My nightmare continues

Once I was in the car. Driving. Still numb from the pain. He begins to tell me the story.

They were fighting, again. No one knows, even now, what started the argument. Simply that they were arguing and she left the house with the kids. She went to my cousins. A cousin I had never met, but one that she grew close to in the time she had been there.

He called her there. Told her he was sorry, asked if they were still going to go out that night. She said yes and left the children there.

When she arrived home, the argument continued. Again, I am unsure as to what caused it, or what they were arguing about. But, in the heat of the moment she blurted out "You should go back to Tammy and I should go back to Mike." each of their ex-spouses respectivally.

It was then that he went into the bedroom and got out the gun.

The one she had bought to protect herself with.

Against him.

The one my father begged her not to buy.

When he turned around, she was standing behind him. Maybe she knew what he was going after, maybe she wanted to go and get it before he could . Maybe she thought he was going to hit her again and she wanted the gun for protection. Lord knows she knew it was coming at some point. It always did.

He grabbed ahold of her at that point and put her in a headlock. It wasn't hard. He was huge compared to her. He had around a foot and a half in height on her, not to mention nearly a hundred pounds.

They stood there like that, screaming and fighting, and he put the gun to her head, right up against the temple and the room fell silent.

"You are not man enough to shoot me Jim"

The last words she ever spoke.

Bang... Bang... Bang...Bang... Bang...

Five times he shot her in her head. Moving down a few inches after each shot.

The last one went clear through her cheeks. I remember seeing where they had fixed it when the morgue did her makeup.

He carried her over and laid her gently on the bed, he even pulled the covers over her. He set the gun down next to her on the bedside table and reached for the phone with his bloody hands. Her blood. He dialed 911 and calmly said "My wife's been shot." When they arrived, he simply lead them, wordless to the bedroom and pointed. When they asked if he knew who had done it, he nodded once and said "Me"

There was no remorse. They say the drugs and alcohol in him kept him from feeling it. I think it was because he simply didn't care.

They rushed her to the hospital, and she lived for two more hours. It was two minutes till midnight when they pronounced her dead. Saturday, June 5th.

I was told on Tuesday, June 8th. Three days later.

I asked him why mom didn't call me. Why she hadn't come to get me. He said they had went to identify the body and bring it back. Somewhere, it clicked in my mind, that they had driven >right past<>I< be allowed to see them. I was so depressed, not only had I lost my sister, but, I had lost my neice and nephew too.

It took nearly a year, during which time my mother had to sneak to their schools to see them, making them promise not to tell anyone, but, my counselor, was able to make it in front of a judge.

My first court experience. I begged the judge. I cried about the injustice. He must have found something powerful in my words because he ordered them to have visitation with us.

Their father divorced the women soon after.

But, of course, he wasn't single for very long. He remarried a women who had a child of her own. A little girl, around my nephews age.

The woman's name was Penny.

Thank God for Penny.

I believe this woman was sent into their dad's life, to save my niece. She began to take her to church. She treated her with love, and respect, we no longer needed a court order. Penny would bring them by to see us on their way to town, she invited my family to dinner with them. She held my niece in the middle of the night when she cried out for her mother. They could call her whatever they wanted too.

The marriage didn't last.Thankfully though, Penny had formed such a relationship with my niece though, that she sued, and won custody of her.

My nephew went to live with his father.

My niece is now almost twenty five. She will be graduating college this year, as well as marrying her childhood sweetheart. She will be a teacher. She has never given herself to anyone, saving herself for her wedding night.

I do not know, nor does anyone that we can contact. Know the location of either of my nephews.

The oldest, the last time I heard, was in the state of Washington, rumored to be on the run from the law for drugs. He is nearly twenty three.

The youngest. Was only two and a half when she was murdered. My parents decided they could not take care of him, for both my older brother, and my younger became terribly suicidal over her death. So he was sent to live with his father's sister.

It is something I never agreed with. It is something that still eats away at me. His father, at first, was not allowed any contact with him. They promised us that they would tell him the truth. At first, we were allowed to see him often.

Those visits were harder on me then anyone else. We would go to pick him up and he would cling to his aunt's leg and scream "Mommy Mommy Mommy" and he would cry like crazy when we picked him up and left with him.

Over the days that we had him, he would cling to me. I was happy to have it, for I clung as tightly right back. Then we would take him back. He would cling to me and scream "Mommy Mommy Mommy". It broke my heart that he would not remember her, he was too young to understand. He only knew that a women he loved, one that he called Mommy, had left him and never came back.

As a child, he was very somber. He would make jokes, but never laugh at them. He played next to the other children, but never with them.

It has been many years since I have seen any of them. Though I do keep in contact with my niece. She has told me, that she has virtually no memories of her mother. What few ones she has, are more like stories that we've told her. My mother, even now, refuses to talk about her.

My niece, told me her wedding date, and I paused. A very long time, so long in fact, that she had to ask if I was still on the phone. I choked out a yes, and she told me "I know you may not understand it, but, for me, that day really doesn't hold a lot of significance. For you, for grandma, it is a day of sorrow. I want it to be a day of happiness"

She is to be wed on June 5th of this year.

I haven't seen her in ten years. But I will be there. Nothing will stop me. I will sit up front and watch her walk down the isle and pledge her life to a man she loves with all her heart, a man who loves her just as much. I will witness them starting their life together. I know, that my sister will also be watching. Smiling down proudly at her.

My nightmare

I want to go back and answer the questions that Amber asked me in the comment section of my last post.

First of all, this was catagorically, one of the most horrific events in my life. Not even my own rape compared to the pain and sorrow I felt at losing my only sister.

She was murdered in June. Three months shy of my thirteenth birthday.

I wasn't living with my parents. I have not lived with them since I was eight years old. Again, another story for another time.

The place I was living at the time, was what they call a Residental Child Care Facility. Which is a big fancy word for kids who were fucked up, but hadn't broken the law.

My parents didn't want me. They say it was because they couldn't "handle" me, but as a mother myself, I found this a pitiful exscuse. This alone has left me with huge issues.

Anyway, I had lived in this facility, called Western Acadamy, for about two years. The people there were like my family. I was the youngest "student" they ever had, I was also the one who remained there the longest.

I knew the rules.

I ran away. The night she was murdered. There was a total of four of us. We got away. Headed for freedom.

Then the feeling began. I started to throw up. I started to cry. No, it wasn't about being afraid. I had been on the run so many times. There was something wrong.

I told them that. That I had to go back. Something bad had happened. At first, they didn't believe me. I think they thought I was joking. The pain became so physically bad that I was unable to stand. I lowered myself to a curb and wrapped my arms around my knees and simply sobbed.

They took me back.

That was Saturday, June 5th.

Everything was in order at W.A.

I was punished for running away. I didn't understand. Something had happened. I felt it. Yet, everyone was fine. Everything in my small world was in order.

Sunday came and went. Nothing

Monday came and went. Nothing

I began to feel stupid, but, relaxed in away.

Then Tuesday came. They day that seriously, changed my life.

There was alot of commotion. There was going to be a field trip. Of course. I wasn't going allowed to go because I was still on watch. I wasn't allowed to go anywhere, not even outside.

I heard someone say that they were late leaving for the trip, they said it was because Carol (my therapist) had an urgent phone call and they would be leaving soon.

It all rolled off my back. The trip didn't matter to me. I wasn't going.

Suddenly, Carol appeared next to me. Asked me to come to the office with her. I still, made no connection, and I followed along, ready for the scolding I was going to get for running away.

When I walked into the room. I felt a chill run throughout my body. Paul was there, standing in the corner with his arms across his chest. John was there too. Sitting in a chair near the door. Now I was afraid. It wasn't that bad. I had run away alot of times.

Maybe this was the last straw, maybe they were tired of it. Maybe they were shipping me away. I started to feel my heart pounding a little harder.

John spoke up. He told me I had a phone call. I remember how I looked at them stupidly. I wasn't allowed phone calls. He told me to go ahead and take it. I will not ever forget the conversation. It was with my oldest brother.

Him: "Hey sis, how ya doing sweetheart?"

The sound of his voice, still makes me visibly shudder.

Me: "Okay I guess"
Him" How would you like to come home for a while?"
Me: " I can't, I got in trouble"
Him:" I know, but, I already talked to them, and I can come and get you"

I was confused. He had never come to pick me up before. Always my mother. I was over an hour away from him.

Me:" Why?"
Him: " Sister, I want you to sit down. I need to tell you something"

My heart leaped up into my throat and it constricted tightly. I gripped the phone with a death grip.

Me: "What is it? What's happened?"

At this point he begins to cry, and, simply because I can only remember him crying one other time, when my grandmother died, I too begin to cry. I know it's bad now. It's horrible and I feel that feeling come back in the pit of my stomach.

Carol reached out to put her hand on my arm. His words, came out as if he was being strangled, there was no doubt, he was very clear.

Him: "Melody's dead"

A simple, two worded statment, and I felt my entire world crumble around me. I know I dropped the phone. I fell forward and I screamed. I screamed and screamed so hard and so loud, that I heard nothing for the longest time. When I realized she was still touching me, I slapped at her hand, screaming for her not to touch me. I screamed at John, for some reason, his being there was the reason for this. I screamed so much and so loud, that my best friend began to scream and beat on the other side of the door to be let in.

After what seems like forever, she is there, she's confused, I hear her asking me what's wrong, but I can't bring myself to speak the words. I keep thinking maybe they are wrong, maybe it's some other beautiful woman with three children by the name of Melody. This can't be >my<>my< sister. It can't.

Then I realize the screaming has stopped, my mind, oh Lord, I have never felt so numb with pain, I simply stared at them once more, Tracy holding onto me, and me holding onto her for dear life.

They say my brother wants to talk to me. I pick up the phone again and he is openly sobbing. I want to throw up. He says I am not to run away, that he will be there to get me the next day. I beg for him to come and get me now. He says they won't let me. They are putting me on suicide watch.

They wouldn't let Tracy stay with me. They sent her home. They said they didn't want me to become dependant on her. Tina stayed with me. I remember curling up in her arms, not able to stop the flow of tears streaming down my face. I think I stayed like for about two hours before the questions set in.

How did she die? How did this happen? Was there a car accident? Where were the kids? What happened to the kids? Are they okay? Are they did? Why didn't my mother call me?

So many questions. I went back downstairs. I begged John to let me call my brother back and he let me. I don't remember much of that conversation, only that the children were fine, and he would tell me the rest later.

I no longer remember the course of events, but, I recall how it happened. It is a story I will cover in the next post since I want to put this one up and I have to go to work.

Abuse

I can't really talk about my feelings right now. I am not sure what will come out if I let myself open up, so I have to keep myself closed off, I can't think about emotions, why or what they mean. I just can't. But this place has become important to me, so, until I can talk again about me, my heart and emotions, I will simply write about my opinions. I hope you can stick with me through this.

Sea Rabbit posted recently about domestic abuse. This is a subject I am very passionate about. My sister, my only sister, was an abused wife.

She was older then me, 14 years older then me. Matter of fact, there is only one year between my younger brother and her first child.

She was beautiful too. She had shoulder length brown hair and big brown eyes. She was the tiniest thing you ever saw. I don't clearly recall how tall she was, but, when I was eleven, she was twenty-five and I could fit into her jeans. It was her smile and laughter that I remember most though. She had the kind of smile and laughter that was contagious.

Everyone who met my sister fell in love with her. She loved them back passionatly. She never gave just part of herself, even to her friends. For her, it was all or nothing, there was no in between. If you met her, you couldn't help yourself, you had to like her.

She was fierce though. Like a mother bear with her cubs. Don't mess with her kids, or her family and friends and you'd be all right. If you did, watch out.

Her life is something that you see on a television mini-serious. As stated before, we didn't have the best parents. They tried I think, they were just not meant to be parents, moreso my mother then my father. This caused her to leave home very young. If my memory serves me correctly, she was fifteen when she ran away.

Again, she didn't do anything half assed. When she ran away, she didn't just leave home, she left the state. Several over actually. She went to Las Angeles, which, was a far cry from the small town in Colorado that we grew up in. She met up and lived with the Hells Angel's for the next couple of years.

Now, I've heard stories, true or not, I can't say, about how they "induct" women into their club. My sister, would not have, and did not go through that. She didn't have a boyfriend who was a part of it, she was just. . .. accepted by them because that is who she was.

When she returned home, she met and began dating a guy who eventually got her pregnant. So of course, they got married. She was barely eighteen. Out of this marriage came two beautiful children.

Then somewhere things went wrong. I was very young, so all I know is what I have been told. The story goes however, that her husband came home drunk and they had a fight, so he grabbed her by the neck and shoved her against the wall, screaming at her, cursing her, and causing her to nearly pass out from lack of breath.

The good news of this is that she left him. That very night, as soon as he passed out. She didn't look back, she didn't regret her decision. He was not only a drunk, but he had cheated on her over and over again.

Of course, I don't remember any of this. I was still too young and they never fought in front of us. To me, they were the perfect couple with the perfect life. He was fun to be around, they had the two kids and a dog, their own house, she stayed home and he worked. Ideal to me.

It amazes me what happens beneath the surface though.

So she left him, found a job of her own, a place of her own, started life over.

Then she met him. His name was Jim. The man was huge. At least, height wise. Not so very big in width, but he stood about 6'4". Which, next to her, was huge.

He wined her, dined her, told her everything she needed to hear. She held out too. They dated for about three years before she finally agreed to marry him. My family liked him, he was good with and to her kids. When he proposed, she happily said yes.

I remember the wedding very clearly. She was beutiful. She wore a purple dress that flowed, yet fit, in all the right places, my mother made it. They had the ceremony and reception in the place they met. Jim's band played the music and I remember at one point, he got up and sang. The one sone that sticks out in my mind, was "Old Time Rock and Roll". We danced. I was around eight years old I think. Perhaps seven.

It was the begin of the end for a lot of things.

On her wedding night, he beat her up. We found out later that this was the first time he had ever yelled at her, let alone hit her. He put her in the hospital that night. Yet she told no one. She went so far as to tell the police that she had run to the car to retrieve a bag that she had forgotten to take into the hotel, when she was jumped. She had to be there for two days.

Things kind of blur for me around this time. I have memories, and I have the stories. The point is that he beat her regularly and soon he didn't care who knew and who didn't. I do know, that at one point she was carrying his son and it still didn't stop him.

One of the scariest moments of my life came while I was at their home. They were fighting and he seemed to loom over the top of her, I wondered at that point in time, if he was the devil. I took her three children, and my younger brother and I hid us all in a closet. The baby was very young, maybe five months old or so, but it was as if he knew he had to be quiet. None of us made a sound, simply huddled together with tears streaming down our faces in the dark, listen to the screams and thuds as he beat the shit out of her.

It took a long time after they stopped before I was brave enough to leave my hiding place. What I found is a sight that will haunt me for the rest of my life. My sister's uncounsious form laying in the middle of a broken coffee table. I thought she was dead. I ran to the phone and was so distraught that I could not remember any numbers but my grandparents.

In the end, he had broken her back. It took her so long to recover from that and she stayed with my grandparents while she did. He came there once. My uncle ordered him off the property with a shotgun. Not pulling the trigger that day, is something that still eats away at him even now, almost fifteen years later.

It wasn't long before she was up and moving around again. She was determined to move on with her life. She left her homestate once more, taking only her youngest son. The other two were left with my parents while she moved from women's shelter to women's shelter. Searching for a place where she felt safe.

Eventually she did. She came to get her children. Then she took them to her new home. She had a new job and was going to school so that she could become an EMT.

Then she filed for divorce. Her fatal mistake.

Through her filing, he was able to obtain her address. He followed her. Stalked her. Back then, they didn't have laws against it. She got a restraining order. He ran her and her friends off the road and threatened her in front of all of them. The police told her that unless >they< witnessed it, there was nothing they could do.

This went on for a couple of months. Then he got tired of the game. He started picking her children up from school and from daycare. She would call and demand they not allow him to do it, each day they still did. After the third day, according to a letter she wrote to my parents, he told her that if she didn't come back to him, he would not be bringing them home the next time he picked them up.

What choice did she have? No one would protect her. No one would protect her children.

So she went back to him.

She bought a gun when she went to visit my parents the next time. The last time we saw her alive. My father begged her not to. She said it was to protect herself with it.

Four months later, he held that gun to her head and pulled the trigger five times because she told him "You're not man enough to it"l

I hope he feels like a real big man now.

I see a vast difference between dominating men, and men who abuse their women. I get tired of people judging battered women. Saying that they could leave at anytime. Some of them, perhaps even alot of them, could, but not all of them. Without knowing them, or their situation, don't judge them. You can't imagine what it must be like to have someone you once loved, beat you, hurt you, possibly even your children.

So please, if you see someone reaching out to you, even if you are not sure if it is abuse or not, put your hand out there and hold theirs. Help them out if that is what they choose. Sometimes they will not want that, and it is their choice, but they will need a friend, someone to talk to, someone they can be honest with. Be that someone.

Donate old clothes and household items to your nearest battered women's shelter.

Isn't it time we started careing about the nameless person next to us?

My Dream

I dreamt of you again. This is not the first time, and somehow I doubt it will be the last. It does, always take me by suprise however. Not that I dream of you, that I expect, how can one not dream of a man loved so deeply. No, it is the intensity of the dreams that catches me off guard.

It feels so real. The pleasure, and the pain. Always you leave me in my dreams after we make love. Our lovemaking is tender, your gaze full of love. The overwhelming feeling of protectivness I feel as you suckle my breasts sends shivers through me, even now in my waking hours. The longing I feel as your hands explore my body slowly, lazily, the amusment I see in your eyes at my response, nearly enough to drive me mad. The frantic way I touch you, trying desperately to please you.

The most intense feeling though doesn't stem from that. It only seeps in when I feel you thrust deep inside me, grunting softly, animalistically, as if on instinct, and feeling you throb against the muscles of my body as you fill me with your seed. Even writing about it now, it is so clear in my mind that I can almost feel it.

Then I wake and my body is empty of you and I want to weep. I want to be in your arms. I feel despair sweep over me that something so beautiful is gone. I lay there thinking of you in dark.

My husband says that he feels I am constantly testing those around me. That, sometimes I will give him a choice and he feels that it is just to see if he will pick the right one. The problem being, there is never a clear cut right one, so he has to guess. He says it is emotionally taxing. He says it is as if I feel the need to know that he loves me at all times. He is not the only one I test he says.

Even he knows that I do not do this on purpose. Most of the time, I don't even see how he comes to the conclusion that I am doing it. I don't mean to. I don't want to test the people I love. I don't want them to feel as if they are doomed no matter what they do.

Do I need to know that I am loved almost constantly? Yes. By everyone around me. It is not something I can control. I actually hate that about myself more than anything. I am so needy. Please love me. Please tell me I am desirable. Please tell me that you too ache with your need for me. Please tell me I am worthy of your love. I know that things will not always go my way. I know that sometimes, the things we want are not to be ours. It does not stop me from wanting them though or needing to know it's okay to want them.

So please, if I test you, be strong, know that I do not do this on purpose. I do not even think about doing it. It is because I need you to validate my feelings. I need to know that I am not the only one. Even if I can't hold you, or make love to you right then, knowing that you need it too, is enough for me.

Saying it once would be enough for most people. I realize, that I need to hear it more. If you feel it, say it. I don't expect lavish gifts, or your time, for I know that there are many things in our lives that keep us from that, but do not hide your feelings from me. This I beg of you.

I am always afraid of needing too much. I think. . .no. . . I know that it stems from a comment that my mother made to me once while we were fighting. She screamed at me "No one will ever love you enough, no matter how much they love you, it will never be enough for you, you need more then anyone can ever give you, you will suck everything good out of them until they have to leave just to keep their sanity"

In the back of my mind, I hear those words almost on a daily basis. Over and over in that high pitch scream. Some of you may wonder how a mother could say something so horrible rather then reassure her child of her love, but, my mother was not your ordinary mother. No no, she was a piece of work, a story for another time.

It's the words though. Do I drain those I love by being too needy of them? I know that I do not ask for a lot. At least not verbally. I am content with lazy days spent with you nearby. Flirting harmlessly. Watching you squirm. Is it a test? Perhaps. Do I mean it to be? No. But I can't help but want to know how much I am loved. I wish I didn't. Seriously. I wish I could just be. . .satisfied with what has already been said to me. I do know that you love me. But I live for your approval, your smile. I need to know that I please you.

I have made myself a promise. I will try to be careful not to test you. It isn't what I want. I will try to simply accept your love, in the way that you offer it to me. I am afraid though. I feel right now that I will fail this. I have tried before to remain silent until you are ready. It is very hard. What if you are not ever ready to say it again? What if you don't need to say it? What if you stop feeling it? What if the feeling passes for you?

My husband is a very loving, kind man who seems to always know what I need. I would never, ever walk away from him. I just can't see it happening. We have been through so much together and have always come out stronger for it. Side by side I know that we can do anything. But, I can't help but think that someday I will push him so far away from me that he will simply give up. It is how it always goes in my life.

My own parents gave me away because they could not love me enough. I have already one failed marriage. Don't even start me on the other men in my life. It is a constant battle for me not to lose those that I love. So, I will hold on tightly for as long as I can. Please don't hate me for that. It is because I love you so much that it leaves an ache inside me to even think about. Be gentle and tell me when I need to back off, but do not leave me, never leave me. I love you. Remember that.

I apologize if most of this post doesn't make sense. It is very early in the morning, and I really should be in bed. The dream woke me, and he has been heavy on my mind ever since. Too many random thoughts swirling around in there.

If you get time, check out the links I posted. These are blogs that truly speak to my heart. They are written by people I have never met, yet, I feel as if I know them. Some better than others. I have been blessed to be able to glimpse into their lives and have them share those with me. Amber and Sarah were the first blogs I ever read and through their honesty and insight, I was able to gain the courage to start this blog, as well as my adventure into this lifestyle. I know I have said it before, but I will once more thank them for that. Sea Rabbit has been a loyal friend and faithful reader. When I feel like giving up on this, knowing that she comes here to read the things I write, gives me the strength to come back. The other three blogs are written by men. To me, it is amazing to see men able to be honest and open about their feelings. It's like a little peek into the male mind. Which I need. Trust me. So thank you all for allowing me to share your lives with you, and please, keep writing, I look forward to it every day.

Loss of an Innocence

I remember how you looked to me. I was so young, too young really. Thirteen years old and yet you seemed to command my attention. It's not as if our surroundings were normal. We lived together even though we were strangers to one another. I no longer remember your story. Barely your name, it was Richard, I think. You were tall even without your cowboy hat. I was little then. Skinny girl with long, dark, wavey hair and big brown eyes.

I still wonder what caught your attention. You were not the first guy I lived with. The program I was in, was designed to help me become acclimated to living in society again. I had spent so much time living in homes and facilities. There were three of us in that program. Kevin, Jason and myself. For one reason or another, all three of us had spent so much time in homes that we had to learn to function with other people again. I was not your typical girl. I didn't have the urge to wear dresses, or do my hair every morning, or wear makeup. I wanted the guys to find me funny. I wanted to make them laugh, I wanted to be "one of the guys". Until you moved in.

You were placed at Horizon House because you were a runaway. Because it was either that or juvinile hall. Even then I had subbmissive issues. I recall that I was the one that always cooked dinner, set the table, cleared the dishes and washed them. No, it was not "required" of me, all of you were assigned chores, but I did it because it made me feel good.

I remember clearly the night that I first realized I had an effect on you. I was sitting there watching television, crammed between Kevin and Jason, my two best friends, eating a red popsicle. It was not meant to be sexual. Then I caught your eye and the look there sent tiny little shards of lightning down into my stomach and my breath caught. You glanced down to your lap and my eyes followed. I could hear my heart beating in my ears as I realized you were hard, just from watching me. That's when the game began. I slowed down, letting my tongue slowly move across the popsicle, taking it into my mouth as far as I could. Watching your eyes widen, you being the only one that noticed.


When I was done, I felt powerful. I felt like I was beautiful. A very odd feeling for me at that age. I went to my room. Of course, the fact that you had to go into my bedroom to get to the bathroom gave you the perfect exscuse to follow me. You grabbed me by the waist and growled softly at me. Your green eyes boring into me. I felt like a puddle of melted wax and I knew that you were going to kiss me. You did, and while it was not the first time I had been kissed, I felt my knees go weak. You pressed me hard against you and claimed me as yours. We only had a moment, because physical contact like this was forbidden and I remember wondering how long it would take before Mac realized what was going on.

This game went on for a long time. Me, going to school during the day, coming home to steal a few kisses, some light touches, serving dinner, more kisses, more touches. I became to depend on those. It didn't take Kevin and Jason long to figure it out. They tried to warn me against you. Told me you were too old for me, nearly eighteen you were. They told me that all you wanted was sex. All I heard were your words of love, the gentle touch, the need for me in your eyes. Then one day I came home and you were gone. They said you ran away. I was literally sick to my stomach, heartbroken. I cried myself to sleep that night.

Kevin and Jason came to me the next morning. I could tell it was something important, the looks they exchanged between one another told me that they didn't really want to tell me whatever it was, but after a moment, they gave me a letter. One that you had written to me and I cried again as I read how much you loved me, and how you needed me in your life. At the very bottom there was an address that I recognized. It was some friends of mine who lived not to far away. Your letter asked me to come to you, if I still felt the same way. Jason and Kevin watched me closely, they had already read the letter and were fearful that I would run away to be with you. I promised them that I would not do that. I had already had too much of life on the run. I did however, go to that house, knock on that door and skip school that day.

Someone answered the door, I don't remember now who it was, only that I did not recognize him, and he said to me " You must be Richard's girl" and I smiled a bit and nodded, he smiled back at me and I felt approval in his gaze. He led me down a set of darkened stairs. I went without a second thought, though, in hindsight I guess I was very lucky, I could have ended up gang rapped. None of that was in my mind though. My heart was in my throat, I knew that you would be asleep, it was only six thirty in the morning, what could you expect, I was on my way to school.

I saw you, curled up, sleeping peacefully. Even at twelve, I was struck with how much younger you looked as you slept, how relaxed, how handsome you were. I knelt next to you, as you were sleeping on the floor with an old blanket and your jacket for a pillow. My hand reached out to gently caress your face, your skin soft under the tips of my fingers. I ran my fingers into your silken blonde hair and you stirred slightly and a knot jumped into the pit of my stomach. I lean down and nuzzled my face into your neck and I feltl your arms wrap around me and pull me towards you. I revel in your manly scent and I wiggle to get closer to you. We kissed, slow lazy kisses. Your hands drift over the small of my back and I give off a contented sigh.

You however, are not content with this, your need is great and soon you are raining kisses down all over my face, my neck, my chest. You slowly slide the shirt from my shoulders and your hands reach up to touch my breasts. The nipples are straining towards your hand and you press harder against me before you dip your head to suckle at them. Your hands move down to find my wetness, one finger sliding along the folds slowly. I close my eyes and my body arcs up to meet your mouth, your fingers, even your breath. I can't get enough of you. I feel you pause a moment, your finger gone from my most sacred spot only long enough to take my hand and lead it to your arousal. I run my fingers along it, it seems big, but, what experience do I have? I feel a little afraid, but, I can't say anything because you might get angry. You might not love me anymore. Your eyes might darken and you might order me to get out, forever. So I allow you to continue, I even move against you.

I shift slightly, sliding down the length of you, kissing the entire way. This is not new to me, I've done this before. This is my safety net. If I can get you to cum in my mouth, then you will not want to put it inside of me. I use all my tricks, and several times I feel you getting close only to pull away from me. It leaves me confused and almost afraid, but not enough to make you stop, not enough to get up and leave. No matter how afraid I am of you taking away the one innocence I have left, the fear of you rejecting me is even more compelling.

I don't remember any words being spoken between us, no "are you ready for this" or anything like that. I just recall you being poised over me, in between my legs, feeling you pressing against me. My hands shoot out to your thighs, now I'm panicked, I know I shouldn't be doing this. I want to leave. You press forward and I scoot back. I can't find the words to say no, but I shake my head and my eyes dart around the room, perhaps looking for an escape. You move close once again and out of instint I scoot back again, my hands pressing against your thighs, silently I am asking you to stop for I can't find the words. This goes on for what seems like eternity, until I have no more room to back up, I am literally against a wall now. Just as the panic is enough that I think I can say something, you shove up against me hard, forcing yourself into my body. Forcing is a bad word to use, because I have not "said" for you to stop, but I use this word because I keep shaking my head and my body is no longer responding to you and yet, you don't seem to notice. You just keep pushing.

After what I am sure now was only a second, but what seemed like forever, you pull back and I breath a sigh of relief, my hand reaching up to caress your face. I want to tell you thank you, I want you to know how good it feels to me that you would stop for me. Your hand slowly comes up and my eyes turn inquisitive as you spit into it. I have never seen this before and my gaze shifts to watch you stroking yourself with your own spit. I have never seen a man do this before and I think to myself that I must be someone very special to you for you to need me so badly that you would masterbate over my nakkid body.

You smile, it seems a loving smile and I return the smile. My hand shifts down to touch your chest, it has no hair, it's very smooth under my fingers. You shift so that as you stroke yourself you are right over me. Your free hand reaching out to press against my clit. I close my eyes. I know what this leads to, I have touched myself before.

I open my mouth to tell you that I love you. What comes out is a pain filled cry as you have now shoved yourself completely inside me. My eyes flare open and tears spring to my eyes as I feel something inside me tear. Your eyes widen as they meet mine and I begin to cry softly. It doesn't stop you though, you keep going, thrusting deeply into me. I feel no pleasure at this, only pain. I turn my face away from you, staring at the wall as your movements pick up, then suddenly you are no longer inside me and I turn my head to see if it is over. just in time for me to watch as you spurt your juices all over my flat stomach. Your face is flushed and you are breathing raggedly.

You stand up and move into the bathroom. Only then do I notice that we have moved all the way across the room and now are only a few feet from it. You return with a towel in your hand and are cleaning yourself off. There are no tender words. The loving look is gone from your eyes. You stare at me for a moment, the tears running down my face, the blood trickling out of me and you lean down to pick up my clothes and toss them on top of me. "I'm sorry" is all that you say and I can barely breath the pain is so bad. Somehow I manage to struggle to my feet and run to the bathroom where I lock the door and through my tears I get myself cleaned up and dressed.

When I return, you are sitting on the floor. You won't look at me. I don't understand what I've done wrong. I gave you what you wanted. No, you >took< what you wanted, with no regard to me. All I wanted from you was to be loved. I kneel down next to you and brush your long golden locks out of your face. I'm not sure what to say, not sure how to make this better between us. Maybe it is the same for you, for you say nothing and turn your face away from me. There is nothing left for me to do but stand up and leave.

I leave then, but I do not go to school. I can't face Marcy. She will ask questions and I fear that I can not tell her what happened. I can't go back because Kevin and Jason will surely be able to look at me and know and Mac will ask why I am not in school. So instead I wander around thinking about things. Why didn't you cum inside me? Was it because you didn't want to get me pregnant? Or was it because I was not worthy of it?

My answer comes to me a few months later, when I find out that you are to be a father. I was not good enough for you. Not good enough for you to give of yourself to, though you took what was my greatest gift.

This is the true story of how I lost my virginity. I still think about it, and I still wonder what it was about me that was not good enough for him. It seems to be a common theme in my life. I feel as though I am not good enough for those that I love. It is something I am trying to work through. It is hard though.

When the people I care about don't let me in, my old doubts and fears come forth. Whey can't they confide in me? Why don't they trust me? Have I let them down at some point? My heart aches every time this happen. I love so deeply and want so despretely to make those around me feel safe and loved and secure. Yet, I am afraid to speak up, afraid of being rejected. I am left thinking about what might have been, what could have been and what should have been and I feel overwhelmed by it. This is a good place to stop before I lead myself down a path that I shouldn't. All I can do is hope that they all know how deeply I love them. Especially him.

Sea Of Life

I hate people. Not all people, just some people. Ignorant people. I don't mean people who are not book smart, or who's beliefs differ from mine. I am talking about people who spout random garbage out of their mouths without knowing what they are talking about. They have conviction, whithout being able to tell you why. They can't you >why<>proof< for people to provide. I would be happy if these ingorant people would say " because I have faith that it is supposed to be that way" I would accept that. But don't come to me, spouting bullshit you don't know about. Don't try telling me that there is nothing, or something wrong with me unless you know me, and don't fucking tell me that there I am broken because my husband and I live a sub/dom lifestyle. It is my life, get bent.

Moving on.

I see a light. It is shining brightly now, as if leading me out of the absolute darkness I've been in for so long. This darkness, is no ordinary darkness. There are no dim outlines, shadows, no heat left off of those around me. It's more like having your eyes and ears bound before someone tosses you off a ship into the deepest part of the icy sea. You get lost in your own mind while you slowly drown. The coldness stealing the feeling from your body untill you are simply numb, focused only on past mistakes and regrets, the what could have or should have beens. This is where I have been for so long now. Drowning in the sea of life. Somehow though, somehow, don't ask me how or when, a light has broken through and I am headed towards it. Towards happiness once more.

Most people wonder, with my three beautifull children and husband, how it is that they are not my light. They are my life raft. I cling tightly to them and revel in the warmth of their love, delight in their laughter, cry at their sorrows. Now and then, I feel myself slip away from them and I know that I am lost. I am never really sure what, or why, or how the light comes back to me, but I see it now and I am grateful for it. I will move towards it and turn my face so it can warm me with it's bright rays.

So, I promised progress in my life. Here it is. If you don't know what I'm talking about, read through the archives, I can't be bothered with the negative anymore today.

The college: My husband has started the first of his college classes. He is studying a very difficult course in the medical field and is now working on the pre-reqs to his pre-reqs for this. Four measly classes, most of the books we bought used, still cost us over four hundred dollars. Ugh. But, the positive note is that now while he is home with our kids, he has something else to occupy his time. Keep him busy. Building something for our future.

The mice: We managed to capture two of the little bastards. Call me cold and heartless, but, I wanted to just set those old fashioned traps, but no no, alas, my hubby would have none of that. So, now we have two of them, kept in a huge plastic, see through rubber maid tote. I was skeptical of that, it seem to indicate that they meant to keep it. It had food, water, a box big enough for the mouse to hide in and a toilet paper tube. This did not seem like the housing for a creature that we are meant to be getting rid of immediatly. My husband assured me though, that we would indeed be getting rid of them, setting them free in some woods down by the local fairgrounds. Imagine my shock and horror when I found out that the three kids had NAMED them. That means PET. I am not having mice for pets. Nope, no way, bottom line, period, end of discussion. So, anyway, third mouse, gets trapped in bathroom with husband, he calls for me to bring him something to trap it with. I get an old plastic mixing bowl and pass it through the door to him. He pushes a towel against the door so it can't slip past him. I listen intently for the loud squeeking of the mouse to tell me he was caught. They are loud by the way. Nothing, dead silence, so I press my ear against the door, just in time to hear the laundry basket move and the bowel to hit the ground. I excitedly ask him if he got it. He responds after a moment by telling me he killed it. He's got to be kidding, he does it all the time, so I repeat myself in asking if he got it. He opens the door, the man is pale, looks on the verge of tears, tells me that no, he really did kill it. He let go of the bowl and the mouse tried to dart past it and the edge of the bowl hit squarely on his neck, I think it must of broke up. Not a happy husband. At all. My eight year old tells me " Mom, you need to distract dad while I get rid of this, he's very upset. Then he proceeded to carefully wrap it up in an old rag and take it out to the dumpster. When he got back, he gave dad a big hug and told him it was okay.

Work front: Okay, so my job is still crap and I burned out as hell. Good news is that I have a four day weekend coming up. I will have time to put the links up on here that I awant to. Time to tear about the house and get it cleaned. Most importantly though, I will have time to eredicate the monstrosity plague that is head lice that my daughter has. YAY!

Money: Our money situation is still tight, but not nearly as bleak as it was. We have decided to file for bankruptcy as soon as we get our taxes back. It is the only way I can see us getting out of the debt that my ex-husband as been so kind as to dump us with, even though he was ordered to pay it all. Every time they find him he quits his job and well, I've had this job for nearly two years, I'm not too hard to find. Once that is done, I will breath so much easier. We can start rebuilding our credit and maybe in the next two years we will be able to get a house of our own.

Well, I've been up all night and am nearly asleep at the computer so I guess I better get to bed since I have to work tonight. Stay well and don't give up on me. I promise you links by the beggining of next week. I have some awsome blogs in my favorites.

This Year

I hate my job. For three days we have just been busier then hell. With three of us running registers and each register doing nearly 50 people per hour, that means that during one hour, we have at least 150 people in the store if not more. Which, normally is great, because it makes the time go faster, but, in this case, I have been put with two trainees who don't know jack shit. Well, one of them does, but Aaron is just a freaking moron. I can't even put it into words.

Other news on the homefront. I was all excited because finally the garnishment that has been on my check for months is nearly over. Of course, that was before I found out they froze my bank account. It didn't make sense. All I had to pay on it was about seventeen dollars. Now, all my money is direct deposit into my account, so this means that when my paycheck goes in, I can't touch it. I spent the better part of a day taking care of this and it turns out that the garnishment ended months ago but the company that I work for didn't catch it and just continued to take the money out and it was going to the sherrif's office, who in turn was sending it to the county clerk's office where it was doing nothing. One of those checks was sent back to my employeer so they will send me that money, but the others are just floating around and they won't send me that money until the checks are returned to them. BUT, the main thing is, I got them to lift the freeze on my bank account.

Not that life is any better. I am still short on money. We are waiting for our income tax refund to come in as well as a student loan to help pay for stuff. I hope we can hold out. I am so stressed over money. Over everything.

I am trying very hard not to let it all overwhelm me, but it's hard. We are still battling head lice with my daughter. We stopped treating her hair with chemicals and started using other methods, but nothing is working. We had the apartment people come in and put poisen in for the mice, they threw one box behind the stove. It isn't helping. Last night I couldn't sleep because I could hear the little bastards fighting in a corner of my closet, so at four am I was up tearing everything out of the closet, there was shredded paper all over the corner and under the bookshelf, they've been tearing my old books up. I was furious. I doubt my wonderful husband had a clue as to what was going on when he woke up to find me frantically vacuming out the damn closet.

Ugh. So, here is how the new year is starting for me. I am broke. I have mice living in my house, lice living in my daughter's head, I hate my job, none of the things I wanted to work on are getting worked on, we have no car, no nothing. I am not demanding. I don't need to be rich, don't need a fancy car or an awsome job, but, damnit, I want each of my kids to have their own room, and be able to pay for emergencies as they come up instead of pannicking. I hate it. I just want to be comfortable in life, why is that so hard to accomplish?

It isn't that I'm lazy, or that I expect things to come easily to me. I work my ass off at my job, people comment all the time, but damnit, the harder I work, the farther the things I want get away from me.

R called me into his office, said he wanted to pay me the money I deserve, yadda yadda, said they wanted to see me as a potential G.M, had me fill out a paper. It was a background check, which, was fine, I have no police record, but, seriously, my heart sank when I saw that they also do a credit check. If this position depends on a credit check, fuck it, there is no way I am going to ever move ahead with this company. I mean, my ex has fucked me so badly on credit, I am still trying to convice the husband to file bankruptcy when we get our money. It is the only thing I can see saving us. That way no one can come after my paycheck. By the time he is out of school we won't have to worry about all of our money going to pay back bills that the ex-husband should have paid. We can focus on us, getting a better place to live, maybe even a house.

So, all in all, not feeling real great about this year. I hope it gets better. Untill then, I should get myself to bed so I can function like a human tomorrow.

Happy New Year

Happy New Years. A new beginning, a brand new fresh year. What to do with it? I can tell you what I'd >like<>probably< do with it.

First of all, I'd like this New Year to be filled with love, joy and hope. I'd like to achieve the goals I set for mysefl. I want to see an improvement in our lives. I want to see my husband begin his formal schooling and find himself very successful at it. I want to see us get out of debt and be able to start over without worrying about yet another bill coming after us. In order to achieve this, here are my resolutions.

1. Lose weight
2. Stop smoking
3. Go to church more often
4. Stop procrastanating
5. Find an orderly system for our house
6. Find a better job
7. Get one of our car's fixed
8. See my niece get married
9. Get us in a better financial position



And, I typed and typed lots of stuff in addition to this, but, somehow lost it and now don't feel like re-doing it.

Sorry I haven't posted recently, three people down at work so I'm working like a dog. I have one day off this week and the boss scheduled a meeting that I have to go to on that day, so, really I don't have a day off. Will try to post every other day at minimum, but if I don't, you'll know it's just me being too tired.

Sea Rabbit, thanks for your support, you've been great, I love getting comments from you. As soon as I get some time I will link up to your blog. Going to go there now and read a bit. TTYL.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all
(bit late I know

A Continuation

Sea Rabbit made me think of a couple of things as I read her comment. I started out by putting this into the comment section, but realized I had alot to say about it.

It's true that men use sex as a weapon. I spent seven years married to a man who thought I was his personal fuck toy. Now, coming from someone who is delving into a dom/sub lifestyle all on her own free will, that might sound a little contridictoray. Let me tell you the difference. My first husband, did not care about me or my needs. He did not love me, or treat me as a person, in or out of our bedroom.

With my husband, I know that no matter what we experiment with, he loves me. He would never do anything that would scar me physically, or emotionally. This has made me feel safe enough to venture into places I had never been before. He makes me feel safe and secure. I want to serve him, to please him, to be the perfect wife and mother for him and our children. I had no such desires for my ex. I loved him, but I never felt the need to kneel between his legs and worship him the way I do my husband.

Anyway, the ex would demand sex from me. If I was not in the mood, or I was sick, or whatever happened to be the issue, he would guilt me. He would belittle me and tell me I was not keeping up on my wedding vows, that I was a failure as a wife, that I needed to have sex with him, even if I was so sick I couldn't get out of bed. That was the kind of lover he was. Selfish to the max. He actually raped me several times. Once was even while our daughter lay less then ten feet from us. He knew I wouldn't scream. Knew there was nothing I could do. He made me believe that even if I reported it, it wouldn't be taken seriously because he was my husband, that was his right.

He would use this to bargin with me. He is an alchoholic and many nights were spent fighting over the fact that he had taken his entire paycheck and treated whoever happened to be at the bar to drinks all night and would come home with nothing. Nothing. No way to pay the rent, or the light bills, or buy diapers for our baby. He left me with nothing and hell yes we would fight over it. The sex thing came in, when he wanted to do something. He would promise not to ask me for sex, if I would let him go hang out with his friends, or go drinking at his mom's house, or whatever he wanted to do.

How funny it seems to me that only now, after Sea Rabbits comment, did I realize how much he used sex to control me. Not the threat of not having it, but the threat that we >would< have it. Not only were we married seven years, but, it has now been almost seven years since our divorce. Fourteen years and it just dawned on me.

Wich sort of leads into the rest of her comment. About how these people must not like sex. I don't think it is so much that they don't like >sex< as it is that they don't like who they are having sex with. My selfish ex husband did nothing for me. We had to keep a tube of KY or Vasaline next to the bed for lubrication. I honestly thought there was something wrong with me because no amount of foreplay could get me wet.

Now, I have to laugh at that notion. My husband >looks< at me a certain way and I can feel myself getting wet. There are many times when we are making love when we will have to take a breather so I can dry off a little bit. The man excites me, his touch makes me shiver and I feel it somewhere deep inside of me.

I learned this long ago when my husband and I were first together. Even now it sometimes suprised me, but, it does tell me that it was never me that had the problem. It was my ex. His lack of love, caring, and understanding of what I like.

So, for all of you out there, who are using sex as a weapon. Stop, look at yourself, ask yourself why you are doing that. Make sure that the person you are with, is the one that you >want< to be with, the one that stirs that something deep inside of you. Make sure that you give your all to that person. Talk to them. You have no idea how great good communication is for a relationship. Don't think your partner will listen? What do you have to loose? Think about that. Think about how they feel each time they realize that you are not having sex with them because you love them, but because you can get something, or, get out of something, by giving or not giving sex. Try it, just once. I for one, am going to go tell my husband just how much he means to me.

Life's Whore

I think I should rename my blog. As much as I want to write about my sex life, the wonderful journey into submissivness, I just always find something else that weighs on my mind more. This is my outlet, my place to let it all go. I should call it "Life's Whore" because that's who I feel I am at the moment. No matter how hard I try, she fucks me, long and hard, everytime I turn around. I don't get to say no, I don't get to say not right now, it's just plain old "Shut your mouth and take it" fucking.

Bi-polar. Such a lovely word isn't it? It's the new fancy terminology for manic depressant. That's me. I should be on medication, but I'm not. Why? I guess it's because like all bi-polar people, I think I can handle it. That's what happens during my "manic" moments. I think that I'm all better and I shouldn't have to take it, so I stop.

Not that I can afford the medication anyway. I have no insurance. Why don't I have insurance? Because simply, I can't afford it. Why can't I afford it? Because I work a shit job for shit money and I have a family of five to support.

My family. That should be my shinning light right? Of course. But is it? At the moment, no. Why is that? Because when I get depressed, all I can do is sleep. So, not a big deal right? Well, yeah, because then my children don't get up on time to get themselves to school. Well, now I'm sure you wondering why I don't drive them. Because I can't. Why can't I? Because no matter how hard I try, I can't bring myself to drive them to school. So they miss a day, who cares right? Well, I care, I feel like a horrible mother.

It isn't just that. I woke up this morning, the children had missed getting to school. Not because they weren't up on time, but because they decided to watch television instead of getting ready and leaving for school. Oh well, I guess I need to go back to the old policy. That used to be "If you miss school and are not sick, you will be put to work all day long." the thought behind it being that they would prefer to be at school during the day.

So, after much effort, I climb my ass out of bed only to find that my eight year old son, for reasons still unknown, has spit on the floor. Not just once, but, he's made an entire pile of spit, the size of my hand, on the floor. Nothing is more disguisting to me then fluids out of the mouth. Be it spit or vomit. I can't hack it.

I remember once, when I was younger, going on a trip to a cabin. There was no running water up there, so, we had to brush our teeth and spit into a cup. I was so grossed out that I began to wretch, which led into me vomiting. I have a very sensative stomach. Once I start gagging, I know it is going to end up in me vomiting. Now, even though he's cleaned it up, I can still picture it on the floor. I am struggling to not start gagging. Ugh. Thank God I didn't step in it.

My daughter, has decided, that even though she was up in time, and decided to climb back into bed, that it's all her brother's fault she didn't make it to school. So, of course, she has a nasty little attitude. Wonderful. Just what I needed this morning.

My youngest, I can't complain about. Other then, the first thing he does is ask me if I have to go to work. I tell him later since I have to work graveyard tonight. He says "yay!". Daddy asks him why he said "yay" and he says "Because mom doesn't have to go to work right now" Awwwww. I start to cry.

One of my best friends asks me how I'm doing this morning. I try to tell him I am depressed. He asks if I have started my medication. For the first time ever. I lie to him and tell him I started them again a few weeks ago. I just can't deal with the disapointment from him. I can't tell him I can't afford the medication, or even the doctor visit. I don't know why. He's never judged me before. He even offered to send me some of his antideppresents. I should take him up on it, but, I can't.


I should maybe force myself to get up and get something done. I can't. I don't feel like doing anything. I want to curl up in a corner of my bed and just cry myself to sleep. But, I can't. I can't let it win. I feel like I would die crying if I started. I feel like I have this darkness hovering over me, waiting to swoop in and smother me at the first sign of weakness. I have to be strong. I have to keep going for my family.

I want to tell my husband how bad I feel inside. But I can't. Not without making him feel bad too. How can I tell him I hate my life? That I am feeling suicidal. I mean, I know, and he knows, I would never actually hurt myself. But, I want to. I think that he would be better off if he found someone more stable. As would my children. But, the thought of that, the pain of thinking of him with someone else, cuts through my heart. It hurts so bad that it phsyically hurts me, makes my stomach hurt. How can I tell him it is how I honestly feel right now. He obviously knows I'm bi-polar. He doesn't understand it. He has a very logical mind, and so for him, there is a very simple solution. Stop feeling like that. I want to scream every time he says that. I can't fucking stop. Trust me, I'd love to stop this roller coaster of emotions I always seem to be on. I hate it.

I want to be a better mother. I want to be a better wife. A better sister. A better daughter. A better aunt. A better grandaughter. I want to be a better person period. I just don't know how.

Have I mentioned I hate Christmas? I do. I think I officially hate all holidays. Here is a little story that makes me smile because I can relate to Santa in this.

When four of Santa's elves got sick, and the trainee elves
did not prooduce the toys as fast as the regular ones, Santa was
beginning to feel the pressure of being behind schedule.

Then Mrs. Claus told Santa that her Mom was coming to visit. This
stressed Santa even more.

When he went to harness the reindeer, he found that three
of them were about to give birth and two had jumped the fence and were
out, heaven knows where. More stress.

Then when he began to load the sleigh one of the boards
cracked, and the toy bag fell to the ground and scattered the toys.

So, frustrated, Santa went into the house for a cup of
apple cider and a shot of rum. When he went to the cupboard, he discovered
that the elves had hidden the liquor, and there was nothing to drink. In
his frustration, he accidentally dropped the cider pot, and it
broke into hundreds of little pieces all over the kitchen floor. He went to get
the broom and found that mice had eaten the straw
end of the broom.

Just then the doorbell rang, and irritable Santa trudged to
the door. He opened the door, and there was a little angel with a
great big Christmas tree. The angel said, very cheerfully, "Merry Christmas,
Santa. Isn't it a lovely day? I have a beautiful tree for you. Where would
you like me to stick it?"

And so began the tradition of the little angel on top of
the Christmas tree.

Vacation

For any faithful readers I have. I am going to be gone for a couple of days on vacation. My first one in six years. I'll let you know how it goes. I'm so excited. See ya soon.

Dear Substitute Ann Landers

Every day I read the "Ann Landers" column in the paper. Yes I know she passed away, but, I still call it that because I can't be bothered learning the names of the women who took over. I find the delima's of people to be A) something I can relate to, B) interesting, or C) so amusing that I actually have to laugh out loud. I like the ones, where people make "advice lists" so, I decided I would write my own letter to Ann Landers.

Dear Substitute Ann Landers,

I see you print alot of "do and don't lists". Thought I would include mine in that little group. This is a list of do's and don't's for people who are visiting my truck stop.

1. Don't tell me how to do my job, most of you are truckers, not managers.
2. This is my place of employment, not your house, pick up after your own damn self.
3. I don't care what the other store does, I'm telling you how it's done at mine. Shut up.
4. Stop saying "typical service for this place". We are a busy store, get over, or go somewhere else.
5. When you see the sign saying "local checks only", don't try to convince me you've written checks here before when you are obviously not local.
6. Never ever, go into a place, with only one way to pay for your stuff, unless it's cash.
7. Follow your mother's advice. If you can't say anything nice. Shut up.
8. I am not your "sweetheart", "suger", " darling", "dear", "love" or any of the other stupid names you make up to call me. I have a name, and it's right here on my damn badge. Learn to read.
9. If you are from another country, please learn how to give me your company name, your truck number, tell me how you will be paying, and, if need be, your plate number.
10. If you can't do #9, don't get pissed if I ask you the same thing several times, it annoys the hell out of me too.
11. That really cool toy that is on display that says "press me". Don't press it unless you really think you might buy it. I listen to that fucker at least 30 times in an hour, and at a minute long for each little demonstration, means I listen to it for half an hour, and sell one a week.
12. Don't ask me to go get things for you, if you are not going to buy them.
13. Have your money ready. Don't make me wait while you dig out change. If you can drive a truck, you should be able to add and know what your spending.
14. If I ask you for information, it's because I need it, not because I want it. Just give me the damn answers.
15. Don't stand in front of me to "fix" your money in your wallet.
16. Don't try to run a credit card you know is maxxed out.
17. I am a hell of a fast cashier. I can ring up 70 people in an hour. The reason you wait so long in my line, is because the person in front of does one or more of the others listed here.
18. See the ring on my finger? Means I'm married. No I don't want to have dinner with you, no I don't want to have your children, no I don't want to go fuck in your truck. Get bent.
19. When I ask for your drivers liscense, give me the damn thing, I need the information on it, because I can tell you, looking at your face in person is alot less painful then that picture.
20. STOP STEALING!
21. PAY FOR YOUR GAS!
22. Don't yell at me, call me a bitch, whore, or cunt. I will get nasty.
23. Whoever told you "The customer is always right" lied. I will get in your face if you get in mine.
24. If I tell you I'm not selling you tobacco or alchohol, don't tell me I can't refuse. I can, I will, I did. Fuck off.
25. Seriously, I know my counter is just the right height, but don't lift your nasty ass belly up and flop it down on my counter. I have to desinfect. It's time consuming.
26. If you make a mess, clean it up. Or, you know, at the very least, have the curtesy to tell me there is one so I can have someone else do it.
27. Everyone makes mistakes. If you drive off with my pump still in your tank, it's all good, just FUCKING TELL ME!
28. No, I do not discount the food at any point in time. We are open 24/7, 365 days a year, so is the restraunt who provides us the food. We shut down the deli for one hour a night to clean it, the food is kept fresh.
29. Stop acting like I owe you. I don't.
30. Try smiling, speaking in a pleasent tone, and adding please and thank you every once in a while. You have no idea how far it goes.


Now, with all that said. It sounds like I hate my job. Sometimes I do. Most of the time, I don't. I love to chat with the guys who come in, tell me how their days are, what's going on in their lives. It is a challenge. My place of business is so busy that we easily do a million gallons in desiel fuel every month. We have 15 showes, four bathrooms, a full restraunt, two deli areas, a driver's lounge, and a barber shop. There are three televisions in various locations for drivers to relax and watch whatever.
One of my very favorite stories, happened about a year ago. I was working 3pm-11pm. I had a fairly new girl running the "gas end" (seperated by those who buy primarily gas, and those who buy mostly desiel, though we are all trained in all areas and can do anything from any register) and a guy comes in, wants to buy a bunch of those pretty glass cubes that have etchings in the center. Great. He goes to M and tells her he wants the boxes. She explains we don't keep the boxes, but she would be happy to bubble wrap them. From all the way down at the other end, I can hear him going off on her. So, I exscuse myself, go down, see what's happening. He demands a manager. I am the manager. He wants the boxes. We don't keep them but she will be happy to bubble wrap them. No, he wants the boxes. I don't keep them. Understand this? No room in our store for the boxes to everything we carry. After a while, he says " Do you want to make this fucking sale or not?" so, I calmly pick them all up, move them to the back counter and tell him "Not really". I walk away, leaving him with his mouth hanging open. He starts down towards my register just as B makes her way from the back. She stops to ask him if there is a problem. I am watching to make sure he don't get nasty. He says " You need a fucking manager that knows how to treat people" she calmly looks up nearly a foot and a half to meet his gaze and says "Did you talk to her like you're talking to me" he pauses, slowly nods, and she says " You should be ashamed of yourself. I think you should go out to your truck and think about what you did." No joke people, this man, who had to be 6'4" and at least 200 pounds, dropped his head, muttered "yes ma'am" and went out to his truck. Roughly an hour later, he came back and apologized.

Got to love the people.

Another Crappy Day

I feel very. . blah. . today. I don't feel like doing anything. Yet, I have so much to do. I feel overwhelmed with all that is going on in my life.

Husband and I had a fight the day after Thanksgiving. I feel like it is still lingering between us. He was scheduled to go over to his mothers, to do the whole, turkey dinner thing with her, his step dad, and his brother. The day started out like any other. I wake up, my back is icy cold, it has cramped and it hurts like hell. He rubs it, warms it up, it feels a little better. As I am getting ready for work, and the laundry ready to go with him. He comes in to the bathroom, saying his back hurts. Now, normally he would just go lay down and pop his back. But today, he goes right in and takes >my< prescription pills.

See, this wouldn't be a big deal, but the last time he spent time with his mother, he came home drunk. When I asked him about it, he actually told me that he "can't" say no to her, because if he does, she gets nasty and creates a scene. So, the first thought in my mind is "he can't drink with this" and, well, I've never been known to be quiet, so, I tell him I don't want him drinking.

That is when it all hit the fan. He was angry that I dared to tell him what to do. I tried to explain, there were a thousand and one reasons for him not to drink. Mainly the fact that he just took some heavy duty muscle relaxers. The more I tried to reason with him, the more it got out of control.

Now, it's not like I was without fault. I was throwing things up in his face that I knew better then to bring up. But when I get upset, it's like I can't help myself. I think that one of the things that bothered me most was what I preseved as his weakness. I don't want him to be weak, in any way. Here I have suffered, day after day, with horrible back pain, and I don't take medication unless I'm nearly dying over it. At the first little pain in his back, he goes and takes my heavy heavy duty muscle relaxers. Plus the whole " I have to drink with my mom" thing just drove me crazy.

He is so in control at home. He runs the house. He takes a firm hand and keeps the children in line, keeps our lives running smoothly most of the time. How can he not stand up to her after all she's done to him? He knows that she is a drunk. I mean, I adore my mother in law, but it's the truth. Both his parents are drunks. Why does he feel the need to make her happy over me. That is how I felt. Of course, he doesn't understand that. He accused me of trying to control him.

That in of itself was very hurtful to me. It is something that we have never had issues with before. I mean, my family has said he controls me too much and his family says the same about me, but we have always agreed that we are happy with our lives. When he doesn't go out with them, it is because he would rather stay home with me. And, the same with me. At least, that is what he has always told me. His accusation, was like slap in the face. It made me stop and question all the times he's ever told me that. Does he see it like they do? Does he think I control him? Did he stay home and miss out on things because of me? I don't normally ever tell him what to do, this is the second time in nearly six years that I have. That I can recall.

I don't know. Of course, once he left and I went to work, that was the end of it. I knew it would be. If I bring it up, he'll tell me I am just trying to start a fight. I want him to understand me, not fight with me. Maybe I am to complicated. Maybe I am too hard to live with.

So many doubts. So many fears. It is like a sea of darkness. Sometimes I have my boat to keep me on top of it, other times, like this, I feel like I was dumped out of the boat and I'm drowning in all of it. I can only pray that God will eventually find me and lift me out of the void I am feeling.

I hate when I get like this. I know I should be on my medication, but I've been doing so well without it. It makes me tired and groggy.

See, I don't feel like adding anymore, even though I know there is more to add. Guess I'll do that tomorrow.

Happy Thanksgiving

Today is traditionaly a day about families. About traditions. About being grateful for what you have.

Normally, I have always looked forward to Thanksgiving. It brings back some of my few happy memories from being a child. I remember long rows of tables at my grandmother's. A fire going in the fireplace. Aunts, Uncles, and cousins galore gathered around. The smell of the pies and turkeys lingering in the air. The stuffing, the gravy, the "real" mashed potatoes. I remember that we fought over the gizzards so much that my grandmother bought a package of nothing but gizzards to hold us over. Of course, there was also tons of fruit salad, green bean cassaroles, and, pretty much every side dish you could imagine since everyone brought two or three.

How I have longed to recreate such love, and wonder for my own children. I can remember every Thanksgiving that my husband and I have had together. There was our first year, where we went to my younger brother's house. Played games with them and my parents. I was pregnant, sister in law had just had a baby. My oldest kids were with their dad for most of the day. So, it was pretty much us adults. Then the next year, we went to my older brothers. This time, we had a new baby, my younger brother and his wife had a new baby. They deep fried the turkey that year. Not bad, but, not what I really wanted either. Didn't bother my husband, he hates turkey, he hates Thanksgiving. I still made pies and brought them. The next year found us living with my inlaws halfway around the country. My first ever away from my own family. It was hard, but, I cooked my ass off, anything to take my mind of missing them. The year after that, we were in our own place, and I hosted dinner. The inlaws, some guy we had befriended (a horror story for some other time) and us. It was okay, too much hustle and bustle in our small apartment. That year, we simply did our own thing. Tossed out the turkey, instead made a wonderful beef roast, potatoes, carrots, gravy, pumpkin pies, pecan pies, bread pudding, homemade rolls. That, is the same menu we have used ever since. This being the third year.

Well, I had to work this year. Not a great way to start the day. But, knowing I would come home to Thanksgiving was what got me through it. I managed to get 520 people through my register alone. Work was hell.

So, I get home. Husband and children greet me. I am feeling good. Until the husband opens his mouth " I need you to go the store, get cranberrie sauce, stuffing, and wine" I was furious. I just gave away the can of cranberrie sauce from last year to the local food drive. I ASKED HIM ABOUT STUFFING while we were at the store, and, I don't drink. WTF? I'm furious. I head for the door. He gets upset. Does the whole " never mind, never mind, I don't want you to go" crap.
I try to explain I had a rough day. He just wants to talk about how much cooking sucked. So I shut up. After a while, yeah, he wants to go to the store. We go. I head over to get our usual kind of wine. He doesn't want that. He wants a grape wine. Ugh, whatever. He picks out a wine. It has a cork in it. We don't have a corkscrew. We go check out corkscrews. They are more then the damn wine. So he settles for two different brands of cheap crap.

After much ado, we get the table set, settle down to eat. He pours the wine. It is so nasty that I can't drink it. We pray. We sit around talking about what we are thankful for, yadda yadda yadda. It was actually very nice, while it lasted.

As soon as everyone is done. I sit down at the computer. My best friend is online over in Australia. No, they don't celebrate, so, wishing her a Happy Thanksgiving is sort of stupid. But I do it anyway. Husband asks if I want to join their conversation. I say sure. He is relating a piece of the conversation between us and our daughter. A funny story really. I'm in good spirits. She doesn't seem to see the humor in, but, I guess it's one of those "got to be there moments". So, I ask him to tell another story about something that he did last night. He says no, and disconnects. Tells me that he ain't in the mood for her crap. I'm a bit peeved. I didn't feel like conversating. I wanted to spend time with my family. Then he tells me, to go put the food away. I'm stunned. That is a chore for our kids. Why is he making me do it? I ask him. I point out the children always put the food into containers and put it in the fridge. He says he wants me to do it. I ask if I need to do it >right now< , he says no. Fine, I'll get to it in a bit.

Next thing I know. He's settling down on the couch to go to sleep. I ask him why. He says it's because he's been cooking all day. Again, I'm stunned. Hello, I just worked nine fucking hours! I came home and then went shopping, then came home and helped finish dinner. I am expected to put the food away AND make the damn pies. Does anyone else here fail to miss the logic behind this? Then, he tells the kids to go put the food away. It's been FIVE DAMN MINUTES. After telling me it didn't need to be done right away. He did it because he knows I will jump up and do it my damn self.

Now, why is this all such a big deal. Because he let someone online ruin our holiday. He let her crappy mood piss him off enough that he went to sleep, at 8:30 instead of spending time with me and the kids. What kind of crap is that? I know Thanksgiving is not important to him. I get it. I am the same way with Halloween. I hate it, but he loves it. So I help him go all out, and I do it with a fucking smile.

My feelings are hurt. He could have put forth an effort for my sake. I do it for him all the time. Why is her mood and her attitude enough to make him crappy for the rest of the night. To boot, now when I wake him up to go to bed, he won't be tired anymore. I'll end up sleeping alone while he goes online and plays his game. With her, cuz, by then, he will be over it and so will she.

He won't have a fucking clue as to how much he hurt me today. Why? Because he won't listen when I talk. He will brush it aside. This is the last Thanksgiving I plan on celebrating. Every day I am thankful for things. Never again will I go all out and try to make it a memorable one.

Even now, I am fighting with the kids to get them to do their chores and I realize. It isn't important to them. It isn't important to him. I was the only one it mattered to, and now it no longer matters.

Hope your day went better then mine. Happy Thanksgiving.

A Fantasy

She moves into the silenced house, takes note of the dimness. Faintly, she can hear the water running, sounds like the shower. She smiles and moves forward, pulling her clothes off of her as she goes.

The warm steam assaults her as she opens the door silently. Her hard nipples simply seem to get harder and the wetness in between her legs only seems to get wetter with anticipation.

She closes the door quickly to keep the heat in. She can hear him on the other side of the shower curtin. It sounds like he is washing his hair, perfect timing on her part. She smiles again as she pulls back one corner of the curtin and sees that he is indeed washing his hair, his eyes closed, his back to the shower head.

Silently she slips inside, shivering a little because the water is spraying on him and peppering her body, yet, not enough of the liquid to keep her warm. It doesn't matter, that is not what she is here for, she sinks slowly to her knees. Her eyes glue to his manhood. He is so male. So Alpha to her Beta. Her mouth opens and her tongue flickers out to swirl around the tip. He knows she's here now, she can tell by the way his body goes tight from knowing what is about to come.

She presses forward to quickly take him in while he's soft. How she loves to put him in soft and feel him growing hard inside of her mouth. He groans a little and curls his fingers into her hair and steps back, pullng her with him into the warm waterfall. She feels him lengthen, as well as thicken as she worships him. He lets go of her head and lifts his hands to his hair to rince it. He knows that she won't let go. Not his good girl. Not her.

She keeps her lips around him, now that he's hard, she pulls out until only the head of him is in her mouth. She swirls her tongue around, dipping into the little hole, seeking the precum she can taste there. She presses her own thighs together as she feels herself getting wetter. She wants to touch herself, but she doesn't. Not because he won't let her, but because she knows it will better for them together if she doesn't.

She continues this, after a few moments, her hands reach up to fondle his balls, gently rolling them around in her small fingers. The water making everything smooth and slick. Her head moves up and down even as her cheecks hollow out with sucking on him and her tongue presses firmly against him , curling just as the head of him is about to pop out, feeling the ridge with her upcurled tongue. Then she lets her mouth relax and move back down to do it all over again.

She loves how his hands reach into her hair once more and pull her down on him. Her face pressing up against the hairs on his body. Even now, in the shower, she can smell what can only be described as HIM. She moans, sending reverberations throughout her mouth and straight into his body, causing his back to arc slightly.

Her desire, her need for him so strong she can't help but slips her hands around to pull him even closer, her fingers pressing into either side of his well rounded ass. She can feel the muscles tighten under her fingertips as she does, causing her to need more, her nails digging into him slightly.

She feels him jump in her mouth as she does. She would smile if her mouth wasn't so full of him right now. He presses himself into the back of her throat and her fingertips press harder. She nearly whimpers as he pulls her head back off of him. She stares at his hardness. He leans down and lifts her up, wrapping his arms around her wet body and kissing her with more passion then she's ever felt before. His fingers moving up her slick slides to cup her breasts. Her breath catches and she presses herself into him. Loving the feel of his body against hers.

Her head tilts back as he begins a journey with his lips down her neck and over her shoulders. His fingers manipulating the soft flesh of her breasts, never touching the hardened nipples that are straining, begging, for his touch and she whimpers as she slides her hands over his wet body to slip into his hair, pulling him down to her breasts. He burries his face in them, squeezing them together, trailing his tongue along her. Her knees feel weak and her breath is quick. She leans even farther back.

Like a man possessed, his head dips quickly to take a nipple in between his teeth, biting at her delicate skin. The wetness trickling down the inside of her thighs is not from the warm water moving over them, but from her own readiness to be claimed by him. Her Male.

He lifts her up into his arms, cradling her like baby, his face burried against her breasts, her face burried into his neck as she whispers his name. He carries her with ease into the next room and gently lays her on the bed, uncaring that they are both sopping wet. They are the only two things in the world right now and she sees it when she looks into his eyes.

His fingers move down and touch her gently, teasing her, a hint of amusement in his expression. She growls softly and digs her nails painfully into his neck, causing the amusement to shift to lust as he plunges his finger into her. Her body arcs as her first orgasm washes over her, unaware of just how tightly she is holding onto him until after her body comes back down.

He smiles softly, with love in his eyes as he rubs himself against her leg. His finger still moves inside of her in slow, methodical movements. She can't help but blush and smile back at him. Suprised by her own reaction to him. She knew it would be intense, but caught unawares at just how intense until this moment. Her fingers find him and begin to stroke him, her body wiggling against his finger, moaning softly as he finds and taunts the secret spot within her.

He waits for her to beg, like he knows she will. Assaulting her body with kisses along her neck and ears, down to her breasts. She begs him to enter her, to make her complete. He just smiles a lazy smile and moves down farther, never removing his finger all the way. Just sliding it in and out of her as his lips leave a firey trail down her skin. She feels his warm breath upon her sex and her body twitches in anticipation. He watches her. Their eyes meeting before he slowly reaches out with his tongue and licks the outer lips of her. She begs him for more. He continues to tease her with his tongue, slow, lazy movements, designed to force her to hover on the brink.

His finger presses deep into her, followed by a second one and she cries out as he stretches her. She knows it is nothing compared to how large he is, but she feels so full. He rubs his face on the inside of her thighs and enhales her womenly scent. She nearly sobs as she begs him to fill her with himself.

With an indulgent smile, he presses his face against her, his mouth sucking her clit in and nibbling on it while her fingers press him down on her and her hips lift to meet his lips. She shudders through another orgasm and lays back spent.

He moves over her, placing himself between her legs. The tip of him pressing into her, he seems bigger now. Maybe it is his need, maybe it is just her imagination. Her hips buck up against him, trying to force himself into her more to no avail. Soft whimpering is all she can manage at the moment. The lust in her brain overwhelming her. She needs him inside of her. She needs him to make her whole again. "Please love, please, mark me, take me, make me yours" her words are barely above a whisper, but they are loud enough.

He burries himself into her as far as he will go and she screams as her body tries to adjust to his size, her nails raking down his back. He holds there for the longest moment, savoring in the heat of her, in the way her body was meant to be his, in her gift to him.

Slowly he begins to move in and out of her with ease, her body clinging tightly to him each time he pulls out and thrusting forward to meet him each time he presses in. It seems like forever in her mind, her body and his slick with sweat as the move against each other.

He speeds up, moving in and out with full, deep thrusts, her fingers digging even harder into him as he brings her to a final orgasm, her body contracting and milking him, causing him to shove deep into her as he allows himself to fill her up with his seed.

They remain locked together, tears slip from each of their faces and hold onto each other for dear life.

Too Tired

>sigh<

I don't even now where to start. I guess I'll start with talking about my friend. Someone I've known for about six years now. I love the man. Pure and simple. Not like, I want to run and away and marry him type thing, just, love him. He is going through a really hard time right now. He's bi-polar, and is on one of his down times. This has, in the past, gotten really bad. I have tried to reach out to him, telling him I am here if he needs me, practically begging him to let me in. He just polietly tells me no but thanks. I want to scream. Doesn't he know by now that talking always helps him feel better? Is it so hard for him to trust in my love for him? I hate this feeling it gives me. It just drives me crazy. I just want to take him into my arms and let him cry on my shoulder until his world is right again.

Work was crap. Boss showed up at my house, because my phone still isn't working, and asked my husband to wake me up see if I would come in early. I did. I ended up working 12 hours. In general, the day was shit, we were busy, not enough help. Totally miserable.

I miss my family. I want to hold my new baby neice in my arms so bad I ache from it. I don't know, maybe it's because everyone around me is having babies. I wish I could have had one more. One more pregnancy, one more son or daughter. I don't know, it's crazy, the doctor warned me not to get pregnant ever again, or I would end up diabetic. That's why I had my tubes tied. But damnit I wish, just, sometimes, that I could.

I was going to post about a scene, but, with all the depression hanging around me like a thick cloud. I decided I better not. Small post, but, I am honestly too tired for anything more.

Updating. . Again. ..

First of all. Sorry it's been so long since I last posted. Like has been kicking the shit out of me and damned if it didn't nearly win.

I read a blog the other day, in which the writer talked about maybe deleting the blog. It made me think about mine. I mean, what's the point of having this. I never write in it. Then I posted a response to her and came here to delete mine. I was even thinking of starting over. Then I read through the things I had already written and I realized that this was still important to me. I really needed this. Needed the outlet it provided for me. So, here I am, once more, to blog about my life.

Am I the only blogger that pours over tons and tons of other blogs? I read blogs about dominating relationships, I read blogs written by both the dom and the subs. I read blogs that some of our soldiers are writing. I read blogs about nothing.

This blog is supposed to be a place where I can put anything. No one knows me here. No one will come to my work and tell me I'm a pervert. No one will call my boss and tell him he has a sick twisted woman managing his store.

Don't see anything sick and twisted? Read on.

I recently shaved myself. Everywhere. Not even sure why, just, felt like it. This is not something I normally do, and well, probably won't again. See, as soon as the hair started to grow back in, I started to itch. It was driving me nuts. More then that though, I couldn't' walk anywhere without my over sensative pussy lips rubbing against each other and swelling up. This is all great if I can stay at home and fuck my husband like a rabid bunny. But nooooo, I have to work. I have to try to stand in front of my customers, feeling my wetness sliding down my legs, and smile like nothing is wrong. For four days, I used both of my ten minute breaks, and my lunch hour to run into the bathroom and bring myself to orgasm. Now mind you, these are very public bathrooms. Think that bothered me? No, it only turned me on more. Of course, each time I did this, it seemed to only make me need it more. I would run home from work and drop to my knees in front of my loving, if not suprised husband, and submissivly suck his cock until he filled my mouth with his sweet cum.

Life was great.

Then, as if to say "Okay Nikki, you've had enough happiness" shit started to hit the fan. I got pulled over for having outdated tags on my van. I knew they were outdated. They wouldn't let us renew them because I had my liscence suspended for not paying fines that stemmed from an accident that was not my fault. But, I had no insurance. Well, if I could have afforded the damn fines, I would have been able to afford insurance. So, anyway, they don't arrest me, but, tell me if they catch me driving again they will. I have to go to court, so I do. It's going to cost me roughly 550 dollars. I don't have that kind of money! The judge gave me 30 days to pay it and get myself legal again. Despair.

Then, out of no where. My guardian angels step in. People I've known online for years. The two of them get together and decide they are going to send me the money. One is a student in Australia, my best friend really, and I know she can't afford it. The other, a guy who is married, lives in the States, and, has flat out told me he loves me. His wife would be furious. But they are both stubborn and simply refuse to take anything but yes for an answer. I am so lucky.

Money is sent and recieved. Fines are paid off. Oh, they shut my phone off in the meantime because I couldn't pay the bill. Even though I called and made the arrangements. So I call and pay what I told them I would pay. 140 dollars. Yay, the phone is going to be turned back on. Not. They say "Oh, well, someone messed up and turned it off completely yesterday, you'll have to pay the remainder of the balance" I am furious. I could have used that 140 dollars somewhere else. I demand a supervisor. I explain how it isn't my fault someone else messed up. Then he tells me that the problem is they have an unpaid bill in my name from four years ago. I PAID THAT DAMN BILL! He calmly asks if I have the reciept. DO I HAVE THE RECIEPT FROM FOUR YEARS AGO!?! I MOVED HALFWAY ACROSS THE STATES. HELL NO! >sigh<>never<>not< notice it" So, women leaves, we go into the house. Daughter says she wanted to play at her friends. We inform her she is grounded for a week and has to do extra chores every day.

Think that's the end of this horror story? No. Husband tells me a social worker came by. Said they had a report that our children were going to school hungry, did not have proper shoes or coats and they are not being bathed regularly. WHAT THE FUCK? He invites her in. Shows her the kitchen where he is currently cooking dinner. Shows her all the food we have. Cupboards are full, fridge is cleaned out and fully stocked, not to mention our deep freezer. Then he takes her over and shows her the coat closet, counts out the jackets. My oldest boy alone has NINE, yes NINE jackets, ranging from everything from lightweight, to rain coat, to heavy winter jacket. Shows her snow boots, snow suit, the overflowing basket of shoes the kids have. She asks how often we give the kids baths. He tells her that "we" do not bathe our children. They are old enough to do so on their own. My oldest pops up with how he doesn't take baths. So my husband has to explain that no, they take showers, every other night. Woman leaves and tells husband I can call her if I want. Oh hell yes I want. So, Monday rolls around. I call, can't reach her. Tuesday rolls around, woman shows up. As I am speaking to her, my son's counseler shows up. She is livid and tells the woman so. Says out of all her families, we are the one that she has NO concerns whatsover about. She tells the woman how she never calls, just drops by to visit, and, our home is always clean. That our children are always well fed. The woman says that the complaint says that we are not feeding them before school. I point out that the school has a free breakfast program, so no we don't. The counseler tells her how I lobbied to get the children bussed to school, winning my battle, after they had refused the priniciple of the school. Tells her about how I went to the school and fought to get the teachers to do their jobs properly, resulting in the termination of one of their teachers. How I always put my kids first and she's seen it a thousand times. I could have kissed her. I may be some sick twisted bitch in the bedroom, but damnit, I put my kids first always. So, women goes to the school to talk to my daughter, then comes back to my house the next day. Of course, she is sorry for intruding on our lives, and yes, we understand every complaint has to be investigated, yes we look forward to her report, thank you for being so open with me, thanks for encouraging your daughter to be nothing but honest. I mean come on. Why would I tell her to lie to you lady? I just wanted to scream

So, this all brings us up to the present. For the most part anyway. There are some minor things in there driving me nuts, but yeah, welcome to my nightmare.