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.
.... There is more of this story ...