Dark Shadows and Fairy Lights

Posted by me on October 20, 2014, on Facebook

I used to be afraid of the monster under the bed, monsters in the closet, and all that. I was so terrified by the idea of something reaching out and grabbing my feet, or hands, that I made sure to keep far away from the edge of the bed. I also kept completely covered by the blanket, with only my eyes peeking out from underneath.

It was a ritual I had to turn off the light switch, which was near the bedroom door, and then jump onto the bed from a few feet away. I didn't even want my feet near the bed after dark, or anytime. Then, when I was safe and secure under the covers. I'd lie awake, imagining all sorts of wonderful and awful things were going on in the shadows of my bedroom.

It was that time again when I was around 4 years old, and everything was magical. The only fairies I'd been exposed to were Tinkerbell and the ones from Sleeping Beauty. I'm not sure if what I was seeing was real or imagined, but the lights and shadows in my bedroom were alive at night.

These pretty little light beings would dance around the room and even land on me. They were perfect little people, glowing, made of light but with a human shape and these delicate dragonfly wings. They had very gentle mannerisms and were quite regal. I loved them very much.
There was also something dark and ominous in the room. Over in the farthest corner, there was a presence. A huge shadow that moved and reached out for the little lights. It would grab them and eat them up. They would cry out softly and then were just gone.

One night, there was a weird light outside my bedroom window, not far from that dark corner and the monster lurking there. I looked out and saw a big hole open up in the yard. There was an eerie glow coming from it, with shadows creeping out. Some of the light beings lived outside, like lightning bugs, and they were beating on the glass, calling for help..and then they were gone too. That night was a massacre.

When they were all gone, there was nothing left but shadows and darkness. I was alone in there. Utterly alone.

Fortunately for me, the next day was one of those times when my mother wasn't doing so well and needed a place to crash. Conveniently, there was a second bed in my room on the wall near the window. So she moved into the room with me. Having my mother close was always nice. I felt much safer. Some nights when I had gotten so terrified by the shadows, I would leap from the bed and run to my grandfather's room to sleep in his bed. I never slept with my grandmother. I don't know why, but I was always attached to my pops, and nobody else but my mama would do. My nanny was the sweetest thing and always took care of me. I will forever feel guilty for not giving her the love and appreciation that she deserved. Always, always show them how much you love them before they're gone. xoxo love you nanny <3

Anyway, my mama was there now, so I wasn't as afraid of the dark. I still didn't like getting my feet near the 'under-bed', but I didn't leap as far to avoid it. I still kept my covers pulled up to my chin tightly before sleep overtook me, but I would sleep much more easily. I wouldn't spend so much time thinking about all of the scary things in the room. I would just go to sleep.

Then something would happen during the night. I don't know how, but those blankets, tucked so tightly around me and pulled up to my chin, ended up on the floor all the way across the room. I would wake up in the morning after sleeping through the night like I was in a coma, freezing and wondering how I'd come to be uncovered. This happened for days on end, and I was very unnerved by it. I was terrified again. Even with my mother there, she couldn't protect me from whatever was in my room messing with me. Something was ripping my covers off me in the middle of the night. If I had kicked them off, wouldn't they have been simply bundled up at the foot of the bed, or the side, even? Nope, all the way across the room near the door. It wasn't Mama. She was always still sleeping when I woke up in the morning light. I needed help, and because I was a Sunday School kid, I prayed for help. It wasn't exactly God that answered.

I started having these strange dreams. The shadows had crept in, or so I imagined. I started seeing weird vampire-like beings. This was sometime after my encounter with the Nosferatu-esque, tall man with the black eyes and sharp little teeth, but the general creepiness was still there in these dream beings. They seemed like vampires, but maybe demonic, or a type of elemental beings. I'd never seen a vampire movie until years later when Salem's Lot came out. So I didn't have a point of reference at the time for what a vampire was. I've told these stories to people over the years, and they just dismiss me, saying I must have seen a vampire movie or something like that, and the image invaded my dreams. That may be likely, but the impact was made, and it's been a positive one, admittedly.

These vampire-like beings would sit me down on the side of the bed and have long conversations with me at night about my fears and how I could battle them. They taught me all sorts of tricks and gave me information on how to surround myself with the dark, to revel in it, so that the dark could never harm me. I would make my demons my friends. Remember, I was only 4 years old. These concepts should have been a little out of my range. But I understood completely.

About this time, I was teaching myself to read and started reading Alfred Hitchcock, Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew mysteries, and even Sherlock Holmes. I was ravenously reading up on all of the mystery books. Then I started to conquer the religion, occult, and mythology section of my school library. Curses, Hexes and Spells, Vampires, Werewolves, I was home.

I faced my fear of the dark. I didn't see the fairies anymore, until much, much later in life, but I didn't see the shadow monsters either, and whatever the fuck was yanking off my covers...pervert douche bag poltergeist...finally quit doing that to me, too. The next several years were kind of uneventful in the paranormal realms, but I became a little sponge, soaking up all the occult information I could find in every library I had access to.

Fear can either inhibit or motivate you. You have to decide which one.

Mermaids, Pizza, and Arrested Development

I've been spending the last few days, dealing with some emotional fallout, also dealing with some relationship issues, as well as physical/hormonal issues. I'm doing a lot better today.

Arrested Development became available on Netflix a day ago, so I watched a couple of episodes today with the boyfriend while we ate pizza. Then I got a shower, and now we're watching a show about Mermaids. Real Mermaids.

It seems pretty unbelievable, but they have lots of evidence to support their finds. There were also lots of Ancient Aliens types of artwork uncovered that pretty much looks like we've had dealings with these mer-people since around the time we were making our first cave drawings. Pretty cool, huh? I don't think we were friends.

Anyway, I just wanted to touch base with everyone and let you all know I'm fine. I haven't felt much like writing, or doing anything really. I don't think I'm depressed now. I'm just feeling very exhausted, and not wanting to think too much.

Once I've recharged my batteries, and have something to say, I'll be in here chattering away. Leaving you for now with lots of love, and well wishes. Be sure to comment, if you like, ask questions...anything. :D I'm always open to share more when probed. haha

Hugs n CandyKisses
xxoo

A History of Sex and Violence Part 3

I'm tired of all this. It's been a challenge to get this far in the story of my innocence lost. I want it to be over and done with. My stepfather may enter my thoughts in the future when retelling specific stories about other people, or situations in my life, but this will be the final focus on him and the part he played in my story.

When telling the part of the tale where he and I were sequestered in the bedroom of my 8 year old self, playing that ridiculous combination of Strip Poker, Heads or Tails, and Truth or Dare, I remember something he said to me at a crucial moment. When I began losing the game, I had to remove my nightgown. When I was bare-chested in front of him, I got shy, and covered myself. It gets really blurry and uncomfortable here. I just remember the words, "It's ok. We're family now. This is what families do when they love each other." I'm sorry, but it's really cloudy and frustrating. The next memories are of me sitting across the room from him, naked on the floor, crying. I remember those emotions, continuing to feel self-conscious, and not good enough, or pretty enough. Feeling like he didn't want me, and then when he left the room, how I felt so defeated and worthless. It was very confusing.

Life after that became a blur. I don't remember very much at all. I imagine nothing much was different from day to day. He'd make his lewd comments here and there, tease, and half-heartedly flirt about inappropriate subjects. Mama was completely indifferent. I didn't feel very close to her at that time in my life. Then before I know it, it was Christmas and my grandparents had come down to celebrate at home, and then we'd 3 go back to the rental house in Shreveport where granddaddy was working. I'd start at my new school after New Years.

I was 9 years old now. I was also a sexual being, and was developing rapidly into a young woman. I wasn't very fond of the new school, but I'd made a few friends. One of them was the girl who lived across the street. I remember I had sort of a friend/crush on her. We were inseparable at home, but she was in a higher grade than me. She was 10. She played the piano, the violin, and lived with her grandparents like me. She also visited with her mom on the weekends. We were besties. I'll tell her story at a later date. She never hurt me, but I hurt her, and it's something I'm sorry for.

I have to finish with my stepfather's portion of the story. There isn't very much to tell now. When the folks and me were in Shreveport, there was only one event that stands out in my memory. Something the neighbors verified. At some point, during one of the really heated arguments that went on in that house while we were gone, one night the man carried the television outside on the front lawn and shot it with a shotgun. BOOM! I have no idea what they were fighting over, but it was over right there. I don't know what the fallout from that was, but I don't remember being aware of it until I was grown, and hearing stories.

When we moved back to Gonzales, LA. That's a small town just South of Baton Rouge, I was 10 years old, and starting the school year in the 5th grade. I was growing up. I re-entered the same school I'd been in most of my life. We moved twice while we lived in Louisiana, once to West Virginia for a year, and to Shreveport, the other.

My mom and stepdad had moved into a trailer together. Both his parents, and my grandparents went in together to buy them the property that it was on. It was really nice, and had some land that also had trails into the woods that I liked to walk on when I visited. I enjoyed my times there. It was in the same trailer park as that little house was in. It was like a subdivision, but had trailers, houses, and modified trailer houses. Haha The neighborhood was called Trailer Land.

I had good times there, even with him. He had a weight bench out back, and he taught me how to use it. I wanted to be strong. I spent a lot of time out there, building strength in my arms and legs. I worked out a lot then. I was around 200 lbs when I was 14, fairly solid. I had wide hips and thick thighs, a round little tummy, broad shoulders, and a booty to die for. I had nice boobs too. I like to show my cleavage, wear the tightest jeans ever, docs, and flannel over tank tops, or tube tops. I liked to wear my granddaddy's overcoats sometimes, or an old Army jacket I swiped from my mom. It had a rusty bullet hole in it, and I thought it was the coolest shit ever.

My stepfather grew the best weed. People came over all the time when I visited my mom. The step dad was real proud of his stash. He even showed me where he stored it after a harvest one time. It was probably about 10 plants worth. It looked like a LOT. I remember being around weed as I was growing up. My grandparents were boozers.

Randy, I'll just say it now cause I'm tired of the "stepdaddy" bit, was a mean, scary drunk. He held his shit together really good. He just got verbally abusive. He was smart too, so when he'd say stuff, he somehow knew just what to say to make you feel uncomfortable. He was actually endearing in other ways, and would make you love him. His intelligence and wit were easy, and you'd laugh even if you didn't think you should. I loved him, and I'm as sorry for him as I am for me, that this whole situation ever occurred between us. I know it fucked with him for years afterward. I'll never know how he felt about it though, as I never got to have that adult conversation with him before he was gone.

One day, when I was 14, my mom was working or something, and I was home alone with Randy. I was wearing my usual tight fitting clothes, a good bra. I looked hot. I can't blame him for getting worked up. We were watching an R rated movie, and there were boobs on the screen, giving him every opportunity to say something rude. We were sitting together on the couch, cuddling, father daughter style. It was nice, and I didn't think it was gross or anything. Then damn it if that fucker didn't have to go and fuck it up, and grab my boob. He gave it a squeeze, and I shoved him off, cussed him out, and stormed off. No fucking way.

After that event, he got a lot meaner, and more direct with some of the comments he'd make. He said something about a blow job one day, and mama told him something about it. He said I probably gave plenty of them already. I was technically still a virgin. I'd never been with a man, nor seen a penis up close and personal yet. I did know how to give a blow job, as I'd read plenty about them, and even practiced some. I would never have told him though.

I was in a frenzy after that. All I thought about was sex, and I was gonna get laid or die trying. After I did the deed, another story, things changed a lot for me. I started going with whoever wanted to. After I had the first guy I dated seriously visit at mom's trailer, Randy started leaving me alone, more and more. I guess the fact that I was sexually active now was too much for him to handle. He was still a nasty bastard. I didn't even like to bring my girlfriends over, cause he was embarrassing sometimes. I still did though, because it was cool over there. Mom even let us have beer on special occasions.

Sometime in this year span, or  the next, they get married. It was a small ceremony with a Justice of the Peace, and a few witnesses. I was there, and there was a party after. A few years after that, I guess shit went South between them two, and she's splitsville after draining half of the joint checking account. He was in Africa at the time, working. He had a career change, from Construction work, to Engineering, and was doing something over in Kenya. He'd been there nearly a year making really good money. Mama was making decent money at Waffle House. She loved that job. She'd had many careers over the years, in the Construction field as well, Medical, Corrections, but she loved being a Bartender, or Waitress the best. I guess she preferred the type of people you meet in those jobs, vs the others. lol

I think I was 16 when mama moved away. I was a mess by then. I'd spent a few months in a mental hospital when I was 15. I guess I'd had a nice little breakdown just after I became a "real" woman. I had such notions. It probably had to do with all the misogynistic, controlling men in my life, and my Nanny's meek and mild way of compliance, maybe my mama's way of taking a hit, and running back. I don't know. It's no wonder I've followed similar paths in my life, and fallen into the same traps. Or why I've set traps for myself in life, and fallen right into them. I'm in a self-imposed prison right now, and I have to really think hard, and make extensive life changes before I can realistically imagine releasing myself from it as well. It's fucking booby trapped all over the place too. Cryptic message is cryptic.

So he comes back from Africa and I have no contact with him at all. We're finished as stepfather and stepdaughter. I don't even hear anything from my little step sister. I don't hear from either of them until my mother's funeral many years later. It was Feb, 1994. My grandmother was just buried the month before, and my mother had an aneurysm explode during the stressful time afterward. She was trying to move back home from the Virgin Islands where she'd been living. She didn't make it. I lost both my mother, and grandmother in the beginning of 1994.

That was some pretty brutal shit right there. I hadn't had much contact with my mom over the years since she left Randy. She came back briefly after I got married at 18 to that ex-convict. She'd taken up with a fella, and they moved to St. Croix together for a job he had, after a few months of living together. She was planning on going back to Randy though. In November of 1993, she came up to visit for Thanksgiving. The week after, her and him went to Mexico together for a few days, and had a real nice time. I guess when she came back to help me take care of my granddaddy, she was planning on a reconciliation.

After the funeral, he lost his shit. He supposedly got drunk and took a bunch of pills. Then he went back to the trailer he shared with her, and set it on fire. He took off for a few days, and then went back and burned it to the ground. A few days after that, his truck was found at the Atlanta International Airport, where people discovered he'd gone back to Africa. He taught me what Hakuna Matata meant way before The Lion King did. They called him a big mazungo over there. I'd like to think he went back over there to start a new life, but I doubt that's what happened to him. His family sent private investigators to look for him. Nobody ever found him, not even a piece. He effectively disappeared off the face of the earth at that point. They even had him declared dead a few years later. That was the end of that.

I'd spent some of that time in the mental health hospital at 15 years old, getting out some of the emotions I felt about what had happened to me at the hands of my stepfather. I didn't get it all out though. I never got to the bottom of why I couldn't get past it. I blamed myself. I judged myself. I hated myself for my part in it. If I wouldn't have been a naughty girl, maybe it never would have happened. Maybe if I would have been good enough, or worthy of his "love", he wouldn't have rejected me. I was so wrong to hate myself for these things. I release myself from these negative self-loathing thoughts. I release myself from responsibility. I was a child. I should never have been in the situation to begin with. I forgive myself. I forgive myself for everything to do with any of this. I am ready to move on with my life.

That's exactly what I'm doing. Moving on now. I may take a break for a few more days now. I hope the next thing that crosses my mind is something easier to share, and more positive. Even if its sexual, potentially underage and inappropriate, at least I can hope it will be a happy event, instead of something so painful. Haha

I have to talk matter-of-factly about these topics. I have to look at them as clinically as possible. I want to analyze my feelings about my feelings here, and really get to the bottom of things. I will continue to release the negative emotions, taking back the pieces of me that I feel I have lost, and I will do it non-judgmentally, and as safely, and sanely as possible. I will forgive, and I will forget.

Thanks for reading, and sharing these difficult events with me. I appreciate it so much. If anyone has anything to share, or a question, or comment, please feel free. I'm an open book, and a good listener.

Love to all and many CandyKisses
<3
xoxo

Not anymore.

Rest and Recovery

The previous blog took a lot out of me. So I've been taking a couple of days to myself, for rest and recovery. I will continue as soon as possible.

I've spent the last couple of days, catching up with my gaming. I've been playing a great MMO called Eve Online. I get to pilot a spaceship, all around the universe. There are so many options in the game, fighting, mining, manufacturing. I'm enjoying the versatility of it very much. I've taken up mining, going the industrial route. I think I'm doing pretty well with it.

I've also spent some time on Netflix, watching Star Trek: The Original Series, with Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock. Oh my word, I love that show. It's campy, because of the time period it was filmed, but I think it's wonderful. It's very interesting to see some of the technology in the show, and how it correlates to modern items. The communicator they use, looks suspiciously like some of the flip
cellphones of the 90's. Hilarious.

All in all, I'm enjoying this break. I've got plenty of time to get back into those heavy subjects. The rest isn't going to be so difficult. It's just having the energy to start. Once I do, it will just come to me. I shouldn't stress on it so much. I just wanted to update my followers because I did promise to post every day. I've slipped into a 2 day hiatus here. lol

Thanks for reading, and following along with my story. It's been good for me I think. I don't know how much value it has for anyone else, but it is what it is, and I'm glad it's out there.

Lots of love for everyone!
xxoo
CandyKisses <3

A History of Sex and Violence Part 2 of 3

Today is the day that I break through the wall. I will finally get out this "dirty secret" that has been eating at me for the better part of my life. I began picking at this scab when I was a suicidal, self-loathing, promiscuous teen ager of 15 years, and I'm still picking at it. I'm laying it out there now, exposing myself, opening myself up to scrutiny by the public. I'm ready to "release the Kraken", as a friend told me to do recently. haha

The story I'm working on, involves a game my stepfather and I played one night when I was 8 years old, and staying with him and my mother in my grandparents house. The grandparents were in Shreveport, LA., while my grandfather was working. I'm really struggling with the timing of this. So please bear with me if I get a little repetitive.

I remember still being in school while I was with my mom and stepdad. I don't remember a whole lot about that time. It's really foggy now. There were a couple of events that stand out besides this one. Friends of my mother's, a few parties, being babysat by the sister of a boy I liked, who's mom was one of my mom's friends. I vaguely remember my mom and stepdad fighting.

I'd seen it all before. My mom had a big mouth like me, and she could sling an insult with razor sharp accuracy. Things get heated quickly when highly intelligent, violent people mince words. Especially when grain alcohol and pharmaceuticals are involved.

I'd witnessed plenty of fighting between those two. I think I'd just block it out, most of the time. Like I said, I'd seen it all before. Years ago, between my grandfather and mother. He'd call her a whore. She'd say something equally rotten, and then the slap, or punch, or whatever happened. I was probably 4 or 5 when I first remember witnessing my grandfather's violence.

He never even spanked me, my grandfather. He never raised a hand to me at all until I became a vicious, juvenile delinquent who really needed some strong discipline. Unfortunately I was too large for a simple spanking by that time, and required a choking or two instead. How do I even put all of this stuff into words? The stories are bigger than one event or even two, and they're so intertwined with each other. I really need help cataloging it all, and all the connections between people, who I do not want to name for reasons. I want to write this all out in book form, and it's such a blur sometimes.

*sigh* moving on...

I was told later, by my stepfather, how my own daddy would beat my mom all the time. I heard stories of his violence. How when he and my mom were dating, that at least once when they were pulled over by the cops, my daddy said to my mom, "Deb, start walking." Then another 2 cop cars showed up to arrest him, because he wasn't "going easy". He put men in the hospital.

Early in the 70's, I don't know which year, he was the Golden Gloves Boxing Champion, somewhere in Tennessee where we lived at the time. My Daddy was good at it, but a natural fuck up with everything else in life. Granddaddy said he was slow, and a Southpaw, but if he landed a punch, you was going down. It's all hearsay. I have no proof of any of these stories about my daddy.

I talked to him once in my life, and he was a nasty mouthed asshat, who had nothing at all nice to say about my "bitch of a mother". I refused to go visit him after that conversation, and never got the chance to change my mind before he died with a needle in his arm, from a heroin overdose, at 46. I talked to his mama a lot on the phone though, and mailed back and forth with her. I wanted to, but I never visited her either. They're all dead now, like my mama's family, and my mama. I lost her when she was 42. I'm 40, btw. I have a few cousins out there, an aunt or two, and a half-sister I never knew. I'm as lost to them, as they are to me, and life goes on. *shrugs*

I'm fortunate I have at least a couple of cousins that I'm close to, from my mama's side. I feel blessed to know them.

I think I only witnessed my stepfather slapping my mom once, after she called him a cock sucker during a heated argument. It was wrong. I knew it was wrong, but being as enamoured with him as I was at the time, even I felt like she had it coming. Violence was an accepted part of life for me. I didn't see it very often, thankfully, but when I did I understood it. When it was directed at me, from anyone, I understood why. Where had I crossed that line?

I don't accept it now, from anybody. I dare someone to raise a hand to me. I'm actually, and honestly, the most violent person I know. I have had horrible impulse control, and a horrible habit of breaking things, smashing, throwing, screaming at the top of my lungs, and completely raging out. It's fucking not cool man. I loathe being that angry, and having my buttons pushed until I get that angry.

I've developed a practice recently of verbalizing my discomfort with certain topics, and really letting someone know that I'm on the verge of losing my shit. I don't want to hurt anybody, or myself. I don't want to damage my own property, or anybody else's. I hate conflict, period. I will warn someone, multiple times before I fuck shit up. The only people who have ever, ever seen me that angry and seething with rage, have been my two life partners, and my family. My ex-husband, by default my children and in-laws as witnesses, and my present boyfriend/fiance.

I'm fortunate that my current relationship is as solid as it is. We've grown a lot together as a couple, and we can communicate much better now. Sometimes we still get extreme, and we yell, and I'll start losing it. I'll warn him, and he'll back off. It's fucked up, cause we're both so damaged and dealing with our own bullshit. We love each other though, and we're willing to work on it. We keep progressing together. We argue less and less, the more we figure out our own shortcomings, and the things that trigger our personal psychosis. So, at least there's that.

Anyway, I'm 8 years old again. It's the end of the school year, and my grandparents won't be coming to get me until Christmas. That's how I remember the timeline, after much consideration. It has to be. We're a regular family now. A mom, and a "dad". We have Dinner together, and people come over. I sleep in my own room, and of course I still have plenty of privacy, and access to all the dirty books, and magazines I can read. I read them, almost as much as I stared at the pictures. Those salacious, tingle inducing images. I especially liked the "bizarre" ads in the backs of the magazines. The freakier the better. I desensitized myself pretty quickly.

I honestly wish there would have been some sort of formal sexual education at that time, without shame, or judgement. For young children, or at least a nurse or someone with authority and training, to answer questions that parents wouldn't. Or to even initiate a conversation about it, and make themselves available for questioning about the body, the changes we experience during prepubescence. Growing pains are real shit. Maybe I wouldn't have done some of the things I did to myself then. I may have known what virginity meant, and why I shouldn't stick things in my vagina. I don't regret my explorations now. I only feel a little denied that my first time with a real cock wasn't as I'd imagined it to be. Fortunately for me, that was a happy experience nonetheless, and I'll be happy to share it when the time comes.

So, I'm overstimulated with sexual data, in a masturbation induced frenzy to have real sex, and I have this mad crush on my mother's future husband. I didn't know what to do with all of this information, or how to process what I was feeling. At some point, during this vacation from my real life, in this dream life with a mommy and daddy, shit got so twisted for me. I thought my mom was cold. I thought I was so grown up, that I could take her man. Lolita. I was a plump little cutie, finally getting to grow out my hair, and play in makeup. My clothes were always tight fitting because I was "hefty" and I was getting "little titties" too, and already had to wear a training bra.

My mom was jealous. She'd joke about my boobs, cause she didn't have any. She was a wide hipped, big legged woman. She had meaty upper-arms too, but not much belly at all, and a little waist. It's interesting how my shape differs. I got my shape from my daddy's side of the family. I'm "big all over, more than anywhere else", my granddaddy used to say.

It was around this time, that the stepfather was trying to get me to call him dad, even though he and my mom weren't married. I may have once or twice, but it never felt right to me. I called him by his first name, and I don't want to use it here. I tried writing it out just now, and I almost threw up.

My mom worked odd hours, and was tired a lot. He worked a regular schedule so when he was off he liked to sit up and watch television. On this particular night, I was laying with him on the sofa, and mom was in one of the big reclining chairs. She was real tired, and was dozing off.

I was laying between his legs. He had big muscular thighs, with sparse golden fur. It was nice there, and I felt loved and safe. At some point, I moved and may have brushed up against him inappropriately, and I felt his cock stir near the back of my head, and my whole body tensed, alive with tingles.

We'd had a good relationship up until that point. We were very friendly. I'd mentioned rivaling my mother for his attentions, and recent to this event, there was probably a different kind of tension between us. I knew things, and I understood some of the things he was saying to me. He thought he was being slick, and cute. I guess he was, to the point where my mother never thought a thing about it. If she did, she wasn't about to stop it, or she didn't. Maybe she knew what was going on. I never did until it was happening.

Our flirting was mutual, as much as I wanted him to be my daddy, I wanted him to stick his cock in me. I wanted his hands all over my body. I wanted his mouth on me. I wanted him, in every adult way possible. Should I be ashamed that thinking about it still makes me wet?

Mama was tired, and I don't think they'd been getting along the last few days. Lots of fighting, him staying up more and more, getting drunk on whiskey and coca cola. I loved the smell of whiskey on his breath when he'd get close to me. I loved to fix his drinks and sit on his lap. He liked it half and half. He'd pinch a titty, or goose me in the ass when I'd get up to go get him a fresh one. I'd laugh. It was inappropriate and wrong, but I thought it was funny. I liked it when he teased me.

She went to bed, and I was laying with my head, meer inches from her man's hardening cock. I must have been gushing. After she was gone, we laid there for a long time. He was stroking my hair and it felt so good. I wanted to feel his chest so I looked up and asked for a hug. He smiled and slid me up his body and hugged me. I felt him move under me that time. He sat up and hugged me close, kissing my head.

We sat like that for a while. I don't remember exactly how the next moments played out but he asked me if we could go to my room and he'd teach me a game. Or he asked me if I wanted to play a game. I agreed. I wanted to be alone with him some more. I feel angry about it right now, and angry at myself. I feel like I was such stupid kid. I would have never believed that this could be such a horrible decision. Alone in my room with a horny grown man. Who more than likely, can tell I'm horny for him too, as wrong as it is. I don't hate him for this. I think I forgave him a long time ago. I don't hate me for it either. I went with what I was feeling. I only suffer from the following events, because I haven't given myself permission yet to move on. I haven't forgiven myself. I was wrong. He was wrong. He was with my mother.

How could I be so selfish, and such a horrible person to try to steal my mother's lover? Have I have been punishing myself for all these years, for being a whore. There is nothing wrong with the word whore in my opinion either. So no panties in a bunch over it. If I behave whorishly, then I'm a whore, or slut, or cad, or a philanderer, or fornicator. I like sex, and there is nothing wrong with it. It's natural. If a married, or otherwise engaged man, falls into my pussy, it's on him. If he hasn't got the constitution to be in a monogamous relationship, then he shouldn't pretend to be. So when I call myself a whore, it's a term of endearment now. I just feel the way I feel about it. Yes it was wrong, but it's time to forgive myself and let it go.

Once we were alone in the room, with the door locked, just in case. He told me about a game, that was kind of like a strip poker game, just to give me a reference. But, it was played with coins. You had to guess heads or tails, and if you got it right, you could tell the other person to remove an article of clothing, or do something, like in a Truth or Dare game. Yippee! I was dying to see where this went. I hoped I'd win.

The game started out very tame. We were both nervous. He ended up in his shorts as the game progressed, and I ended up completely naked in front of him. I don't think I was ever truly self-conscious up until this exact moment. I felt so vulnerable. I got scared that when he saw me, he wouldn't want me. I started crying. He must have wanted to hug me, but I was also naked. The situation was too much for him to handle. Then he got scared. I never even got to see his cock. He apologized to me, and ran out of the room. He misunderstood. I was scared that my body was ugly and wouldn't please him, and I cried. He thought I was scared about what he wanted to do with me, what I wanted, and he left me there, rejected. I wonder which scar would have been deeper? If he would have calmed me down, and taken me, or what actually happened? He chickened out, and I'm left thinking it was because I was fat, and not because he just realized he was attempting to fuck an 8 year old little girl. I believe he did the right thing for both of us at that point, but nothing was ever right for me again after that.

There it is, the worst of it. I don't even know if I need a part 3, but I feel like I can't go on after this point, and I will have to recover from it in a 3rd post. A lot of things happened between me and him after this event. Him and my mother stayed together for a long time, and even got married when I was about 14. I will detail the progression of our relationship, he and my mother's relationship, and how these events helped shape my self-image, body-image, and the eventual downfall of my desire to live or do anything normal ever again. I'm 40 years old and still struggling with self-worth, and other insecurities.

I am learning not to judge myself so harshly. I wouldn't judge other people for similar things, and I shouldn't be so hard on me either. I was a child, facing things a child should never face. It's a hard education, but I'm thankful it was only as hard as it was. I could have had it much worse. I am in the process of healing, and letting go of the past. I will continue to love me. I am thankful for all of my experiences, both positive and negative, because I love the person I've become, and all the progress I've made. I am the healing. I am the love. I am free.

Love and light to all, please if you need to ask questions, or make comments about my experiences or your own, feel free to share. I am an open book, as well as a fair listener. <3

As always,
Candykisses
xxoo

Gathering Storm

I'm taking a moment for myself today. It's something I'm good at. Taking a minute. Uno Momento. The situation is getting uncomfortable for me. The plan was to continue my story today. The one detailing the inappropriate game that was played between myself and my stepfather when I was 8 years old. It's a difficult story to remember, much less, graphically describe to others.

The emotions surrounding this event were life changing.

I feel like I have a lump in my throat. I want to just spit it out, but I can't just yet today. I'm not ready, but the pressure is on, and building.

I will finish it. I can do this. I have to pull myself together, batten down the hatches for the gathering storm. My heart is an ocean. It's tumultuous and the tempest is rising. The beast is awakening, and there's no turning back now. I'm going to have to fight it with all I have, and I must prepare myself.

k.

"What an excellent day for an exorcism." ~ The Exorcist 1973

A History of Sex and Violence Part 1 of 3

I really don't want to do this right now. It feels like I'm trying to punish myself by going at this blog so hard. I can't say that I have a choice in the matter, though. I am compelled to share my experiences here, while re-living them and taking my power back. I have to release the guilt, and shame. I have to forgive, and allow myself to move beyond the emotions. It's like my body is shoving out all the bad stuff, through my mind, and fingers. It's time to let it out. I want peace of mind.

I've been here before, on this quest. When I was 15 there was a purge. I spent a few months in a mental hospital trying to get to the bottom of why I was such a sad kitty. I was filled with self-loathing, guilt, and shame at that time. I didn't feel like I belonged in the world. That I was so broken, and useless, that I shouldn't continue trying. I felt like a failure at life, before life had really gotten started. I was hopeless. I attempted to commit suicide, and thankfully failed miserably at it. I had a second chance at life then, and one of the first things I chose to deal with, were my feelings about what my stepfather did or didn't do to me when I was 8 years old.

Being a child at the time, and having many memories still locked in my mind, I see my stepfather in flashes of time. Like my grandfather, he was a larger than life character. I had many positive feelings about him, and some strange wonder. This was the man who was fucking my mother. He's not my real father. Before he entered my life, I didn't know what fucking was. I knew about sex, sort of. I'd played sexy games with other children, exploring, and testing our bodies, but it was never anything extreme, or invasive.

I believe everyone is born with a moral compass. We each, through experience and education develop that compass to aim to the right or left. The right supposedly being the side of good, the left, evil. If I wanted to gauge my own, I would have to put myself, somewhat left of center, for various reasons. The story I'm about to share with you now, is one of the ways in which I can make that calculation.

I mentioned in a previous blog, that I had a crush on my stepfather, and that I would sometimes rival my mother for his attention. I had no idea the game I was playing in my underdeveloped, over-sexed brain. I was not prepared for the things I stirred up in this man. Who was obviously flawed, and as fucked up as anybody.

I don't lay blame completely on him for the situation that we were in, but I can't blame myself completely either, as I was a child. I've thought about it a lot, and if I were to imagine him to be a more sinister person, as was the ghoulish being who'd thrown an axe at my head previously, then I would have thought he'd left the adult magazines laying around for me on purpose. He wanted my creative little brain to have to process the appearance of a grown man's throbbing cock, entering a grown woman's dripping vagina, tongues on nipples, the clitoris, the educational stories typed out instructing me on how to manipulate my own private parts into quivering, dripping, orgasms. I was 7 years old when this adult game began being played between us, and I was developing the insatiable desire of a full grown woman. It was fucking  horrible, and magical. I'm both ashamed, and thankful.

He couldn't have planned it better. I was ripe for the picking when he finally made the move. It was a long time coming. I was staying with him and my mother full time, in my grandparents house. They were house sitting, and babysitting me. I was going to school still. It probably happened sometime after Christmas and New Years Eve. I wouldn't be joining my grandparents until Summer vacation started.

In writing this, I remember another time in which we were close, almost cuddly together. Previously I'd mentioned sort of how the back yard was at their little house in the trailer park, trees and a fenced yard. There was a hammock between two of the bigger trees. One of them being the one I'd been roped to not so long ago. I remember we were laying in the hammock together, talking. It hadn't occurred to me at the time, but I'd felt a certain stirring in his groin region at some point that day too. That's what it was, that caused him to want to play another little game with me one night, late at night, after my mom had gone to bed.

We were friends, he and I. I admired him, and sought to please him when I was around. I had mentioned something about wanting to be a good daughter, so he would keep us, and be my "real" daddy. So we had lots of times we'd hug, or lay together and talk, like father and daughter. I hugged my granddaddy all the time, sat on his lap, and laid down with him. I swear, I found an excuse to sleep in my grandfather's bed until I was almost 12 years old. I always had nightmares, and never wanted to be alone in the dark. With my grandfather, I always felt safe and loved. I felt that way with my stepfather too, but this time was different. He was different.


I have to stop. I need some time to process. He wasn't the only one who was different that night, and it kills me to imagine how young I actually was when I felt those feelings.

...to be continued in 2 parts
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