I was always hiding or running from someone in the house on Balboa Street. On this one day my older brother and sister were away at school, the church that my mother had started seemed to be in full swing and now I had no good place to hide. I heard the crowd of women come in the front door, I jumped down from my chair and was trying to get out of the kitchen and up to my room. Of course time was of the essence. I dodged through the women and made my way to the front of the house where the stairs would lead me to freedom. I got to the bottom of the stairs and fright hit me really hard for the first time. I didn't know what to do. It was different than usual, no man to run to for protection from the hated (Women).
I started upstairs in a scramble of nerves and trying to think about where I would be safe from this growing crowd. As I topped the staircase I turned left to run down the hall into my mothers bedroom. I ran over to the right and choose the second closet, which was my mothers and was deeper than the first closet. I opened the door and the horror that these women were closing in on me began to make me shake. Crawling over the dirty pile of clothes and up into the back of the closet, I began to freak out because the high heeled shoes were scraping on the wood floor making to much noise. I was terrified I would get caught. The major problem I was having as I was running from this crowd of women, was that they were gaining ground and seemed to be headed for me.
Pushing the shoes aside and pulling the clothes back up to create a taller pile, I forgot any sort of pillow or blanket for my own comfort, as I never knew how long these sessions would last. I didn't have time to go back to my room because as I opened the door just enough to peer through the crack where the hinges attach to the wall, the room had begun to fill. I quickly moved the shoes and settled into a sitting position with my arms wrapped around my knees tightly. I closed my eyes and hoped that somebody would close the closet door so that I didn't have to see what was coming next.
As the door shut, it was the wrong one. It was the bedroom door to the hall, the closet door was still ajar, but thankfully they did not notice it moving when I was checking to see if I had enough time to get a pillow and blanket from my room. The floor was made of wood and it was so hard, my butt bones were digging into it. I very slowly tried to change position but the high heeled shoes made the loudest screeching noise, I was sure they could here me. I looked through the crack once again, thinking that I had been found out for certain and would be receiving a beating for hiding. But to my horror and to my dismay, I had chosen the wrong hiding place on that day.
As I pinched my eyes shut even tighter I tried to imagine anything other than what I had just seen. I curled up even tighter and gently rolled onto my side, pulling some of the dirty clothes up for a pillow. What I had seen was so disturbing to me that I held my breath and found that I could do nothing for myself. The image was burned into my brain. The room filled with naked women on the bed, on the floor, standing near the wall was more than I could take. Once again I was trapped by the sexual prowess of my mother. That was day I loved men, regardless of what my father had done to me. I would love strangers only. Strange men only! I wrote this poem about what will be shocking to you, but I would choose it over what I had just seen and had to listen too for hours upon hours.
I apologize in advance for not having the ability to accept Lesbian Women, but I am still traumatized and sitting in that closet. I am still trying not to get caught while my mother is having an Orgy in her bedroom with her new church members. I cannot stand women in general, I have a tough time with most of them. If I had been caught by one of those women that are very much alive and well today, I cannot imagine what would have happened to me, I don't want too.
I had already suffered through my father and my brother suffocating me because of the sexual abuse on their part. What would have happened to me if the taboo sexual actions of these women had been caught by a little girl. I still try not to think about it, but today its a good day to tell you about what is haunting me.
The shiny studs, the spurs and chains
A narcissists flair, comes from their secrecy.
the lack thereof, comes from their pride.
Sex in the brain comes from their roll plays,
my life comes from surviving the entire mire, oh my!
Oh! are they bitter, Oh! are they pissed, Oh! are they measured inside all of this.
A treasured proclaim! I must persist!!
I used to go to the bars down under,
deep in the town where the dark lights flicker.
Seemingly night but the broad day shone,
inside the places where grown men roamed.
The bars were called not dungeons or lairs.
Black leather coats and boots were in there,
spying was not in any of the heir,
I was just hanging, waiting for fair.
For nothing much more than a rub out to share.
Not so funny when you know more of honey,
the snuff did not go well I forgot, didn't fell.
Jumping from the fright of a suffocating sight,
throws even the biggest men on a really tough night.
Oh well, I thought, its not like you know me,
stop they said, don't move or we may get the bell.
Why in a place where sexual conduct is bent.
Why would you find what men really meant.
Why would they want to protect you from them.
Why would they offer nothing more than a mint.
Why would they be the ones to say BDSM.
Questions lingered in the air of that lair.
The black coats were leather and boots were entrenched.
No staring eyes, no ripping intent,
just a gentle goodbye and a kiss or some flint.
First time I wasn't ripped from those night terrors of mine.
Made sense to me and the men didn't mind.
My tears always wet me and I shook with such fear.
Now I can't know what it is you've kicked out,
made it a show it is not I did shout.
Confusion did lather this kid that can say,
thanks to the ones that could show me the way.
Its different, its louder, its mysterious too.
But, mostly its missing the advancement of you.
Protected forever, until it should stand.
Go Dominatrix, I think its a plan.
'cause woman just falter when their is a call,
I need a Master, A dominator, a shawl.
I think sex has become the conduct of all.
My number is easy, my number is rye,
my number works for you and even for I.
My mother assigned me saying again and again,
you are possessed and 666 please begin.
The demon of silence is laden within.
I'm printed on one side and beat on the other,
no master, no father, not even a collar.
Put down like a dog and fed what was odd,
which way do you turn when your at the bottom of the bog.
How often is it?
Is it always my turn?
I stand with my truth,
I stand with my dare,
I doubt I was ever hurt over there.
Only at home, with family declared,
the scariest moments to ever have weared.
Good night my dear Master,
good night to my rights,
to be free of disaster and live without fright.
To the faith of the few,
and the memory of you,
sexual conduct and rules of the true.
Which would you have chosen? What would you have done all these years? Run? Try to forget? Try to stay out of the lives that you had accidentally fallen into? Try to erase the memories? How? When all my mother ever talked about was sex, in church, at home, at dinner, at parties, it never, ever had any boundaries nor was she ever discreet. It is what it is, sickening, unbelievable and just exhausting to have to keep a secret for so long.