This is an utterly true story of events that took place some 50 years ago. I’ve only written this because I wanted to be able to keep the memories fresh as I get older and because my “friends and lovers” have either moved on with their lives or passed away, but since the intent of this opus isn’t just pure sex, some realistic ‘fill’ was necessary. I might mention a tiny bit of back story. My whole life I’ve only ever been good at three things – swimming, guitar playing and sex. © Hellraser 2014 This is NOT a stroke story
Ok, so call me weird...
The backstory here starts about age five. I’m doing whatever five year olds do around Christmas ... hoping I get a new cap gun set, that was really all I’d asked Santa for at Sears. Christmas day rolled around and I KNEW I’d gotten my cap guns, but I also KNEW I’d gotten a pedal car. Don’t ask me how, it was locked in Grandma’s garage until the night before. I was excited about my new gun set, but even more thrilled that I was getting wheels and had the gall to ask about it before they [parents] brought it out. “How did you know you were getting a car?” asked Sis “I dunno, I just knew.” My bitch of a mother piped up with “The little bastard peeked somehow. For that, we should make Santa take it back.” Dad asked if I’d peeked but how could I? Grandma lived clear across town.
I knew everything I was getting, be it Christmas or birthday. I think the parental units were about at wits ends on how/where to hide things. I didn’t peek, I just knew. I turned five and 11 months when Christmas night rolled around again. By tradition, our family did the presents thing Christmas night because some of the family worked and didn’t GET Christmas day off. I knew all I was getting, even the boxer pup my brother picked up that evening from the owners house. The bitch told anyone that would listen that ‘damned dog’ was not staying at our house. Well, he did you a year, then disappeared.
Move ahead five more years – I’m playing in the backyard, staying out of the bitch’s sight when like in the movies, a lightbulb just went off in my head. In my mind’s eye, I could see my uncle, a career soldier, laying on the ground all bloody and quite dead. This was mom’s favorite brother [I didn’t hold that against him] and I ran into the house bawling. Mom asked me what was wrong and I was afraid to tell her, like it was my fault. I eventually did and she slapped and punched me til her arms wouldn’t work, then confined me to my room. A short while later, my aunt called to tell her the news, then she got a belt and tried to wear it out on me. Left to myself, I waited it out until Dad got home. All he asked me was ‘how’. I told him everything I knew, EXCEPT for the beatings I’d gotten from the bitch – THAT would have gotten me beaten again and probably worse. I didn’t catch any hell from Dad but he told me to shy clear of mom for as long as it took for her to deal with this.
The knowing beforehand about any presents for me got to the point of why wrap the damned things ... it won’t be a surprise. Sis didn’t live at home anymore and the bitch only allowed HER in our house ... her ‘worthless’ husband and their spawn were not allowed. I know it was hard on her, but that’s the only way she could connect with our family. Even she was amazed I knew exactly what she got me, living 60 miles away. That was another reason I had only two birthday parties growing up. My few friends thought it was neat- I’d pick up their present and KNOW what was wrapped up. The bitch decided doing without would be easier on everyone.
Move ahead to Jr High...
Now some shit went down that was strange, even from MY point of view. Several things happened, not always related to each other. For one thing, not EVERY test, but more than coincidentally, I knew what questions were on the test, like I could see it in my teacher’s mind. I got accused of cheating a few times to the point I had to sit front and center before the teacher. Too many times, I got sent to the office until finally, a guidance council wrote home for permission to give me an IQ test. The bitch tried to tell them it was her ‘other’ son that was the smart one ... I was just marking time to graduate. Dad agreed to the test.
The kids at school had labeled me NERD from the seventh grade on, now the school would confirm it. All I asked of the school was to keep the results private. Knock me over with a feather ... my IQ in seventh grade was 120, I’d qualified as genius level ... just what I wanted everyone to know ... NOT! A FEW of my teachers became aware of this, especially my science/biology teacher. That guy pushed me to do more, do more intensive work and push my boundaries. I entered the state science fair with a machine called a ‘Lord Kelvin Dripper’, it generates an electric current by dripping salt water through a series of metal rings, wired together. Not a big deal, but it was enough to power a flashlight bulb, all at about 3 volts. So I won. Big freakin deal. The teacher told anyone that would listen that this was college level stuff. I wished the hell I woulda just stayed home, the damned school had an assembly in my ‘honor’. It was more to my shame. The bitch kept after me to tell her how I cheated.
I did a few other ‘nerdy’ things, like sending a helium balloon 1500 miles to Michigan and had it on a Polaroid picture as evidence. The bitched called the newspaper like it was all HER idea. My perfect older brother got a blue ribbon through FFA for a sheep he’d raised. Somehow, I don’t think it compares.
High School - I started having dreams...
In ninth grade some of us got together and formed a garage band, much to the bitch’s dismay ... matter of fact, if she could have managed it, she woulda had us all jailed. We had many visits by the police after someone, naming no names, called it in as a nuisance report. It took Dad intervening to stop them from shutting us down to the point he rented an empty warehouse for us to practice in. We officially became money makers [wow! $50 a head] by the end of the school year, playing for parties and the occasional church dance. The guys all liked playing, but couldn’t see doing this in the long haul, fortunately, there were two other jr highs in town. Over summer break, we’d put together a really professional group, good enough to be recognized by the largest radio station in the state. The money came in, way more than we ever dreamed possible. Maybe you’ve heard of Andy Warhol ... HE took notice of us and moved us to Hollywood.
We were also required to take an SAT as sophomores. I scored 1850 out of 2400. Not Einstein but more than respectable. At least I THOUGHT they were a private thing. ANOTHER guidance councilor, this time a psychologist had me take a new IQ test ... oh joy! Now I was up to 145. I swore her to absolute secrecy. I was a minor and no one gave her permission to present the test. A group of eggheads called Mensa flagged me down and wanted me to join their ranks. That would REALLY label me as ‘normal’. I wish people would just stay out of my life and private affairs. As a senior, we had to re-take the SAT and I was the first one to turn theirs in. That got me sent to the office by the proctor for ‘blowing’ the test. I damn near maxed it. It also appeared my mechanical aptitude was off the charts. Oh well, I’ll make a hell of a mechanic if music plays out.
Now to the dreams. I’d start going out with a girl and when it started getting serious, I’d dream we were on an ocean liner and it was sinking. Everyone made for the lifeboats and I’d end up sitting next to a beautiful girl I may or may not even know. The present GF would be clinging to the side of the lifeboat that was about to sink if ONE MORE PERSON got aboard. I pushed her head under water and held her til her body floated away. Sick huh? It was a recurring dream for the next three years and I’d always end up with the girl sitting next to me. The dream got out, somehow and I got asked regularly if I’d dreamed about the new girl I was with.
Another five years down the road...
My dad was gravely ill, dying from a brain tumor. I did everything in my power to make his year he had left as good as possible. I spent every spare minute with him, even to the point of taking him to work and doing his oilfield job for him. The higher-ups knew but didn’t care so long as the job got done. When he got really bad, he was too sick to even go to work and the bitch announced she didn’t sign on to care for an invalid, so she shunted him off to the hospital. I think at the families’ bidding, she did visit, as long as my sister-in-law or another relative went with her.[likely to pressure her into visiting at all] I sat with Dad all night, every night. We talked and I tried my damnedest to let him know how much I loved him. Dad was alert enough to know he had one foot in the grave and it was only a matter of time. It got to the point he was no longer able to speak but he could squeeze my finger. We worked out a yes or no system, I asked questions, he squeezed yes or no. I watched him reduced to a skeleton and curled in a fetal ball. I spent my and his last night with him and hugged him for what would be the last time. [God, this is hard... 46 years later and I’m bawling like a two year old] I went home to sleep and told my barfly wife that he wasn’t going to last and went to bed.
About two hours later, my sister-in-law’s sister knocked on the door in tears. “Oh Buck, I’m so sorry. He died about 30 minutes after you left.” All I was capable of was hugging her as we both cried. I could tell she had something on her mind. I guess she’d tell me when she was ready. I took her in the kitchen and started the coffee pot. We sat, drank our coffee while I stared at the floor. What do you say? My world ended. Mary [the sister’s name] finally worked up a head of steam and with tears pouring from her eyes, she related the story of my Dad’s last few minutes.
“Buck, were were gathered around his bedside and he just sat up like nothing was wrong with him and wanted to know where you were. Your mom kept saying SHE was there, but he pushed her aside trying his best to call out for you. That selfish bitch that had you kept after him – didn’t he want his son, his OTHER son? He wanted you and only you, then his eyes rolled back in his head and he was gone. I’m so so sorry.” If someone had called, I’m sure he may have held on or not until I got there ... now I’ll never know.
I was a zombie. The wife had little or nothing to say except when the reading of the will would be. Fuck that! I went to bed and tried to sleep. I should mention here that the wife Marge is one of those sleepers that just turning over in bed wakes her up. I’d been asleep for a while when I heard my name called ... yeah, right. I heard it again and it was Dad’s voice when he was going to brook no shit from anyone. THAT got my attention. I propped up on my elbows and looked at Marge still sound asleep. The room was dark but there was a glowing, bright spot on the wall at the foot of the bed. “This is not for her, son. I have some things to tell you and a short time to do it in, so listen and just shut up.” With that he told me things about himself, the bitch, my brother and some uncomfortable things about me. The stuff he told me about his marriage, his wife and his oldest son shocked me but I kept it to myself. The things he told me about myself were that I still had a lot of growing up to do. Bills or a checkbook were never part of our household that we shared growing up. I was kinda bad about spending or saving money, not as bad as the woman I’d married, but that’s another story. The main thing he said was that as long as I did my dead level damnedest to solve my problems on my own, when I was at the end of my rope, he’d step in to help me. When I needed some serious advice, he’d be there. It might seem like a dream, but the advice would come, just pay attention and DON’T blow it off. He was done and the spot winked out. I fell into a deep sleep but turning over all the information my dad had laid on me.
The next morning, I tried to tell my wife Marge what went on. She blew it off to grief. She KNEW how close to my Dad I was and had resented the fact I spent so much time with him the last year. Fuck that too! HER parents couldn’t WAIT to unload her on someone else ... she would be a problem for outside her family to finance.
After the funeral we all went to our old house as a family and friends. The bitch made it plain what she thought of Dad asking for me instead of his oldest and pushing her, such a devoted wife away. That chapped my ass so I unloaded some of the stuff Dad had told me. My older brother decided to take his place as head of the family and got up in my face telling me I really wasn’t welcome there. Getting in my face when I’m that emotional was definitely the wrong thing to do as he found himself on his ass with a bloody nose. To say people were shocked, hmm, might be right. Whether it was because of the things I said or because I’d just decked my brother. I figured it was a good time to make an exit before I killed someone. After I left, the brother helped himself to all of Dad’s tools that Dad had already promised to me.
In about a week, Sis and I got a letter from an attorney saying it was requested that Sis and I refrain from trying to attend the reading of the will. I was only twenty at the time and couldn’t retain a lawyer with out an ‘adult’. Sis was told if she showed up to just forget she had a family because she wasn’t wanted and if she did so, she’d never be welcome at home again. The brother did rub in my face that all of Dad’s finances went to mom and she could decide, if ever, to split it with her other two kids. Hell, I’d been on my own for years, what’s so different now?
A second marriage...
I got rid of one cheating wife and should have been gun shy about taking on another, but this one was a terror in the bedroom. I’d been a cop in OKC for a few years and had gotten tired of all the politics. A friend talked me into selling health insurance. Yeah, I got to ask a bunch of nosy questions, but it was fun and I made good bucks at it. Seems I had a knack for selling people something. Musta been my honest face. <EG> Moving right along, I did so well, the company gave me my own territory in southern Oklahoma, the border counties along the Texas and Arkansas line. It turned out the new wife’s mother and grandmother lived within my new domain. They were both sweethearts.
I’d been on the road for a week and home for a change of clothes and to do some paperwork. I’d been in bed asleep for a short time when I had the strangest dream. Another spot appeared on the wall and the wife’s ex called my name. My wife’s ex lived on a farm, commune style, up near Tulsa on the Illinois River. He also had custody of their boy Allan. WE had custody of a fourteen year old girl. Anyway, I dreamed that Ron [the ex] was talking to a guy I’d met for maybe all of 30 seconds during a trip to return the boy Allan home. This guy, Blackie, asked me to buy a baggy from him which I turned down. I’d done enough drugs in the service to quell that need a long time ago.
In the dream, Ron and Blackie were having an argument while sitting under an oak tree in Ron’s front yard. On this same property, the wife’s brother and significant other lived and I watched her brother shoo his wife in the house and close the door. Ron was famous for making a concoction of THC and orange juice and both he and Blackie were under its influence. One of Ron’s OTHER favorite things was to argue playing God and the Devil and the argument was getting pretty violent. Suddenly, I was back in our bedroom, sweating like a pig. I got up and went to my desk and found a spiral notebook and wrote everything down as I remembered it, dated and timed it. Then I went back to bed.
The next night, Ron called my name again and this time I went INTO the glowing spot, finding myself in Ron’s bedroom watching through his eyes as he looked out his window. All of a sudden, there was a loud crack, like when you drop a billiard ball on a cement floor, and a blinding white light, then darkness. I don’t know how much time passed, but there was the sound of a gunshot and I was back in my own bed.
I was bawling by this time. I KNEW Blackie had done something to Ron and I knew, without a doubt, he’d shot Ron in the head. Dragging out the notebook, I wrote it down as I’d seen and felt it. Soon, I was back in bed. The next night, Ron woke me up again, whisking me through the spot on the wall. Now, I watched Blackie and Mouse [Ron’s live-in GF] digging through the insulation in the attic crawl space. I KNEW he was hiding the gun. Wide awake, I went to the notebook and wrote it all down and about how far I saw Blackie reaching into the insulation. All along, I’d kept this to myself, not knowing if it was real or a figment of my warped mind. Why upset the wife? It was enough it bothered the holy shit outta me.
I’d gone to the post office to mail my company reports and the local night watchman flagged me down. “Your wife wants you to head to I-35 and let her mother follow you home.” “For... ?” “She didn’t say except to find you and give you the message, now I’ve done that. I don’t think I’d blow this off for any length of time. It sounded like her mother was close to your exit and she was upset to say the least.”
Ok. I know how to maintain marital bliss, so gassing up, I made the eight miles to our exit. The mother-in-law had beat me to it by a few minutes. Not saying a word, she motioned me to get on the road home. Like in Sherlock Holmes ‘Curious-er and Curious-er’. After a twenty minute drive, we arrived at the house and Doris, the mo-in-law raced inside. I’d no sooner walked in the door to meet the wife and her mom on the way back to her car. “What the hell is going on and where are you going?” “We’ve got to get to Ron’s house. There’s been an accident and I don’t know any of the particulars except Allan is there all alone.” “What about your brother?” “He’s not answering the phone. I’ll call you when I know something, just take care of our daughter.”
I was also in the middle of a career change. Selling something just lost its glamour to me and I was looking for something simpler and less stressful. I applied with a local oilfield service in my old home town as a tank truck driver. The pay was good and I was home all night nearly every night. This also put me closer to my sister, her farm and her marital troubles. Finding a place to live was a breeze because our little town was bordering on being a ghost town since the oil boom had moved on.
It was mid-afternoon and I’d finished my loads, so it wasn’t a big deal to hang out at the only diner in town, drinking ice tea and bullshitting with the locals. It also appeared everyone in town knew something was up, just not what. I was waiting for my step daughter when she left school. “Where’s mom?” “She took off with MeMa [her word for her grandmother] and went to your dad’s house. She’ll probably call tonight.” Well, that was a bust. No word from her. I got up the next morning and after seeing the daughter off to the school bus, did a few errands of my own. That night, still no word and I was beginning to worry. Rinse and repeat the next day except about 9pm, I did get a phone call. “Oh Buck, you will never in a million years guess what went down up here...” I took a deep breath; “Ron’s dead. Blackie killed him. The gun is in the attic under the insulation and before he shot him, he did something to the back of his head.” The phone went totally silent for several minutes. “How did you know? The sheriff’s department is still going over everything. We’re at my brother’s and not even allowed into Ron’s house.” I’d heard several ‘clicks’ on the line, but didn’t think anything of it at the time.
After telling me she loved me and that she’d be ok, we signed off. I hadn’t said a word to the daughter about what went down. The next morning at breakfast I did tell her Allan would probably be staying with us a while. She scoped out her dad was probably in trouble for selling drugs again so I didn’t correct her.
The next day, the sheriff’s department, the highway patrol and what turned out to be the OSBI [Okla State Bureau of Investigation] parked in front of my house. They had a tape recording of our phone call and were very interested in HOW I knew about the murder. I wasn’t allowed to even talk to my wife as they held her in her own car. Under guard, I took them to my office and dug out the notebook. The OSBI guys thought I was lying through my teeth except I told them I could alibi myself for the last week or more. It’s an all day drive to Tahlequah from our farm, so one- my daughter would miss me and I’d been seen around town every day, not to mention pulling my loads. “You mean to tell us you fucking DREAMED this whole thing, that the deceased TALKED to you?”
“I did dream it and no, Ron never spoke to me. The one time it was like looking through his eyes until Blackie did whatever he did to the back of his head.” “Blackie took a claw hammer and crushed the back of his skull, then shot him with a .38 to make sure he was dead. BTW, that little tip on the gun being hidden in the insulation was helpful.” “So, what now? Am I being held for something?” “If your alibi proves, there’s nothing to hold you on, but I have to say, this is the strangest case of psychic mumbo jumbo I’ve ever witnessed.” “Officer, believe me. You should have seen it thru my eyes ... just like I was there. I never really cared that much for Ron. As a guy, he was likable. As a father and authority figure, he sucked. I never condoned his drug dealing and made sure our daughter only visited while we were present.” “We think Ron was trying to get out of the drug ring but he knew all the people involved and the drop points and that’s why Blackie did him.”
It turns out Ron’s phone had been tapped for quite a while and the cops were there right after Blackie and Mouse escaped. We made another funeral and gathered Allan’s things to bring him home with us. The place was left in Allan’s name and my wife’s brother would play caretaker until Allan was old enough to live on his own.
Allan was a mess. He was already into the drug trade but I warned him the first time I caught him with any, he’d get a bus ticket to no where and we didn’t want to see or hear from him ... his choice. My house, my rules. But, enough about him. Last I heard of him, he was doing 20 for armed robbery. Somehow, I could see that.
I mentioned we lived on a farm. What I didn’t mention was it was haunted. In Oklahoma, there are a lot of homes left over from the land rush of 1889. Ours originally started out as a sod shack, later to be re-built and added onto. Everything about the house was an afterthought. A local farmer HAD been renting it as part of leasing the section of land belonging to the farm. We’d been living in a smaller place and one day in the diner, he cornered me and asked if we’d like a larger place to live. I’d seen the house and estimated it had at least two bedrooms down and two bedrooms upstairs. It did have a couple of downsides. We would have a 2-seat privy at the end of the sidewalk bordering the driveway. This I had to see. Driving out there, I asked why he was moving. “Oh, the wife hates living in the country. She has to DRIVE six miles to see her biddies in town and that just won’t do.”