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Them and Now

A Novel of 188 Stories

From abusement to endgame

P.J. Heyward

First Edition

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

ISBN: 1-59330-646-6

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010923197

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Them and Now

Printed in the United States of America

Smashwords Edition February 2012

Book Summary

The core purpose of this book of stories is for people to read and connect to the stories, and thereby help the adult victims of child sexual abuse through shared experience. The stories also tell about the abusers as objects as they are; buffoons and the depraved. The psychology of the attackers the writer has no interest and his book will be of no perverse benefit to the predators and rapists. The book is a song to those who were abused, who still suffer and those who care about us such as our partners or spouses.

The book “Them and Now” consists of interrelated stories on trauma, assault and sexual abuse. The collection of stories is directed at those who were sexually and emotionally abused and those who love us and wish to understand the victim as an adult. The book uses exceedingly vulgar and extreme language about the abused acted upon by from a single rapist to an organization. It is also groundbreaking. All the transformations in art have evolved for more than a half century, therefore this book belongs to a current era, just as jazz such a Dixieland and Ragtime to Bop and modern jazz, representational art to expressionism, traditional poetry form to modernist structures, and letters to social networking. Pick up a story anywhere, go forward or go backward, each story lives on its own as each victim has their own story. All together we are in harmony and in the flow.

Stories

Author’s Cover Bio

1. She came, she conquered

She screamed “b, ring the little mucksucker here! I want to ream out the little toad’s puckered place and aorta.” Another day, another pain, I thought. The days go on in an endless stream. Wouldn’t or couldn’t they just break up the monotony ever once in awhile, I now think. As, “ bring the little toad stool in I want to wrap bacon around his mini kid’s penis and dip egg juice on it, oh beloved Mary Queen of Heaven and Earth, give me strength not to kill the little bastard.” Something like that. But they weren’t Catholic, so I just got the little bastard, toadie kind of thing.

I was born in a manger that is what they called the little straw bed they provide me. Oh it was no harm to have my brother’s rank pee stained crib. Which I never wanted to leave. There were horrors out there; ranting, raving and idiotic. I was safe in pee. And bars.

My parents used to tell stories about how I did not want to leave my crib to a nice bed, you know with the older brother and me sharing a room. Oh let me go to pain and weird. Oh yes, put in with a spoiled sadist and let him have his way. Of course being the little twerp inside that crib, it was my only protection – the rest of day I had to actually roam around that world. Thank God for school. Give me rain gear in winter and puddles. Let me be protected. Let me be sheltered, Oh God.

It was a time for mediocrity, even the eventful takes a holiday. I liked the back of the TV. There were little lights to be seen through the vents and a wonderful electrical odor. Oh God here my prayer, little lights, sun and stars and your being, protect me by this magic TV from those festering sores over there. Protecting me from killing myself or that time of course, kids don’t do that, they go bye-bye in a splash of serotonin. At three I wasn’t bye-bye; I was the little Glump. Glump was my family name.

Hangy tits with a mouth and slit eyes screaming or crying or rubbing her face for hours or washing hands or telling us boys how she hated boys. I exaggerate to make sense, for example the first line wasn’t “bring the little mucksucker here! I want to ream out the little toad’s puckered place and aorta.” it was bring the little mucksucker here! I want to ream out the little toad’s butthole.”

Uncle George, as he is now an uncle, was a little pud. He is now a more mature pile of crap, just more advanced in crapdom. They taught me these things. I reserve their language for them. It is their creation, because it was aimed at me. Why in God’s name wasn’t that future pimply little dude harmed too?

It was time; time to get lost in my world and surprising it was full armor and the protection of closets. Under the bed weren’t monsters but me. Even put in suitcase and those suitcases closed, the darkness and the awayness were far better than the light on their faces and the rooms, pinks, green, yellow and pink beige. I loved the pilot light on the stove, and the light off the tile and the cool metal cases. And as I got older, cigarettes with its glow at night and the room seen through the smoke had the same effect. The sun outdoors, black and white films from the ‘30’s with art deco glows, shimmering gowns, paten shoes, smiling teeth, blond light and hands that touched an embraceable you.

2. My brother

I saw his farts fill the room it seemed. He was a fart machine, ha ha. Another one, another one. Not only am I forced to hear and see him, I gotta live with his smell. I guess he had to find a way to be a little repulsive to keep me away, so he can be alone in first total glory of the first born son, the little creep. At least he didn’t bite off my penis; he tried, so therefore I wouldn’t have to go potty in the stalls all the time. Hey guy what’s going on or off with your penis, injury huh. Yah, your mom sucked it off? Of course I would get pounded and unless he was small and weak, well then I wouldn’t pound him, I can’t let that little beast live in me!

3. More news about us

Molest Station, all aboard to New Pork, Miniupyourasspolis, Dallass Texass, Suckyourmento, Porkland, Washyouringson? Slip in, mmmm, that’s right, tight fit, right up your isle, now relax, that’s right sit down on it. Liquor and sights will be available in the dining car. Bjumpa, Bjumpa.

4. Religious contemplation

When Noah was born, the sky lit up, the last human being, well his family and all, but he was the key guy. He spit, and pooed, farted, and gets angry and was prejudice against other groups, liked to sleep naked while drunk out his gourd from wine, the latter we know for sure, because everything in the Book is true. So what was the deal? How come just him? If that was true, what can that be to compare with our world, only one righteous man in family in the whole shebang? What were the other people doing with their time? Calf’s, real and not, being buggered, innocent watermelon being filled with seminal fluid, wanton women, oh give me wanton women. I always doubt the latter, women knew the connection between sex and unwanted pregnancy so regulars must have used pig guts for condoms, practiced anal sex or something or most likely danced a lot and shook their booty, but they died in the flood too. So that means 99.999% of the women would die also and not being given life on the ark above the millions, now billions of rotting bodies. Can you imagine, the babies, cows, chickens, old guys, monks, and pastors floating for awhile and then sinking to their death? Bacterial blooms of stupendous stench. So you have, though, what was saved. And from that that little toad, Tommy was born? So it is from Noah, the priest fondles the boy and if old enough the boy comes, and with coming is pleasure, liquid on the hands of the sacrament. So there are the wrinkles, the stubbly face against smooth skins and the whites of eyes as white as this paper and foggy breaths, oh priest just pork them all, except the Pontiff, he’s just too old and infirm for one up the butt, but it is the delicious soft skin? The smell most sees as spring and life and you see as a torn hidden hiney hole? Off with their penises. Cut their throats and let them bleed. They are sons of Noah.

5. That ain’t no shrimp, that’s my penis

The shrimp boat went out to sea. Oh husky sailors talking their sailor talks, “did you see them Giants the other day?” and “the NASDAQ is just killing me.” Off they go just like you and me and in fact you possibly. Oh salty mates where are the shrimps, how delightful they are said the guy with a walrus like mustachio. Oh the shrimps, bite them down at once, peel their skin back to see their naked little bodies, suck on them, in and out, oh salty mans, in and out old salty mans. Little legs how they wiggle, little eyes oh how they can’t see, oh as I suck and chew and probe, I am through with that one, more to be had, churning the sea in untold numbers, reborn every generation, for every generation to devour, which of Noah’s sons, grandson, granddaughters put their finger in a hairless quim, stroked a penis with rosary like repetition, a bead, a little squeeze, a hail Mary. The second generation, no doubt. By then the land sucked their memories away, God’s vengeance disappeared, the rainbow of little bodies appeared before them, the responsibility of full developed men and women shrunk their resolve. And this was the first generation themselves to experience the little look, the rolling the upsy daisy tickling on the bum and knew it felt good even when it strayed “there”. So it passes on, when the rain stopped and the rainbow disappeared, a cow took a dump, a giraffe got a boner, and one of old Noah’s kids had a forward thinking business plan, I’ll find something sooner or later, and that something is formless but is not with hair or wrinkles or power or what Adam and Eve had, the knowledge of good and evil. Take us back to Eden, each thinks and feels, before we knew we were naked. And I wander the Garden, picking what fruit I wish without restriction, I am man and I am God. Lo and behold the low lying fruit, all around, attracted to protection and love. Come here the wolf says to old Hansel and Gretel, eat you all up, just prior to you sucking my penis. Old Jack sliding up the old beanstalk and running for his life from the giant ready to eat him, in the peecup captured, in the huge hands captured, rougher than mine, mine are smooth, still are. Did Jack’s Giant smoke while drinking and done with it?

6. Peter is the dude

It seems a lot of have smoke stained fingers, index and middle, unless they do the thumb and forefinger move that exotics from weird lands do like a sultan and his staff do and all. But without question, no doubt in my mind that LA is more southern than where I am. But back to dresses. If I were trying to collect the unusual in people, I would set up a system when you join you have power over people here and there in the afterlife. I would give them special access to codes, languages and devices that others could not use. I would set them up higher, in the power position. But in my wildest imagination, I could not have a norm where old, young, very young, nubile, boy, girl, grandpa, no not grandpas, go up, get on their knees and open their mouths while someone put something in and tells them on top of it to swallow. I’d dress them up in the most outrageous courtier clothes, satin, silks, lace, huge hats the more you go up, fashionable black and slutty reds. But in my wildest imagination, I could not imagine hundreds of thousands going for dresses, gowns, skirts going down isles swinging that thing. Incense and candles, secrets and all boys living together and being better than girls. Whoa, molesters come on board. We’ll put you on top, in control in all boys’ schools, dormitories, showering silky bodies, teeny boners, and come on sheet from nocturnal emissions and from handheld emissions. Let’s have the head guy named after a penis, Peter. Oh pastor, get you on top you verbalizer and persuader thou art. Give you power, and give some perv your higher, power. Blessed be the protestant, because sodomy oh so bad, but God bless youth organizations. Bedside penises, bedside manners, and in the sweaty dreams where were you?

7. Subtle

But women, more subtle, maybe, because rampant sexuality in sleeping over has to do with them, same age sort of thing. Like later the guy has to be within five years, little girls stay with the same age while they kiss, fondled and rub tight within sleeping bags, so where is there molestation there? No, it is a kinder generation, with twats instead of penises the penetration is through the ears, in daily reminiscing about how you were a little nada, a little fart, how you threw up, how you cried, how we couldn’t take you anywhere, how you ruined her life, how you controlled it and made her miserable, how your buttocks attracted the penis, how it was your fault her life was no longer career and friends, how she sacrificed good come just for your belly, how it was she who brought you into the world, it was he who sheltered you from sin, who brings you happiness, who feeds you his come in your pores and worse your butt or mouth, who brings cold cereal, who has fried chicken saturated in puss grease, who you accept because of power and control and love, whose nighttime antics blessed your body and the crosses on the demons shine on me now.

8. Fathers with genitalia

The Heart of Rosaryville Bleeding Womb Jest you Semenaierie announced their four day short course in Buggery, what to do it, how to do it and how does it feel. Father Wayne Gooskee will give an oral presentation; well the oral is next week, Is Saliva or Semen a Curse or Natural Healthy mouth cleaning? Part One is the Father’s recount of his hard learning experience, as he says it was a tight experience but I got the light. First session is a history of buggery, when did it start and how come. Second session is a hand on session with the Sacrament of our Cross Boy’s Glee Club and Father Warrant, as this warrants some buggery. The third session is the instilling of guilt and potential suicide in the acolytes. The fourth is a general session on buggery at State and Federal prisons, as our Father always says it is better to give than to receive. That wraps that up. Hot dogs will be served, slid between fresh buns which you all relish. A brief showing of coming attractions are the Boy Who Went Down, Butt Father That Hurts, Poo Goes Out and Penis Goes In, The Problem with Pubes and the sickest of them all, adult heterosex. What’s with that?

9. How ’bout a nice vacation?

Death takes a holiday. Unfortunately it is in my house. Bye-bye mom, bye-bye priest Dan D. Lyon. Goodbye smelly aprons, nasty blankets, sunken beds and food cooked like it was simmered in saliva. I am father Ingress head of the entire group I survey. No matter little youngin’ about what is going on here, I am father Ingress, head of the poop deck and the entire group there. No matter little youngin’ about the little voices in your head. No matter little youngin’ about the misery dressed as a girl by your mater. I am up here in the poop deck and head of all poop that I can survey. You little whiner, you ungrateful little festering pod when I bore you painfully and without hope once they couldn’t determine whether you where a girl or boy or an it or a thing, but human you were, so human you would be, doing nasty things, peeing, farting, eating, wanting, crying, hugging, closing in on me, get the bastard away. Oh life! In studies by Duchamp and Breton, little dangly things swervy by the neck and worn constantly from one to three produce the desired effect of effeminacy and gender confusion by the age of five. By five, one so to speak has the little bastards by the balls (there is a different pattern for girls but that involves leather, jeans and pitch forks). Once you got the little bastard by the testicles you hang on for dear life and watch the being try to get along, try to figure out what is up or what is down or both!. This is not a fly by night outfit here, we are not interested in part time solutions but the next time the little dip wanders around in his sleep or sings to himself in public, you got him. If you created him might as well wrap him in your own underwear so instead of being a little dropping out there, he can be your feces, coming from your own body and your own work. Lacy wacy, eye shadow at three, weird at 72. Well, it not as simple as that, it takes time and effort. Something being done deserves to be done well. It also consists of indecent body displays, incredible odors from your person, armpits and pubic areas, rubbing and rolling until little erections occur (in girls it is just rubbing because in this area they are more sensitive). Most importantly it is not giving up on short term gains like some memory loss for example, but seeing the big picture, going for the gusto, aiming high so to speak. Ignore pain, not your own – don’t be silly, but theirs, oh that is nothing just a little dog bites, an insect sting welting his eye closed, silly silly little things. Don’t lose it here, there is a big difference between messing around like this and being arrested, if he happens to get his arm amputated take the kid to the hospital, in a cab, you don’t want blood in your car for God’s sake.

10. Perving doesn’t come naturally

One of the most important elements, in fact may be elemental, is if they are a sibling, treat them better in the specific areas you treat the excrement as the little festering zit deserves. But this is key, treat the other little jack off for example, like they were a perfect angel in those opposite areas; don’t lose sleep by worrying that these areas are the complete opposite. The little sore comes in with a really nasty shape. Pour iodine directly on the hurt, asking how come they are so clumsy and they have always been that way, and something about the hurt oh like it makes you sick, it caused you a lot of effort cleaning the mess, the little clums ruined some play clothes (too tight, too short, too worn for normal use). As comparison, when the little jack off comes in, somewhat the same situation, but if your actions have the proper effect, the little jack off will not be injured as often as the idiot because the idiot if properly done in, will have fabulous energy and will take risks, you know the thrill takes over the little loss feelings in the little whimp. You see, it isn’t simple. People think that pervs come just naturally. How silly. It is to say Monet or money came naturally. It takes years of effort. Prepare now! Before you have one of those little screw ups and you end up taking them to the beach and not have little of them to burn to a red and given the little havocs sand in their sandwiches and nothing to drink. What if you were late and didn’t get the mid day sun? What if you brought cool drinks? What is the sun was warm and shade was given and they played and they drank and ran and laughed as the wind lapped the shores and the gulls flew above and you held their hands and we were just like the Kennedy’s of our imagination? But of course more like one of the Stooges or Bowery Boys. Instead of Jack more like Leo.

11. Ms. Shadow

Captain Hornball yelled at his crew, this penis is up all the youngins’ on board. A few of the boys grimaced and one teenager smiled. Oh humping and raping, what a cruel fate brought those boys on board but what the heck. We want to focus on important things like the twits that are the royalty of England, the dead princess, the half wits and the ugly. A few hundred thousand children crying, sometimes alone in corners or walking down in the gutters – there is so much more interesting stuff than the tee shirted whiskery drunks and morons that fill their lives. What about them Mother Teresa. Heck with your nasty poor when they are children poor of spirit in our own homelands. Next door. In your house, madam. Oh Mom, what a wonderful woman thou aren’t. Dead at 12. Something alive died early. Because she was dead when I knew her, as interesting as decades in a hospital waiting room. Unconnected to the weird world that has flesh and leather and pervo thoughts, as well as disencumbered by the kitty cat, lace, oh cutie pie world also. A house devoid of interest. The only painting or art work was paint by numbers my dad did. Where are the statues, the cute girl and lamb ceramics, the dogs dressed up as people, the plastic flowers, the pink coffee table, the dishes with lilac flowers, the gardens with gnomes, the subscription to Reader’s Digest, the idiot brother we don’t talk about but still love though you know after the accident he wasn’t quite the same? What isn’t? What were there weren’t even shadows of what could be? Shadows were just dark places under the sofa. Beige as far as the little eye on the floor, close to the ground could see, with pink beige walls. Hurt me. Hit me. I am alive. Give me blood, welt pain, it would show me I am alive and because I am alive you know you can give me body pain, hurt, bruises, and scratches. Not this, a shadow under the sofa.

12. Burn baby burn

Westmoreland killed Jews, no, that was Himmler, Westmoreland killed Arabs no that was Schwarzkopf, Westmoreland killed kikes, no we just went through that, slit eyed gooks. Gooks and spooks, as long as someone is dying, hanging from trees, jewels to be cut down. Burned huts, protection from the communists, and protection from the a-rabs. Towel heads. As long as I am protected by the people that helped cause the problem I am happy. Get ‘em Charlie. Old Charlie Chan played by a white guy, inscrutable. Inscrutable is only used, mostly used, to describe Chinese guys and gals, well which are like the Japs, and other chinks everywhere like is Laos. Vietnamese or Philippine what difference does it make, the east, the orient, noodle slurpers, fanatics, wave after wave of screaming made gooks. Hate the Jews, hate the Arabs, give the Jews weapons, and kill the Arabs. Hate the Jews, give them their own country, can’t have gobs of them here, get the victims somewhere far, so I can feel a little better, killed Jesus and all, Spain burned them Germany burned them, in retrospect giving them a country was a real really good idea. Put ‘em back to where they belong and kick out people who have been there four times longer than the US has been in existence, and we get pissed when a freeway wants us to move and we get fair market value and put the Jews that every group hates, remember the French gave ‘em too, right in the middle of another culture and religion and let it boil and give ‘em weapons and ignore the culture of the other side.

13. Smoothest

Incest is a good thing thought Uncle Harold, everybody’s pal, friend to the guys down at the bar, did you see that babe, what awesome tits, when he is thinking about non awesome chests. You know that woman I am dating, Fran, what a bitch. When old Harold is thinking about not bitches but little twats. Smooth is the word. What causes all this, Harold did not reflect, because it may be cow and sheep butts too. Or even chickens, but that is another story. It has something with the fact Harold did not reflect on empty fields, flatten by summer heat, dense smells, sweat and hot soils beneath his hands. And dirt in his nostrils. But what the heck, smooth twats is what Harold reflected upon sipping a cool one, in a dark cool bar while his friends talked of work and those Giants.

14. Show me and I’ll show me mine

I used to think about a sister, a sister that would show me things, show me what girls looked like, I saw my mom and grandma, but a girl. I was curious, now there are these books on incest, titles referring to family. Are these, me grown up and still wondering what little girls look like down there? Rubbing and humping was not my game. My eyes, near rugs and to the sky, wanted to see.

15. I be searchin’

The girl was me. I looked around, in closet and in drawers and found things, bras, panties and not just the totality of those but the details, the particular way the hooks on the bra, how the straps with white plastic covering the metal looked and felt, make up, compacts tortoise shell, satin and soft cloth pads, mirrors a little unclear, flowerily odors, through closets and drawers, condoms, metal tin with money, folded neatly and silver dollars below, and lipstick, eye curlers, rouge, a veneered vanity from the 1930’s with Art Deco pulls. Upholstered seat. In the parents room, the rest was just old clothes and dust in the corner, window closed and shades pulled down. Except being rolled on the bed, it was my delight. Laughing, roll up and roll down from the pillows. Till it stopped never to occur again, no matter how much I asked. Suddenly too old? It was my fault of course. Such a minor thing, but such pleasure because it was the only time I was touched and when that stopped, there was no more touching, lots of words, you nasty little ninny kind of thing, but none. Back to the floor, in the closets and under the bed and in the underwear drawer, and in boxes and drawers. The secret must be there because the parents who never held me have answers and these are clues and a way for me to be close to them, like a condom on a penis and a bra strap touching shoulder flesh.

16. Mrs. Farnwick felt good sometimes

Mrs. Farnwick had a yearning, a terrible yearning she used to talk to herself in that way, Fanny you just go ahead, it causes no harm. It is not as if you keep it in the rock pile in the back or anything. Plus Mrs. Farnwick had been on a diet of sorts for twenty years, artificial sweeteners in her cokes and cocoa, slim trim cookies, non-fat milk and iceberg lettuce diet that generated in her about two pounds more per year on her already hefty frame. But that is beside the point; it is what she wore – well unwore – which were no panties. That didn’t seem such as big deal, but what if a wind like the Marilyn Monroe wind came and blew up her skirt and what is little boys playing marbles or that weird kid who liked to be near dirt or sky looked up her dress and saw that thing. She was naked, as she has been, in showers, during pee-pee and that was OK. What is wrong with the thing airing out? She thought. In her heart she knew it was wrong to touch the end of babies pee-pee, it was years since her niece’s boy, Andrew what a ma call it, always forgets that girls married name, just to squeeze a little bit, it isn’t as if you take it away and it just feels good, like the squeezing the cheeks. In truth, Mrs. Farnwick was not a rarity, lots of little touches here and there. Toddler boys have erections. Baby girls can have large vaginas. So rare to have scaly skin, from darkest black to near pure white, the skin glows with born new before sun and scratches can get at it. Beyond the red almost frightening birth color comes the calm early day of our bodies. It just feels good to go beyond a pat on the head to squeezing cheeks to touching buns and genitals. Even there Mrs. Farnwick was no exception, she had no motivation except it felt good and wondered a little about it. Casey Slurpheaven, though designed complex systems to rationalize all her behaviors, from farting to her lack of success in so many areas, and children who came into that world, left it harmed. Because they became the blame of the moment and all of us have suffered indirectly by Caseins.

17. Duddle’s shopping list

Mr. Duddlesworth liked rabbits. He used these little beasts to collect a little Sunday cash, as he used to say. Sunday because that’s when he used to like to have a big breakfast and also that is when on of the boy’s club’s sponsor used to take the little fellows out to breakfast. It was a fine morning, birds chirping on telephone wires, some fast foods squished into asphalt and Mr. Dubblesworth’s butt as odorous as usual. Duddle checked himself, two underwear on but he could still reach it. He whistled happily to himself, whistle while you work. Soon his odorous butt was on an old car seat and off he went. The Splat Café was like many local little restaurants, it had its appeal. Old waitresses, well known to the customer and friendly to most. Duddle though was not their favorite for reasons somewhat obvious besides his butt smell. Duddle was cheap and rabbits though he liked banging their heads and skinning them, just didn’t bring in the money for an expensive and “lavish” breakfast. Plus he lingered and with all that lingering did not put down a proportional tip. He was cheap customer, plus one of the waitresses just felt weird around him. Duddle’s hope was there would be more white boys in the group. Duddle liked all boys but the white ones were like the bull elephant or the ram, in his own imagination he hunted them, and the black, Latin and chink boys were not quite so good. Duddle in reality wouldn’t do any harm; he was just an old cock sucker. He wouldn’t harm them and they have a companion and someone to be kind to them and introduce them to being sucked, so no harm no foal, Mr. Duddlesworth thought. Little penises, little butts, little balls, little mouths, clear eyes, white teeth, Duddle listed while he slurped his coffee and waited.

18. Memorializing it

Mrs. Monroe was different than most women in that she was conscious of disliking children, which is why she had three. Many women don’t like children, except the ones they bore, because of the bonding and all that, but it is like someone owning a dog who hates dogs or someone who goes bowling for the companionship but doesn’t like to bowl. Women are plopping out babies but hate the terrible two and threes and fours and so on. Because they are insipid and weak and life and kids are fearful and they are too full of themselves. Some work long hours – oh the job demands but the other pressure is to stay away. The story of their kids and them are usually not good. Mrs. Monroe would delay a half hour every day, straightening out her desk, making sure it was right for the next day and making sure there was one less half hour she would have to spend with her three beautiful children. The children knew this, not in this exact way of course and they would or now used to complain about this, of why she was late and she would talk of her job and knew what a great role model she was. When she was corpse, of course, all this would make no difference, except each of her kids, oh she married and divorced the normal kind of regular guys with usual guy likes and he could not take up the slack. And kids had some problem connecting with others, one was promiscuous, another had problems finding their vocation in life and one the problem child, the youngest, got buggered as a young man and spent a life on the edge doing good at work but unconnected in many ways except through action figure memorabilia.

19. No little wheeners lopped off, please

I saw a purpose in life said Benny Crill. At first he wasn’t sure but the more he put the old noodle to it, the clearer it became. Jesus died for our sins. I was born with sin. Life is full of evil. I think I’ll cut it off, if you hand offends thee it is far better to cut it off than to spend the rest of eternity in the fiery bowels of Hell, something like that. So he took his thoughts out, put them on paper and they didn’t seem so bad after all. God would forgive him, it was only a few littlest penises, his nephews and a little boy he meant at camping, he only shared his mouth and his fingers and the little guys didn’t come and two of the three, the nephews were so small, they couldn’t remember and except perhaps the rolly play and the horsy and the bouncy. All this stuff is so silly, really Benny thought. It really isn’t my penis that causes problems it is my mind, filled with little underwears, where you go in one way and pull the flap and out it comes and the tee shirts, bare legs all these things are just life and how could God think otherwise, but just in case he said to himself he would pray a little harder at church. As all pervs, Benny, well all perv except the complete psycho, feel some guilt, not because they themselves feel bad, but because they should feel bad. It is like being on diet and eating a peanut and butter sandwich, Benny thought. But I never promised a pure life to Him or anyone. Damn bitch is calling again. What does the wallowin’ old whore want? Yes darling. Yes darling. Oh little penis and little sacks and little buns if they could only sing, what sweet sweet music that would be to my ears. And with that, a slight smile, and Benny went to meet the whore of Babylon, which he called darling.

20. Horny chlorine

Oh by gosh the bone head boys called it must be half penis, the little immature boy was so much teased by those lucky enough to have Italian, Sicilian, Spanish other than some rare combinations of Nordic blood and perverted genetics. Two years into it, the same outcome, showers being totally embarrassing and more than that, smaller when non-erect on top of it – oh by gosh the bone headed boys would call. But that wasn’t the real problem. He read later on, he loved little tid bits of news especially health and medical, that boys with micro penises may have resulted from the mothers inhaling large quantities of chemicals while pregnant and one of those chemicals was chlorine. He thought of his dearly departed mother when he knew her was obsessive compulsive, being dead cured her of that, but her whole life? There she is with him in her and she is scrubbing away, chlorine, ammonia, the old fashion way, chemicals coming into her and then into him and then indirectly to his potential penis size. Incredible. The monster was even a monster before her horns were evident.

22. If I were a mouse, so much fun would I have

Mice against cats, little warriors with handcrafted weaponry to protect and perhaps injury the old vicious cats. Way beyond Mighty Mouse, a garden world of tremendous medieval type weapons, armor and courage not unlike children. So obviously not about cats per se but near the ground, under dark boughs life and death battles occur, with always the victor, the mouse. In real life of course the mouse sometimes does get caught, and the cat just as naturally plays with the little critter and then bites and crushing the bones. If you have ever heard it, sounds like an adult cracking an ice cube. Normally the cat doesn’t eat the mouse, and at least the mice around suburban houses; these cats are too well fed. It is the sport they are interested in, to break the endless days of their few watchful waking hours. Heroes in garden war, victims no more.

23. I wasn’t funny; I didn’t fart for humor

When you are alone it can be a really nice thing. Oh I had tea and read the paper and took a nice long walk or I cleaned house and caught up with letter writing or I stayed alone and thought and imagined anywhere but there. Sleeping dad, leaned back, mouth open and the glow of TV on the room. From the remaining disdain and why are you around, you little twit. The brother hated me and was able to take all the frustrations of his daily life, whenever his heart would desire, in teasing, in hitting, in farting, in picking his nose and leaving buggers on his bed board. The mother busy arranging, ordering, and putting items in patterns with millimeters of some map for everything, everything in its place, which occupied her for hours a day. I was an interruption, a pimple, a glop of ooze on a waxed floor, a stink she could not remove while my brother’s habits were humorous and full of light, mine were consistently without merit. I was runt and she only had one breast. The bitch has died but shortly before that, with tubes of oxygen in her nose, there was always time for more disdain toward me. Into the roof, up to the cloud, warriors fought in great biplane battles, with leather helmets and fiery guns, the enemies burned to earth. In the clouds the eagles and hawks were, beautiful strong heads, magnificent wings and lightly moving body feathers, they look upon the earth from afar.

24. Born in similar circumstances

The rocks and sand near creeks and river ways, the foamy surf leaving wet sand, digging for sand crabs and letting wild small baby trout tickle my toes. Leaves that are bent to the water ways, small outcropping of half born creeks, moisture and finally the hills, twenty feet above, and the runt viewed. Water rushing and twisting between rocks. Campsite horror, into the tent the forlorn went, snoring dribbling farting family. Sweaty sleeping bag, body revealed both them and me, disgusting, parent bags zipped together and the queen of elves, my brother, born upon the lotus leaf to be knelt down to by mater. Snores and sniffs. So scary out there, when alone. Since I was born of sand and dirt and lived between the particles, my feet were safe from scorpions, who broke from their wooded habitats to roam my world, I ran across this dirt barefoot, confident that no scorpion would bite the runt, and what better luck than hospital to go, some old bitch nurse would take care of me, but I knew, brave boy I was, scorpions were just the known enemy and warriors show no fear nor pain. Bite me not old scorpions, we are of the same world, and rotted wood, of dark places and dust.

25. The hoops, the sky

I dream of menee all the time. With lingerie, bra straps, panties, women’s clothing store ads and well dressed San Francisco women, perfume, compacts and Halloween witches I be the min. She dressed me up as a witch, in old clothes mostly hers from her youth, balloon tits, dark rouge, a black dot, a black hat but more cap with veil, high heels, stockings, earrings, lipstick, necklace, bodice with a nice décolletage, purse, I wasn’t so much a witch as a boy dressed up as a drag queen. Entirely acceptable, while there were pirates, hobos, ghosts and cowboys I was a drag queen two years running at eight and nine. Now perfectly OK if by my actions I was born a girl, which I was, at least toward her. Michaela, but born Michael, Mike, Josephine, but born old Joe etcetera. No problem, the shoes were great! Only one minor problem, I guess, I went crazy at nine, by that sing song voices in my ear, at night for years. Difficult time to sleep, when nah, yah, nee, ohh, mmm, dah, yeh, uh,mm, sah, dah, de, ummm and almost mm, you,dah, them, see, ah, fee, dah, err, yuu. Cyclic rhythm. Called sing song by me, like a song almost being able to understand but never, just consistent and sleep an hour or hours away, like being nagged but eventually the heaviness of sleep takes over and with nagging, me being a nasty ungrateful monster who was never good enough fades like a the sound of train going further down the track, just the rhythm is left, the drum beat of me being a little dung head that should have been born a girl if at all, the li, sh, dat, oud, ha bin, bah, agah, div ell. I wasn’t there, of course, when those sing song voices on the old prairie spoke. It was right in my ear, like in the ear canal and there they sang. Where was I? If you have voices, where are you because in order to have these kind of do hickeys hanging around you, you have to be somewhere else, in some village of your own, which in this case was the village of any place except there, there was no burst of chemicals or some sort of genetic trick that went off when a boy, like me, was nine, unless it of course triggered by mascara, eyelash curlers and brother’s bed buggers. So where were you at nine, being taken to play ball, for ballet dances, to learn the fox trot, the trombone, Spanish, some cult’s codes, movies, I was too, but just the latter. Always on my own, instruments made from rubber bands and curved wood, great ball player but never pater and mater there to see, on my bike. Throwin’, and shootin’ basketballs, the best boy at my age, basketball you can do alone, get three in straight, four in, five in before I go home. Swish, as much swish as a metal chain basket makes. Shootin’ alone but scoring on teams. Around the backboard were the sky and my hands dirty from the ball. Blacktop hot and tarry to cold and wet, eyes on the ball or eyes way up to a regulation basketball hoop, and working under the basket, there was even more sky, the horizon is gone and that is where I worked most. And scored around the post, under the net, under the clouds.

26. A kind and wise uncle

Uncle Phofus was a remarkable man, born a woman and had one the earliest sex changes in Danish history. He was tall, dark and pretty and had a marvelous set of knockers. His Adam’s apple had been shaved off and by all appearance with the excellent surgery, make-up and fashionable clothes he looked like a guy dressed as a girl, because he was a guy, with a large nose, angular cheekbones and big hands. Uncles Phofus, Uncle Phofus, could you diddle my twat, diddle me, diddle me, I used to scream. Uncle used to laugh and say, I can’t diddle you, young man, you aren’t diddleable, but you can have Father Harry, or Uncles James eye you, rape you, squeeze your little penis, rupture your butt, kiss your cheeks while squeezing your little ball sacs, all that they can do, but even they, with all the mastery of years, thousands of hours of thinking, planning, acting out their game, even they, the ultimate pervs they are cannot diddle you. But uncle, but uncle, if I had a diddle device built into me, would that mean my butt cheeks would not be ripped open? Uncle Phofus laughed in his high voice, his speaking voice was low, and said, no they can do that to, even if you have a diddle opening, because, any hole in a storm so to speak. Uncle, only when its rainy and cold do big men who like diddle devices diddle or put their ugly things up your butt, well or diddle device? Uncle Phofus, chuckled, no, they do it rain or shine, whenever they have a chance, that was just a phrase, meaning that even if you have a diddle hole, they could also rip your butt, or tongue you or anything they wish, since they are bigger, stronger than you and you being little and a kid needs protection, shelter, warmth, caring and diddling can be covered over by the love. Oh, I said, so no matter what, little girl, little boys, it all happens to them? No, don’t be silly, just he unlucky ones like you. Thank you Uncle, can we go out to have some ice cream? Of course, we can, let me look in my purse to see if I have enough cash. By the way, your butt will get used to it after awhile, of course, I am talking about an adult butt, but I guess a kids butt will get used to it about the same, you know when they put it in. Uncle, uncle, any kind of ice cream? Yes, when they put it in, it’ll eventually stretch, I would think, the human body is so adaptable. Vanilla, chocolate, a sundae? Uncle and I had the most delicious ice-cream. As you can well imagine, people stared, but I was an innocent kid and knew very well he some kind of lunatic freak, a stupid sissy man, a homo, a transmission, but he smelled real good, he didn’t call me glump, monster or put his buggers that he got on his finger right up to my eyes and mouth and laugh, he didn’t call me ungrateful oh I already said stupid, but for them once, twice, fifteen, eighty hundred million times was never enough, and that was it, it was never ever enough, you stupid little goof ungrateful pug etc. but they went on. Uncle was just funny but not funny in any other ways. He made eyes at men he thought were cute and he laughed and he asked me how I was doing, frown, lean forward, open his mouth a little and wait. When I said OK, I always say OK, he paused and waited, like this was a very important statement and said, Uh Huh, so you are OK. Yup. Always Yup. I am always OK. Not only did Uncle Phoo let me order any of the ice-cream on the menu without restriction, like you can’t order that because you aren’t hungry enough and you will never finish it because you have done this before and you wasted money and you always do that and you never think about us and you don’t appreciate what we give you and you don’t know how hard we work for money and you make us sick. Uncle Phofus would just nod, say something to the waiter, or for him worse, the waitress, and just add my order, as in the young man would like and anything else he would always ask and I knew that I could, but ordering the large hot fudge sundae with everything was good enough for me and the silence, so the table, the room, the ceiling fans, cash register, kids, glass and all that was could be. Uncle Phofus, you saved my little butt from something worse than hard pee pees, it was feeling all the people forced to be close to me because they were relatives or parents or whatever were just not right. Your green dress, Uncle, was a real winner and you are the belle of the ice-cream parlor.

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