Chapter 30: Perspective

[The four sister nymph goddesses]

I’d grown up through the world experience, or perhaps inexperience, of 13 years of private schooling in a sheltered deeply religious realm. I’d only experienced public school once. And “Public School” was for non “Chosen” people when it comes to the scale of comparative religions; so they told us. I was forced to attend one summer because of my poor grades in public speaking class. The teacher seemed to take a disliking to me and gave me a rotten grade. His name was Maurice and I didn’t like him either.

Maurice was obviously gay but was living the faked status, married to a women, was pretentiously both faithful to his religion and symbolic marriage because the religion didn’t tolerate homosexuality. There was some bad chemistry between Maurice and I, but, go figure. Who knows what that was about. I just wanted to get away from him and I was very surprised his job survived in such a conservative homo phobic environment as the private school.

In parochial school a low enough grade in a required course meant summer school for the delinquent sot, soul cleansing for a sinner forced to ruin summer vacation. It ruined a perfectly good summer break except I had just enough time left to go paint my uncle’s three story Craftsman home, but that’s another slave experience, actually pretty good unsupervised adventure time trying not to fall off a three story house.

But it turns out the whole summer public school thing was unexpected fun. I met “public school” kids who didn’t give a rip about anything and would show me how to spend the whole school day screwing off, talking back to teachers who would just smile and accept the smart attitude. To me this was a major culture shock. It helped explain just how cloistered my life was without worldly experience wrapped in the sanctions all holy-all parochi-all ominey dominey ding ding.

I was shocked, at first, authority figures didn’t lash back with corporal punishment, whacking, or some other torture I was so used to. These new friends didn’t live in fear at all. They talked about sex with girls in class as ordinary as anything and I tried to pretend I knew something about the subject but of course did not. I was totally embarrassed, the virgin.

Certainly there was something askew in the realm. But, no, life in the rest of the world went on perfectly normal and actually those kids were in the majority, attitudes right on.

I don’t remember learning one thing that summer, except some rank jokes and later how to paint a house. I just had fun. I also remember if I’d transferred to a public school I’d probably have been an ‘A’ student because it was so easy by comparison. Without that shadow of fear ever present I perhaps might have come to enjoy school - maybe. Who knows I might have even acquired self esteem. And given the opportunity to transfer to a brand new public high school, as I entered my senior year, I chickened out. I was too afraid to face the gauntlet of entering an entirely strange environment with parental warnings of “associating with those who were not the chosen ones”. I wasn’t sure what that meant in the grand scheme, how we were supposed to be some kind of favored humans in a god’s eyes, but I didn’t buy into that.

It is very difficult to break the bonds of slavery when you’ve completely owned the psyche of low self esteem, that timely process to mold us into conformity. I was cultured from the very first grade to fear mortality, the other most natural thing humans do in their lifetime. I was sure I was going to Hell even as shy as I was. Perhaps they had a special Hell for introverts.

But it seems I simply delayed that gauntlet. Somehow my life had opted to wait for the dairy experience. I’d arrived on the farm and then, OH, what a gauntlet like nothing anyone could imagine. It made up for lost time, a life shaping change in the company of the four nymphs and their sister Lilly, all goddesses, all divine. This was not parochial in the old sense and yet they were goddesses, supreme beings in the flesh, naked, doing exactly the things my schooling forbade. What the hell!

So before the dairy the demeanor that was me was never challenged to change. I was a fairly cute kid so shy I had no command of eye contact whatsoever and I had no social life because I was required to work for money for clothes, to have any money to spend, to share living expenses, to pay my share of car maintenance if-when I was allowed to drive.

High school was just a stop on my way to work downtown. I’d learned to accept that way of life, no social life, and when I was farmed out to work on the dairy I didn’t question the idea, just accepted it without much thought outside of fear and frankly I feared everything, was doin’ as I was told.

Since early childhood, starting at age 5, I was abused. I was pointedly forsaken by my mother in her madness and that unexplainable cruelty marked me deeply for life. Without going into details my resulting shyness and introverted self were the outcome of that bad experience because I never received any help to overcome it. She got help to overcome her anger but low self esteem was my given handle, not wanted to be shared with anyone else. Now, suddenly, I was living in a strange place, stranger than I could ever have imagined, and not a place I can imagine I would have chosen if I’d had the details of it ahead of time.

But the dairy was its own beautiful experience in extraordinary ways. I was told by the boss if I survived the experience I’d never have to worry about Marine Corp boot camp (Why would I care?). How would the nymphs prepare me for the marines? And my worst fear in life, girls, were living with me in an intimate but dirty shabby bunk house that wreaked of cow manure. I lived the anal young city life making me repulse from grime and now I was deep living in it - in the nude! Those same ladies was rubbing their nude bodies all over me for fun in the middle of the night, I being the favorite and only male, or penis, available for their uses. Therefore I was hired as a penis, a livestock. “What do you want to be when you finish high school?” “I want to be a full time giant hired penis.”

What in the world did my parents think? The bunk mates were not of this world exactly and were supernatural. That would have astounded the unknowing. What would anybody think when they saw me naked, huge penis? The imp in me almost wanted to know, would have let the cat out of the bag and told the world just for the reaction. But, alas, nobody would believe me, that is until perhaps they got a look at my appendage. Yet I sure couldn’t deny what was happening. Maybe if more people got a look at my enormous penis there would be some proof.

The astounding confrontation with my parents during their visit to the dairy was unexplainable for me. I didn’t know how, what to deal with in that regard. I could blame the nymphs for messing with their minds or I could blame my dad for being a co-conspirator in this. Was all of this faith related? No way, the nymphs were not part of that religious foray. How would I know for sure.

Think? I personally, eventually, thought things were just GREAT! That is, once I got over the initial shock and realized I was happy to be overly horny. Aside from those anus encounters I was pretty much in sex heaven. I even enjoyed more and more hoping acceptance wasn’t a form of insanity. Those abuses had some redeeming qualities, the results -astounding. And the weird thing about the anus invasions was the fact I wasn’t physically harmed although it got very uncomfortable one night and beyond scary until I was completely “adjusted”. I couldn’t see my ass hole so I couldn’t be sure how it may have looked different after the adjustments were finished. But just the same, man can I ever “fuck” out of this world now.

And yet it was all just magic; I could fall back on that concept in my mind. They promised not to hurt me (seriously?) and I had no real desire to distrust any of the sisters.

It wasn’t real? But it was! A few other humans also shared the existence of the sisters. I could anchor on that fact because the dairy owners had long experienced them, everything that is except the sensual parts. In that I was a chosen one, outside of Lilly’s love for her guys. Yes, a chosen one but quite different than the old brain washing of parochial school. Perhaps if I had been older, more experienced, I would have pondered more deeply about the realm the sisters inhabited. Later in life I would have probably surmised something similar to their parallel reality, an extra-dimension. Making sense in my young human mind wasn’t something my brain was ready for and it was far easier just to play dumb and make love. That was enough new- ness to try to wrap my inexperienced mind around for the time being.

The sisters took my over-active sex drive, kept dormant, forbidden through the parochial years, and opened the flood gate wide, completely, to let me be dazzled out of my mind. It became my penchant to not be overly absorbed with any other distractions as I was aroused to focus on my bunk mates more of the time than not. If the son perchance asked me if I had a “hard-on” as the weeks went along I would have to say “YES, of course! But most of the time it’s in hiding,” meaning it was deep inserted between a nymph’s legs where it remained in magic vagina heaven until there was the explosive ejaculation for everyone’s reward. It was so truly great I simply forgot I was naked to the world. It became the natural way to be.

The powers overseeing the need in the dairy experience wanted a spirit with no or low self esteem, a culturing starting in early life. I fit that model perfectly. My mother came from a politically connected family very well respected in the region. Thus the mystery of her abusing nature will remain unsolved. It didn’t make sense and yet there it was. She was a noted beauty which complicated the situation in my mind even more. But my conditioning was very thorough. And she got away with abusing her children, completely. The proof of that conditioning finally came when the sister nymphs put me through my training and I accepted it because I felt myself worthless and they were pleased.

[One of many crazy schemes to add to their efforts going public with me by capturing gizem to bottle and sell. The dairy sold the milk the cow’s produced why not my gizem milked out of my penis in volume]

Beaten, bloodied, filthily smeared with every gross thing imaginable, every opportunity, and purposely situated in utterly embarrassing settings even with their arms extended up through my anus for people to watch, I accepted it and I remained livestock.

The model male had to have respect for the opposite sex, actually deep respect, almost a willingness to be enslaved and that went along with low self esteem. The anal procedure had to become thoroughly acceptable, a leap of faith you might say. That, of course, had everything to do with the ability of the masters to physically and magically alter the male’s body to perform adequately. And as I was told the male had to have been chosen before time in the deep distant, some facet of the past, so the preconditions were set in the genealogy forever. Imagine that my mother’s abuse of me had to be preset with exact timing and perhaps somebody’s abuse of her, which remains a mystery. That had to be preset and who knows how far that condition existed generations before. It could be somewhat mind boggling to contemplate just how complicated the need was in design. It seemed like chaos focused at some future point.

It seems funny to me now how the launch of my initiation waited until the day after, within hours of my graduation from private high school, to get caught in the real world, the other world, another universe in a hyper way in a strange haunting place miles away from where I started.

I didn’t question my father’s insistence that we leave so soon for a summer job far away. And the place stunk heavy of cow manure and other organic matter, rotting, and was for the most part filthy, very unlike the manicured environment that I grew up in. And yet I somehow fit in. Or my penis fit in for sure and after I was stripped naked for good.

As I sat on my bed in the bunk house examining my nude body with its Holstein size penis and enormous balls I spent my thinking time trying to keep scope of my current situation, trying to keep a balance disallowing me from becoming a dumb jerk around my new friends and also being the best worker I could be because my father always, brutally, instilled in me work ethic. “Don’t make mistakes!” He drilled it into me. “You have to be the best worker, period.” All that pre conditioning often over-ruled my ability to see around the sex and the tantalizing side of my role in the nymph’s lives, to figure things out, the why of my existence. If my work required I be the very best fucker of all my parochial brain washing precluded that with “sex not allowed”.

That was a strange conflict. But perhaps it actually worked to make me even a better lover dealing with the delicious forbidden, the fruit.

I assumed my dad hardly realized being the best at the dairy meant long hours, late nights, fucking the crew with vast floods of gizem. And because of that I would tease the nymphs with my penis, both physically and conceptually, by pushing into them incrementally inch by inch while exclaiming in rhythm.

“Don’t - make - mistakes - Fuck them for heaven sakes - Lick the nymphs from stem to stern And don’t make mistakes.

You have to be the best - You’ll never get a rest - You have to fuck them all night long And pass the Happy-mess.”

The resulting Happy-mess would shoot out, a taunt to my father’s unrelenting criticisms. “Here’s to you Pop!,” S-Q-U-I-R-T.