Virtual Affair?

For the past several months, I've found my husband... uninteresting. I love him. He is good to me. He takes care of our daughter incredibly well. He's been giving me lots of time to sleep, and didn't raise too many objections about putting our daughter in daycare. I think that as the pregnancy progresses, he's seeing more and more why it is actually better for her to be outside of the house during the day. Pregnancy puts a lot of strain on my system and tends to make me depressed and tired.

One of my escapes has always been fantasizing. I have some pretty kooky fantasies, probably related to some of my early experiences. Lately, though, I've been finding them very distasteful. So instead, I've turned to thinking about past relationships. Most of my past relationships were pretty messed up, but a few of the men I dated were actual good guys.

A few months ago, I went on a jag where I was completely obsessed with one of them, and I thought about him constantly. I finally called him one night. I went outside and sat under a bridge and cried to him for a while on the phone. After about thirty minutes of talking, he told me that he'd gotten married. I went on facebook and found his wife's page, looked at his wedding pictures, and that pretty much cleared my system.

Then I started fixating on another one. Joel is a man I dated when I was 18, when I was still a virgin, and when I still thought that virginity made a difference in life. He gave me every sign that he wanted to "do more" and I didn't even take the hints.

Instead, I tried to mold him, both in my mind and in reality, into the kid of man I would want to bring home and marry. He was 20 and not at all thinking of marriage, nor of the kind of religious values I had. Eventually, I gave him a gift that symbolized exactly that, and he looked at me sadly, and told me that it wasn't going to work. He cuddled me, kissed me, and told me he was sorry.

Less than 2 weeks later, something happened that changed me. I was out on a date, and despite repeated protests, the man hurt me. I really regret that Joel wasn't my first. I know that's kind of silly, but I feel that way. I've played out all the different scenarios of how I could have been with him, how I could be with him now. I found out where he lives a few years back- he's left the country, and I made contact with him. He clearly hasn't been thinking of me for the past 10+ years, and was only polite in his response to me.

I should be grateful. It's not like I could be with him even if he were interested. It's not like I would leave my husband and kid for someone I had a really nice month with forever ago.

Somehow I'm really bugged by the fact that he won't correspond with me (and feed my stupid fantasy.)

It's amazing how often I think of him... There are a lot of songs that remind me of him.
So here... songs that make me think of you:

Dire Straits - Romeo and Juliet (Anyway, whatcha gonna do about it?)
Monty Python's The Life of Brian - Always Look on the Bright Side of Life (life's a piece of shit, when you look at it)
Tracey Chapman - Baby, Can I Hold You Tonight?
Deep Blue Something - Breakfast at Tiffany's

Okay. It's written. Maybe now it'll be over?

Back From a Long Absence

I haven't been depressed enough to need to blog here in a while, but my friend Kira wins the prize.

Kira moved to the area about a year ago, and I've been doing my best to help her out with a variety of things. She & her husband have fertility issues and are finally pregnant, which thrills me no end.

I literally treat Kira like a sister. I adore her. I look up to her. I seriously think she's the cat's meow. She and her hubby have been a bit obsessive about buying EVERYTHING you could possibly need for a baby, and all in matched sets. I admit it made me jealous. She has these perfect layettes (one for boy, one for girl) including matching hats and socks for each and every outfit, and when my baby was born, I had to send my mom out to buy something for Baby to come home from the hospital in. I said something maybe a bit snarky about it - like you never know what you're really gonna need, and she got all upset. I thought we'd resolved it - I apologized, explained that I'm a tad jealous. I've basically not been allowed to buy Baby any clothes - she gets tons of hand-me-downs from extended family, and it's really not in our budget to buy new clothes when we have perfectly fine ones.

Anyway, Kira's hubby was talking about how they're all ready now - they have the crib and everything, and I made an (admittedly thoughtless) remark that I hope they don't have the baby now b/c it wouldn't be able to come home that fast. Somehow, he thought that I meant that the baby would die and they were stupid to buy a crib.

So Kira sent me this super-long email about how horrible a friend I am, and where does this all end, and she can't understand me.

I wrote her back that there's a misunderstanding, and I'm sorry she thinks I'm not happy for her. I'm very happy for her. I'm thrilled for her to have everything she wants. I'm looking forward to Baby being friends with her baby, etc.

And now I'm sitting here, feeling terribly guilty and miserable for something I didn't even do.

And, of course, Sister (the one I was born with) will almost inevitably take Kira's side, because she thinks that I'm obnoxious anyway.

I was feeling terribly lonely yesterday, and this just makes me feel lonelier yet.

My parents are away for the next month or so, and I really need my mom.

I'm pregnant (due Jan 9), so my emotions were out of control to begin with, especially b/c in the beginning, I thought it might be ectopic. Fortunately, now we've seen the little'un, and everything looks okay, so I'm feeling a little better about that.

But I have some paranoia issues, so I'm wondering if I'm going to be punished now with a miscarriage or something. A lot of people around me have had miscarriages, even multiple miscarriages, and even later than 13 weeks (where I am).

I just want my husband to come home now, but he has a job, ya know. And I gotta take care of Baby, and nobody's taking care of me, and dammit, I'm supposed to be an adult, but I don't feel like one at all.

I wish I could stop crying.

Rambling about the Negatives.

I've been avoiding writing about this for a number of reasons, but I realize that if I don't get it out, I won't really get it out of my mind.

About 2 weeks ago, my husband and I watched the movie "Good Luck Chuck" at home. It's not a great movie. The basic premise is that the guy is a luck charm - if he sleeps with a woman, she will automatically marry the next guy she dates. At a certain point in the movie, they show him "providing his service" to many many women. It's fairly graphic (R rated, I think).

So anyway, my husband got turned on by the movie, and I was just not in the mood. If he'd asked or something, I probably would have been okay, but instead, he basically pushed me onto the bed and did it to me, even though I protested some of the time.

I completely blocked it out until 4-5 hours later when I was taking a shower, and then suddenly, it hit me, and I started crying uncontrollably. I didn't want him near me, I told him not to touch me. I felt completely violated. Over the next few nights, I had a series of very lucid dreams which I couldn't clearly distinguish from reality. They weren't terribly traumatic - just so clear that I couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't anymore. I asked my husband about a phone call he'd made and he swore he'd never made it, for example. It was something that he'd have absolutely no reason to lie about - I asked him who he'd called about getting something in the house fixed, because I remembered having heard him on the phone with someone - as I played back the conversation, I realized that parts of it were illogical, so I'm going to have to go with the idea that it was a dream.

I also called my mother and asked her if they expected me to look online for silverware for them, and my mother basically said "that must be your other mother."

Then there were a few dreams where I "woke up" and realized it must be a dream, but that happened in a dream as well. I also had a night when I couldn't fall asleep at all. I was just anxious and uneasy for hours. Finally, I had something from the alcohol family and I was able to sleep. It was the first time I needed chemical help to sleep in a very long time. Since then, I haven't had to drink myself to sleep again, so I guess whatever it was is mainly worked through.

For some reason, I've had a really powerful reminder of something that happened to me in my early 20's.

The background: I was living with my parents, but my dad had pretty much told me to get out, just not in so many words, and I was still in school and didn't have a job, so I had no way to get out - actually, that's not true, I could have moved in with my brother & his wife (they offered, and they actually had space for me - I could have had my own mini-apartment in their basement), but the commute to school would have been near impossible, and they said I couldn't bring Doggie, who was pretty much my only friend at the time.

Anyway, I used to mess around in chat rooms a lot, and for whatever the reason, I had a lot of BDSM fantasies (in which I was a sub), so I started trolling for someone who would keep me on the side and pay for a place for me to stay. This guy Aristo picked me up. We arranged to meet someplace, and he took me back to his apartment. I won't go into all the details of what he did to me, b/c this isn't a porn site. At one point, though, he had me on all fours on the floor, and he sat on my back and pulled my head up by the hair so I was looking at a full-length mirror, and he said "look at you, you're a cow. See how you're my cow?" I was sobbing, but I wouldn't resist. I needed a place to live too badly. In the end, I refused to see him again, and I stayed at home another few hellish months (basically, the ruling was that as long as my dad didn't see me, I could stay).

Eventually, I got a job and my mom gave me enough money for me to put a security deposit on an apartment, which I shared with a guy roommate. He was actually a really nice guy - never made a move on me and got along with Doggie really well. I lived there for 2 years.

After I moved out, my dad started talking to me again, and I think he felt really guilty. He bought the place I live in now and he let me live here rent-free until I got married. Now my husband and I pay about half the going rate for a place like this, so I mean, my dad's really tried to make amends for what he did. He just doesn't realize how far things went. I think he'd cry if he knew.

Back From Camping

I haven't written in a while. Things have been rather hectic. My husband, baby, and I went camping. The weather was wickedly hot, hitting over 100 well before noon each day. There was a freshwater spring to swim in, which helped some, but it was a rough trip overall. My husband had a cold/upper respiratory infection thingy, and we ended up going home early. Since we don't have a car at the moment, the logistics both of getting there and of getting back were complicated, and we ended up leaving all our clothes for a friend of ours to bring back to our neck of the woods, which means I don't have my swimsuit here, so I can't go to the pool right now.

We have a few options. Options #1. I can try to lure said friend here by making a batch of the ice cream flavor of his choice. #2. I can take 2 train rides with Baby, and then drag the smaller bag back with me on same 2 trains and hope that the smaller bag contains at least one bathing suit, my goggles, and my swim cap (I don't want our friend going through our bag - there's underwear and stuff in there - I mean, he's not a perv, but I don't feel comfortable asking someone to go through a bag which contains much of our dirty laundry looking for a bathing suit for me.) #3. Husband can hitch a ride to friend's with his boss after work, and then take 2 trains back home. He can probably manage to get both bags back home if he goes on his own.

Currently, I'm working with the ice cream lure idea.

The other possibility is to use this as an opportunity to buy a new bathing suit, new goggles, and a new swim cap. (the pool I go to requires a swim cap for women - it's not a speed thing, it's a being allowed in the pool thing.)

--
In other news, Friday, I took another pregnancy test, and it was negative. I've been taking Metformin, which is what I did last time I got pregnant, and it worked then, so I guess I'll wait a while longer before I go back to a gyno. It's not like we're really specifically trying so much. Next month, we're going to an amusement park for the day, and I really hope I'll get to go on the roller coasters - I won't be able to do that if I'm pregnant.
--

I think I'll save the other stuff for a separate post, because there's more stuff that needs to be written, but it doesn't go with this.

Paint

I haven't written in a while for a number of reasons. Mostly because I don't write here when my husband's around. My husband likes to remind me that he's not meant to be my therapist, and as such, he doesn't need to hear what I went through in all its grueling detail...

I'm trying to decide where to go next. Sometimes, something's screaming to get out, but right now, a few voices are competing for the top of my mind...

A few nights ago, I had this thought. When my baby was born, I realized that we needed to repaint the nursery because there were garish designs of cartoon characters on the walls. My husband painted three layers over the designs. I asked him the other night whether we could strip off the paint, and whether the cartoon characters would still be there. Of course, he said it was possible. So I think. If we strip off the woman I've become - the mother, the wife, the writer, the friend - I'm still what I was under that. I'm still a scared girl with her shoes missing. I'm still the person whose life spun so out of control that she can't even name all of her sexual partners, and isn't even sure she'd recognize all of them by face.

So how do you strip those layers away?
I don't want them anymore.

PS Aunt Flo showed up.

Swimming

Today, I went swimming. I do that about three times a week. The pool was less crowded than usual, but since they clean the pool once a week - on Sundays, it was filthy. Basically, there are all these white fluffy things floating in the pool. It didn't take me long to realize that they're mucus. What was harder was suppressing my gag reflex... EWWW. I'm the type of person who finds wiping a baby's nose harder than wiping their rear.

Speaking of babies, I'm pretty much sure I'm not pregnant this cycle, though Aunt Flo is still MIA. I don't know why I was so sure that I was pregnant, but whatever. If Aunt Flo ever shows up, then there's another cycle to work with. If not, I think I'll get my doctor to put me on metformin. It worked last time, so I'm hoping it'll work this time.

Baby is so sweet. We had lunch with my mom, and she was just giggling and smiling the whole time... except when she tried to eat my cell-phone. Then she was just very intent on the task at hand.

Back to swimming, while I was swimming, I was in this whole bizarre fantasy about my high school English teacher. He was this British guy, not particularly attractive. Once I accidentally ripped a poster that was on the wall, so he asked me to stay after class and tape it back together for him. I held the sides while he taped it together. Somehow, for me, that moment was intimate. It's bizarre, but I guess it was the closeness, or the look on his face, or maybe the fact that at some points during the year, he talked to me after class, and somehow I felt like he understood me more than other people. At any rate, I still fantasize about him. I don't get it. Back then, I would have said he was the one I was least likely to fantasize about.

Back in high school, there were two male teachers I thought about a lot. One, I thought was the sweetest man alive. He could play guitar, and he had this sweet singing voice, and he used to sing at assemblies sometimes. Oh gosh, what I wouldn't have given for a hug from Dr. Johnny. Just thinking about him makes me all soft on the inside, even though I know that he never really thought much about me.

I guess it started on our freshie weekend (I went to a semi-posh private school for high school). There was this senior chick who came to wake us up and none of the girls got up and she got upset so she went to Dr. Johnny and Dr. Lamm and told them that we didn't want to wake up. So the two of them came to our floor of the hotel and started singing and shouting and stuff. It was so funny. I got up, no doubt with bed-hair and all that, and I said "we may be awake now, but we're going back to sleep." and Dr. Johnny said to me "Good morning, Miss Catherine, you look exceptionally beautiful today." Having the self-esteem of roadkill, it was basically love for me. And then the guitar. Nothing and I mean NOTHING is as hot as a guy who can play guitar.

And I don't mean guitar hero. I mean classic guitar, or better yet, twelve string. I mean soft sweet songs like "Cat's in the Cradle" and "Country Roads" and sitting around a campfire. I wish my husband would play guitar. We have a friend who plays pretty well, and I'm about ready to jump his bones every time I see him take out the guitar. Not a good thing.

Okay, here's the real problem. Why the hell am I fantasizing about every man on Earth EXCEPT my husband?! I love him. I mean it. He's made all my dreams come true. He's made my family accept me. He's given me a beautiful home and a gorgeous baby. He even accepts Doggie, although he isn't overly fond of dogs. So why can't I want him as much as I want every damned man that's out of reach?!

He's kind. He's gentle. He has a nice singing voice. He plays piano. He's attractive. He's strong. He has a variety of different talents, most of which impress me. He brings home a good salary. He's even muscular and not too hairy. I wish my body would just respond to him the way it did when we were first together. I want to have passion with him, and I just don't. I don't want to think about other men. I don't want to be this girl.

Oh the Embarassment!

I had a cleaner come in to clean up my house today. He's a post high school kid who's taking some time out to earn some cash before he starts college and life and all that. Nice kid.

I just looked at my night stand. In the pile of hair bands that he arranged neatly there, there's a used Nuva Ring. I feel really guilty... Jeez. That was in my... you know. and he put it into the pile... oh boy! That'll teach me to put trash in the trash - it's been sitting there like 6 weeks... oops.

Oh, and today's pregnancy test was negative. Aunt Flo must be on her way. How exciting.

Dual Personality

Somewhere out there, there are people who see me every day. They know me. I mean, really. They know I love Dexter, Scrubs, NCIS, CSI: Miami. They know I have a dog that barks too much and jumps too much. They know that I'm a writer and that I love to sing, but I can't hit all the notes.

Some of them know that I had some bad experiences. A lot of them know that I was promiscuous before I met my husband. Almost all of them know that I take medications for depression. Some know that it's bipolar with more downswings than upswings. Some know that I have issues with rage.

But none of them understand how my mind makes me live in some of those dark places.

Maybe maybe some of them could handle it if I told them about the rape, but most would blame me for getting myself into the situation, or wouldn't understand why I didn't press charges.

I was alone, more alone than I can explain. I was living alone in what basically amounted to a construction area. My boyfriend had dumped me. He was one of those guys who you just can't get enough of. I was insanely in love with him. But he dumped me. And I was alone. Doggie (not a very original name for a dog, I admit) had just showed up in my life, and Doggie was pretty much all I had. I was in college, but I hated classes. I had lost a semester the previous year because of my depression, so I was retaking courses I had no interest in.

And then D.S. showed up. He was a neighbor. He was single. He was older than I was, and he had a dog. He was smooth enough to fool me. I was twenty, but in some ways, I was as naive as I'd been at ten. He started by 'helping me' with the dog. He let our dogs play together, and he told me how he knew all about dog training (later on, I found out exactly how much he knew about dog training when he slammed his dog against a brick wall).

He sat on the hammock, which was pretty much the only thing that made the yard look inhabited. There wasn't even grass yet. (Like I said, it was basically a construction site. There were three people living on the street at that point).

I don't know how he made it happen. He said he could teach me, and I wanted to show that I was an adult. I said, "like what?" and then I kissed him.

We kissed for a while, and then he told me we could go to his place. We went there, and right away, he pushed me into his bed, but I figured I was dressed so that was ok.

Then his hands were on my breasts and I told him I wasn't ready. He told me not to be a baby. He asked me if I'd done it before. I didn't lie. I had. He told me that it's not a big deal. It could be our secret. We'd be friends. He'd take care of me.

I wanted him to use a condom, but he said he didn't have any, so he'd just withdraw. I wasn't sure, but he kept telling me that this is how it works when you're an adult, so I was kinda okay with it. He withdrew like he said, and I asked if I could spend the night. He said no, and that he had to be up early in the morning.

In the morning, I rang his doorbell early. I knew he was home. His car was in the driveway. He didn't come to the door. Later, I bought condoms, and I left a pack in his mailbox, wrapped as a gift. He didn't respond to me. I waited for him, but I didn't see when he left or came back.

I went to his house the next day, when I knew he was home. The condoms were gone from the mailbox. I rang the bell again and again. I felt cheated.

He called me later and yelled at me that I was bugging him. I started crying on the phone, and he said what basically amounted to "will you be good now?" to which I said yes, and then he told me to come over. When I got there, the door was unlocked, and he was in the shower. I went in there, and he started yelling at me. He made me lean over the sink, and he sodomized me. I cried, but I didn't try to stop him. Then he made me get into the shower with him, and he penetrated me as I leaned on the wall. He told me to tell him that I loved him, that I needed him. And then he yelled at me more.

Then he told me to get dressed and get out.

Another time, he told me he wanted to make up with me. He pushed me to have sex with him again. I didn't know anything. I just knew that I wanted to stop hurting, and he kept promising he'd make things ok for me.

You see. I couldn't go to the police. Sure I feel raped, but legally, he didn't rape me. I went to his house willingly. I didn't scream. I didn't fight back. I wasn't under threat. There was no time when he physically prevented me from leaving.

I'm sure that if anyone out there reads this, they'll think I was a total idiot for going up there to begin with. I think it too. But I did. And he used my stupidity to hurt me.

Quick Update

Big Sister had a baby boy today.
I went to the hospital to see them. He is adorable.

I took a pregnancy test yesterday, and it was negative. I think I might have tested too early, though. I'll try again on Monday, and see if the results are still negative. If so, then I guess I can expect Aunt Flo soon.

Shoes on the Windowsill

I lived in the next house for just a year, the year I was in kindergarten. I have a lot of memories from that place. The most striking is a pair of black patent leather shoes sitting on a windowsill.

I asked a brother for a cup of apple juice, and he said that he'd give me apple juice, but afterwards, I'd need to play a game with him.

We went to a room that no one used, and he put a mat down on the floor. And then he said we were going to play a dare game.

"I dare you to take off your shoes" he said. I took off my shoes, and put them neatly on the windowsill.

He dared me until we were both down to underwear.

"I dare you to put all your clothes back on." I said, and he laughed.
"It doesn't work that way." He took off his underwear, and told me to take off mine. He made me lie on his belly. I guess that was when he realized that I was too little or that it was wrong. He told me to put my clothes back on. He told me not to tell anyone.

Two weeks later, I hadn't found my shoes. My mom went to the room to look for something, and I went with her. She saw the mat on the floor and asked me what we'd done. At first, I didn't answer. And then I saw my shoes on the windowsill.

I don't remember what I told her. I don't remember anything more about it. I mostly repressed that part. Somehow, telling was worse than experiencing. My mom claims she checked me for signs of damage. I don't remember it. I don't remember anything changing. My mom said she told my siblings. I don't remember that. She says that he wasn't allowed to be alone with me for years. I don't remember that either. I remember the feel of his skin, the look of his penis, but I don't remember anyone ever telling me it wasn't ok to talk about it. I don't remember any change in anyone's behavior. It felt like it was just covered up.

He never touched me again.

When I was eight or nine, my grandfather came to visit me, and he brought me a book about sexual abuse. I said "oh, yeah, I know about that. Brother did that to me." My grandfather left right after that. I guess he didn't know what to say.

A little while later, there was a school assignment to write about something you wish hadn't happened or something like that. I wrote about my experience. Kids treated me pretty weird after that. The principal called in my parents to talk about it. Everyone said I was okay, and I never got treatment then either.

I know that what I went through wasn't horrible, but I also know that it marked me as a victim. In Stephen King's "Salem's Lot," one character describes that he's marked by a vampire, and it's only a matter of time before other vampires feed on him. (I think I got that right, feel free to correct if you've read it more recently than I have.) I was marked then. In school, kids teased me, and at one point, I was in a school in a bad area and I got beaten up a few times.

In high school, a guidance counselor told me that I walk around looking like a victim. I don't think I managed to change that look until I was 26.

Two More Early Memories

These two are slightly more disturbing, but still, not into the stuff that came later.

I remember wetting myself, and my mother was angry. She took me, and sat on the stairs and stripped off my pants and hit me over and over on my rear. Big Sister called (she went to boarding school for a while - it was a better school than what we had available on post) and my mother sat there with me across her lap and talked to Big Sister. I wasn't allowed to talk to her.

And another time, I remember my dad was listening to music, probably classical. He held me across his lap, dressed, and drummed on my rear. It felt good, and I told him to do it harder.

I think this second experience is where my spanking fetish comes from.

Early Memories.

I said before that I'm an army brat. I remember what happened when by which house I lived in. I don't remember my first two houses. I remember the third.

It was a big house - there were a lot of us, I'm the youngest of a whole brood. I don't remember much from that house. I remember good things. I remember fish my big brothers had caught swimming in my wading pool. I remember building tents with my siblings. I remember sleeping bags draped on the backs of chairs to make a tent. I remember building with legos. We had our own special games. We'd build cars and see whose car survived a head-on collision best. We used to build "marble machines."

We used to lock each other in small places. Once I got locked in a small wooden box. I went there myself, and the latch closed by accident. It wasn't anyone's fault. I soiled myself in there. I slept there. I don't know how long I waited. Big Sister said that when she pulled me out, I was covered in sweat. I was probably four.

One time, my parents went on vacation. They left a colleague of my mom's to watch us. He came with his wife and daughter. His daughter was my age. They put us in the bath together, and my mom's co-worker washed us both with soap-on-a-rope. He didn't do anything wrong, but it still plays at my mind.

My dad used to go to the bathroom without closing the door. I remember wishing I could pee standing up.

My dad used to beat up brother #2 a lot. He'd use his fists and his feet. I don't remember him using a belt or shoes. I think he stopped doing that earlier than I can remember. I know that I feared belts, and I know that there was something about shoes. It plays at the edges of my memory, but it's not something I saw. My mother would cry, whimper "no honey no." and he would take it out on brother #2. It was almost always him. He was a tough kid. He probably had ADHD, but they never diagnosed it.

There was a family that we were friends with. I called the woman Nanny. Once, she was putting me to bed, and I did something she didn't like. She spanked me, but she missed my rear. She spanked straight down the middle. I still don't like her because of it. We're still in touch.

I used to go to a daycare center. I once cut another kid's drawing. There was grass and I wanted to make it more real, so I took scissors and I cut little lines parallel to each other to make blades of grass. Later, I saw that the kid was upset, but I kept silent.

Once I was running when I wasn't supposed to be running. They put me in a crib in the baby area, and one of the workers said something nice to me, and I was so embarrassed that I told her not to talk to me.

Once I screamed and they put me in the corner.

Once I went over to another girl's house and she had a Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine. I was disappointed at how much work went into one tiny snowcone.

I told someone to "Buzz Off" and someone told me that it meant to die.

Twice, people I didn't know gave me stuffed toy animals. I named them after characters from the movie "Annie."

Apparently I was cute. Apparently, that was my task in life. Everyone said that Tabitha gets whatever she wants. Everyone thought I had it easy. I did have it easy. I had a happy life. Look at everything here, and you see a normal, happy childhood.

Things didn't get much more complicated until later, I guess.

Good Times

I was going to start with my childhood memories of abuse, but this memory keeps coming at me. It's a good one, not abuse-related. I was eighteen, and I used to use IRC a lot. I had been dating this guy - we'll call him Quasi, cuz he reminds me of the Disney version of Quasimodo in the Hunchback of Notre Dame - yeah, that ugly - who was way older than I was, and I kind of didn't like him, but I was needy enough to stick with him. And then I started chatting with this guy Amos. We kinda chatted online for a while, and I gave him my phone number.



Amos was 20 or so. He was Australian, and his accent was the biggest turn-on. Plus he was brilliantly smart. I was still dating Quasi, but the first time I talked to Amos, we talked for 6 hours. We only hung up when his phone battery (cordless, not cell) ran out. Then he charged it for a minute to call me back and say good night.



It took a while of chatting with him before I finally got the guts to dump Quasi - there were a bazillion other factors involved. Eventually, I baited Quasi until he grabbed me and forced a kiss on me, and then I threw him out of my dorm room and told him to go to hell. (yeah, I was a sweet one.)



So back to Amos. I wanted to meet him, but I was in school, as was he, and we were both taking a pretty heavy courseload, plus our campuses were like a two hour drive apart.



Anyway, this thing came up and school was cancelled through the state for a day, so I called him and asked if he wanted to come hang with me. He said it'd be cooler if I come hang with him, cuz his roommate was out of town, so we'd have the place to ourselves.



Sounds like a dumbass decision to go up there, eh? I was still a virgin and had every intent of staying that way - though I'd gone pretty far before. Anyway, I went back and forth about it in my mind, told a friend where I was headed, and hopped a bus. This was back before I had a cell-phone, so I told Amos I'd call him when I got to the bus station. He said he'd borrow a car, and get me from there, cuz his campus isn't easily bus-accessible.



I accidentally hopped the wrong bus - it got to the right place, but took an hour detour to make a stop in some other little 2-bit towns. Anyway, but the time I got to the bus station, he was in total panic. I called him and he was like "oh my gosh, thank goodness you're ok" and all that. And then he picked me up in this crappy looking car that was kinda scary in and of itself. We went back to his dorm, and at first we were just talking. He gave me something to drink, and then I was teasing him about something, and I started tickling him. He tickled back at first, and then he grabbed some scotch tape and taped my hands together. It was a huge turn-on, not at all scary, he was giggling the whole time, and then I was on top of him, kissing him.

He kissed really amazingly, and pretty soon, he stopped to undo my hands, cuz they were in the way, and then he was lying on me kissing me. I guess you'd call it dry-humping, cuz his legs were between mine, and he was making my whole body respond. The funny thing was, I didn't even realize he had an erection. I felt something on my leg and assumed it was his belt buckle.

After a while, Amos tried to touch my breasts and I said "this is too fast for me" and he backed off. Then I went to the bathroom to change into pajamas. He snuggled in next to me and we slept together like that all night. The next day (which was our day off), he borrowed a car again, and he took me to this place not far away. There were these mountains there, and he took me up high so I could look down into the valley. The view was breathtaking, and we just stood there with our arms around each other. Later, he took me out for lunch, and I should have already gone back to school, but my first class was late the next morning, so I stayed over a second night. Again, we slept snuggled, but nothing "happened."

Cool thing about this timeframe - he was doing a project for a photography class. He picked a rose and took pictures, and then I played with the rose. I was kinda sad that he didn't want to take my picture. I wish he had. I don't know how to explain it, but I felt like it would make me more real, more permanent.

By this point, I'd really fallen for Amos. The next week, I had an early class and no afternoon class, so I jumped a bus. I went to visit him. He took me to a class of his. I had my hand in his through the whole class. He was kind of embarrassed but he liked it too.

It was this whole weird thing, b/c I had met a bunch of his buddies online, so they wanted to meet me. And then I'd posted a pic someplace with me and a rabbit, so one of the guys had asked me something about the rabbit, and I said it had died, and he laughed, and he felt really bad about it, so he showed up there with a rabbit. It was pretty bizarre, cuz the rabbit lived with my folks (who had moved in the meantime), and I couldn't really have a rabbit in the dorms. But this buddy of his had been chatting up a pal of mine at my school, so he wanted to meet her.

You gotta understand, my school is not into co-ed dorms, so we were kinda at a loss for where to sleep him. I asked my brother who had an apartment off campus, but he was about to get hitched so he was like - no way, I'm too freaked. I don't know why I didn't figure on that. Anyhow, I was like, okay so you can crash in the lounge in the guys' dorm, but he wasn't cool with that. My roommate was away, so I snuck him in, but like... I was totally into Amos - I wasn't gonna spend the night with his friend in a dorm, so I forced this other chick to crash with us. Plus we had a mouse problem, so no one was willing to crash on the floor, so we pulled the two beds together, and I slept between Chick and the wall, and Friend was on her other side, so I was all appropriate-like. (as if!)

So anyway, we shoved Friend off back to school, and things were pretty cool. A coupla days later, Amos sprained his ankle, so he couldn't come out to see me. I managed to find a bud who went to college with Amos and was heading back to my college town by car, so he picked up Amos and brought him to hang with me.

I was so into him. All I wanted was to mack on him. All very appropriate, fully clothed stuff. Chick and Roommate both showed up. All was well, we were dressed. Good stuff. I remember a lot of music with Amos. Especially Dire Straits "Romeo and Juliet" and some Paul Simon, and Simon and Garfunkel. Whenever I hear Romeo and Juliet, I still think about him.

Anyway, we got together a few more times. His dad met me once - he came to pick us up so we could go back to his place. That time, we slept in separate rooms, because I was feeling guilty about co-sleeping. His folks totally wouldn't have cared. I didn't meet his mom or sisters or anything. Just his dad. Apparently, his dad was impressed with me.

The next time we got together, he took me for a walk in the woods on his campus, and he broke up with me. He kept singing two songs that day. "Breakfast at Tiffany's" and Tracy Chapman's "Baby Can I Hold You Tonight." I was pretty messed up about that, but I was never mad at him. Just sad.

So why am I posting this? Why does this even warrant a blip on this radar? Because every time I hear any of those songs, I start missing him all over again. And also because the passion I had for him - it seems to be missing from my repertoire now. I love my husband. He's incredible. I'd give anything for him, but I don't feel that breathless desire to mack on him. And more than that, Amos has been showing up in my mind way too much. I swim, and sometimes, in the pool, I'm back with Amos, kissing him, loving him. Why? Why can't I give all of myself to my husband?

Hello World

I'm not really a programmer, but I've been around enough programmers to know that the first thing you program is a program that prints the words "Hello World." This is a new beginning for me. My name isn't Tabitha, and none of the other names I use in this blog are likely to be real names. I don't want to get anyone in trouble. I don't want to expose myself. I just need to get out these things.

I'm married and I have a beautiful baby, and I'm likely pregnant with another right now. My husband is wonderful, and we have a lovely house in a small town with good neighbors. If you'd asked me four years ago if this was even possible, I'd have laughed in your face.

Before I begin, I want to say that my family - my parents and siblings - are really good people. Whatever criticism I have of them is of their particular weaknesses or lack of understanding, not of their essence. Each one of my siblings has been there for me in dozens of ways, and my parents have given me a lot more than most parents even think of, both emotionally and financially.

My childhood was overall relatively no worse than anyone else's, and I don't think I have a particular claim on a crappy past. I just think that I haven't been able to let go. Maybe, by posting my story, bit by bit, I will be able to let go.

Since a lot of what is on my mind involves sexual abuse, this blog will no doubt attract perverts. I urge you, if you're reading this to get off, please please realize that everything I write about here has destroyed a piece of my soul in one way or another. The ONLY kind of sex that is acceptable is mutually-desired sex between two adults who are fully competent in every way. If your partner says no, BACK THE FUCK OFF. Otherwise, I hope you'll be put in a jail cell with a very large man who will allow you to experience abuse from the perspective of the abused.

I'm going to have to tell a certain amount about me. I ask you, though, if you think you recognize me in these posts, please... keep it to yourself. I don't want to be known. Not here.

A few things about me that are very relevant to this blog:

I suffer from Bipolar disorder, and often the downswings bring me to the things you'll find here on this blog.

I am a military brat, and the moves I made in my childhood influenced a lot of my life. I grew up in times and places where there was a very strong focus on discipline, and corporal punishment of children was considered the norm. I do not blame my parents for using corporal punishment. They were a product of the environment they lived in. I'm sure that today, they wish they'd done differently.