Back To The Beginning

Finding the answers to the issues I face today, by looking at their root causes in the past

Friday, November 19, 2004

I've been busy

What is it about having kids that accelerates time?

I looked in the mirror this morning, and I just didn't know the guy staring back. What the hell? He looked kinda like this kid I knew in high school, but somehow I could tell that this guy had been through a lot. Still a babyface, but there's wisdom in the eyes. That face in the mirror has seen things, done things, learned things. The world perceptions of that kid back in high school were so far from reality. It's a wonder he lived to be my age.

I didn't intend to live this long. I never did, really. I never planned my life out, never expected to have to give a shit about retirement, because I never anticipated living long enough for it to be relevant. I expected to be dead by 25. I really did. When that didn't pan out, I assumed that 30 would be my expiration date. Well, 30 came and went, and I figured that The Powers That Be must have something else in mind for me, so I quit trying to guess when I would die.

It's not that I had a death wish either. I'm pretty weird, because I'm like a duality, in that I can be 2 things at the same time, on each end of the spectrum.

I didn't want to die, in fact I expected to live forever, and yet I couldn't imagine living beyond 25, and then 30. I suffer from odd inferiority complexes, yet I recognize my greatness in some respects and succumb to periods of superiority on many occasions. I think, at the same time, that I am both better than everyone else, and yet not as good as everyone else. Is this some sort of social bipolarity that I am afflicted with?

As things stand, I just keep living, keep waking up every day, keep pressing forward. I do my best to plan for the future, but I really focus on the daily struggle to make it through another day, week, or month. It's hard for me to think years ahead, and yet fatherhood forces you to do so.

I love my daughter. I'm insane with love for my daughter. Same thing goes for my wife. But, I think it may be a little moreso with my daughter. I have pictures of her all over my cubicle, from the day after she was born to about a month ago. Her picture is the background on my computer workstation. I think of her all day, nearly all the time. She's so much fun to be around, and she has such an incredible personality, and she's not even a year old yet. I'm fascinated by seeing the world as she does, by watching her learn everything about everything.

I know that as a parent I'm going to want to give her the answers to all of life's questions, and yet I know at the same time that she has to find her own answers. I think I'll be a good daddy. So far, I'm doing ok.

But time flies when you're having fun. Since she was born, time has been a blur. I know I'll wake up one day down the road, and she'll be starting kindergarten, and I'll be utterly convinced that I somehow fell into a wormhole in 2004 and was instantly teleported to the future.

When I was in high school, this is not the future I foresaw. For one thing, being a family man never figured into it. In my visions of the future, I was alone, but I was happy. In my future, I had a nice car, and a great house, and every gadget and toy imaginable. In my future I had a college degree in computer science, and made tons of money, and did everything I ever wanted to do, whenever I wanted to do it.

Reality, on the other hand, is hardly so fortune-filled.

I'm not alone. I have a sensible, affordable, family car. I have a shithole of a house. I have a lot of toys and gadgets, but not nearly everything I'd like to have. I didn't get that college degree. I don't make tons of money.

The only thing that carried over from fiction to fact was the happiness, only the happiness I have now is nothing like what I expected it to be when I was a teenager.

I come home from work, my daughter's playing in the floor, and she lights up like a tiny supernova when she sees me, and she smiles, and she claps, and she points to the TV where she's watching her favorite cartoon (yes, she actually has one). I don't care how much money I make. I don't care if the roof is peeling off the house. I don't care that the car needs a new muffler. In that moment, in that instant, all that matters is that my little girl is experiencing the biggest thrill of her day when I walk through that door.

I know some people reading this will feel like I'm a sadistic bastard, rubbing the lit cigarette of my good fortune into the arm of their life, but that's just where my mind is.

This is where I lay down my thoughts. It's for me, and for you if you happen to come here. I don't court visitors. I don't whore myself out to attract validation from strangers. I write because it frees my mind. I leave it here because I know that what I think and feel might make a difference in someone else's thoughts and feelings. It's like leaving a newspaper in a public bathroom stall. You don't know that it will ever be read by anyone else, but you leave it there anyway. Just in case someone comes in to take a shit and wants a few moments of distraction.

So, I guess that's what this blog is. This blog is a newspaper left in a public bathroom stall, and if you happen to be taking a shit on the internet, it's here for you to read if you so desire.

Friday, November 05, 2004

What are you thinking about?

When I pass an attractive woman, the first thought in my mind is often "I'd do her". I know it's rude and sexist to objectify strangers in such a manner, but I don't care. I subscribe, at least mentally and sub-vocally, to the belief that women are sexual creatures put here to provide us with pleasing thoughts and activities.

That may not be ALL they're here for, but regarding a woman I don't know, a woman I'll never talk to or learn about, that's as far as my estimation of her worth is going to go. We're visual, after all.

I think I'm one of those guys that can almost openly stare at a hot girl in a bikini at the beach, and yet I avert my eyes from the stripper in front of me. What is it that makes lewd thoughts acceptable and comfortable in one situation, and yet not the other in which they would seem most appropriate?

I haven't been to a topless bar in a long time. The last time I went, my wife went with me, which is always fun. It's impossible to not feel like you've won the lottery of life when you're sitting with your hot, bisexual wife in a titty bar.

Even so, I've never been able to "let go" in a topless bar, and enjoy the experience. I've talked to a few dancers, and gotten to know them a little better than the average mark, so maybe I'm just unable to separate the fantasy from the reality. I know that, statistically speaking, there's a good chance the girl in front of me falls into one or more of the following categories: drug user feeding a habit, single mother, sexual abuse victim with zero self esteem.

I know, not ALL dancers have that going on in their lives, but I can't help but think it when I see one. I try to figure out which category they fit in. I can't look them in the eyes. Maybe I'm afraid that seeing them as people will diminish my ability to objectify their bodies.

My wife strips for me from time to time, so that feeds whatever desire I might have to visit such an establishment. I occasionally tease her about going to an amateur night sometime, but she still has too many hangups about her body. I think she's perfect (size 5 or less), but she notices the few fat deposits she has, rather than the beauty of the total package.

I've never met anyone who has been in a pornographic video, though. I can't help but be curious about the experience for them. Male or female, I'd be interested in what it was like, what their thoughts were. I'm sure the filming environment has to take a lot of the enjoyment out of sex, especially if you'd been in the biz for a long period of time.

I'd imagine it's easier to be spontaneous and lost in the thrill of the moment the first few times you did it. Eventually, it'd be like any other job. I would hate for that to happen. While I sometimes fantasize that a career in the sex industry might be fun and exciting, I have realistic notions that at some point, it becomes "just another job".

I read a "behind the scenes" story about one of those super gangbang videos once, one where they line guys up around the block to take a shot at the same girl. Hundreds of guys. One girl. I don't remember the whole story. I only remember them talking about the lengths they had to go to, in order to pull it off. Each guy had like a minute or less to "do his thing", and the girl had to be constantly lubricated. The worst part was where they talked about having to ice her pussy down from time to time, because it was too painful to continue.

Not only could I not imagine a woman doing this to herself, but I couldn't imagine being one of the guys in line. You have this fantasy in your mind, I mean, you finally get to fuck a porn star. You imagine you're going to go in there and whip your dick out, and she's going to go all weak-kneed because it's the best cock she's ever seen. You dream that she's going to pledge allegiance to your cock right then and there, and then promptly attend to your desires and pleasure.

The reality is that you slide a condom on and stick your dick in a cold, clammy cunt that's been fucked raw and purple by the 40 or so guys in front of you (that's if you're lucky and got there early that day, imagine being LAST in that line!).

Maybe I'm just one of those people that needs the fantasy to be maintained. Unfortunately, I know too much about reality to let that happen. I guess that's why the stranger on the beach can be my fantasy fuck partner, but the dancer and the porn star are people I couldn't even look in the eye.

I'm lucky, though. I have a wife who can mix fantasy and reality for me. I know I'm lucky. I'm not stupid. Despite whatever flaws she has, or what hell she might occasionally put me through, she's a pretty amazing girl.

Yesterday she called me while I was on a smoke break with a friend. I'm standing outside in a crowd of people, and she's telling me how she's lying in bed, naked, teasing her pussy with her toys. I have to maintain my poise, while she tells me how wet her pussy is, and how good it feels as the vibrator plunges inside her. I have to shift myself around to hide the growing bulge as she tells me what her pussy lips look like, stretched around the base of this artificial cock, and how she wishes so much it was me giving her the real thing.

So, while I admit I can't get into the fantasy of dancers and professional porn stars, I can also admit that it's okay with me because I have a wife who does a pretty good job of fulfilling my desires with regard to performances of that sort.

I realize I'm unique in the blog world, a happily married guy with a wife who likes sex. Maybe one day, when we're older, things will change, and I'll become like every other unhappy horny guy on the internet.

Until then, I think I'll go home and fuck my wife before we go grocery shopping.

Monday, November 01, 2004

Isn't it supposed to be fun for everyone?

I love sex. Duh. There aren't a whole lot of people who hold a different viewpoint, I'd imagine, but sometimes I think it needs to be said. I love sex. I love it. I love fucking my wife in every way possible. If we were to hook up with another girl, I'd probably love fucking the other girl. That's just the kind of guy I am. Horny.

So, my wife went out with her friend Friday night (not an attractive friend, hence no chance of group action, nor any desire on my part to do so), and while she was out, I occupied myself with some catch-up time on my favorite porno newsgroups. Mostly, I'm into amateurs, chicks with big tits, and if I have time, there's another group with like nothing but beaver shots, but I don't hit that one too often. Mostly, I'm in the amateur group, viewing picture series, watching movies, and generally finding things that are masturbation-worthy, so I can tide myself over until the next time I get a chance to fuck my wife.

At the moment, we have sex about every other day. Time and fatigue don't allow for much more than that. Still, I enjoy rubbing one out solo in the interim, because...well, a man has to have a hobby, right?

I'm combining and decoding movie files the other night, and I got a movie clip from site called "Where's your wife" or something like that, and it's this nasty white guy (what's with porn guys and pot bellies?) who apparently will fuck anything on 2 legs, as I've seen him jam his cock into chicks I wouldn't take to a dog fight, even if they were the defending champions.

I like reality, sure, but not THAT real. Jeez, give me reality with HOT CHICKS, not women who run the cash register at Wal Mart and look like they have more miles on them than a New York City taxi.

Anyway, I had to watch them regardless because a) I had spent time downloading them, and I didn't want to feel as though I'd wasted that time; and b) it's kind of like driving past a car accident...you HAVE to look.

In this one video, he's got this skinny white chick, and maybe the premise is that these are people's wives or something, I don't know (nor care), but he strips her down, pokes and prods her a bit, and the clip jumps forward to him pounding her pussy (or in this case, slapping his gut against her ass). It jumps again, and he's fucking her in the ass, and it looks none too pleasant for her. It must not have been TOO bad, because he didn't seem to have any problem popping that bad boy in there.

After another minute or so of him fucking her in the ass and her making "owie" faces, it cuts to him jerking off for the money shot, his dick aimed right at her face. I don't remember him wearing a condom, but that's beside the point. He was just in her ASS, and now he's waving it in front of her face, and given my experience with anal sex, it's GOT to smell like shit.

The look on her face, the closed mouth, the tightly closed eyes, the look of disgust, it all made me think, damn, here's a girl that just got fucked 6 ways from Sunday, and she probably didn't enjoy a single minute of it, and to top it off she's got a poopy dick stuck in her face.

Sex is SUPPOSED to be fun, right? I know some people might get off on the humiliation aspect of these things, but I'm not one of them. As comfortable as I am with my wife's ass, I still have limits. After I've finger fucked her (which I did after she got home from her night out), I have to go wash my hands. I have to. I don't want to smell my finger. I like playing with her ass, and I don't want poop-stink turning me off on the idea. She's VERY clean, but come on, once you get way inside, you're going to pick up the scent no matter what.

If I ever fuck her in the ass, I'd have to go wash my dick off. I just have that issue with the butt, so sue me. I can't see how girls can let a guy ass fuck them, and then immediately turn around and suck him off or whatever. There better be some wet naps by the bed or something, if you want to suck me off after I've fucked you in the ass.

All this is going through my mind while I'm watching this guy jerk his poopy dick off in her face, and of course he coats her with come, and she finally breaks a smile after the camera pans back.

I still don't think she enjoyed it, and I just can't endorse unenjoyable sex. So, for those keeping score at home, I like reality sex situations in which both people are active participants who greatly enjoy everything that's going on. The "Where's your wife" guy needs some sensitivity training, or something.

In another video, he had this fat black girl (fatter than any black girl I ever had, but probably pretty close to the size of a white girl I did once). I don't know if he's going for quantity over quality or what, but I prefer my porn to be at least a little pretty.

The only thing I even halfway enjoyed about that video, was when he pushed the fat folds back, and in the midst of all this blackness, this pretty pink pussy appeared. That made me want to fuck a black girl again, more than anything, even though the one on screen was just downright nasty.

I tend to obsess over black pussy from time to time. I find many black women to be extremely attractive, and I often imagine what their pussies must look like (and taste like, for that matter). I have a pretty vivid imagination, so if a woman thinks I'm undressing her with my eyes, she's damn right, except I've not only undressed her, I've thrown her legs up in the air and buried my face in her pussy in my mind, and the undressing part was just the first few seconds that I stared at her.

I would love for my wife and I to meet a black girl into playing around, but it's not something I expect to happen. I don't think she's ever been with a black woman, and I know she's curious, but again...time and fatigue are probably going to prevent us from ever finding new playmates, at least not until our daughter is much, much older.

I'm kinda blue-balling myself just thinking about it, so I think I'll cut this short for now. I have a lot on my mind. Some things at work aren't going as I had hoped, tomorrow is election day, crazy Muslim fanatics want to kill us all, and I'm behind on the mortgage. Sometimes the REAL reality just forces you to pay attention to it, I guess.

Friday, October 29, 2004

The soundtrack of your life

Music has always been a part of my life. Sometimes I hear songs on the radio or something, and they take me to another place, the place I was when I was doing other things and those songs were playing. It used to be that I always had music playing, either because I liked music, or because I wanted to use it to mask the sounds coming from the bedroom. Whether it be parents or roommates or whatever, maybe I just didn't want to advertise what was going on.

I was listening to some Depeche Mode today, and later some selections from The Cure. I remember the girl who got me into music like that. I don't talk about her much, but she's one of the "Top 3" in the Nameless One's book of love. She's a footnote now, but once upon a time she was a volume all her own.

Let's call her Sarah. I like that name. Her name fit her, and had she been named "Sarah", I feel that name would have fit her, too. I met her while I was in college, about 4 months before I got kicked out.

I've spent so many years not thinking of her that it's a little surprising that I remember so much about her. As I've grown older, my memories have betrayed me. I've forgotten so much that seemed so important at the time. I guess because I loved her, the memory remained when many others didn't.

I think today's post will be as much about young love and relationships, as it will sex. Maybe moreso. Sarah was my first true love since D-1987. After almost 2 years of moping around and acting without regard for the feelings of others, I'd finally found someone I thought I could love.

I saw her in the dining hall in my friend's dormitory. We made eye contact, and her gaze lingered a moment longer than normal. I was in my heavy metal/punk-wanna-be phase, so my appearance was...eye catching. I don't remember exactly how we met, probably a friend of a friend type thing, but I remember having dinner with her in the dorms. She teased me about how my hair looked. She smiled a lot. She had a boyfriend.

Does every story of my life begin with the words, "She had a boyfriend", or "She was married", followed promptly by the word "BUT"? She had a boyfriend, BUT, he didn't appreciate her or treat her well. He was frat trash, and she had hooked up with him in hopes of furthering her social agenda. She soon realized that being popular was not as satisfying as being herself. After she met me, she realized that I was someone she could be herself with, and we started talking more.

I'd see her at dinner, or we'd chat on the phone. I was sitting in my room one Friday evening when she called me up and asked me to road trip to a neighboring state with her and some friends. She said she'd make it worth my while.

Up to that point, we hadn't even kissed. We spent the entire trip drinking and kissing, with some occasional groping thrown in for good measure. She was about half drunk by the time we got back to campus around midnight. She snuck me into her dorm room, much to her roommate's chagrin, and that was the first night I went down on her. I didn't get anything in return. I didn't care.

Sarah was beautiful. She had long, dark brown hair, brown eyes, a nearly perfect body capped off by a stellar pair of breasts. Her pussy was neatly trimmed, soaking wet, and delicious. That's about all I remember of it, that and the fact that her roommate complained about the noise. At some point during the night, unable to get out of her dorm room (it wasn't coed, and I wasn't supposed to be there), I vaguely remember having to pee in a beer bottle.

After that first night together, she was mine. Once again, no one had made her feel what I did. Her fratboy boyfriend was none too happy to hear the news, but I looked different back then. He talked a lot of shit about what he and his brothers would do to me, but in the end they did nothing. Part of me wished that they would. Despite the passage of 2 years, I still carried around a lot of anger, most of it probably attributable to what happened in the summer of '87.

I remember a LOT about being with her. She introduced me to new music. She started taking birth control pills for me, so I wouldn't have to wear a condom when we fucked. And, we fucked a lot. I mean a LOT. It wasn't uncommon for us to have sex 3 times in a day. I was 19 years old at the time, I could easily do that. No matter what time of day or where we were, when I reached for it, that pussy was wet and ready. The year I spent with her is one of the finer ones in my memory.

It wasn't difficult to be her boyfriend. The time passed quickly. I couldn't imagine NOT being with her forever. It was that kind of relationship. We'd visit each other's families on the weekends and breaks. My parents were fairly naive about the time we spent alone in my bedroom. My mother once asked that I not shut the door all the way when we were in there, as if this restriction would somehow prevent us from coupling.

My mother could never have understood nor comprehended the power of lust that was in us. I would have fucked Sarah with the door open, for all I cared, so long as I could be with her. Hell, I probably would have fucked her on the dining room table on a Sunday afternoon, with the whole familiy gathered around. Even after I got kicked out of college (a long, boring story), Sarah and I continued seeing each other and she would visit me every weekend, or I her.

She went to church with me and my family one Sunday, in a beautiful long skirt and conservative blouse, and during the service she leaned over to tell me she wasn't wearing any panties. As discreetly as I could, I shifted and maneuvered until I was in a position to verify this boast.

There's something deliciously sinful about feeling up a girl's pussy in the middle of a crowded church. Will I go to hell for it? I think not. God made woman, and He did damn fine work. I was merely appreciating the artistry.

I remember getting her back to the house, and fucking her on the floor of my bedroom before lunch, without even bothering to remove our clothes. I remember fingering her under the table at lunch, and feeling my own come seeping out of her as my family sat around us. It was a thrill like no other, the things we did.

I have no doubt that I loved her. It wasn't puppy love, or misplaced lust. It was the real thing, as real as anything I've felt before or since.

She made me a mix tape. She's the only girl in my life that ever did that. It had a variety of songs, each one its own little tale to tell about how she felt about me. I remember AC/DC's "You shook me all night long" was on it. I don't remember any of the others. Do people still do that? Do people still make mix tapes, or is it a lost art of those of us who survived the 1980's?

We never talked about marriage, or what would happen later in our lives. We lived in the perfect moments of now. We never argued. We never really disagreed. We liked the same TV shows, the same movies, the same music (although she liked some stuff I couldn't get into). She was, in fact, a glimpse into the life I live now with my wife. I had all of that at the ripe old age of 19.

The perfect girl, with a bright future in a lucrative career field. The perfect sex. The perfect companion and friend.

So what went wrong?

Though only an hour separated us after I was kicked out of school, the distance was an issue. She had male friends that I didn't trust, despite her reassurances. Of course I began to suspect one in particular. She was lonely, other guys were available, it made sense to me. It's what I used to do, for crying out loud. I was the expert on being "the other guy". I knew the modus operandi.

Any suspicions I had were not sufficient to end the relationship. I still loved her. I loved her right up until the day I broke up with her, and beyond. Yes, I broke up with her. I was the one who ended what seemed so perfect. Throughout my entire life, I have only been dumped by 1 girl, and that would be my ex wife when she left me. I almost don't count that one, since we had an affair years later in which she ran back into my arms saying how wrong she had been.

I broke off every relationship I ever had, no matter how long it lasted. Breaking up with Sarah was the pinnacle of my achievement, though. It was the hardest thing I'd ever done, but it had to be done.

Something happened in my life that changed me. It changed me to the point where I could no longer stay with Sarah, or anyone else, and for the following 2 years after this event, I forced myself to be alone. It's not entirely important or relevant right now as to what it was that happened, just know that it did.

Sarah was crushed. She asked if we could continue sleeping together until she found someone else. I declined.

I broke up with Sarah early in the day, and by that night I was fucking C-1989 for all I was worth. I felt terrible about what I'd done, about how I had broken up with her for reasons she'd never understand no matter how much I tried to explain them. I remember her crying and begging me to make her understand, to stay and talk to her, as if spending more time with her would make me change my mind.

It was sometime later that I discovered that my "perfect" girl had been anything but, when I wasn't around. I developed the symptoms of an extremely common STD, and after receiving treatment, I assumed it was C-1989 that had transmitted the disease to me. It was no big deal to me, slightly embarrassing, but otherwise just the price you pay for living the lifestyle I did.

I eventually learned that the "good friend" that Sarah had assured me was innocent and possessing of nothing but good intentions, had in fact been fucking her pretty regularly for the last 2 or 3 months that she and I were together, and that he had contracted this ailment from a girl he met at a party. He was a disgusting guy that would fuck anything with legs, and had I known that she had been with him while we were still dating, I would have immediately stopped having unprotected sex with her.

I had never mentioned to C that I had this thing going on in my nether regions, because I assumed she would already know, since I had previously assumed I'd gotten it from her. When I called her to explain (and apologize), she was good natured about it, and had already taken care of it, and understood, and there were no hard feelings. It still pissed me off, but I never let Sarah know that I knew, until years later we happened to cross paths and she made a comment about "Eric" (who was living with her at the time, or should I say living OFF her), and I said "Yeah, ya know, I never got a chance to thank you guys for giving me genital warts back in '89. You guys rock!", or something to that effect.

She was horrified to know that I knew her dirty little secret (she had started calling me, trying to get something going again between us), and it was the last time I heard from her. I sometimes imagine them still together (though I doubt they are), her a successful marketing executive, and him the assistant night manager at a 24 hour gas station convenience store.

I went through a lot of emotions when I found out about them. I felt stupid for beating myself up over how bad I made her feel, about how much she cried when I broke up with her. Maybe she really did love me, but by fucking another guy behind my back, she had a funny way of showing it.

In the end, it was Eric I felt sorry for. He was "the other guy", and even after I was out of the picture and they were together, he was still playing 2nd fiddle to me. That wasn't the last time that happened to me. My ex-wife had a "friend" who I suspected of wanting more, despite her insistence otherwise. Years after we had divorced, and during our fling together, she admitted their affair. He had quickly grown tired of being compared to me in various ways, and coming up short. Even her then-husband knew that if she were ever to cheat on him, it would be with me, and this was months before I had even talked to her or knew she was married and all that jazz. In his mind, he was competing with me, and I wasn't even around to know it.

I make an impression, without intending to do so.

Sarah was what she was, as much of the past seems to be. I don't have feelings one way or the other about it today, but I remember how it felt at the time, and I'm glad things happened the way they did. All of these experiences, these petty moments of betrayal, and these deep introspective discoveries I had along the way, they all contributed to who I am today. I have no problem admitting that I'm a hell of a guy, and I can do it without sounding too arrogant or self-centered.

The lesson to be learned is that the past events in our lives undoubtedly left their marks on us, but it's up to each individual to determine how that mark affects the future. I was immature in 1987, when a foolish teenage girl did a stupid thing that broke my heart, and I wasn't emotionally equipped to deal with it. As a result, the event shaped me in ways I couldn't understand or control.

Each time something has happened in my life, something major or noteworthy, I've been able to take a step back and evaluate it and see it for what it is, and sometimes I'm able to control how it affects me. Sometimes not. When my first wife left, I cried like a little girl lost in a grocery store. I was hurt and angry at everyone and everything, and even though I had been through a lot in life, it still hurt me pretty badly, which in itself upset me even more, because I thought I was beyond all that.

It didn't kill me, though, and things have happened since then that, had I not been baptised in the fire, I would have never been able to deal with effectively.

The Sarah memories that stand out in my mind are strange. I went to visit her in her hometown once, and it was a miserable trip because I was about half sick the whole time I was there. The first night there, after her parents had gone to bed, we started fooling around, and she went down on me for the first time. We ended up in a hot 69, and I remember her muffled cries of orgasmic bliss mixed against the background noise of a Saturday Night Live episode. I remember her waking me up the next morning by crawling into bed naked with me and riding my cock until I filled her pussy up, mere moments before her mother called up that breakfast was ready.

I remember eating her pussy while she was on the phone with her mother, and watching her try to maintain the conversation through an orgasm. I remember having sex with her in the front seat of my mother's car, and being paranoid that my mother would get in the car the next day and smell the scent of "fuck" in the car, and know what we'd done.

I'd be lying if I said I never thought about "what if" with her. What if we'd gotten back together. What if I'd gone back to school like I planned, instead of deciding not to return, or what if I'd made more of an effort to be with her. I know things weren't working for us, but what if we'd tried harder?

She was at school, with school-like worries, and I was in the work world with real life worries. The gap between us grew large and fast. It wasn't just that she was cheating, it was the underlying reasons for the cheating in the first place. If I hadn't broken up with her, sooner or later she would have broken up with me.

I learned that any sort of distance can kill a relationship. I learned that being suspicious doesn't mean you're just being paranoid. I learned I was capable of loving someone enough to let them go. If we'd stayed together, it would have ended so badly, so ugly. It broke clean, because I was able to make it happen that way.

I can look back now and be calm and understanding, but at the time I was probably not so level-headed. I was calm and quiet when I broke up with her, I do remember that. I never raised my voice or anything crazy like that. I went to her dormitory and waited for her in the lobby. She smiled and tried to kiss me, but I turned away and told her we needed to talk. I explained how things were different between us, and how I needed to not see her anymore.

She was crying, and I remember someone stopping to see if she was ok. She called me a cold bastard a few times, and that's what I was back then. Or, rather, it was what I could be. I've been called cold before (and since). Calculating. It's the curse of the logical mind.

When I walked out the doors and into the sunlight, it felt like a whole new day. I felt free. A burden had been lifted from my shoulders. It was one of the greatest feelings ever. Better than sex. I mean, you have this pressure, this tension, in your life. This source of anxiety and suspicion. And as soon as you make the decision, the problem goes away. I felt like I could run a thousand miles an hour and take flight in the parking lot. I hadn't even realized how bad it made me feel to be dating her, until I had broken the ties between us.

People always talk about breaking up with someone, and it's always about how hard it was, how bad they felt, or something like that. Few people ever talk about the rush of raw freedom you can feel when you cut someone off. I hated doing that to her, but I loved doing it at the same time.

I think the reason I could hook up with another girl on the same day was because of that exhiliration I experienced. I just wanted something to wash Sarah out of my mind, and C-1989 provided that something.

The STD Sarah gave me, it's still with me. Genital warts are one of those things you never really get rid of. Occasionally, they will return to varying degrees. I've noticed that stress makes them appear more often, and more severely. It's never as bad as the first time I had them, at least.

If you've never had them, count yourself lucky. They were painful, and I put off going to a doctor as long as I could. My doc took one look and referred me to a specialist, who froze them off. I didn't enjoy that. Part of the treatment was also a topical ointment that, as luck would have it, caused a skin reaction on my nuts. If I shave bare, you can still see the scar tissue on my scrotum, from where the reaction ate the skin away. What fun!

I have spread this condition on to others. My ex-wife and my current wife were both aware of it when we hooked up. It's a lifelong commitment, I guess. As STD's go, it's the one to have, if you have to have one at all. It's not constant, it doesn't become active very often (I've gone over a year before without any sign of it), and even when it appears, it's mild and brief.

I don't hate Sarah for what she did, and even at the time I don't think I really hated her. There was so much going on in my mind, I just didn't have the strength to carry that emotion.

Still, sometimes I wonder where she is...I don't look back with regret though. I'm not sorry she's no longer part of my life. I'm not sorry that sometimes I forget everything about her, except her smile. We forget things because it would be too burdensome to remember everything. If anything, I'm just a little curious as to how her life panned out. Did she accomplish her career goals? Did her mother find her a nice catholic boy to marry? Things like that.

There's nothing wrong with being curious.

Thursday, October 28, 2004

Ass Man

I've always loved the shape of a woman's ass, at least when said shape is of the pleasing variety, and not the shapeless lump of an ass coated in fat. Lovely visual, yes, I know. One of my favorite "porn poses" is girl on her hands and knees, staring over her shoulder at the camera. I love ass. Truly. Madly. Deeply.

I don't know what it is about ass that appeals to me, though. Is it the thought of grasping it firmly with both hands while the owner of this ass happily bounces up and down on my cock? Is it the image of gripping the hips surrounding that ass tightly while I fuck hard and fast, hearing my body slap against the ass again and again, until all parties are drenched in sweat and other assorted bodily fluids? Is it the way a woman's pussy looks, so open and inviting, when she presents her ass to you?

I find myself preoccupied by ass lately. Moreso than usual. It's probably my wife's fault. A couple of nights ago, I gave her an all-over body massage, front to back, and capped it off with a vigorous ass eating session that had her squirming all over the bed and moaning her approval. She loves it when I finger fuck her pussy while I'm eating her ass, and as I've grown to discover, she likes the reversal of that as well.

This particular night, She rolled over and spread her legs, grabbed me by the hair and pushed me face-first into her dripping wet pussy. I hadn't gotten enough of her ass yet, however, so I started teasing her with my middle finger while I ate her. Slowly, I worked that finger into her tight little anus, very slightly pumping it to the rhythm of my tongue on her clit.

She showed her obvious appreciation by spreading her legs wider and propping a pillow under her ass to give me better access. With one of her legs, she began pushing against my elbow, forcing more and more of my finger inside her ass, as I continued eating her pussy. I hadn't intended to bury so much of my digit in her, since that's not something we ordinarily do and I didn't want to hurt her. Apparently, it either didn't hurt, or it hurt in a good way, since she just kept pushing me further into her.

I was using a combination of spit and pussy juice to work my finger inside her, but I was surprised at how...lubricated...her ass felt on my finger. Since it's not a usual part of our sexual repertoire, I was enjoying the new sensation. There was enough lubrication for me to easily finger fuck her a bit more vigorously, which elicited even more moans of delight from my horny wife.

I wish there had been more light in the room, so I could have watched my finger disappearing into her nether region, but perhaps next time I'll remedy that situation. As it was, I relied on my sense of touch to paint an image in my mind of the action taking place. I get hard just thinking about it (and typing about it). She's absolutely the hottest woman in the world, and the best fuck I've ever had. Knowing how much she was getting off on me finger-fucking her ass was driving me wild.

I felt her orgasm building, and decided to just let her have it. I had an urge to fuck her in the ass (which never happens with me), but I know she's not ready for that yet. Taking one finger easily is one thing. My cock has substantially more girth than my finger, and I don't want to rush things. For the first time in my life, I'm really WANTING to have anal sex, and I don't want to blow it by going too far, too fast.

When my wife comes, her clit gets hyper-sensitive (not uncommon), but she can usually take it if I keep fingering her pussy afterward, so long as I'm careful to not hit her clit too much. Sometimes this can take her to a 2nd orgasm, so I always like to give it a shot. This time, however, I wasn't fingering her pussy, I was fingering her asshole, and I wasn't sure what would happen if I kept at it after her orgasm hit her.

The experience took her to a new level of excruciating ecstasy. It didn't hurt, but the sensation was so powerful that she literally had tears in her eyes when the next orgasm washed over her. I'd never made a girl come by doing something to their ass alone, so this was a new experience indeed. After her 2nd orgasm, my dick was about ready to burst.

She was too spent to move, much less to do anything for me. I slowly wormed my finger out of her ass (amid her tearful moans), and asked her what she was going to do for me now. She said she couldn't do anything, because I'd wiped her out for the night. I playfully threatened to get the lube out and ass fuck her right then and there. She resisted, of course, but that's okay because I wasn't really serious. Unfortunately, I couldn't put my throbbing member ANYWHERE, because she was just way too sensitive still. If I went anywhere near her pussy, she'd practically jump off the bed.

With no other options in view, I knelt between her legs, staring at her perfect body in the dim light, and jerked off for my lady. She loves the sight of me masturbating, and I was so desperate to come, I certainly didn't care by what means I achieved that goal.

The session with her had been so hot that it REALLY worked up quite an orgasm in me, as the first spasm hit me and I cried out, a stream of hot come coated her body from between her tits down to her belly button. I kept coming, several more spurts landing on various parts of her body, causing her to say "Damn!" more than once, as she marvelled at how much was coming out of me. It felt like my orgasm lasted forever, and it was all I could do to stay conscious long enough to clean her off, find my underwear to put on, and get back on my side of the bed.

She should be recuperated enough by tonight to give me some action, and I am definitely hoping that her ass is on the menu again. My next goal is to work 2 fingers in there. I think if I can get her up to 3 fingers, I'll have reached a point where she can comfortably accept my cock in her rear passage. It may take a few weeks to accomplish this, but I'm a patient guy, so it's fine with me.

I'm still wondering about how lubricated her ass seemed. Her pussy has always been the super-wet variety, practically dripping juices when she gets horny enough, so I'm wondering if this same tendency applies to her asshole as well. If anyone knows, feel free to leave a comment.

Wednesday, October 27, 2004

History Repeats?

I recently posted about my scandalously young sister-in-law. She's 15 now, and I just found out yesterday that my fears about her being taken advantage of were justified. There's a 25 year old guy sniffing around, and his behavior has been suspect. He befriended the older sister-in-law, but I suspect this was a pretense in order to get closer to the younger one. Having just met the young one, he spent an inordinate amount of money on a birthday present for her. When I say inordinate, I mean that you don't order something expensive online for someone you just met, regardless of their age.

During a social gathering, he paid more attention to the young one than anyone else, and was extra...touchy. He was trying to touch her a lot, making excuses, and shit like that. At a local restaurant, he told her to order whatever she wanted, on him. He sat and talked with her the entire meal, avoiding conversation with the other people at the table who were closer to his own age.

My wife is the one who brought this to my attention yesterday. It never occurred to her that she was running this information by someone who had done almost the exact same thing many years ago. I was 21, though, and the girl in question was 14. In my defense, I later married that girl when she turned 18, and despite that it didn't work out, at least my interest was more than just passing.

After just a few minutes of my wife telling me what had gone on, I stopped her and said "Yeah, he's into her.", and she asked why I would say that. I reminded her who she was talking to, and told her if it was me I'd be using the same tactics to get to her. Here she is, young and still a little naive, and this older guy comes along and flashes a wad of money at her, and he's cute and smart, and what a great ego trip it must be that someone so smart would want to talk to little old her.

I know she's flirting with him, playing with her new powers, but I doubt that she understands how her actions are most likely sending the wrong signal to this guy. Sure, I might fantasize about her once in a blue moon, but I'd never do anything to her, and I intend to make sure that people like me don't get a chance to do anything to her, either.

It may sound complicated, but I don't have a problem with older guys hooking up with teenage girls, but the closer they are to 18, the better. The age of consent in our state is 16. I still wouldn't go any younger than 17, but that's just a personal preference. The problem I have is that if an older man's interest in a young girl extends beyond her tight ass and firm pointy tits, than sure, why not allow love to be expressed by 2 individuals? An older guy is capable of being so much better for a young girl. There's no teen drama. No pressure to put out. Older guys have the gift of patience, after all.

Older guys are more respectful, IF their interest is genuine. I don't believe this guy's interest is in anything other than getting a piece of ass. I have my reasons for believing this. The older sister has a friend her age (over 21) that this guy JUST broke up with. She was, to put it bluntly, not attractive at all. At first, we thought he was after the older sister-in-law, but when he realized her new reaffirmation of love for her boyfriend was in effect, he set his sights on the next in line.

If his desire for her was based in intellectual or emotional stimulation, he wouldn't have "settled" for her after getting shot down by the older sister.

When I was in this position, I was different. I wasn't in it for the pussy. I was way too scared to even THINK much about her pussy. I just really enjoyed her company. We had fun together, and our strengths and weaknesses seemed to complement each other. We were better together than we were apart. Or at least we felt like it. That didn't last, but hey, our hearts were in the right place.

I always treated her with kindness and understanding. I was always willing to listen to her. I understood what she was talking about, because I'd been through much of what she was going through. I was always able to be there for her. Sure, I also spent a ton of money on her, but it was because I liked making her smile. She didn't have a good life at home, and I gave her what she was lacking. From a societal standpoint, what I did was wrong, but I never felt like it was. I still don't.

This is different, though. He's not me, for one thing. I'm pretty certain that he enjoys giving her things and spending money on her, much as I did once upon a time. However, I think he has expectations for some sort of repayment in the near future, and I never did anything with that in mind. Like I mentioned, I was always too afraid of the law when it came to touching my young girl. We kissed, but that was it. I don't think this guy has that sort of fear instilled in him.

Few people in the world do anything out of the goodness and kindness of their hearts. I always suspect someone who gives too much. It almost always has a string attached.

It's interesting that this is happening, though, because it's giving me a different perspective on my thoughts. It's also interesting to see how things must have looked to the outside world when I did what I did.

I'll let you know how this saga pans out. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe he's innocent. But not likely.

Monday, October 25, 2004

The Secret Life

I started reading sex-related blogs when I stumbled across the site of this guy who chronicled his exploits with escorts, right up until the day his family found out about it, at which point he became penitent and closed down. Oddly, he had to close up shop shortly after I discovered him. I was enjoying another site, the Clandestine Call Girl, and after only a couple of months of visiting her, I find that she's shutting down, too.

Am I some sort of internet pox? Am I a virtual jinx? How many sites must succumb to the grim reaper of information, simply because I take an interest in them?

While my thoughts here are "secret", there's nothing earth-shattering really. I've done nothing that my close friends and family don't already know about, and even my sickest kinks are well known by my wife. Maybe the way in which I talk about certain topics is, the openness I show, may make things a little "secret", but for the most part it's not as if I have anything worth hiding.

I'm fascinated by those who lead double lives. I'm fascinated by the secrets people keep. I've kept this place secret so I can be free to talk about anything, or anyone, that I want. I've only told one person about it, and I don't even know if he's ever visited or not. It doesn't really matter. He's probably one of the few people I can be myself around, raw and unedited. The rest of life, to one extent or another, I'm self-censoring.

I think what I find most interesting is that people who lead double lives seem to follow a trend, in which they cease their activities not because it's morally wrong or weighing too heavily upon their conscience, but because the fear of getting caught (or the reality of getting caught) compels them to stop. I'm not being judgemental here, I'm just stating my observation. I don't care what people do or don't do, but I sense that sometimes we're not honest with ourselves.

My wife cheated on me before, and she only stopped when I caught her. She didn't stop because it was wrong to cheat on me, nor because she could no longer live with the guilt of betrayal. She stopped because I confronted her with what I knew (which wasn't much, but I presented it like I knew more than I really did). A month after we were married, I discovered her infidelity. It wasn't the first time she'd cheated on me, but it was the last.

I could have divorced her, and walked away without a shred of regret. I'm not like that though. I wanted this to work, and I hung in there, and it's been worth it. I don't worry about her doing that sort of thing anymore.

Part of the reason I don't worry is that our relationship is a lot more mature and stronger since those days, so there's no need for her to look for anything elsewhere. The other part of the reason, the more human-nature aspect, is that I know she's afraid of my almost-supernatural ability to know what she's doing, and when she's lying. It's actually more guessing and drawing conclusions, but with her it works pretty well. In the back of her mind, always, will be the idea that if she did something stupid again, I'd know.

She's cheated on me three times, that I know of. I doubt there were other instances. I only told her I knew about 2. I've kept #3 in my "for future use" file, if I should ever happen to need it. She has no idea that I know.

In both cases where I confronted her, it was her own sloppiness and indiscretion that led to my finding out. The girl we did a threesome with, the habitual liar, got Missy involved in some extra-curricular activities before we were married. I was too busy with work to pay too much attention to her, and I trusted her, so these little adventures went unnoticed by me. However, she had a bad habit of leaving her messenger programs running while she was away, and one day I needed to install some software updates on her pc and I saw a suspicious message. Something to the effect of "You guys were great, I hope we can hook up again soon" or something.

Yahoo Messenger has a message archive function that was turned on, unkown to her. I had instant access to every conversation she'd had for the past couple of months, so I went through them all and gathered enough evidence, names and places, to confront her. She has since turned that function off, but for several months afterward she was on her best behavior. I forgave her, we moved on, and I let the trust rebuild between us.

The 2nd time it happened, one month after our wedding, I wasn't expecting it or looking for it. I got an "anonymous email" from a concerned citizen, someone who told me what my wife had been up to. I never completely worked out who sent it, but I suspect it was the guy himself, the only one in the whole episode that had any semblance of guilt or remorse, up until I again had to confront Missy.

I'm such a "nice guy" when my public face is on, that people feel compelled to confess to me. Before we got married, another guy sent me an email about his "affair" with a co-worker, and how bad he felt because she was seeing someone and it was a really nice guy who didn't deserve to be treated like that (and he was married to someone, too). Well, he sent it from an email address I recognized as belonging to one of my wife's male friends that she no longer talks to. Duh. Like I couldn't figure THAT one out.

I never told her I knew about that one. I say it's "insurance" for the future, but the truth is I think I was just tired of having to deal with the shit, and besides I didn't have much in the way of "proof", other than his so-called anonymous email about a 'friend'.

So, I'm married to someone who has cheated on me 3 times, at least, and yet I'm deliriously happy with her. Those days are behind us, and it was tough to get past, but we did get past. People give up too easily nowadays. She had serious mental illness issues that took years of therapy and medication to treat. When I read up on her diagnosis (borderline personality disorder), I discovered that one of the primary symptoms was self-destructive behavior and relationship assassination typified by cheating and infidelity.

Knowing that it was "normal" for her to do those things while we were together made it a little easier to handle, I think. It required me to reach deep within myself to find a way to work through it, but I did. I made it clear that I loved her, the person, but not her behavior. It took a lot of love and patience to modify her behavior into the reasonably well-adjusted, loving wife and mother that she is today. Most people don't have that kind of love or patience to give.

Having lived through the worst that a borderline sufferer can put you through, I have a unique perspective on life, and I'm able to deal with things in ways that other people can't understand. I had to be willing to give up a lot of myself, a lot of my self indulgences, in order to be what she needed. It's only now that I'm slowly able to start reclaiming my old life, at least as much as being a father, husband, and primary bread winner allows me.

Look at your own relationship for a moment. If you found out today that the person you love, the person who says they love you, if you found out they were cheating on you, what would you do? Would you stay? Would you even want to? Could you really forgive them? Could you ever trust them again?

Most people have no idea how much you have to surrender yourself to be in a relationship with a borderline, yet you also have to remain steady and not totally succumb to their will. You can't be manipulated, and yet you have to change your life in a variety of ways, so you can help them. I put my whole life on hold for her. I alienated everyone around me, nearly lost my job due to excessive absenteeism (nothing like getting a call in the middle of the day, it's her, saying she's going to kill herself if I don't come home RIGHT NOW).

I've always been different. I've always thought differently. I'm proud of the fact that I was able to perservere and stay with her, and I'm proud of who she's become, and my contribution to that. I'm proud to call her my wife.

The secret life I led was one where I had to be the old me as best as I could for those who knew me, yet I had to become more of the new me in order to help her help herself.

I remember sitting in counseling one day, she'd gotten pissed off at the counselor when he pushed her too far, and she went into an "episode". These little gems were commonplace to both me and the counselor. Borderlines often go through these fugues, these detachments where they dissociate and become like listless zombies. When she was like that, she could be so hateful and hurtful, it was all I could do not to respond in kind. She said things to me during dissociations that I'll never forget, but I know it wasn't her. Not really, anyway.

Well, we left her alone and went to another room, and he told me he'd never met anyone like me. He said he'd seen countless patients like Missy (she was seeing this therapist for a year before we got married), but that in all of his practice, he'd never met someone who was willing to stick with the patient and see their therapy through to the end. He told me she would get better one day, and that it would be more because of me than because of anything he or any therapist or medication might do for her.

He thanked me for restoring his faith in people. He knew how bad she could get, and I had told him things she'd done, and he was surprised how tenaciously I held onto her, even as she was so vehemently pushing me away. The talk I had with him that day went a long way toward helping me hang in there.

See, the thing is, all that I went through, most of it anyway, is my secret. None of my friends or family know all that happened, only pieces and parts. I never really told anyone the whole story, although maybe one day I'll write a book about it. But, the people at work, the people who judge me and rate me and decide my future, they have no idea what I'm made of, what I've been through, or what I'm capable of. They'll never know.

Maybe my secret life wasn't as titillating or exciting as the lives others have led, but I've had it all the same. I'm glad it's behind me. I remember the last time I caught her cheating on me. I called a good friend, and I just poured out story after story about what I'd been through, and what I was feeling. I was ready to divorce her, to give it all up, even so far as making arrangements to stay somewhere else while I got the divorce paperwork going.

But, just by sharing the burden, by coming clean with someone who cared for me, I was able to find it in me to forgive her again, to let that mistake not be the end of us. My secret life ended that day. Maybe that's why so many of us with secrets post them for all to see. It's the only way we can feel clean again. Maybe we can't tell the people closest to us, but we have to tell someone.

We have to tell someone.

Be Yourself

I appreciate the comments people leave. Despite whatever horny thoughts might travel through my brain, I'm far too old and been through far too much to jeapordize anything by actually engaging in an illegal act with an underage girl. I merely admit the desire. There's a lot of wiggle room left between "desire" and "intent".

My wife and her youngest sister are frighteningly similar, both physically and emotionally. It amazes me that her parents were able to produce 3 beautiful daughters, and then proceed to mentally fuck up each and every one of them. So, I suppose you could say that my wife's 14 year old sister has the body of a 23 year old. Or, you could say my 23 year old wife has the body of a hot 14 year old. Either way, the result is the same. I love my wife, romantically, emotionally, and sexually. I love her sister like she's a sister, albeit a really hot sister that you harbor an occasional fantasy for. The only reason I had any reaction to her at all is because of how much it made me think of my wife.

Most people deny they've ever had a sibling fantasy. I'm not most people. When I was in my early/mid teens, I fantasized about my own sister. It wasn't entirely my fault, but regardless of where it originated, the fact remains that for a brief period of time, I saw my sister as a sexually attractive woman, and not as my older sibling. Did I act upon this feeling? Of course not. Was I uncomfortable with it? HELL YES. Who wouldn't be?

The thing is, it's normal. Ask around, read up on it, it's just one of those things. There was even a very, very brief period of time where I found my own mother sexually attractive. Hormones are a motherfucker. I understood that they were thoughts triggered by my body's newfound chemistry experiments, but a lot of people don't have the benefit of a thinking, reasoning mind. A lot of people act upon these natural urges, and I'm not capable of judging incest as either right or wrong. It's not my job to judge. I'm just here to be myself.

When I was in my early teens, my sister's husband (at the time) showed me a series of polaroid pictures he had taken. They featured various body parts in explicit detail, including many shots of his cock buried inside the anonymous woman's sloppy wet pussy. Being the horndog that I was, I thought these pictures were awesome. He told me they were of him and his ex-girlfriend, and I believed him. It wasn't until much later that I discovered that the pictures he had shown me were of him and my sister.

I wasn't angry or outraged or shocked or appalled or horrified. I think maybe I suspected it. At any rate, it was just new information, neither good nor bad, but it did contribute to my ability to view my sister as a sexual being.

My wife and her sisters, they play around a lot, pretending to be hot lesbians. They've never taken it to the next level, but I always keep in mind that my wife shares my lustful urges when it comes to hot young girls. Would she ever hook up with a sister? I cannot honestly say yes or no, because it's never been an issue we've discussed. Those times where I make sexual comments about her oldest younger sister (the 21-year old), she gets a mock look of shock on her face and says "That's my sister!", but then quickly agrees with whatever I've said.

Is incest natural and normal? Hell, I have no idea. Is it right or wrong? Hell, I don't know. What would I do if my wife hooked up with her sister? Well, so long as it's someone old enough to make an informed decision, I don't care who she hooks up with. At least it'd be someone she loves, someone who loves her. I wouldn't be sickened by the incest thing. So long as I got a piece of the action too, I'd probably be pretty damn all right with it.

Still, my gut instinct is that it's a moot point, a "never gonna happen" thing that can be forgotten right here and now. While my inner fantasy monger might occasionally toy with the idea, it's just not something I deem to be in the realm of possibility.

Either way, the caveat remains, neither of us has any intention or expectation of getting together with anyone underage. We might admire them from afar, we might even indulge a fantasy or two, but nothing's ever going to move it from the fantasy to the reality column.

I understand how her sister feels, understand that the complete absence of fatherly love at home has made her a victim-in-waiting, so I try to let her know she's important and worthwhile, without my attention crossing the line into the inappropriate. I would rather she flirt and tease me, than have her try the same thing on someone who doesn't give a shit about her, and is willing to use her thirst for acceptance as a means of getting a piece of ass. Or, worse yet, someone who does to her what was done to my wife, where they take her innocence away because they think she "wants it".

I realize that I talk about subjects that people sometimes find uncomfortable, but that's ok. The internet is the safest place for you to step outside your comfort zone. This isn't going to become "Hot Underage Girl Sex Blog" or anything, it's just that occasionally this subject comes up, and when it does I feel compelled to talk about it.

If you've ever met a teenage girl who weighs 104 pounds, and you listen to her talk shit about herself for being too fat, too ugly, or too stupid, then you know that the bullshit masquerading as parenting in this country is doing an ineffective job of promoting positive self image. My parents weren't perfect, but they never put us down, never said a negative thing about us (until we were much older, and they were relating to us as adults, not children). My parents always sent us the message "You are worthwhile, you are attractive, you are special.", and whatever mistakes they made, at least we grew up with pretty positive self awareness.

My in-laws should be in family therapy, but it'll never happen. My wife spent 2 years in therapy and countless dollars on medication, just so she could reach the point where she can stand up to her fucked up family and see them for what they are.

Both of my sisters-in-law are bright, sweet, and funny, but their parents treat them the same way they treated my wife until she moved out in the middle of the night when she was 20 years old, and came to live with me. Last Christmas, we went to my in-laws house, and in the middle of holiday festive-ness, my father-in-law decides the youngest is "being a bitch", and actually says to her in front of everyone "Maybe you should get out, you're being a real bitch". How would you like your Christmas memory to be unwrapping presents while you fight back the tears, so you won't be embarrassed for crying in front of everyone?

I almost punched the bastard that day. We left soon after that incident, and it was several weeks before we spoke to them again. Or, the oldest one, the day she graduated from high school, the high point of her life up to that point, and her dad goes off on her for not setting the RIGHT plates out for her own graduation celebration, in front of all her friends and family. She put out plates, but it wasn't the plates HE wanted her to use, so he yelled at her. Her graduation memory is now one of sitting in her room crying while her dad bangs on her bedroom door and yells at her to stop being a baby and come back to her party.

I might have a little predator blood in my mind, in my fantasies maybe. It helps me identify people who are walking through life waiting to be someone's victim. Whether you choose to believe it or not, there are people in our midst who can sniff out the weak, and they do so at every opportunity. My sisters-in-law are both weak, in that respect. I've already had to pick up the pieces when some jackass convinced my sister-in-law that he loved her (on the internet) and got her to cheat on her boyfriend with him. After he got a piece of ass, he suddenly lost interest, and this past weekend her boyfriend found out.

Luckily, he's a good guy, a lot like me, and he was willing to forgive her and work with her to make sure it doesn't happen again. I have the unenviable position of having to tell him that it CAN and MIGHT happen again, because I've already been there and gone through that with my wife.

I guess the point is, my little sister-in-law is exploring this new dimension of power, and she's using me from time to time to test her skills. I'm okay with that. I don't misconstrue the meaning of her gestures, and I wouldn't do anything to hurt her. In a world without consequence or guilt, sure, I'd probably hook up with her in a couple of years, when she's 17 or so. I don't think I could do it now. Even old predators like me have SOME limits.

I use my close relationship with her the same as her older sister. They confide in me things they won't tell my wife. I'm good at keeping secrets. I offer them advice, usually of the "Don't believe what some guy tells you" variety. I talk to my youngest sis-in-law about how the older guys chatting with her on the net don't always have her best interests in mind. There's guys talking to her on these messenger programs that are almost as old as me, but she doesn't see why it might be a problem.

I can't protect either of my sisters-in-law from the world, or even their own father, but I can try to be there for them in whatever capacity they want, and I can try to give them advice that will help them protect themselves. I don't go too far overboard, like their father, because his insane paranoia has made them disbelieve that danger lurks anywhere.

For instance, this weekend, he had my sister-in-law's boyfriend (the nice guy) help him search his entire house for hidden cameras, because he thought something had been moved while the familiy was at church. He works for a defense contractor, and he's convinced that Russians are trying to hack his home network, and he thinks the FBI bought the house next door so they could keep an eye on him. I'm a good writer, but I can't make this shit up. The guy is certifiable. He spent thousands of dollars recently on a home security system, and yet he's convinced that someone broke into the house and set up hidden cameras.

I'm sorely tempted to go over there one day this week when my wife's parents aren't home and drop a few small pieces of wire, a little sawdust, and maybe a tiny lens or 2. The only thing stopping me is that I'm afraid his paranoia would consume him and he'd go Jonestown on the whole family to protect them from the Russian interrogators hiding in his basement.

With a home environment like that, is it any wonder my young sister-in-law is craving the attention and acceptance of an older guy?

You'll have to have some faith in me, that I would never take advantage of her. I realize it's hard to ask that on the internet.

But, for those who want a truly disturbing experience, go find a site called Pretty April, or Little April, or something like that. Someone showed me one of the videos this weekend, and it was an uncomfortable viewing experience, until he told me she was really 18. The girl has braces, and looks like she's 13 or 14. Once I found out she was legal, I totally enjoyed it. I like young girls, but I like legal girls that LOOK young a whole lot more.

I've been sick the past few days, hence no posts. Maybe to make up for it I'll post again later today. Or, maybe not. Time will tell.