Unfortunately something went horribly wrong, I mean somebody's timing just flat out SUCKED and I caught it right between my legs. Shit! My biological alarm was right on the verge, I mean it just HAD to be, and then I go and get my clock smashed! I'm almost like a regular at that emergency room. But it turned out OK. At least for the most part it did. About two months ago I had a dream about Heidi. At least that's how it started out, but anyway... well, she was in my French class at Spring Creek, remember? And she was beautiful and she often wore a skirt, but she DIDN'T wear pantyhose, she wore PANTIES. When my dream STARTED, Heidi was at the academy, in my class, wearing another skirt. I was very happy, not to mention surprised she was going to school with me and in my class, but at the same time I was also worried because at our school girls have to wear these crappy-looking culottes that come down way below their knees, which completely eliminates the possibility of seeing anything interesting. So I knew if old lady Farrar saw Heidi in that skirt she'd be sent home right then and I hadn't even gotten a real good look yet. ALSO, I was pretty sure if I ever DID see up her skirt, it was going to make my whole month. Year maybe. So see, we had some tension in my dream. Then suddenly it happened. She leaned back to talk to somebody behind her and when she did, her legs opened up and... well no, she DIDN'T have on any panties. She was wearing a brown paper towel. Naturally I was disappointed but then the dream shifted and Heidi was in my house. In the bathroom. I think she was on the floor. See, the door was shut. But nobody else was home! And THEN she wanted me to come INTO the bathroom and help her. So I went in and sure enough, there she was except now she was up on the counter. Just lying there. She had on a bra and that paper towel again. But I was still getting pretty excited because I could see her hips, I could see a LOT and she wanted me to REMOVE that paper towel. Except THEN Aaron jumped on my back. And honest, in my dream I was thinking, "Where in the hell did YOU come from?" Aaron, I mean. He had on a jock strap. That's all. And guess what. All at once that's what I had on too. Damn! I mean this was just getting WEIRD. Because I was getting embarrassed because of Heidi being there (still up on the counter) but I'm just about to touch Aaron's bare butt then all at once the great roaring ocean squirted in my shorts and I woke up. Was I ever pissed. But then it hit me. Ho-ly fucking SHIT! I had just shot OFF!!! I could now inseminate people! And I could also inseminate my shorts. But I didn't care. I'd try to figure out just how Aaron ended up in my first wet dream after awhile, right at that moment what was important was that I COULD shoot off. At LAST! Yeah, I know. There's just all KINDS of symbolism in that dream. But for what it's worth, almost from that point on I knew. May 30...So I guess I'll make one more entry here. It's about what happened not long after some naked women turned up under my mattress. Pictures. Well, aside from getting my butt whipped. That much you could probably guess. But then two or three days after all that, my father said he wanted to have a talk with me in my room. So of course I was worried. NOW what had I done? Well anyway, he sat down on my bed and blew on his hands. And I swear, there was an almost palpable feeling of KINKINESS in the air! But after a few seconds he exhaled, forced a smile and said, "Sit down J.J. I'm not here to punish you." And so I did, even though I still sensed some weirdness floating about, and as it turned out, I was dead on. My very first man-to-man talk on why we HAVE to have sex. Oh my. I would have preferred a whipping. It was exCRUCIATING. The way he explained things, it HAS to rank right up there with bowel movements. But he did hit most of the bases I guess. And that included masturbation. He said, "Now J.J., I've already punished you and if you've learned your lesson we don't need to worry about it anymore, but I want to ask you something. You were looking at those pictures and masturbating, weren't you?" I'd looked at the pictures, some, but I hadn't really masturbated. Although I did admit I had THOUGHT about doing it. And I just left it at that and hoped for the best. But I HAD only thought about it. Because I was GOING to show them to Aaron. And you probably know what happens when a 12-year-old sees a picture of a naked lady. So the purpose of those pictures was twofold. One, I'm normal. Two, we're both horny as shit. Sooo.... Well, it was a Catch-22 question anyway. If I said I DID get off using those pictures as a visual aid; that was bad; if I said they really didn't do all that much for me; that was worse. (Although I have to admit that some looked sort of interesting.) But anyway. FINALLY we reached the point where he never wanted to see any more pictures like that in my room again because they were an insult. You know, to my mother and sister. And as for masturbation, well, he knew those urges would come, but what would I do if Gabriel decided it was time to blow his trumpet while I was doing that? That IS an interesting question. But you've heard of self-preservation, right? Well, me too. "I see what you mean" I answered very carefully. So I thought I might as well mention my father's explanation of sex because you might not believe this, but about a month ago we had a sex education class at the academy. We did! REALLY! I mean it's not part of the regular curriculum, but a Christian author was in town and often Brother Furnier invites leading Christian thinkers (who agree with his way of thinking) to speak to us. This author, a Dr. Karl Hamster; had recently written "Sex Made Plain For Christian Young People" and so we young people, armed with signed permission slips from our parents or guardians, gathered together one afternoon to be instructed. (Seventh grade on up. Boys only.) And really, it didn't matter to me if my slip was signed or not. But anyway, Dr. Hamster told us of bodily changes that would soon occur or had begun already and what these changes meant. It meant we were on the threshold of adulthood. Once we became full-fledged adults God expected us to go out and find a mate. This mate should not be an unbeliever. We would join this mate in holy matrimony and at this point, we could experience the joys of sexual intercourse, the way God intended it. And that's as specific as he got about THAT. But the majority of us boys were still a few years removed from the joys of marital bliss and in the meantime we were going to experience certain urges. While these urges were perfectly normal, we were to avoid giving in to them. He then mentioned several effective ways to combat these urges. Vigorous exercise. Community service. Memorization of Bible verses. And so on and blah, blah, blah, zzzzzz...but was masturbation ALWAYS sinful? (??!!!??... I missed something!) (So I just wondered what he thought about it, OK? Morbid curiosity, that's all.) So WAS it sinful? Not ALWAYS, but if the sole motive was sheer biological pleasure unrelated to anything else, it was. If compulsive, it was. If the habit resulted from inferior feelings or for some unfathomable reason caused guilt feelings, then I'm afraid it was. If a person fantasized, even if visualizing a FULLY CLOTHED beautiful girl (or even a fully clothed UG-LY girl) (or no doubt even a hippopotamus for that matter), it was. It was brazen lust. That person would be using sex as a means to his own personal enjoyment and that person would be guilty of adultery. (So there.) (I guess that leaves hippopotamuses out then. Well, whatever.) But meanwhile, back at sex-ed... There was still hope. Knowing how difficult this period of our lives was going to be, the Lord had wisely provided us with a safety valve in the form of nocturnal emissions. Now, there was a time when our church leaders and educators were trying to put a stop to that as well, (Ha ha...and blah, blah, blah) ..but eventually these emissions would not occur as frequently, in fact they might cease altogether, but even so, the sex drive; which was actually God's way of ensuring mankind's survival; would continue unabated and probably would even INCREASE in it's urgency. This was normal. Usually it occurred at around age nineteen, which was when the sex drive peaked. So at this time, if ALL ELSE failed, then there was a limited, doctor-approved program of masturbation which could be availed upon until marriage, provided of course... Excuse me? NINETEEN??!!??? Provided of course he doesn't really enjoy it. So maybe he sticks it in a vacuum cleaner and thinks about the Second Coming, I don't know. June 2... Well, it won't be long now. We're out of school tomorrow! Then Monday morning we leave for Minneapolis! Yes!! And then shortly afterwards, the rest of my family drive on to Bismarck,ND for their first revival! Yes! Yes! Oh YES!!! So I guess I'll wait until then (Monday); to make my next entry. I mean maybe I shouldn't press my luck any further until we're actually on our way. And shit, come Monday I'll have plenty of time to peck away to my filthy little heart's content. Although once I'm safely in Minneapolis, I'm not sure how much time I'll have. To write stuff, I mean. I guess I should warn you that in the next chapter I'll STILL be trying to establish character, but in this case it'll be that of a bunch of crazy people associated with the Minneapolis #5 Putt'n'Putt. Which should go a long ways towards explaining why I found it so appealing. Then in chapter four things should start getting interesting. As long as you're not expecting it to happen all at once. But this chapter really wasn't THAT bad, was it? Please advise. jjjanicki@gmail.com