Jill, Part 2

I am truly amazed at myself. The news came and stabbed me in the heart. I felt it down to my soul when the reality of it sunk in and I cried out in anguish in the parking lot of a crappy fast food chain.

I sat in my car with tears streaming down my cheeks and a lifeline buzzing on my phone. I momentarily glanced at faint scars on my wrists and ran my fingertips along them. My scars are my own personal Braille and tell the story of Jill and the aftermath of losing her.

Jill, the one I didn’t go with that day.

Jill, the one who was murdered in cold blood.

Jill, the first one I chose to kiss and who kissed me back.

Jill, the one whose lips tasted like lakeside sunshine and whose skin smelled like coco butter.

Jill, my friend.

As I thought of sweet Jill I had to smile because she would want me to live and to live well. I thought of new friends who showed such heartwarming kindness and shared words that uplifted. I thought of new beginnings and the opportunity to embrace change and allow it to mold and shape me. I thought of new scents and tastes and longed to reach out to them right through the phone.

I am amazed at myself because I made a choice to keep moving forward and in the making of that choice life revealed new possibilities. I drove away breathing deeply with a faint smile on my lips, knowing that I can handle whatever is thrown at me.  There are some dreams I can’t have now, but they were never mine to have in the first place. Dreams come to us based on wants and desires and then some need to fade away, but in their place new dreams appear. I have to let some dreams fade, but now that they’re gone I’m embracing the dreams I can have and I know they’ll be exactly what I need.

“You can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
But if you try sometimes you just might find
You just might find
You get what you need”

My Truth ~ Part Three: The Woods

Part One, Part Two

My father moved us from the NYC area, where almost all the relatives lived, upstate, about 45 miles north of the city. It was a lake community where he used to spend parts of his summers as a young boy. Some of the extended family had already migrated there and he used to stay with them. In his mind it was idyllic and just the place to raise a large family who needed room to run around and be safe.

My father and great uncle built almost the entire house themselves. They had contractors for some things, but they did nearly everything else. Like all Italian families that had a widowed grandmother, they built an entire apartment for her. My grandmother had half the downstairs of our house and it was a very nice, fully-equipped apartment.

In back of our house was one of the oldest reservoirs in the U.S. Surrounding the reservoir was state park land and our property went up against that land. We had close to 3 acres and most of it was wooded. My father didn’t like lawn and kept it all minimal. When I tell you the area was wooded, it is an understatement. This is gorgeous country with maple, birch, and pine trees as far as you can see. The water was clean so we of course put up a tire swing. I played in those woods nearly everyday because in a town such as this there was only so much you could do to occupy your time. We would ride our bikes for miles, swim until our lungs were spent, play baseball until the fireflies came out, target shoot with our BB guns, collect bugs, dig up night crawlers and fish the day away, and hike in the woods.

Kindergarten through 5th grade were the best years of my adolescence. Whatever problems went on in the house seemed to go away pretty quickly or I just stayed in my room to read and color and I blocked it all out. I also masturbated to relieve any household tension (see Part Two) so I was just a happy kid.

My two oldest brothers got into big trouble when I was in 6th grade (1976) and were given the option of jail time or the Marines. My father made them join the Marines. The second oldest was required to graduate high school first and the oldest took his GED and went right into Basic Training. We didn’t have a judge, just a Justice of the Peace, and wouldn’t you know it, he was one of my dad’s cousins, whom we called uncle. How embarrassing! What was the crime? Supposedly a guy stole a lot of tools from our garage so my brothers stole his car, took it apart piece by piece, and buried those pieces in the woods. The ultimate prank with a heavy price.

The summer between 5th grade and 6th grade I was hiking through the woods like I frequently would when suddenly I was grabbed from behind and thrown down onto the soft bed of pine needles off of the motorcycle path that ran through about 3 miles of the woods behind my house. I rolled over thinking it was one of my brothers, but standing above me were 3 girls, older sisters of some neighborhood girls I used to play with. I tried to jump up because I knew I was in for a fight but they overpowered me. One girl knelt behind me and held down my arms while another girl actually straddled me and sat on my stomach and hips. I couldn’t move, but I tried and tried to break free. I thought they were going to beat me up, but the next thing I knew my shorts and underwear were ripped off by the third girl who then held down my legs and did something that totally took my by surprise; she started licking me with her tongue. I know I was screaming for her to stop. I know I was bucking my hips and trying so very hard to free my arms and legs. I felt the weight of the girl on my hips and all my attempts at bucking her off exhausted me. The girl that held down my arms and the girl sitting on top of me leaned in over me and started making out. It was right about that time that I remember having an orgasm. I was soaked in sweat. They all took turns on me several times and I had an orgasm each time. Once they were through they forced me to go down on each of them. I can’t remember how long that went on. I remember hearing the wolves howling in the distance because it had gotten dark, but the moon was bright and was shining through a clearing and lit up the area where we were. I then heard my name being called by several people, which made the girls jump up, but before they ran off I was given a warning to never tell anyone or they would kick my ass. Once they were gone I scrambled to put my underwear and shorts back on and I started making my way toward the voices. I heard my father and ran as fast as I could toward him. I heard him yell, “There she is” and once I could see him I ran into his arms. I was crying hysterically and he scooped me up and carried me all the while saying, “I’ve got you now. I’ve got you.” I don’t remember much after that because I was beyond exhausted. I took a bath and ate a huge bowl of spaghetti. My father tucked me into bed. I don’t even think I cried myself to sleep because I was so tired I pretty much passed out.

The official story was that I got lost in the woods. Anyone who knows me knows that could never happen. I knew those woods like the backs of my hands. I even carved markers into trees so I would never get lost. I read enough fairy tales to know that The Enchanted Forest is a very dangerous place so you’d better make sure you can find your way home. It took me 11 years to find my home.


Those are the actual woods

My Truth ~ Part Two: My Sexual Awakening

Part One

I grew up in an Italian Catholic middle class house in the greater NYC area. My family was different than a lot of other Italian households, or so it seemed to me at the time. My father was the spitting image of the actor, Victor Mature, except dad was taller and broader and in the summer much darker. My mother, in her youth, looked very similar to Grace Kelly. My mother had done some runway modeling in NYC and my father had spent years playing minor league baseball, only to suffer a career-ending injury to his pitching arm during spring training after he had just been called up to the majors. I will always be a Yankee fan!

My father was somewhat of a hero to all who knew him. Aside from being tall, dark, and handsome, he was extremely talented. He was athletic and excelled at any sport he played, but baseball was obviously his passion. He could also sing opera and even performed while in college. He was extremely intelligent and was a product of a prestigious New York private school from Kindergarten through high school. He was funny and witty and made everyone around him laugh. He was well-mannered, gracious, and always a gentleman. He was larger than life. I could write volumes about my father and maybe one day I’ll write a book, but I’m here to write about my sexual awakening.

My father was what they used to refer to as a “ladies man.” Women really did throw themselves at him and I even witnessed it growing up. I have no idea if my father ever cheated on my mother. She adamantly denies that he ever faltered, but I have my suspicions. My mom seemed to go crazy right about when I was 10 or 11 and to my knowledge no cause was ever seriously given. At one point it was thrown around that she was hypoglycemic and that explained why she used to throw herself down the stairs in front of us young children and then supposedly pass out. It was during those episodes that my mother mysteriously spent two weeks in the hospital without visitors being allowed. Hypoglycemia my ass! My mother needed some psychiatric care. My father fell over backwards for my mother during that time. As an adult I recognize the actions of my father as someone filled with guilt and shame. Still, it’s just a theory. Some of the rumors about my dad before he was married to my mom were that he had an affair with the famous burlesque star, Blaze Starr, and that he even tried to pick up Jake LaMotta’s wife, Vikki, at a club. I know for a fact that my grandmother was arranging a marriage between my dad and the heiress to a well-known vineyard. It was right about that time my father met my mother. My mother tells me that my grandmother tried to buy her off so she wouldn’t marry my dad. Nice, grandma!

My great uncle owned a “candy store” just outside the Bronx. He sold candy, magazines, newspapers, and tobacco products. A lot of suspicious activity went on in that store (can you say running numbers or Italian lottery?), but one thing that came from that store directly into my house was a voluminous amount of porn magazines. I can’t tell you specifically which ones because the banners were always torn off. Nonetheless, there were stacks of them in the back of my father’s walk-in closet. I’m sure my brothers all found their way to those stacks, but I did as well. Later on we all generously helped ourselves to the cases of liquor my dad received as Christmas presents from law firms, but that was during the drug and alcohol years. I was a curious 8 year old who had recently heard as a 7 year old everything about reproductive systems and sex in front of many listening ears at the beach that summer from my overly zealous nurse mother. Nice, mom!

At 7/8 years old I could read and comprehend as well as an 8th grader so not only did I look at all the dirty pictures, but I read the stories as well and filled my head with all kinds of imagery. Emotionally I was, of course, a 7/8 year old so the motivations behind those stories in those magazines were confusing. However, I was fascinated and couldn’t get enough. I became addicted to porn at 8 years old. Nice, Elle!

I had my first orgasm at about the age of 9 and I wanted to try to have one for close to a year. I had a routine late Saturday afternoons if there wasn’t a game to go to or a project or chore that needed to be taken care of. My grandmother (the same one I wrote about) had an apartment on the lower level of our house and was the built-in babysitter. Many times on a late Saturday afternoon it would be she and I that were home. Grandma stayed in her apartment to watch TV and all she knew was that I was up in my room reading or coloring. What grandma did not know, and neither did anyone else, was that when I had that private time I would go and get some magazines from my father’s closet (always hoping for new ones), lock my bedroom door, sit on the floor right next to the door so I could hear if anyone was approaching, and devour what was in front of me. I wanted to look like these women and I wanted to feel something wonderful. I remember an erotic story about a woman who was teased with a rabbit’s foot. Well wouldn’t you know it, I had a rabbit muff!


Remember these?

I ran to my closet and took out my muff. I imagined I was getting teased like the woman in the story. I ran the muff all over myself and then settled it between my legs, started rubbing, and had my first orgasm. I masturbated for the first time. I was even more hooked after that and spent as many waking hours as I could with my muff and porn.

My Truth ~ Part One: A Little Background Information

submission 1

I’ve shared some personal details of who I am along the way on this blog and there are others that follow my blog that I’ve gotten to know through email, text, and phone calls. However, there is so much more to my world than meets the eye. Even this 4, maybe 5 part (6 parts?), series I plan on sharing will not be enough and will only go so deep because I’m sure I will be leaving out details, but not for the reasons you may think. The truth is I can’t remember them and then all of the sudden a memory comes back. My lack of memory and recall is not from simply forgetting, it’s just that my memory loss stems from trauma due to abuse, half-hearted suicide attempts (oh those cries for help!), and drugs. I have 4 brothers and the 3 older  were drug dealers. We grew up in an educated, middle class house with both parents present, but there was a very dark side to our lives. I know how to compartmentalize and I know how to block memories.

friends 2

I have a friend from high school (we’ll call her J) that experienced this culture with me and to this day we’ll call each other up with a memory that one of us had of ourselves or the other. There are things J remembers that I did that I have absolutely no recall of and vice versa. We rely on each other to piece together a total of 5 years of teenage hell. We joke that we each hold a part of the other’s brain. We went to a lot of parties together and we took things we didn’t even know we were taking, we did things we didn’t know we were doing. We know we are walking miracles because the chances of becoming addicted or over-dosing were so great. The chance of something sinister happening was probably even greater. J is a very real and very true friend and she knows me very well. J knows when I’m venting out of frustration, when I’m being as ass, when I’m full of fear or anger and I say things I don’t mean, when I exaggerate to get attention (shut up, we all do it), when I need a shoulder to cry on, or a friend to make me laugh until I pee my pants. I know her the same way she knows me and because of that we never argue or fight because we don’t have to. We have a knowing and an understanding of each other. I’ve shared very little about her with other friends because NO ONE is allowed to say anything against her. We had our 30 year high school reunion in August and we didn’t go. We told people all kinds of reasons why we couldn’t go (money, husbands), but the truth is that J ran into some people from our past and it dredged up some memories. We both freaked a little. We talked on the phone the night of the reunion. We dealt with the bad memories and moved on. J does not know I am a submissive and my husband is my Dominant. One day I will tell her.

fear 1

Now, there are secrets that I’ve barely admitted to myself out of absolute shame and guilt. J only knows the most minutia of these secrets. The only one who knows it all is my husband, but it took me years to eek it out to him and I’ve never gone into full explicit detail, but he knows more than enough. He knows the depths of how I feel and he has always been there for me without judgement to let me cry it out until I was bone dry and then let me cry some more. I did not share these things with him for our first 6 or so years together and he never understood where my rage, depression, or despair came from. I have intentionally been selective about revealing this information with friends and recently that has come to bite me in the ass.

Over the last year, and on an almost daily basis, I was encouraged to drop my armor and just be me and that I would be loved no matter what. I shared some things, but without all the supporting details of my life, they could never fully comprehend and because of my purposeful deletions I was more than misunderstood, I was attacked for it, and not just me, but my husband as well. The big lesson I learned is that sometimes walls are a good thing because some people should just never be allowed in your life. I was on the “I’m finally being who I really am and we’re all in this together” crappola bandwagon so I thought it safe to open up and for some reason I believed any venting or fear would be apparent. I thought that, like my husband or J, they would tell me everything was going to be OK and to calm down, breathe, and think it through. Then we had a family tragedy and I was like a spewing fountain of fear and I received some of the worst advice I ever received in my life (and I’m even including advice I once received from a junkie). I am so thankful I didn’t drink the poison because it would have meant an end to my marriage, my children would have been torn apart, and my entire life as I know it would have ended. For the record, I take complete responsibility for my actions and everything that occurred because I FUCKING KNOW BETTER! I was the one who dropped my armor and who breached her own protective wall. You can be rest assured that my sword is now sharper than ever, the walls to my city have been fortified, and now I even have a beautiful shiny new moat because ignorant people are no longer allowed in.

friends 1

I have a soul-sister who I will refer to as D. Our relationship transcends friendship. She is a mentor, a sister, a mother, an aunt, a spiritual advisor, and a source of wisdom that I have never found in anyone else. She is a gift to me and it is a relationship that I treat with the finest of care because she deserves all the very best I have to give. No, she is not an angel or a prophet (although I argue that with her), she is just a human with flaws and all. I have been there for her and I know she will always be there for me. We have an agreed arrangement that we NEVER badmouth our husbands to each other, not even a little, not even in jest. If there is a genuine problem we don’t dog the men. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve come to her with a problem not even saying anything bad, but her words to me are emphatically, “Don’t tell me anything you can’t say to him. Your job is to go to him first before you ever come to me.” Wise woman. Our other agreed arrangement is that we do not go into any details about our sex lives. The main reason is that her husband used to be a Pastor at a church we all used to attend. In all the years I’ve known her the one thing I didn’t know was that she and her husband had, for many years, a D/s marriage. According to her it was mainly in the bedroom. There is an age difference between them with her being 58 and him being 72. He has had some health problems the last few years so they don’t do a lot of what they used to. It has always been obvious that her husband is the head of their household. They did it their way, but that’s what we should all be doing. It’s less than a year ago that I revealed what my husband and I had started and she just smiled and then told me a little about her life. We bonded on a new level, but she took things slowly, as is her way, and never tried to unload all kinds of ideas and opinions on me and how to have a D/s marriage. She uses wisdom when dealing with people and is a listener. Her advice is very “Kung Fu” (we both used to love that show) because she says that many times we already have the answer to the question or problem so allowing someone to just talk it out will reveal the answer and the truth. It was recently that I asked her to mentor me in submission and this is the one of the reasons I am writing this today.

This is a catharsis for me. D encouraged me to put as much down as I can so I can move past the areas that are done, heal the areas I need to heal, and get help in the areas that need work. My husband has given his blessing and with that, I will start tomorrow with My Sexual Awakening in Part 2 of My Truth. Read if you like or delete if you’re so inclined because this I must do for me.