life is fucked  

ccilian1 43M
0 posts
3/11/2005 11:16 am

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

life is fucked

I doubt anyone will ever read this. If they do I apologize in advance because I am sure that I am going to offend somebody no matter how I do this or what I write. I have too many opinions, most of them strong and unconventional. I have done too much and seen too many things some find offensive. You might say that it is in my nature and character to offend. To all of you I apologize and wish a fond farewell. Oh, and fuck you for your condescension and sanctimonious attitude. Who made you my judge? Ok, with that out of the way what to write about? I suppose I should start at the beginning. Im just not sure where the beginning is. My childhood? Fuck that. I mean I had one sure but didnt we all? And nobody's was perfect so why whine about it. We all have stories to tell. So I'll skip ahead. Just understand that the main thing I gained from my chldhood was a complete lack of interest in anyone else and a very strong feeling that I needed no one. Ever. I spent most of my time alone. And I grew to prefer it that way. So skip ahead to stuff that people might find interesting. Lets see. I discovered porn fairly early for a kid. I think I was eleven or maybe ten when I watched my first porno flick, pulled from the drawer of my father, buried under socks and shirts that he never wore. That in itself was a good clue that something was there. The easiest way to hide something is to cover it with something that nobody wants. Its a theory that some people use with their personalities and in their lives every day. Think about it. Can all the mean and surly people that you meet really be that way all the time. Most of the time its a mask. Other times they really are assholes. The trick is discovering which is which and who is who. Im rambling. Fuck, where was I? Oh yeah, porn. Okay So I watched this when I was really young before puberty had kicked in even, and wondered what the fuss was all about. Admittedly it looked like fun but why was it such a big secret. It was an interesting biology lesson too, by the way. The movie was Deep Throat and if anyone has ever seen it it provides a unique reason why the main character never cums. Good material to start your sexual career on. So sex interested me. More importantly women interested me. Not just the sexual part but other things as well. Up until then I had been a budding artist in the line of everyone else my age. Per se, animals and comic book heroes were the only thing that I drew alot. Oh yeah, and designs for somethng I called the Mole Machine. I dont remember why this was such a fascination but it was a recurring theme. Dont ask me, Im not a psychiatrist. After this movie, and the dozen or so other movies in the drawer, I started to draw women. At first it was just the women in class, girls I suppose then, and the teachers too, and later girls from my father's collection of magazines, in all their glory. I thought they were beautiful, from the top of their heads to to the tip of their toes. And not just sexually, it touched me somewhere else. Not sure why, just did. Women became my vision of beauty, my ideal. Not necessarily the ideal form of woman that everyone worships to some level but all women. I was obsessed. Not in a psychotic stalker sort of way, but more in a wide eyed kid in a candy store kind of way. I went looking for women everywhere, searching for new types and flavors. Remember Im eleven by now, maybe twelve. So I got a lot of strange looks from people, especially older women who found me staring. They naturally assumed there was something wrong with me, but I doubt anyone had a clue what was going on in my head. I mean for that to happen you have to talk to someone right? Never happened. So art becomes my thing. And art to me at that time, and still to a vast amount today, was women. I wanted everyone to see them the way I saw them. Sometimes it worked, most of the time I got strange looks from my teachers. Apparently a twelve year old boy isnt supposed to do nude figure drawings. Caused quite a stir in the elementary school. They even recommended to my parents that I be taken to a psychaiatrist. Mother was not pleased. To suggest that anything that she produced was less than perfect, even her children, was blasphemy. Only she could degrade her children that way. Not that we believed anything she ever said anyway. Everything I know about lying I learned from my mother. Eplains why I am so goddamn good at it. Rambling again. Okay, lets see messed up, and alone with thoughts less than "normal" or "acceptable" by normal standards, I continued on. Separate lives is the song I'm listening too right now. I know this is a tangent but maybe it will explain part of where my mind is going. Maybe it wont. Most people have stopped reading by now anyway. Ok, masturbation. I started that at twelve or thirteen. Pretty normal for boys I suppose. Four or five times a day probably not so typical but hey, big guy. lots of testosterone, who spends alot of time looking at naked women. Not a great surprise that I jerked off alot. Also not a big surprise that i was caught fairly quickly. By mother of course. Teach her to open the bedroom door when its closed. And it did. She never came in my room again without knocking. And she never knocked. I was always surprised to see my parents.. Probably not a good sign. If you forget what your parents look like when your a teenager because you never see them, you might want to consider finding new parents. Not like they will miss you. She certainly wouldnt have. That would have been the icing on the cake. She could have boasted and preened on how good a mother she was without ever having to do a thing. How fuckng perfect for her. I got straight As in school, with the odd B here and there when it was something that really didnt interest me, and was the captain of the boxing team along with a side career, of no less than four extra curricular activities. Gave her plenty to boast about and kept me out of the psychiatrists chair. We were both happy. Because I wasnt dating, I had alot of time on my hands anyway. You see, and I was about sixteen by now, the problem with worshipping women is that its hard to talk to your God in person. Oh sure, its easy when you dont think he is listening or isnt likely to answer even if he is, but its a lot harder when she is staring you in the eyes. And I did worship women. I couldnt talk to them, not in that way though. I have still never asked a woman out. Strange but true. I just start hanging out with them, and eventually we start spending more and more time together, until we are dating. Its a natural process apparently. Or we just fuck immediately. That seems pretty natural now too. Wouldnt have then. Wow, people do change. Imagine that. So much for that philosophy. So women, right. I met one. Girl really, and she was interested enough in me that she stuck around long enough to see past my mask of indifference and quiet waiting for something to happen. She made me make her notice. Not sure that makes sense but I cant think of a better way to say it. So we started hanging out and then dating. Natural process. Unfortunately when you wait for women to approach you, you discover what type of woman that attracts. Its still the type of woman I have today. Matter of fact I married one and I love her more than I love myself. Or anything. Or anyone. Or candy. And I really love candy Crazy women. That is the kind it attracts. Women who like and need alot of attention. Which is great because I have alot of attention to give. Unfortunately most of it is not verbal. Speaking is still an issue for me. Proabably always will be. I have a speech impediment, probably from the lack of vocal practice as a youth. Or maybe Im just fucking lazy like the speech therapist said. Who knows. Anyway I dont speak unless I have too. And I discovered a long time ago that I can convey alot of emotion with just my face. And my hands and lips if that is appropriate. And sometimes when its not. Ahead of myself again. Or off to the side actually. So I had a girfriend. She was amazing. Beautiful and funny, sarcastic and dark. Very similar to myself. nUnfortunately she was also comletely fucked in the ehad. Again, kind of like myself. But whereas I was a mess because of lack of attention she was a mess because of far too much attention. From her father. In ways that are only legal in Arkansas. Forgive the jokes but even after all these years I have trouble doing this without getting angry or sarcastic. And since I like my computer in one piece I choose sarcasm. He molested her. Fucker, dirtbag, demented freak of a man. And she was well trained. I didnt have a clue. I mean i knew that she didnt like to go home, but silly me I thought that was because she wanyed to stay with me. Which Im sure was part of it, but mostly she didnt want to go home to him. She killed herself. Seemed obvious later, alll the signs were there, and i even knew what they were. Psychology was one of the classes that I enjoyed, but I didnt think about it. Never even crossed my mind. I thought we were happy. Not perfect but happy. Sure she seemed sad sometimes but arent we all? I would have never thought it possible that I could miss something that important and that obvious. So much for being smart. I went a little nuts when she killed herself. It was about a week after high school graduation. She made it until then. I think she decided to do it when she found out that her father had decided that she was going to live at home while she went to college. Apprently that wasnt an option. Not for her. And not even for him. Or me, for that matter. So I did what any boyfriend who loved his girlfriend would do if he found out she killed herslf because her father had her. Too many times to count over the years. Since she was six. Oh, did I tell you that I found her body. Of course I didnt. Went to see her and found her in her bathroom . She was very white. First thing I noticed. Thought she must be sick. Turned out I was right. The water wasnt white though. Distinctly darker. Her note (because they have to leave a note) was close by. It was actually for her father. I guess she assumed he would find it and feel guilty. Too bad for him I found it first. He's gone now. Disappeared without a trace. At least thats what the police reports say. Exact wording , gone without a trace. Officer must have had a flare for the dramatic. Blood all over the apartment though. Looked awful. Like someone had beaten him to death with their bare hands. The suicide note was still there though. Must have dropped it. Its funny what gets stuck in your head. Like the sound a mans head makes when it hits the floor for the thirtieth time. Strange that sound stuck when so much else didnt. Im not admitting to anything. Hell, remember this is a story. But think about this, what would you do to the man who killed your God?


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